Whitethorn

by Bryce Courtenay

  As I lay in bed that night my mind started to work things out. Not that a seven-year-old is much good at solving complex problems, as he can’t really understand possible outcomes. But what I knew made me very worried. Firstly, I already knew that Fonnie and Pissy had conspired with Meneer Botha to concoct the story of Fonnie falling down the big rock. But all that had changed and there was the new Pissy confession to Mevrou version of what happened. This was all lies but she believed him and when she believed something, watch out, man! In this second version I still wasn’t there, but Mattress was. Secondly, Mattress was now supposed to have penetrated Pissy in his hut before the rock incident took place and of course this was also a pack of lies.

  I started blubbing because I knew if I went and told Meneer Prinsloo the real truth then Tinker would be dead. You couldn’t go around accusing someone like Meneer Frikkie Botha of lying and concocting stories and expect him not to get his own back. I was also certain that the superintendent wouldn’t believe me, wouldn’t take my word against two important grown-ups like Frikkie Botha and Mevrou. Besides, he knew already that everyone in The Boys Farm lied to the staff all the time, so how would he know I was telling God’s honest truth? So if I talked I was going to lose the two people I loved the most in the world, Mattress and Tinker. It was the saddest moment in my life because I didn’t know what to do to save them. I’ve told you before how it was survival of the fittest in that place and now look what was going to happen, even if they didn’t believe me. Tinker would be dead and Mattress would be taken away by the police and sent to Pretoria where they would hang him by his neck until he was stone dead.

  It hit me all of a sudden, if I said nothing, stayed stom, Tinker would stay alive and only Mattress would be killed. There was nothing I could do to save Mattress. Or, if there was, I wasn’t capable of thinking what it might be. The forces ranged against us were just too powerful. But I knew that somehow, whatever happened, it was my fault and that’s why I was blubbing. Then someone shouted, ‘Shurrup, Voetsek, and go to sleep!’ Until then I hadn’t realised I’d been crying so loud.

  What I’m about to tell you is what happened next. But, of course, I wasn’t present for most of the grown-ups’ conversations. I only found these out some years later and in a rather sad way when I met up with Fonnie du Preez and Pissy Vermaak again. But I’ll tell you about that later. So there has to be some speculation involved. Pissy and Fonnie were present for a lot of what took place and Pissy, like all good liars, had an excellent memory and seemed to recall the conversations just the way they happened.

  Mevrou said, ‘Doctor, I’m not an expert in such things you understand, but when I saw it I also definitely knew.’

  Pissy Vermaak was hauled in front of Doctor Van Heerden who examined him in the sick room in the presence of Mevrou, while Meneer Prinsloo waited in the other room. He put Vaseline on his finger and made Pissy lie on his knees and elbows and he stuck his finger up Pissy’s bum. Then when he pulled it out he said, ‘Ja. Most definitely, this boy has been sexually molested. See here, contusions around the anus and severe bruising, this boy has been through a difficult experience.’

  ‘Ag, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, Doctor,’ Mevrou said. ‘It’s a terrible thing to happen to a child.’

  Doctor Van Heerden said to Mevrou, ‘Is there a camera here?’

  Mevrou said she didn’t know but she’d go and ask. She left the room and Pissy heard her ask Meneer Prinsloo if he had a camera and he replied that he’d go and fetch it.

  Pissy had to wait, lying on his stomach, until the superintendent returned and Meneer Prinsloo came back with his wife’s box brownie.

  ‘I’m not so sure we can get the close-ups we require,’ Doctor Van Heerden said.

  ‘Ag, I think it will be orright, doctor, we use it for our snaps when we go on holiday and it always gives good pictures,’ Meneer Prinsloo assured him.

  ‘Perhaps if we light the area with a torch?’ Doctor Van Heerden suggested.

  Mevrou went and got a torch and Pissy had to go back on his knees and elbows and the doctor separated his buttocks and Mevrou held the torch and Meneer Prinsloo took three snaps. As it turned out later, you couldn’t see anything, just some smudges and Sergeant Van Niekerk said they were hopeless and jus’ looked like shots taken of the moon that he’d seen in a magazine, Die Huisgenoot, only last week. He said the magistrate would throw them out of his court but that the good doctor’s evidence was all they needed. Doctor Van Heerden said he would write a report for the police and then he left.

