Deceive and Defend

by Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  ‘Good grief! You’re talking about De Wet van Zyl, aren’t you? I did read something about that attack!’ Darryl said. ‘Are you really married to his brother? What’s he like – De Wet I mean? He’s an amazing cricketer. I always thought he was even better than Kevin Pietersen. It’s so sad that he went to play for New Zealand – we really need guys like him in the Proteas.’

  Aviva shook her head. ‘I’ve never met him and I don’t know anything about cricket. Can we get back to the issue at hand – why my stupid, stupid brother is taking the blame for a murder he didn’t commit?’

  The door flew open and the Jewish reservist rushed in, his face flushed and sweaty. ‘Yair, move – I have to get you back to your cell pronto. The sergeant is back and he consumed far too much of the good stuff at his Christmas lunch so I really don’t want to have to explain to him why I let your sister in here. Come on – move it!’

  ‘Avi – you can’t tell Darryl anything! Not without me being there,’ Yair said as he was led away.

  ‘I have to,’ she replied. ‘Come on Darryl, I’ll buy you a coffee—if we can find anything open on Christmas afternoon—and I’ll tell you everything.’

  Part 3

  January 2017

  Chapter 23

  Carol

  Carol stretched out on the couch, sipped her Merlot and sighed. It wasn’t quite to her taste – she really preferred a white wine, like a Chardonnay, but the Merlot had been on special at Pick ’n Pay and beggars couldn’t be choosers. Anyway, it was probably better that she didn’t much like Merlot – she had to keep a clear head. Tomorrow was going to be an extremely difficult day.

  She sipped again and found herself absently fingering the frayed edge of the cushion. She mentally scolded herself, picked up the television remote control and changed the channel. It looked like a soapie, in Zulu or Sotho or some other African language that she didn’t understand. She changed the channel again – an Afrikaans programme. Her Afrikaans was decidedly rusty. She switched to eTV: yet another discussion about how Zuma had survived the vote to oust him as head of the ANC by some dissidents within the ANC’s top structures, and how this probably meant the end for Finance Minister Pravin Gordhan. It was all so predictable. Even the finding by the Constitutional Court that the President had failed to uphold, respect and defend the constitution, made no difference to Zuma’s cronies in the ANC and Parliament. They were more concerned with lining their pockets than running the country as it should be run. And everyone just kept on and on and on talking and talking and talking about how bad Zuma was for the country while the country accelerated down the slippery slope to total destruction.

  She snorted, and sipped the Merlot. Damn George. There was absolutely nothing to watch on television any more now that she was restricted to the so-called ‘free-to-air’ channels. DSTV had been her only indulgence and she’d had no choice but to give it up. Even the smallest bouquet of channels offered by the subscription service was ridiculously expensive and wasn’t much better than sticking with the free channels. She just wished there were fewer programmes in the other languages on SABC – and that when there were English programmes, like the news, the English used was understandable, let alone grammatically correct.

  She sipped, sighed again and switched the television off. She’d use the evening productively: she’d plan her approach to tomorrow’s meeting with Aviva Silverman. She’d been so shocked when Hannah had informed her that Zivah Silverman’s sister wanted to see her tomorrow, and that she’d slotted her in at noon: she hadn’t objected. And then it was too late. Hannah had already confirmed the appointment and didn’t know how to reach Aviva to cancel it.

  Carol reached for the wine bottle to top up her glass and was surprised to find it empty. Well, it hadn’t been full when she’d sat down to watch TV. She’d opened it the night before and had a glass while watching a rerun of something she had seen so long ago on DSTV, it was almost like watching a new programme. She stood up, walked to the kitchen, and retrieved another bottle of Merlot from the cupboard.

  ***

  Carol warily appraised the young woman sitting opposite her on the orange plastic chair. Aviva Silverman had barely changed. She was still tiny and trim, just like her poor late mother. She had her mother’s dark hair—cut stylishly short—and her dark eyes. Her voice was soft and low, assured, precise. Apart from her figure, she was nothing like her sister – but with everything that family had been through, one never knew. Outward appearances could be frightfully deceiving as Carol knew well after years of dealing with the damaged and deranged of Johannesburg’s Jewish community.

