Whitethorn

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘This morning, Tom . . . let me think, yes, you said something about Mattress putting a stick in Kobus Vermaak’s mouth when he had a fit. Can you tell me what that was all about?’ The police sergeant had this paper in front of him and it had about four pages and he was reading something on the second page when he looked up and asked the question.

  Maybe it was all written on the pages so I couldn’t tell a lie because he’d know. I decided to tell the truth, but as little of it as possible.

  ‘He had a fit and Mattress found him and put a stick in his mouth.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘So he wouldn’t swallow his tongue. If you swallow your tongue you can die,’ I explained.

  ‘Why did he have a fit? Did something happen?’

  ‘It wasn’t because I punched him, Sir!’ I said defensively. ‘Mevrou said you can just get a fit any time you like, it just comes.’

  ‘You punched him? Why did you punch him, Tom?’

  I’d clean forgotten that nobody but Pissy knew I’d been on the scene just before he’d had his fit and the only person I’d told was Mattress. I was trapped. Now the police sergeant was going to find out about Tinker! I tried to think of a lie but I couldn’t think of one fast enough that might explain why I’d punched Pissy. Then I thought, well, the sergeant has three big dogs himself, so maybe he’ll understand.

  ‘Why, Tom?’ the sergeant repeated.

  ‘He wanted to take this dog I found, Sir.’

  Sergeant Van Niekerk smiled. ‘Not only a farmer but a dog lover as well. I also love my dogs. They are a person’s best friend. A dog will never let you down. You say you found a dog and Kobus Vermaak wanted to take it away from you. Where did you find this dog?’

  ‘In a sack floating down the creek, Sir. The other five puppies inside were dead already.’

  ‘And you saved its life and wanted to keep it, hey? That’s nice, man. What’s its name?’

  ‘Tinker, Sir.’

  ‘So, tell me, Tom. How did Kobus take Tinker from you? Did he grab it from you? Did he punch you? Tell me, son.’

  ‘He found where I was hiding her.’

  ‘And where was that?’

  ‘At the big rock, Sir.’

  Sergeant Van Niekerk started rummaging through the paper in front of him and he found what he wanted. ‘The big rock?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘This big rock, was it the same big rock where Fonnie du Preez was attacked by Mattress?’

  All of a sudden I couldn’t help myself. ‘It was the same rock, but it’s a pack of lies, Sir!’

  ‘Lies?’

  ‘Mattress didn’t do it!’ I cried out and started to blub again.

  I was still holding the headmaster’s hanky that had got all wet in my fist, but I forgot to use it and the tears just splashed down over my chin. After a while I got a bit better.

  ‘What makes you think he didn’t do it, did he tell you?’

  ‘No, Sir, I was there, Sir.’

  The police sergeant went back to the papers. ‘There is no mention of you here, Tom. Are you sure you were there?’

  I had trapped myself completely and there was no getting out of it, and the only good thing was that I was able to tell about what Mattress did, even though it was now too late. In between blubbing every once in a while, I told them about being made by Fonnie du Preez to do all those things to Pissy and him. Then how Mattress came just in time to save me and lifted Fonnie and threw him against the rock and then carried me away. We’d reported it to Meneer Botha who said, ‘You weren’t there, you understand?’ He said if I told anyone what had truly happened my little dog would be dead. Next thing I knew, they’d made up a whole new story of what happened, with some rock giving way and Fonnie hurting himself. I then told them about the Mevrou version with me listening while I hid in the hydrangea bushes outside the sick room.

  After I’d told them all this, Sergeant Van Niekerk consulted his papers again while the headmaster was writing furiously. Then the sergeant said, ‘Tom, you said Mattress slept on a grass mat, I saw that. Do you know if he ever had a mattress in his hut?’

  ‘No, Sir. Once when I told him that his name meant something people sleep on he said a Zulu didn’t sleep on anything like that, so it didn’t matter.’ It was the second time he’d brought up the subject this morning.

