People of Heaven

by Beverley Harper

  ‘No, Nkosi. It is only a beer drink.’

  The speaker was knocked flying by a vicious backhander. ‘Liar!’ the commander screamed. ‘Arrest them all,’ he snapped. Then he was gone.

  Not one man resisted arrest. There were no illusions over their fate. They would be bashed and mocked. A few tortured. The police could keep them locked away indefinitely while they tried to find evidence that would prove them guilty of treason. They might be detained without trial for days, weeks, months or even years. The ANC could not help them, no-one could.

  Dyson, handcuffed to another man, waited impassively for his turn to climb into the police wagon. A policeman, for no reason at all, pushed him painfully hard with the barrel of his pistol. ‘Get in, kaffir.’ There was no reasoning with them. Pointless to explain that he was unable to move until the man in front was inside the vehicle. Dyson shuffled forward, hoping to appear willing and avoid another blow. On the outside, he was cowed and submissive. Inside, terror and rage competed fiercely with each other.

  He heard the man cuffed to him whisper, ‘I am sorry, Father.’ His own personal apology for the trials he had visited on his family. The police would not stop at simply arresting those at the meeting. They would pull in whole families for questioning. Dyson knew that Wilson, Nandi, Jackson and even the two younger children would be interrogated mercilessly. If the police were not absolutely satisfied with their answers, they too would be imprisoned. He broke into a sweat of dread. In the course of their investigations, the police might accidentally discover what had taken place between Jackson and Tessa.

  Jammed into the back of the wagon, packed so tightly they could barely breathe, the door slammed shut behind them. Dyson took a despairing look at the relative freedom outside. He wondered how long it might be before he saw it again, if indeed he ever did.

  News of Dyson’s arrest reached UBejane the next morning. Nandi and Wilson had been frantic with worry when their son had not come home after his meeting. Police wagons, six of them, drove up to the main house where Claire was working at her desk in the office. The commander was all smiles and respect. ‘Good morning, Mevrou King.’

  ‘Good morning, officer.’ Claire could not tell one rank from another. She called them all officer.

  ‘Ah . . . I am sorry about your husband.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We come here today on a different matter.’

  Claire raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘With six vehicles, I rather thought you might have.’

  ‘Ah . . . yes.’ The commander looked at Nandi. ‘What is your name?’

  Nandi looked up fearfully. ‘Nandi, master.’

  ‘Nandi what?’

  ‘Mpande, master.’

  The policeman shook his head and winked at Claire. ‘Nandi Mpande. Sounds like Andy Pandy.’

  Claire treated him to a frosty stare. ‘Would you mind stating your business please, officer.’

  The man took a deep breath, all puffed up with self-importance. ‘Last night we arrested twenty-two men who were conducting an illegal political gathering. Dyson Mpande was one of them.’ He ignored Nandi’s sudden gasp of shock. ‘We are here to pick up his family.’

  He looked ridiculous, like a pouter pigeon. Claire was getting irritated. ‘And just how big a family do you think that is?’ She waved her hands at the vehicles and the armed police lounging against them.

  ‘We will take all the Africans for questioning. They will be allowed to return once we are satisfied they are innocent.’

  ‘Innocent of what?’ The commander didn’t know Claire very well or he would have heard the steel creeping into her voice.

  ‘Treason.’ He made the word sound terribly important.

  Claire blinked slowly and rubbed the back of one hand across her forehead. ‘Tell me, officer,’ she said mildly, ‘what would you call it if someone deliberately sabotaged the production of one of this country’s major exports?’

  The commander scratched his head. ‘That is treason too,’ he said at last, not getting her drift.

  Claire rose and leaned on her knuckles until they turned white. ‘If you take all my workers, how am I to meet my quota?’

  Her meaning suddenly clear, he stood ramrod straight and ignored the question. ‘Mevrou,’ he said quietly and threateningly, ‘I am trying to do my job. Do you refuse to cooperate?’

