“You said she spoke of me. What did she say?”
“That you are an educated woman, a teacher, and that she admires you greatly.”
I cannot stop the bitterness from creeping into my voice. “She has a strange way of showing that admiration.”
“Just because she has done things that you cannot understand does not mean that she does not love you.”
“Love is one thing. Trust and honesty are another. If you respect someone, you are honest with them.”
“Perhaps that is your problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I do not doubt that you are a good woman, but the very fact that you are so righteous might be the reason Nomsa could not be honest with you. Sinners have more forgiving ears than saints.”
His words cut me to the quick because I know them to be true. “Where is she?”
“I did not want to meet with you to tell you where she is. Only that she is where she wants to be and that it is people like Nomsa, revolutionaries like Nomsa, who will change the course of this country’s history.”
I cannot stop myself. “You mean terrorists like you and Nomsa?”
“No, I mean freedom fighters like us. You should be proud of her. Your daughter is a hero. It is a pity you cannot see that.”
It is as I leave that the rustle of wings catches my attention; it is an alien sound in the urban setting. I freeze when I spot the large owl perched on a nearby garbage can. This must be a good hunting ground for it; there are a lot of mice and rats in the city.
The owl is tensed up, ready for flight, so I stand completely still. Its yellow eyes stare at me unblinkingly, and I recall what my husband, Silumko, always said about them.
Owls are messengers of death. No good can come of seeing one.
I turn and run.
Forty-one
ROBIN
19 MARCH 1977
Johannesburg, South Africa
I answered the call because I was sitting closest to the phone. We’d just finished dinner, and I was doing my homework at the dining room table while Beauty sat on the couch, her knitting needles clacking against each other as she fed wool to a growing jersey.
“Hello? Robin? Is that you?” The person on the other end sounded agitated.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s Tannie Wilhelmina. I need to speak with Beauty, please.”
“Listen to this,” I said and cleared my throat. “Molo. Unjani?” Beauty had been teaching me Xhosa—the lessons were her birthday gift to me—and I grabbed every opportunity to practice.
“That’s very good, liefling, but could you quickly put Beauty on the phone?”
I sighed. Grown-ups could be so boring sometimes. “You want me to put her on top of the phone or call her to the phone?”
“Jinne, not now, Robin. This is no time for jokes. Just call her!”
“There’s always time for jokes, Willy.” “Willy” was the new nickname I’d come up with for her, but she didn’t like it very much.
“Sies, how many times must I tell you to stop calling me that? It’s a bad word! Now hurry up and call Beauty.”
I turned around to shout Beauty’s name, but she was already standing next to me holding out her hand. I passed the receiver over and then listened in on Beauty’s side of the conversation.
“Hello . . . In Soweto? How do you know? An hour, that is fine . . . I will be waiting at the back for you. Good-bye.”
“What did she want?”
“I need to go out tonight.”
“With Willy?”
“Yes.”
“Is it to do with Nomsa?”
“Maybe, that is what we need to go and find out.”
“In Soweto?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come with? Please?”
“We cannot take you into Soweto.”
“But—”
“Robin, my child, please listen to me. It would be too dangerous to take a white child into the township. It is out of the question.”
“But Willy’s white.”
“She is an adult who works in Soweto and they know her there. She will be fine, but a child would raise suspicions.”
“But—”
“I said no and that is my answer.”
I was about to protest again when I had an idea. “Okay, fine. I suppose you want me to go to Morrie’s tonight?”
“Yes, thank you for understanding. Could you please go down there now, and check with Rachel that it is fine for you to sleep over? I am not sure how late we will be back.”
“Fine,” I sighed as I stomped to the door, making sure my face looked like a thundercloud because that’s what Beauty would expect. All the while, my mind was in a whirl.
• • •
And what exactly do I get out of it?” Morrie asked half an hour later when I’d laid out the plan for him in detail and answered all his questions.
“You get to help a friend who’s asking you for a favor.”
“What you’re asking me to do is lie to my mother, which I can get into a lot of trouble for. And then on top of that, you’re asking me to spill my sacred Jewish blood for you. I’m going to need more than the satisfaction of helping a friend, I’m afraid.”
I groaned. There wasn’t much time left until Willy arrived and everything had to be perfect by then. “Okay, fine, what do you want?”
“Ten kisses.”
“Ten? That’s way too many.”
“And you need to hold my hand when we’re in public and not make vomity faces behind my back when I tell people you’re my girlfriend.”
“Ugh, okay, fine then.” I didn’t want to agree to his conditions, but I didn’t have time to argue. I’d just have to figure out a loophole down the line.
“And you need to tell my mother you’ve thought long and hard about it and that you want to convert to Judaism.”
“What? Why?”
“Because my mother said we shouldn’t get too serious, because I have to marry a Jew one day and you’re a heathen who wouldn’t be good wife material.”
“What would I have to do to convert?”
“I don’t know exactly. Probably learn Yiddish and how to make matzoh balls.”