  ‘How are you holding up, Aviva?’ she asked

  ‘Me? Oh I’m fine. I just wanted to find out...’

  ‘And Yair? How is he doing, poor boy?’

  ‘He’s okay. I saw him on Christmas Day. He’s obviously worried about...’

  ‘Good, good. Glad to hear it. Now, I wonder if I could ensure I have your correct contact details. Wait a moment, I just want to open your file.’

  Carol eyed Aviva surreptitiously as she waited for her computer to boot up. She had deliberately switched it off before Hannah had shown her in, knowing it would take a while to get up and running again – and she wanted to waste as much time as possible before having to answer the questions about Zivah that she knew were inevitable.

  ‘But you have my details—you phoned me after Tiffany died—don’t you remember? My number hasn’t changed.’

  ‘Well, I tried to reach you after poor Yair was arrested and it just rang and rang so I thought that perhaps ...and even Yair didn’t know where to reach you. I asked his lawyer and he said Yair didn’t know. I do think that was very remiss of you, Aviva, not to be in contact with your brother, particularly as he... particularly in the current situation. You can see how important it is that family members know where to reach each other.’

  ‘Well, I’m here now. I want to talk about...’

  ‘You know, I even tried that shelter in Israel, the one where I tracked you down last time but they said they hadn’t seen you for years.’

  ‘I no longer live in Israel. Carol, can we please talk about Zivah now.’

  Carol suppressed a sigh, knowing she had run out of delaying tactics.

  ‘Zivah? Of course. Zivah is fine.’

  ‘Do you think you could arrange for me to visit her? It would be okay if I went to see her, wouldn’t it? Do you think she’ll speak to me? She wouldn’t the last time I tried to visit her.’

  ‘Well, she’s still very... um, fragile. I’m not sure...’. A loud bang at her office door made Carol jump. Aviva swung around as the door flew open.

  Carol had never been as glad to see Shlomo in her life. The man lumbered into her office, and Carol suppressed a grin as Aviva wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Carol Aronowitz,’ Shlomo said. ‘I want to speak to you. Now.’

  He glared at Aviva who seemed to shrink into her chair. His looming bulk and fetid odour would have sent any sensible person scuttling for the door, but Aviva remained glued to her seat.

  ‘Aviva, perhaps I could ask you to wait in reception while I deal with Shlomo,’ Carol said hopefully.

  ‘Hello Shlomo,’ Aviva said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Aviva Silverman and I’ve come a long, long way to speak to Carol so would you mind very much waiting until my appointment is over?’

  Aviva’s hand disappeared into Shlomo’s enormous paw. ‘You’re Zivah Silverman’s sister, aren’t you? I know her from The Lodge. I stay there too now. You don’t look like her. She’s blonde. But you’re also very pretty.’

  Carol interrupted: ‘It’s okay Shlomo, Aviva won’t mind waiting a little, as you seem very upset.’

  ‘No, it’s okay, I just wanted to chat,’ Shlomo said, heading to the door and Carol’s heart sank. ‘I’ll just go and speak to Russell. Haven’t seen him for ages. Pleasure to meet you, Zivah’s sister.’

  He disappeared down the corridor. Carol reached behind her for the air fres
her and sprayed it liberally around the office.

  ‘Let’s leave the door open for a bit – just to get some fresh air in here,’ she said.

  ‘It’s okay. Can we talk about Zivah now? How is she doing?’

  ‘As I said, she is fine.’

  ‘Does she ever talk about our mother?’

  ‘Aviva, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you what Zivah and I discuss. Our meetings are confidential.’

  ‘But I’m her sister!’

  ‘Even if you were her parent, I’d still have to get Zivah’s permission to disclose anything to you. You do understand, don’t you? Legally, Zivah is an adult and despite her intellectual disability, I am obliged to treat her as such.’