  ‘I know my rights,’ Claire replied just as forcefully. ‘You may take the Mpande family in for questioning but I assure you, you’ll be wasting your time. I expect them back on UBejane by tonight. If they are not I shall go over your head. The police commissioner in Durban is a personal friend. You will not remove any of my other African employees. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Madam,’ he said heavily, ‘if I wish, I can remove every man, woman and child from this estate.’

  ‘I know,’ Claire replied, ‘but I do not think you would be such a fool.’ He was a bully. She was wishing Michael would come in from the fields but she was not about to cave in under his tactics. ‘I have heard about you. Women and girls are raped by your men. Young boys tortured. I’m not saying you condone these things or even that the rumours are true, but I wonder what your superiors would have to say about it.’

  His face went red with fury. ‘How dare you,’ he spluttered.

  Claire, who had absolutely no idea about the man’s personal and private inclinations, smiled sweetly. ‘I’m sure these stories are greatly exaggerated, officer, but you must agree that rumours do start in the most mysterious ways, do they not?’

  He snapped his fingers at Nandi. ‘You. Come with me.’

  Nandi, with a frightened look at Claire, followed him outside. She was bundled into the back of a wagon and the entire convoy left.

  ‘Dear God,’ Claire said to herself. She knew that the Mpande family were likely to experience threats, physical abuse or even worse before being released. She had not been making idle conversation with that officer. Tales of his cruelty, and those of his men, had been circulating for years. There was no guarantee that Nandi would not be sexually used, or her twelve-year-old daughter for that matter. Wilson and the little boy could expect to be beaten. As for Jackson, God help them all if the events of Monday night came to light. Claire could do nothing more to help them. That brutish man might well have a superior officer in Durban but she had no idea who he was.

  Michael drove into the yard minutes later, unaware of the police visit or what had brought it on. Claire quickly told him what she knew. ‘The fool!’ he exploded. ‘I’ve told him time and again that he was playing with fire.’

  Claire’s face was drained. ‘How can we help them? They’re our friends. The police can’t just detain them for no good reason.’

  ‘We can probably help all of them except Dyson.’ Michael thumped the bonnet of the Land Rover. ‘If he was at that meeting, then he’s done for.’

  ‘Michael, you know what the police are like. We must do something quickly.’

  He put an arm around her. ‘Be patient. If they’re not back in the morning, I know someone who might be able to pull strings.’

  ‘First Joe, then Tessa, and now this.’ She turned and faced him. ‘What else can go wrong?’

  ‘Is Tessa still . . .?’

  ‘Yes. But I don’t like locking her in like that, Michael. She’s not a dog.’

  ‘It’s only until tomorrow, Mother. You know it is for the best.’

  ‘I just wish I knew what makes her so difficult, that’s all.’

  ‘She hears a different rhythm from most of us.’ Michael looked wry. ‘Sorry. It’s the best I can do. I don’t know either. Whatever it is, let’s hope the convent cures her of it.’

  Michael collected Jennifer to take her to the party. He was not the best of company. Worries over Tessa and Dyson weighed heavily. An argument with Claire over the psychiatrist didn’t help. She wanted Tessa to go one more time, Michael said there was no point. In the end, Claire did take Tessa back to Annie Lewis but Tessa was frustratin
gly non-cooperative and the session was cut short.

  Halfway through the evening, Jennifer asked him what was wrong. Michael said, ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I think we’ve had this conversation before,’ she commented, and dropped it.

  They left the party early. On the way back to her place, Michael apologised for being such bad company. ‘I’ll tell you about it some time,’ he said.

  ‘Only if you want to.’

  So he told her about Dyson.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘You two were such good friends.’

  ‘I tried to warn him.’

  ‘You didn’t really expect him to listen, did you?’

  ‘No. It’s just that I feel so helpless. There’s nothing I can do for him.’

  ‘He knows that, Michael.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘It doesn’t stop me feeling bad though.’

  Jennifer made no comment. They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then, ‘That’s not all that’s bothering you, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I can wait.’