  After that they gave Pissy some dinner.

  Well, that was only the beginning. What happened next was a big surprise. The next day, after Meneer Prinsloo said he’d prayed to God for guidance, he called everybody together except, of course, Mattress.

  First, Mevrou told her version of what happened, how Mattress had done the penetration to Pissy in his hut. Then about the fight and how Fonnie had come off second best. All the lies Pissy had told her that she’d swallowed hook, line and sinker. As she finished, Frikkie Botha smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

  ‘Wragtig! Now, at last I understand,’ he said. ‘I always thought the story wasn’t the truth.’ He turned to Fonnie and Pissy. ‘Why did you lie to me, hey?’

  They didn’t say anything, just looked down at their toes so that Meneer Prinsloo demanded, ‘Speak up, man!’

  Fonnie pointed to Pissy and said, ‘He was ashamed and couldn’t tell anyone except me.’ Fonnie said softly, ‘I told him I would fight the kaffir for him.’

  ‘And teach him a lesson he’d never forget!’ Pissy added, enjoying the attention.

  So you can see, they were both expert liars.

  Frikkie Botha was pleased with the reply because now he was off the hook and could go along with the Mevrou version. ‘He’s not in your weight class, man. You now a junior middleweight and that kaffir is a heavy,’ he said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

  ‘You should have reported it to me at once, you hear!’ Meneer Prinsloo said angrily. ‘We can’t have crimes like this happening around the place. I am going to have to call the police. This is a very serious crime.’

  They were all silent for a moment, then Frikkie Botha said, ‘I only want you to do me one favour before you call Sergeant Jan van Niekerk, who is a good friend of mine.’

  ‘What? What favour?’

  ‘Let me have a go at him in the boxing ring. What Fonnie did was an honourable thing, even if he should have reported the incident to you. Now what I want to do is finish the business, let that kaffir come in the ring with somebody his own size for a change, hey?’ Which just goes to show how far people will go to cover up things. Frikkie Botha knew the truth but he must have been thinking, if it ever came out, him boxing Mattress would prove to people that he didn’t know it. That the boxing was a regte Boer’s righteous anger and his own personal revenge for what Mattress had done to one of his boys. After all, like I said before, it would only be the word of a kaffir and a rooinek against his and who was going to believe them anyway?

  Meneer Prinsloo shook his head slowly. ‘I dunno, man, I think we should just have him arrested right away. “Revenge is mine, sayeth the Lord.” ’

  ‘Ja, but when he’s arrested the story is going to get out, you can’t hide a thing like this even if you try your hardest. People are going to hear about it, it’s best brought out in the open. If they think we just called the police,’ he looked at Pissy, ‘and just let one of our children suffer, they’d think we don’t care about our kids on The Boys Farm.’

  Meneer Prinsloo frowned and still looked doubtful.

  ‘I think it is a good idea, Meneer Prinsloo. Kobus has suffered terribly and for the rest of his life he’s got a scar,’ Mevrou said.

  ‘You know, I still got one problem,’ Meneer Prinsloo said. ‘A kaffir is a kaffir and when a kaffir does something like this he will run away.’

  ‘He is a Zulu,’ Frikkie Botha said hast
ily, as if this explained everything. ‘If he was a Shangaan he would run, but a Zulu . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

  ‘You know they do it all the time, even to their women,’ Mevrou interrupted.

  ‘Do what?’ Meneer Prinsloo asked.

  ‘They use the back instead of the front so the woman doesn’t get pregnant,’ Mevrou explained.

  ‘Sis, man, that’s a kaffir for you!’ Frikkie said, happy for the confirmation.

  ‘Also, in the mines in Johannesburg there’s no women in the single men’s compound so they do it to each other,’ Mevrou said. Then, by way of explanation, she added, ‘My cousin works in the mines, and he says they don’t think it’s shameful only because there are no women around. They don’t think like us.’ She suddenly remembered the presence of Pissy and Fonnie. ‘You two not allowed to hear this, you hear?’ she instructed.

  ‘You think this kaffir was first in the mines?’ Meneer Prinsloo asked.