  Aviva was silent. Carol hid her relief. It seemed the young woman was going to accept this and go away.

  ‘What about me?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Does Zivah ever talk about me? Does she ever mention me?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course she does. But I can’t tell you...’

  ‘I know, you can’t tell me what she says. I get that. Look Carol, I’m worried about her. I’ve tried to phone her at The Lodge, but she refuses to speak to me.’

  ‘That’s her right. We can’t force her to speak to you, or indeed, to meet with you.’

  ‘I know. It’s just that...’

  Carol watched Aviva curiously. There was clearly something worrying the young woman – something more than concern for her sister’s wellbeing.

  ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me, Aviva? It would just be between us, if you prefer. There’s no need for me to share your confidences with anyone – not even Zivah.’

  Aviva hesitated, but Carol could see how conflicted she was. ‘Aviva, it really might help if you tell me what is troubling you.’

  Suddenly, it was as if a dam had burst and the words came tumbling out in a torrent of pent-up anguish.

  Carol was stunned. She couldn’t believe what Aviva was telling her. If she understood Aviva’s garbled narrative correctly, it coincided so closely with her own suspicions that she felt a chill creep up her spine.

  ‘Slow down, Aviva. You’re not making much sense. How long have you suspected this?’

  ‘From the time I first brought her here. I’m so sorry – I should have said something then, but I was worried you might call the police or have her committed and shut up in a mental hospital. Just think – she could have been one of those poor people who were at Life Esidimeni and were taken to all those unregistered facilities and starved to death. How horrible!’

  ‘Zivah would never end up in a public facility like that. Even if you didn’t have your own financial resources, the Chev would never allow it. Those poor people who were shoved out of Esidimeni had no money. That’s why they were in a government facility in the first place and why they could be treated like rubbish. Actually, I heard that the death toll might be even higher than was originally thought. It’s absolutely criminal. I hope whoever was responsible goes to jail and rots there, they’re no better than murderers. Such a pity the death sentence has been abolished. Oh dear – I’m so sorry,’ she said, realising that Aviva might think she was referring to Yair.

  Carol quickly changed the subject. ‘But you were telling me about Zivah. So you suspected that she might have had something to do with your mother’s death? What made you think that?’

  ‘Are you sure Zivah would never be sent to a place like that? Could she be sent to prison – I mean, if it came out that she did, you know...if she did have something to do with Mom’s death?’

  ‘I suppose it would depend. She would probably have to have a full psychiatric evaluation to see if she could even stand trial. That is, if she were ever charged with your mother’s murder.’

  ‘Do you think she might be?’ Aviva whispered. ‘I mean – can I close the door? In case someone overhears what we’re saying?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Shlomo’s odour has dissipated at last,’ Carol said, but gave the office one last spray with the air freshener anyway.

  Aviva returned to the plastic chair and learned forward. ‘Carol, has Zivah said anything to you about Tiffany?’

  ‘I... I... I can’t... I told you, I can’t disclose anything Zivah might have said to me during one of our sessions.’

  ‘Of course. So I’m going to tell you what I suspect – and what I think Yair also suspects, although he won’t admit it. You have to promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. Okay?’

  Carol nodded. She was starting to feel decidedly queasy again. She was pretty sure that Aviva was about to vocalise her own suspicions.

  ‘I think Zivah might have had something to do with Tiffany’s death too. I don’t know how she did it. I mean, I can’t think how on earth she would have been able to get her hands on Ativan or insulin.’

  But I know, Carol thought.

  ‘But that’s exactly how our mother died. Zivah all but told me she’d killed Mom... and I think she did it again, to Tiffany. There, I’ve said it. Do I sound crazy?’

  No crazier than me, Carol thought. Aloud she said: ‘It does sound a little strange, but I suppose... Who else have you told?’