  ‘You’re going to have to. I can’t tell you yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because,’ he said, pulling up in front of her house, ‘I want you to have a good opinion of me first.’

  She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘I already have that. Goodnight.’ And she was gone.

  PART THREE

  1964–1967

  TEN

  Tessa shrugged off her mother’s ‘Well done, darling.’ The fact that she had cleaned up matriculation awards for English, Geography and Business Studies and come overall top of her class was of little importance to Tessa. After three and a half years at the convent, the only thing on her mind was that she was free of the hated place at last.

  They had been desperate years. Routine, ridiculously rigid rules, incessant prayer meetings, punishment meted out for the slightest thing, stupid giggly girls with whom she was forced to share dormitories, and a complete lack of freedom and privacy. Despite disobedience, disruptive behaviour and open aggression on her part in an attempt to be expelled, nothing had worked. What Tessa didn’t realise was that Michael had paid for the entire three and a half years in advance and that the money had been spent on some much needed renovations on the convent’s roof. As much as the nuns would have loved to see the back of her, they were stuck with her. As she waited her turn to be officially released into the world, Tessa could hardly contain her excitement.

  ‘Ah good morning, Mrs King.’ Mother Frances, the Mother Superior of the Sacred Hearts Convent of Mercy, allowed her eyes to flick to Tessa but they quickly returned to Claire. ‘Your daughter has done well.’

  Tessa could see how much the admission pained the good woman.

  Claire responded enthusiastically and Mother Frances was obliged to spend five minutes discussing the merits of the most difficult pupil the convent had ever had the misfortune of trying to educate. Finally, the Mother Superior turned to Tessa. ‘Congratulations, child. You are free to leave.’

  As they walked away Tessa could have sworn she heard Mother Frances aspirating loud relief.

  In the car on the journey home Tessa was silent, barely responding to Claire’s attempts at conversation. After a while her mother gave up and concentrated on driving. Tessa was free to let her thoughts wander.

  She remembered the day she left UBejane for the convent. If it hadn’t been for Sally she wouldn’t be sitting here today. She had been in the bathroom, desperate and rebellious. Her mother had just told her there was no way out, she had to go. When Tessa demanded an explanation, Claire had said, ‘Because I don’t trust you.’ Even though she knew her mother was right, the comment had stung.

  Standing in the bathroom, she had picked up Michael’s razor. ‘I’ll kill myself,’ she thought. ‘Then they’ll be sorry.’ She placed the blade against her skin where the veins showed, bluish and raised.

  Sally had experienced premonitions about her twin on a number of occasions and, each time, they had proved to be true. Michael was about to put Tessa’s suitcase in the car when his sister gave a sharp gasp of fright. ‘Quickly, Michael. Tessa’s in trouble.’

  Michael didn’t hesitate, he’d seen this inexplicable telepathy before. He dropped the case and sprinted inside. ‘Where’s Tessa?’ he shouted to Claire.

  ‘In the bathroom. What’s wrong? What is it?’

  Michael shouldered the door with such force that the lock tore clean out of the wood. The sudden intrusion startled Tessa so much that she dropped the razor, but not before Michael had seen it pressing against her wrist.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  ‘I’m not going, I’m not going, I’m not going, I’m not . . .’ Claire’s sharp slap on her face stopped the hysterical babbling and Tessa had crumpled to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

  Tessa supposed now that she was grateful to her twin but there had been many times during her years at the convent that she had wished she were dead. In the space of a couple of weeks the other girls stopped trying to make friends. She was too moody and too rude for them to bother. As Tessa’s subsequent sense of isolation deepened, she hid behind a mask of indifference. She was deeply unhappy but she was damned if she’d let anyone know.

  Holidays were a nightmare. Tessa blamed Michael and Claire for her unhappiness and took her anger out on them. Sally, who sensed Tessa’s misery, had tried to include her in her own group of friends but quickly stopped inviting her when it became obvious that her sister had nothing but contempt for her female friends and was embarrassingly flirtatious with the boys. Much to Tessa’s anguish, coinciding with each holiday Jackson was sent to his grandparents’ thereby removing that temptation.