  ‘Maybe, but he won’t tell you if you ask. They don’t like you to know because some of them break their contract and run away and then they wanted by the police,’ Frikkie said. He seemed to be thinking for a moment, then suddenly exclaimed, ‘Magtig! Why didn’t I think about it before! He’s a Zulu, this isn’t Zulu country, it’s too far north, this is Shangaan country. A Zulu who is here is hiding for sure. These are not his people, he doesn’t speak their language. I think when we take a good look at his pass we in for a big surprise, man.’ He looked up at the superintendent, appealing to him. ‘Just let me have one go at him, Meneer?’ he begged. ‘Just three rounds in the boxing ring, fair and square, with him also wearing gloves so that the kaffirboeties in Pretoria can’t accuse us of not playing fair.’

  Kaffirboetie means a nigger’s brother and is a white person who sticks up for a black person’s rights. You can be sure there were no such people in this part of the world. Nevertheless you could see the superintendent was taking this into consideration. He felt much better now that he knew Mattress was a fugitive from justice, an escaped mine boy, but he still wasn’t sure.

  ‘Kaffirs can’t just go around hitting white men and even if white men can hit kaffirs they can’t go around fighting them in a boxing ring. Here, man, what would people say if all of a sudden white men and black men are fighting each other in the boxing ring and kaffirs are allowed to win?’

  Frikkie thought for a moment. ‘It’s happened before, the great German boxer Max Schmeling knocked out the American kaffir Joe Louis.’

  ‘Yes, in America, but this is South Africa, here we a more civilised people.’

  ‘Ja, that’s true, but we also Boere and we believe in justice.

  The kaffir boy is a heavyweight and when he picked on Fonnie he was fighting a middleweight. That is a no contest. I am a heavyweight. Let the black bastard come up against someone his own size for a change.’ As his final shot he added, ‘You don’t want everybody to think a Boer can’t take care of his own children and the boys here on the farm, they under your care, they just the same as your children.’

  ‘Ja, well, I know I am a true father to them. But still I don’t know . . . kaffirs boxing white men. I’ll have to think about it some more,’ Meneer Prinsloo said. ‘We also got our own pride to consider, Meneer,’ Mevrou said, drawing her head back and pulling her lips into a thin line. ‘We also work here and Frikkie is right, a father doesn’t just stand there and watch his children being thrown into a rock by a kaffir boy.’ She pointed to Fonnie du Preez. ‘What we got here is a broken arm and a broken nose and his head is full of stitches. But God willing, he will get better from that.’

  She turned to Pissy. ‘But Kobus Vermaak is only ten years old, and you heard what the doctor said; he has been physically molested.’ She looked directly at the superintendent. ‘Do you know what that means? It means he’s got scars on his brainwaves for the rest of his life. The pictures we got on the camera, that’s nothing, what about the pictures he’s got on his brain camera? Pictures of a kaffir that done unspeakable things to him.’ She placed her hand on Pissy’s shoulder. ‘If Kobus can see we care about what happened to him, if this kaffir is punished by us and not only by Sergeant Jan van Niekerk but by you, who the Government says has to be a father to this boy, then maybe he can get better because he will know he is loved.’

  Meneer Prinsloo was momentarily overcome by Mevrou’s words. ‘It is true I love all the boys here on the farm,’ he said, his eyes growing misty. ‘God has charged me to look after them, and while it is sometimes a terrible burden I accept my duty with humility. A shepherd must always take care of his flock no matter what, and I must be a loving father to these boys.’ He looked gratefully at Mevrou. ‘You are right, the gospel says, “Whosoever harms a sparrow, harmeth me, sayeth the Lord”.’ He turned to Frikkie Botha, suddenly all business, and said, ‘What are you going to say to the pig boy?’

  ‘What do you mean, Sir?’

  ‘Well, you can’t just put him in the boxing ring and give him a good hiding when he doesn’t know why you doing it.’ He pointed to Fonnie. ‘You can’t tell him it’s because he threw du Preez against the rock, he’ll get suspicious and next thing you know he’s vamoosed.’

