Deceive and Defend

by Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  ‘But if the spaza shop owners tried to burn down the shopping centre because they hadn’t been paid to close down their shops and because they didn’t receive compensation for a restraint of trade, they’d be arrested. Why should the taxi owners be rewarded—with our taxes—for acting like thugs,’ she’d asked. Mafuta accused her of speaking like a privileged defender of white monopoly capital – and she’d walked away, as she always did. She’d learned that trying to defend herself against accusations of white privilege and racism was an exercise in futility.

  ***

  As she approached Death Bend, Tracy could not bear to stay on Louis Botha Avenue a moment longer. She turned off the main road and wove through the rutted suburban streets. The route was longer, but at least she wasn’t a quivering wreck as she steered Buttercup into the parking lot at the Genesys complex. The gleaming white structure stood out like a sore thumb in the quiet residential surroundings. Derisively referred to as a white elephant, it consisted of two supermarkets: Pick ’n Pay upstairs, Woolworths Food downstairs; three storeys of shops, mostly empty; and above it all, over-priced apartments which the developers had not been able to sell and so had converted into furnished units which operated as a hotel.

  Tracy wiped her palms on her black courtroom slacks and extricated herself from Buttercup. She’d tried, without much success, to formulate a plan of attack for approaching Aviva, but she hadn’t got much further than the fact that she first had to find out which apartment Aviva was occupying.

  She walked into the Genesys building and hesitated. The hotel/apartment reception was up the escalator on the first floor, but she needed to consider all her options a little more. Should she just walk up to the desk and ask for Aviva Silverman’s apartment number? What if she didn’t call herself Aviva Silverman anymore? Perhaps she should try asking for Arno van Zyl. However, Darryl hadn’t said Arno was staying with Aviva; all he’d said was that Aviva had a baby. Tracy hoped it was Arno’s baby – that would put her story right over the top. The editor would be thrilled with her – and Mafuta would resign in shame.

  She ordered a double decaf latte at the Seattle Coffee shop and carried it to one of the outside tables to plan her approach a little more strategically. She watched the shoppers hurrying into Pick ’n Pay for groceries on their way home from work. After she’d finished interviewing Aviva, she’d go and buy a roast chicken to take home for supper, and perhaps a bottle of wine, to celebrate. Maxine would be delighted and it would make up for her rudeness that morning.

  Tracy drank the last of her latte and scraped her teaspoon around the inside of the glass mug, determined to get at the very last dregs of foam. And then she could delay no more. Sighing, she started towards the escalators and stopped. Aviva Silverman was walking towards the supermarket entrance, a cute blond toddler hanging on to her hand. And holding the child’s other hand was Arno van Zyl.

  ‘Daddy, Daddy, choccie,’ the little boy shouted in delight.

  Tracy couldn’t move. She prayed Aviva and Arno wouldn’t notice her, and just disappear into the Pick ’n Pay.

  Aviva noticed her. She picked the child up, placed him on her hip and walked directly towards her.

  ‘Hello Tracy,’ she said, her voice neutral and low. ‘I thought I saw you in court this morning. I’ve been following your coverage of the case on the Internet.’

  Tracy squirmed. ‘Hello Avi.’ She looked at Arno and tried to smile. ‘Hello Arno, this is a surprise. I’m so sorry about your dad. How’s your mom doing?’

  ‘Oh, of course, you know Arno,’ Aviva said. ‘Well, let me introduce you to our son. Tracy, meet Mattie. Mattie, say hello to aunty Tracy.’

  The little boy beamed and stuck out a plump hand. ‘Lo Tay-tay,’ he lisped.

  Chapter 27

  Aviva

  Aviva watched Tracy’s reaction to Mattie carefully. Her heart was hammering. She knew she was taking a massive risk, admitting her relationship with Arno to the nosy reporter who seemed to have a personal vendetta against Yair, and—it seemed—the whole Silverman family. She was pretty sure that Tracy suspected something about Arno’s lineage too. That was one of the reasons why she and Arno had gone into hiding in London. But she was tired of living in fear. She was tired of running. She was surprised at how much she’d enjoyed being back in South Africa, despite the circumstances. The sunshine and the wide open blue skies, even in Johannesburg; the friendliness of the people; the incredibly cheap prices, thanks to the weakness of the Rand; and childhood favourite chocolate bars like Tex and Bar One which were unobtainable in London.