I was already learning more Yiddish than I liked just by hanging around the Goldmans, but I did like matzoh balls. “Okay, fine.”
“Excellent. You have yourself a deal.”
“If you mess this up, the deal is off.”
“I won’t mess it up.”
“Remember, only come running out once she’s doing the reverse turn to get out of the parking lot so—”
“I know, I know. I won’t mess it up.”
“I hope not. See you down there.” With that, I turned and made a run for it in case he demanded the first of his ten kisses immediately. As I was heading out the door, Mrs. Goldman stepped out of the kitchen.
“Robin, sweetie, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I just quickly came to lend a pen,” I lied.
“Borrow. It’s ‘borrow a pen.’”
“Yes, exactly. Borrow a pen,” I said. “And Mrs. Goldman?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I want to convert to Julie-ism. Okay, bye.”
• • •
She said it’s fine. I can stay over,” I told Beauty as I headed out the door with the bulging kitbag I’d hastily packed. “See you tomorrow.”
“Come here first,” Beauty said from the kitchen where she was making a thermos of tea.
My stomach clenched. If she opened the kitbag, the game would be up. There was no way she could mistake Edith’s opera glasses, a bag of bread crumbs, black shoe polish, a balaclava, gloves, my surveillance notebook and a torch for my pajamas and toothbrush.
“Why?” I tried no
t to look or sound guilty.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I enthused. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I added a toothy grin for good measure.
Don’t look in the kitbag. Please don’t look in the kitbag.
“I thought you would be more upset. About being left behind.”
Of course! I’d made the mistake of not acting sulky enough. That’s why she was suspicious. “I want to come with you, but if you don’t want me there, I’m not going to beg.” I cued the angry expression again, and it seemed to satisfy her because she came over to hug me.
“It is for your own safety that I am not taking you with.”
“Okay. If you say so.” I squeezed Beauty back halfheartedly and then waved as I headed for the door. “Sala kakuhle. Ube namathamsanqa,” I said, making Beauty smile. Go well. Good luck.
“Hamba kakuhle,” she replied. Stay well. But, of course, I had no intention of staying anywhere.
• • •
I was in position in the parking lot hiding behind a yellow Ford Escort, peeking over its boot while looking out for Willy’s bakkie. The pickup she used for work had a canopy attached to the bed of the truck so things could be securely stored in the back. She was always carting supplies back and forth, and I was counting on it being as cluttered as it usually was so I could hide without her spotting me in the rearview mirror.
I couldn’t see Morrie anywhere. I didn’t know if that meant he was a good hider or if he was running late or had chickened out. There wasn’t time to find out because at that moment, the bakkie roared around the corner into the parking lot and came to a squealing halt close to the back door. Willy hooted once and the door opened. Beauty stepped outside and headed for the passenger door.
Once Beauty was inside the car, there was a crunch as Willy found reverse and the bakkie shot backwards. It was showtime. If Morrie didn’t time it right, he’d either be killed or he’d be too late to stop them from leaving.
The truck stopped inches away from where I was hiding; the canopy door just within my grasp. The gears protested again and as the first gear finally engaged and the bakkie started to accelerate, Morrie appeared from out of nowhere, running in front of the car. There was a loud bang as he slapped his hand down on the bonnet, and the van immediately lurched to a halt.
Morrie let out a bloodcurdling scream and I almost dropped my kitbag. He was either a really good actor or he’d been seriously hurt. Both doors opened and Beauty and Willy bailed out, rushing around the front of the car to tend to him. That’s when I crept forward and gently turned the handle on the back door. I’d told Morrie to make as much noise as he could so that it would mask any sounds I might be making, and he was doing a good job.
“Oh my God. The pain! The pain! Is that a light at the end of the tunnel I see? Have I died?”
The handle refused to budge. I tugged down on it again, but it still wouldn’t give.
Morrie was wailing and Willy’s raised voice joined the cacophony. “My magtig, I didn’t see you! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see where you came from. Are you all right? Can you stand?”
I closed both hands around the handle and pulled with all my might. Still nothing. If Willy had locked it, there was nothing that could be done and I’d have to call the plan off. I peeped around the car and saw Morrie standing, which was a relief. He was being held up by Beauty who was dusting him off.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Willy asked. “Are you bleeding? Do you think anything is broken?”
I was running out of time. In a last desperate effort, I tried pushing the handle up instead of down, and the latch immediately engaged and the door swung open. I crept inside, keeping myself as low as possible, and then pulled the door closed behind me. My luck was holding out; the back was stuffed with overflowing boxes and bulging black garbage bags. I squirmed my way as close to the front as I could and made myself a nest. Everything had worked out perfectly.
• • •
Sjoe, look here, my hands are still shaking.”
Wilhelmina’s voiced floated out to me from the open glass partition separating the back canopy area from the front seats.
“Watch the road,” Beauty replied.
“My magtig! I thought I’d killed the child. Did you see where he shot out from?”
“No, but I suppose that is how accidents happen. He is fine though. Concentrate on your driving.”