  ‘Ja, you right.’ Frikkie Botha scratched his head and thought for a moment. He suddenly brightened. ‘The night before last there was a sick cow that ate something, probably some deadly nightshade which grows down by the creek. The pig boy knows he mustn’t take the cows down there except at one place by the drift where they go to drink. I’m going to say to him, “Kaffir, because I don’t know for sure what happened, but that cow could still have died because you didn’t listen to me, so I’m going to give you a second chance in the boxing ring with both of us wearing twelve-ounce gloves.” ’ Frikkie Botha looked up at the superintendent. ‘He can try and hit me as much as he likes, so what can be fairer than that, hey?’ he concluded, pleased by this clever ruse.

  ‘All right, the cow is good,’ Meneer Prinsloo agreed. ‘Only three rounds, you hear? We can’t let Sergeant Van Niekerk think we taking the law into our own hands. If he asks, we can tell him it was nothing to do with with du Preez at that rock. The sick cow is good,’ he repeated, satisfied that he’d met the requirements of fatherhood in a dignified and fair manner. Then he had a second thought. ‘Frikkie, this kaffir is a proper heavyweight, you say?’

  ‘Ja, 220 pounds, maybe a bit more, bigger than a cruiser weight for sure,’ Frikkie Botha replied.

  Meneer Prinsloo looked at Frikkie Botha who was even bigger than that, maybe 240 or even fifty, but most of the extra weight was stacked around his middle. ‘You sure you can take him, Frikkie?’

  Frikkie Botha was insulted. ‘Any day of the week. Let him come, man, any time, any place. I guarantee it won’t take three rounds.’

  The following evening after supper there was the Thursday night Bible reading as usual. I haven’t explained, we had a Sunday night reading and a Thursday night one, because Meneer Prinsloo said seven days was too long without a message from God in our lives. This reading was all about the Good Samaritan, how he found Jesus exhausted at the side of the road carrying this big wooden cross. It must have happened on the way to where they were going to put the six-inch nails in his hands and feet and push a sword in his side and give him vinegar to drink because he said he was thirsty. So the Good Samaritan picked up the cross, even though he didn’t know Jesus from a bar of soap, and he carried it up the hill for him. Meneer Prinsloo said it was a lesson on how we shouldn’t just always think only about ourselves but help others less fortunate, even perfect strangers and people who were different to us because the Good Samaritan wasn’t a Jew. He said prayers and then Frikkie Botha stood up and announced there would be a heavyweight boxing match at ten o’clock sharp on Saturday morning.

  Naturally we were all pretty excited but also a bit confused. There were only three sixteen-year-olds big enough to be called a heavyweight and the rugby season had just started and they were all in the school team because
they were the front row forwards. But on Saturday the school rugby team was going to play Tzaneen High, which was in a town about fifty miles away, so how could they be in a heavyweight boxing contest? Besides, they weren’t very good boxers and only one of them, Jannie Marais, had managed to get to the second round of the district schools’ championship and Frikkie Botha said it was a disgrace, but on the other hand all three of the referees were from other schools, so what could you expect. So who was going to fight whom on Saturday was what everyone wanted to know.

  Fortunately Pissy came back to the dormitory that night and told us everything that he said happened. He lied through his teeth, of course, because what he told us wasn’t at all what happened. He didn’t tell us anything about Doctor Van Heerden and the box brownie snaps. Nor did he say that the boxing match had nothing to do with what was going to happen to Mattress afterwards. I only learned about that some years later. He made it sound like only the fight between Frikkie Botha and Mattress was happening and the rest was all forgotten.

  What he made up was this. He was in the sick room and Frikkie Botha came in because he had cut his arm from fixing a barbwire fence and wanted some sticking plaster. Meneer Prinsloo came in to talk to Mevrou about something or other and the conversation about how the pig boy had let the black cow eat the deadly nightshade took place. Pissy said Frikkie Botha asked Meneer Prinsloo if he could put on the fight because if he just beat Mattress with a sjambok he wasn’t absolutely certain that he was to blame for what happened to the cow and he wanted to be just and fair. He wanted to give the kaffir a chance to hit back. Meneer Prinsloo said all right because it wasn’t taking justice into your own hands. Pissy told us how it goes to show that Frikkie Botha is a salt-of-the-earth type and a regte Boer. Everybody knows a good lie must contain a fair element of the truth and Pissy already knew that and had it down pat, so for a change he was a hero in the small kids’ dormitory.