  She also knew how much Arno missed his family and that he’d never forgive himself for the years he had stayed away from Steynspruit, always believing he would see his parents again, one day. Now it was too late. The gruesome circumstances of his father’s murder had shattered him.

  She’d never forget the look on his face when he’d come into the room as she was putting Mattie to bed. He was a deathly white, and his hand was shaking violently as he handed her his smartphone.

  ‘I got an email from De Wet,’ he’d said, his voice so low that Aviva barely heard him.

  Aviva quickly covered Mattie and led Arno from the room. The look on his face had dampened her quick spurt of anger and fear that his brother had somehow managed to obtain his email address. She knew Arno was in occasional email contact with his parents, but she hadn’t thought he’d be reckless enough to make contact with his brothers too – especially as De Wet and Steyn were both seasoned globetrotters and could easily track them down, wrecking the safety and security of their London hideaway home. She’d been so fearful when Arno had insisted on going to watch De Wet play in the ODI against England at Lords. Even if she hadn’t been so heavily pregnant with Mattie, she’d never have consented to go. It was tempting fate, she’d said. But Arno had insisted that De Wet would never spot him in the crowds – and he’d been right. Aviva had spent the day trying to control the panic that threatened to send her into labour two weeks prematurely, while Arno had cheered on the Black Caps from the stands. When Arno returned, elated at New Zealand’s unexpected victory and De Wet’s brilliant performance, Aviva had collapsed with relief. It was only a few hours later, when the tension pain in her back intensified and her waters broke, that Aviva realised she’d probably been in the early stages of labour all day.

  Now, it seemed, De Wet was about to disrupt her equilibrium again. It wasn’t right, not when she had her own concerns about her brother and little sister. She’d picked up Mattie’s passport and unabridged birth certificate earlier that day, and—once the baby had gone to sleep—she had planned to go online and book the first available flight to Johannesburg.

  ‘What’s the email say?’ she’d asked, taking the smartphone from Arno.

  It was in Afrikaans, but Aviva managed to make out that it had something to do with the family farm, Steynspruit, their parents and a murder.

  ‘I don’t understand it all – has something happened to the farm? Are your parents okay?’

  ‘No,’ Arno had whispered. ‘Pa is dead. Ma is... Ma is... Ma was... she’s in hospital. De Wet and Steyn are flying out today. I have to go too.’

  Aviva had held her husband’s shaking body as he wept. When he’d calmed a bit, she booted up the laptop and booked three seats to Johannesburg on the morning flight, then a connecting flight to Bloemfontein for Arno, from where he could hire a car to drive to Steynspruit. She would wait for him in Johannesburg.

  ***

  Tracy took Mattie’s little hand and her plain, pinched face lit up in a smile.

  ‘Hello Mattie,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you. You are a handsome little boy – your eyes are exactly like your uncle Yair’s.’

  She turned to Aviva and Arno and smiled at them too. ‘He’s quite gorgeous. How old is he?’

  ‘Almost twenty months,’ Arno said before Aviva could stop him. She didn’t want Tracy to start doing calculations that would indicate that she’d been pregnant when she
’d fled South Africa. But the reporter didn’t appear to have noticed. Instead, she turned her attention back to Mattie, crouching down to be on eye-level with him.

  ‘Are you going with your mommy and daddy to buy sweeties?’ she asked.

  Mattie nodded vigorously and Tracy smiled again.

  ‘What sweeties do you like best?’

  ‘Choccies!’ Mattie said, and Tracy nodded.

  ‘Me too! May I come with you to choose one?’

  Again, Mattie nodded and slipped his little hand into hers. Tracy unfolded her long, skinny frame and looked enquiringly at Aviva. ‘Will it be okay if I tag along? I can’t believe how gorgeous he is.’

  Aviva looked at Arno, who shrugged. ‘Sure,’ Aviva said, reluctantly. ‘Mattie seems to have taken a shine to you.’