  Aviva shook her head again. ‘No one. I’m sure it’s what Yair is thinking too, but he won’t say anything because he is worried about Zivah. I am too, but I’m also worried about my brother. I did sort of tell Darryl – that’s Yair’s lawyer, but not everything because I don’t have any proof. I thought you might. I though perhaps Zivah had said something to you too. Like she said to me when she told me what had really happened to Mom. But that’s not proof, is it? More like hearsay or something. And now even Yair says he doesn’t believe me anymore – about Mom I mean, but I think he’s just saying that because he wants to protect Zivah. So do I – but Yair can’t go to jail for something he didn’t do. And I know, I just know he would never have harmed Tiffany. I don’t know what to do. What do you think I should do?’

  Carol didn’t know what to say. And then she realised Aviva had unknowingly provided the solution to all her fears. If she handled this correctly, there would be no cause for her own professional lapse to ever come to light.

  ‘Aviva, if I understand you correctly, your greatest fear is that Zivah might have to go on trial and risk being convicted for murder – and then be sent to prison like any other criminal. Is that correct?’

  Aviva nodded. ‘Yes, or that she might end up in one of the terrible places like the Esidimeni people.’

  ‘I think you are getting a little ahead of yourself. We have to take this one step at a time. I think the first step would be to have Zivah assessed—properly assessed—by a psychiatrist, a psychologist and probably an occupational therapist too. She’s never had such an assessment, has she?

  ‘I don’t think so. We never thought there was anything wrong with her, other than that she was a little slow. But Mom told me she drank a lot when she was pregnant with Zivah and she certainly blamed herself for her condition. I think that’s why Mom was such a wreck – well, one of the reasons anyway.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Carol said. ‘Full psychiatric and psychological evaluations may enable us to ascertain whether Zivah actually did the things we—you—you think she did, or might have done. You have quite taken me by surprise with all this, you know. I had no idea, none at all. I am quite shocked that you even think Zivah might have... but, of course, we don’t even know if she is capable of doing something like that. However, if she is—and she did—having her mental status evaluated by competent professionals will also help us establish whether she understood the consequences of her actions. Once that’s been clarified, we can decide what action to take.’

  Aviva still looked worried. ‘What if she won’t submit to a psych exam? Or if she won’t cooperate. As you said, she is an adult, she can refuse.’

  Carol smiled. ‘The Mental Healthcare Act makes provision for what is termed involuntary treatment in instances where individuals require intervention for their own
protection or, in this case, the protection of others. Zivah is already in our care involuntarily – she doesn’t want to stay at The Lodge but she is here because you and your brother have asked us to care for her as she is clearly unable to live independently. Similarly, she could be referred for assessment by you – or even by us.’

  ‘Okay. But will she have to be admitted to a government psychiatric hospital like Weskoppies or Sterkfontein? That would be terrible,’ Aviva said, horror writ large all over her pale face.

  ‘No, no. That won’t be necessary. We’ll refer her to a private psychiatrist, who might examine her as an outpatient, or perhaps admit her to a private psychiatric hospital. Now, I’ll just get the forms for you to sign, and we’ll take it from there.’

  Chapter 24

  Aviva

  The courtroom looked horribly familiar as Aviva stepped shakily through the back door into the public gallery. There were already several people sitting on the dark wooden benches. She excused herself as she stepped over strangers’ feet and found a place in the middle of the front row. The magistrate’s bench on the opposite side of the court wasn’t yet occupied. The media benches at the side were empty. Aviva’s heart rose. During her mother’s inquest the media benches had been packed. Perhaps they had lost interest in Yair Silverman.

  The side door, leading in from the balcony, opened and a large, square-shaped woman wearing a frumpy black skirt, what looked like a man’s white shirt and black lace-up flat shoes entered, closely followed by a flustered-looking Darryl. They placed large, square black briefcases on the table in front of the dock and sat down.

  ‘Darryl,’ Aviva hissed.

  Darryl looked around, saw her and hurried over. ‘Hi Avi, glad you’re here. Where’s your husband? I thought he might come to give you some support today.’