  Perhaps if the two of them had been able to see each other during holiday time Tessa’s interest in Jackson would have simply remained just that. Instead, her feelings for him went skyrocketing out of perspective. So much so that now, at eighteen, Tessa believed that Jackson was the only man in the world for her. For the past year as a senior she had enjoyed the relative privacy of her own room. There, in the darkness, as she tried to relieve the sexual tensions building within, the face that swam above hers was Jackson’s.

  The Immorality Act meant nothing to Tessa. She accepted that it existed but, in her fantasies, the problem was solved by her and Jackson moving to a different country. She had convinced herself that he wanted to be with her as desperately as she wanted him. And now, at last, she was free to be with him.

  ‘Nearly there, darling.’

  ‘Good.’ She stirred in her seat, pushing memories of the convent into the back of her mind where, she hoped, they would fade away forever.

  The first thing Tessa did when she arrived home was to have a blazing row with Michael. He had convinced Claire to send her away with Sally to finishing school in France. ‘Like hell,’ she snapped at him when he told her. ‘I’ve had enough school. You can’t order me around.’

  ‘Okay. You tell me what you intend to do.’

  ‘Stay here of course.’ She sounded surprised.

  ‘And do what?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tessa hadn’t given her future a single thought. Freedom was what she craved. ‘Can’t I just stay here?’

  ‘How do you plan to live?’

  Money had always just been there. What was he getting at? ‘I can help Mother in the office.’

  ‘Nandi does that.’

  ‘Then I’ll get a job in Empangeni.’

  Michael sighed. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re a fair distance from town.’

  ‘I can borrow Mother’s car.’

  ‘Tessa,’ he said, exasperated, ‘try to think about others. You can’t have Mother’s car because she needs it.’

  ‘You are deliberately going out of your way to put obstacles in my path,’ she blazed. ‘UBejane is my home too. What’s wrong with me working here?’

  ‘This,’ he grated. ‘This is what’s wrong. You’ve bee
n home five minutes and already you’re disrupting things.’

  ‘That’s right. Blame me. All I’ve done is offer to work here.’

  ‘Darling,’ Claire intervened, ‘there’s just not enough work.’

  ‘Then get rid of Nandi.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Michael ran a hand through his hair.

  Tessa stamped her foot. ‘You don’t want me around, either of you. I’m not going to France, and you can’t make me.’

  ‘No,’ Michael agreed. ‘You’re eighteen and I can’t. But the farm will not support you.’

  Claire tried a softer approach. ‘Perhaps we can afford an old car. That way you could work in Empangeni.’

  ‘If you have to worry about buying me some wheels, how come you can afford to send Sally and me off to a poncy finishing school in Europe?’

  ‘I’ve been putting money away for that.’

  ‘Then send Sally and give me my share. I’ll buy a car with it.’

  ‘Tessa,’ Claire tried to explain, ‘it’s taken me eighteen years to save enough to send you to France. I’m not simply going to hand it over. If you don’t wish to go to finishing school that’s up to you but don’t think the money’s yours. It isn’t. I’m prepared to look around for a second-hand car. Michael can check it out to make sure it’s okay.’

  ‘I don’t want a heap of junk.’ Tessa glared venomously at Michael. ‘Not some clapped-out old bakkie.’ She turned and marched to her bedroom, slamming the door noisily.

  Claire shook her head and sighed. ‘What on earth do we do with her?’

  ‘Varsity?’

  ‘I’ve suggested that. She’s bright enough to get in but she refuses to entertain the idea of a university course.’

  ‘Why? She’d get the freedom she wants there.’

  ‘Tessa equates learning with discipline.’

  ‘Of course it’s a discipline but it’s her own. Surely she can see that. Look, Jennifer will be home next month. She had a wonderful time at varsity. Perhaps she can talk to Tessa.’