  They all walked towards the sweet and chocolate aisle in the supermarket, their awkward silence broken by Mattie’s happy chatter. Aviva noticed that Tracy nodded seriously, as if agreeing with everything Mattie said, although she clearly understood very little, if anything, her chatterbox son was saying. Tracy hoisted Mattie onto her hip and the pair walked up and down the aisle in deep discussion about the merits of the different chocolates on display. Mattie and Tracy finally opted for a two-strip KitKat – Tracy having diplomatically steered him away from the large, see-through boxes of shiny gold Ferrero Rocher balls. Tracy then handed the child over to Arno.

  ‘I’m just going to get a roast chicken too, so I’ll say goodbye. Bye bye Mattie – lovely to have met you. Aviva, Arno,’ she nodded at them, hesitated, and then added: ‘Give Yair my love.’

  Aviva watched Tracy hurry off down the aisle towards the hot deli food counter at the back of the shop while Arno tried to persuade Mattie to wait until they had paid for his chocolate before he could eat it.

  ‘Well, that was odd,’ she said.

  ‘Why? She seemed friendly enough,’ Arno said and just managed to take the KitKat away from Mattie before he bit right through the silver and red wrapping.

  ‘I know. That’s what was so odd. We’ve never been friends – in fact, I always thought that she disliked me as much as I disliked her. And she’s been a total bitch to Yair – and then she says to send him her love! She’s nuts. I wonder what she really wanted.’

  “It was probably just coincidental that we ran into her here. She said she wanted to buy a roast chicken. Perhaps we should too – they look nice and I don’t feel like eating out tonight. Steyn said he might come around later after visiting Ma at the rehabilitation centre.’

  ‘Well then we’ll need three chickens! Oh Arno – I hope you’re right. What about the ICU nurse at the hospital who asked you who the woman with red hair was – the one she saw talking to your mother. She said your mom was really upset after that. I’m sure it was Tracy Jacobs.’

  ‘Well, Ma hasn’t said anything about it. And Tracy hasn’t asked any awkward questions. So I think we should just forget it.’

  Aviva knew she’d never be able to forget it. She knew she’d live in constant fear that Tracy Jacobs would somehow find the proof she needed to break the story about her and Arno – and Mattie. She knew that when that happened, she couldn’t be anywhere near South Africa. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if the media vultures descended and harassed her innocent little son.

  ‘Arno, I want to go home – back to London,’ she said when they were back in the apartment.

  ‘I agree. I’ve been thinking about it too. I need to get back to work. Ma is making pretty good progress, but she will have to stay at the rehab centre for a few more weeks. She seems to be quite comfortable there and I’ll fly back to check on her as much as I can – so will Steyn and De Wet. But De Wet reckons it shouldn’t be too much longer until her New Zealand papers come through. But what about Yair – and Zivah?’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do for Yair now and Carol Aronowitz will keep me informed about the results of Zivah’s tests. She has to stay at the psychiatric hospital for another month or so. So there’s nothing to do here. And I’m sure Zaidah Ben is missing Mattie.’

  ‘Zaidy, Zaidy, Zaidy,’ Mattie chortled. ‘Want Zaidy.’

  Chapter 28

  Zivah

  I don’t like this doctor lady. She is a big fat liar. She is pretending to be all nice and kind to me but I know that’s just because she wants me to tell her ugly things about Mommy and Daddy and Yair. And I won’t. I’m not going to say anything. I don’t like her. She thinks I’m stupid. But I’ll show her I’m not stupid. I’ll pass her stupid tests. I can do tests. I learned how to do tests when I was at school. Daddy says... Daddy said I’m not stupid. Yair also says I’m not stupid. I just have to think really hard, and then I can do anything. So if this stupid doctor thinks I’m stupid just because I won’t answer her stupid questions I’m going to show her that I’m not. But I still won’t talk to her. She is horrible. I won’t talk to horrible people. I’ll never talk to that fat, horrible ugly Carol Aronowitz ever again, ever! She tried to make me speak to Avi. I won’t. I won’t. I hate Avi. She pretends she loves me but she doesn’t. Only Daddy and Yair love me. It’s Avi’s fault that Daddy died. It’s Avi’s fault that Yair still hasn’t fetched me. I bet Yair was going to come back and take me home from The Lodge and now he won’t because Avi has come back. Avi thinks Yair loves her better than me because she is his twin sister, but I am Yair’s special, special sister. Yair said so. He did! Avi must go away again. I’ll tell the stupid doctor to tell Avi to go away. I’ll tell her to tell Avi that she can’t live with Yair and me. It’s our house. Not hers. It’s mine. Mine and Yair’s.