“Don’t you think we should have taken him back to his mother?”
“He said he was fine, but I will speak to her about it later when I see her.”
The sun had set and the headlights of the cars behind us lit up the bakkie’s roof in waves.
“What did you find out?” Beauty asked.
Wilhelmina exhaled a long, shaky breath and then replied, “One of my contacts was at an illegal bar in Meadowlands two nights ago. What do they call those places?”
“A shebeen.”
“Yes, a shebeen, and he heard talk of three women, all operatives, who were about to arrive back from their training. People are talking about it because it’s unusual to see MK soldiers who are women.”
“And where are we going now?”
“To the same shebeen. He said it sounded like the women would be hidden there for a few days. It’s worth us seeing if Nomsa is one of them.”
“Have you told Maggie of this?”
“Not yet. I thought I’d wait.”
“Thank you, Wilhelmina.”
“Ag, that’s okay. I just hope we find her.”
“You cannot come inside with me.”
“No, I already thought of that. I’ll park a few blocks away at one of our orphanages’ care worker’s houses. She knows I’ll be there. Just be as quick as you can.”
• • •
We lurched to a stop and the car was switched off.
“Okay, it’s the house I showed you on the right. The shebeen is called Fatty Boom Boom’s. You must pretend to be a customer, because if you go in there asking lots of questions, everyone will just clam up and Fatty will chuck you out because that’s bad for business.”
“Yes, I know,” said Beauty.
“Luckily it’s a Saturday night so they should be quite busy, which will help you blend in more. Mpho said he’d come back again tonight and he’d look out for you. You can sit with him and pretend you’re also a teacher.”
“I am a teacher.”
“Ag, you know what I mean. It will just look less suspicious if you’re sitting with him than if you’re a woman there alone. He’s quite light-skinned and he wears glasses. He said he’d wear a blue tie as well so you’d recognize him. I told him your name is Patience.”
“Patience?”
“What’s wrong with ‘Patience’? Patience is a virtue, you know. I just don’t want it getting back to Maggie that you’ve been asking more questions so a fake name seemed like a good idea. I’ll see you when you get back. I’m just going to pop inside and tell Gertrude that I’m here.”
“Thank you, Wilhelmina. Thank you for everything.”
“Ag, that’s okay. Good luck.”
One door slammed closed and then the other. I assumed that Beauty was on her way to the shebeen place, and Willy was headed for the house to check in with the owner. I only had a small window of opportunity to get out of the car so I could follow Beauty without Willy seeing me.
I shuffled to a side window and cracked it open so I could peer out. It looked like we were parked in a short driveway with a sand road behind us. Luckily, no one was out on the street because I didn’t want to wait for the coast to clear in case I lost sight of Beauty. Being lost and alone on the streets of Soweto, the scary place I’d heard so much about, didn’t appeal to me.
Rummaging in the kitbag, I felt around for what I needed. There wouldn’t be time to cover myself with black shoe
polish, and so I pulled the balaclava over my face and then put my gloves on. A white child would stand out like a sore thumb in Soweto and so my only hope was covering my skin as much as possible so no one could see it. Finally, I grabbed the bag of bread crumbs and eased my way out of the car as quietly as I could.
There was a sudden bang and I froze thinking I’d been shot at until I realized it was just Willy knocking on the person’s door. Another knock and then the door opened. I used the cover of their voices to mask the sound of the canopy door closing as I slipped out of the driveway and into the street. There weren’t any streetlights, but the moon was full and I was able to see Beauty’s silhouette slip around the corner at the end of the street. I set off after her trailing bread crumbs behind me so I could find my way back.
The only window that looked into the front of the house where Beauty had entered was around the corner at the far side of the yard. It was small and narrow and very high up, tucked in just under the tin roof. There was no way I could reach it unless I found something to stand on. At least it was out of sight of the main entrance where people were constantly coming and going from; I’d had to duck past really quickly to avoid being seen.
I looked around the sandy yard for a ladder or table, and even though it was almost as cluttered as a junkyard—filled with rusted beds, car parts, broken appliances and other strange metal objects—I couldn’t see any furniture that would be able to elevate me high enough. I poked around some more and finally found a few beer barrels and oil drums stacked up against an outhouse.
If I stand on one of those with my tippy toes, it just might work.
Music and laughter from inside masked the sound of my alternately dragging and pushing an empty drum across to the wall. It took a while to navigate it around all the junk. The exertion made me perspire so that the woolen balaclava scratched against my face, making it hard to resist the temptation to yank it off. When I finally had the drum in position, I hopped up. Even standing on my toes, the drum wasn’t high enough, and I jumped down again to see if I could find something to prop me up further.
It was while I was digging around at the back of the property that I saw it: the white van with “JC Plumbing” stenciled across its side with red letters. It was parked in the shadows away from the street. I checked the license plate just to be sure. BBM676T. I was right; it was the car driven by the man who’d blindfolded Beauty that day.
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