  I’m not going to speak to this stupid doctor ever again. She keeps asking me stupid questions like if I’m cross with Daddy. How stupid is that! I am cross with Daddy. He loves me. He told me. But then he went away. He shouldn’t have gone away. The stupid doctor keeps asking if Mommy loved me. She really is stupid. Mommy didn’t love me. Only Daddy loves me. He said so. The stupid doctor lady says Daddy didn’t really love me. That is really, really, really stupid! She is so stupid. I’ll scream and scream at her until she agrees with me.

  Gosh, I am getting tired of screaming but she still won’t listen to me. She has to listen. She has to say I am right. Okay, I’ll stop screaming now. But I won’t tell her that I loved Mommy because I don’t love Mommy. Mommy was stupid. She was just supposed to get sick. The doctor is so stupid to ask me how I know that Mommy was just supposed to get sick. Her face goes so funny when I tell her that she is stupid. She goes a sort of pinky red when I tell her that she is stupid and Daddy was clever. She smiles a funny smile when I tell her that Daddy knows everything and Daddy said I wasn’t stupid, and he was right, I’m not stupid. What a stupid question to ask me why Mommy was stupid. Of course she was stupid. She was only supposed to get sick. Daddy said so and Daddy’s clever. I’m not clever, not like Daddy and Yair. Avi’s stupid – I don’t care that she was always winning clever prizes at school. She’s stupid. Like Mommy. She went away too. But she didn’t die. She’s come back. I don’t want her back. She must go away. Tiffany won’t come back because she’s dead. Like Mommy. Mommy won’t come back. She’s also dead.

  See? I’m not stupid. Daddy said so. Mommy was stupid because she was only supposed to get sick. Daddy said so.

  I’m not going to say another word to the stupid lady doctor again. I don’t like playing with her stupid blocks. Blocks are for children and I’m not a child. I’m a grown-up. She thinks I’m stupid and gives me blocks to play with. But I’m going to show her that I’m not. Some of her questions are so stupid. There’s nothing the same about a cat and a dog. I don’t want to do this any more. But then the doctor will think she is so clever because she thinks I’m stupid and if I don’t answer her stupid questions she will think she is right. But I can’t think of anything about cats and dogs that’s the same except... except... they both have paws! See? I’m not stupid!

  Why does she keep asking me if Yair pushed Tiffany down the stairs? I’ve tol
d her he didn’t a hundred times. He didn’t. Tiffany tripped. I saw her. I told her Tiffany tripped but she keeps asking me if I am sure. Of course I’m sure. Tiffany was wobbling all over the place like Mommy used to when she was going to her bedroom. Tiffany was stupid. She should have stayed in her bedroom when she was all wobbly. Like Mommy did. Tiffany tripped and she died. Stupid Tiffany. Mommy never tripped. Mommy stayed in bed, because she was sick. She died too but she didn’t trip. Daddy said Mommy was stupid. I don’t think the doctor believes me. I have to tell her over and over again. I will keep telling her that Daddy said I wasn’t stupid and Daddy said Mommy was stupid and that Daddy loved me. If she doesn’t listen to me I will scream, and scream, and scream and scream.

  Chapter 29

  Tracy

  Tracy read over what she had written and hit the delete button. Once again she had lain awake all night, listening to the storm and mentally writing and rewriting the story, trying out different intros, various angles. But in the light of day, when the words actually appeared on her computer monitor, the story came out all wrong.

  She’d tried to get some momentum to the story by using an old trick her journalism lecturer had suggested: skip the intro paragraph and start from the body of the story where you could simply set out the facts. Once that is done, go back and write the introduction and possibly the next two or three paragraphs. But that wasn’t working either. The story just didn’t gel. She wanted to scream in frustration. This was undoubtedly the biggest story of her career. She’d done appalling things to get it: well, only one appalling thing – badgering a critically injured and emotionally distraught woman for information. That was so disgusting, so beyond her own moral compass and ethical beliefs, that she still could not believe she’d done it. It was not her proudest moment and she sincerely hoped Mr February would not think too badly of her. But, she consoled herself, she was a journalist and journalists—good investigative journalists with initiative—did what they had to in search of the truth.