  At the time I’d clean forgotten that Pissy had told Mevrou that Mattress had penetrated him in his hut on a mattress! The sergeant wrote something in the margin of one of the pages and the headmaster finished writing down stuff and looked up and said, ‘Indrukwekkend,’ which means impressive. He turned to Sergeant Van Niekerk. ‘Magtig! Jan, what a terrible, terrible waste of a good Bantu’s life.’

  Sergeant Van Niekerk glanced at his brother and then nodded towards me. ‘The boy’s been through a helluva lot,’ he said, looking at me and smiling. ‘Now, Tom, the headmaster says you got an hour off school, and you and I are going to go to the café for ice-cream and a cool drink, maybe even a milkshake, hey?’

  I’d never had a milkshake but I’d heard about them, you could get strawberry ones. I wasn’t ever going to get another chance so I said quietly, ‘You said this morning I could have an Eskimo Pie, Meneer?’

  Sergeant Van Niekerk laughed. ‘Ag, Tom, an Eskimo Pie is only a tickey. We going to take a whole shilling and buy an ice-cream in a dish,’ he cupped his hands together, ‘so big, with lots of other nice things and with chocolate and hundreds and thousands spread all over and a big pink biscuit that sticks out of the top.’

  ‘You are a very brave and clever boy, Tom,’ the headmaster said and put his hand on my head. It was the first time in my life a high-up person had ever given me a compliment. Except that very morning when the sergeant had said I was clever, but you could see Meneer Prinsloo didn’t agree and he already knew me better.

  We were walking out of the headmaster’s study when I remembered his handkerchief that was still scrunched up wet in my hand. ‘Sorry, Sir, I nearly forgot and took your hanky,’ I said, and gave it back to him. Afterwards I remembered there must be some wet snot in it from my crying, but it was too late to take it to the tap and wash it out first.

  In the café, which I’d never been in before, Sergeant Van Niekerk asked the lady, who was called Mevrou Booysens, to make a big ice-cream in a glass dish that stood on one leg. ‘Put on everything,’ he instructed.

  ‘Everything?’ She looked surprised. ‘There are ten things that can go on ice-cream,’ she declared.

  ‘Then we got all ten things on Tom’s ice-cream and also a strawberry milkshake. This young man deserves only the best, you hear?’

  ‘Don’t blame me if he gets sick,’ she laughed.

  But I didn’t.

  As I ate the ice-cream and drank the milkshake through this straw Sergeant Van Niekerk found and put in it, he said to me, ‘Tom, I want you to listen to me carefully now, hey?’

  ‘Ja, Meneer,’ I answered, first licking all the ice-cream off my spoon so it was nice and clean and I put it down carefully on the table. I hoped it wouldn’t take too long because some of the ice-cream was melting already.

  ‘Tom, I think it is best if you don’t say anything about what we spoke about in the headmaster’s office, you hear?’

  ‘Ja, Meneer, but if they hear where I’ve been they will ask me.’

  ‘Is there anyone in your class who’s also at The Boys Farm?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘So it’s unlikely to get back. The headmaster says you have permission to say it was about you maybe getting special English lessons because you the only English-speaking boy in the school. Can you remember that? Nobody knows I was there as well, so best not to mention that, hey?’

  ‘Ja, Meneer, but I’m only English because of my name. I can’t speak English, except what we learn in class.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, that’s why the headmaster wants to make the special arrangements. Do you understand?’

  I said yes, b
ut I admit I was a bit unsure of what it all meant, but I knew what to say if Meneer Prinsloo asked, which was the main thing.

  In the next week Sergeant Van Niekerk’s police van was seen twice in the morning at The Boys Farm and Pissy and Fonnie didn’t come with us when we marched to school. What I can tell you is that for the whole week Mevrou came into the small boys’ dormitory for half-jack in her nightgown. Her hair was all over the place and she was sweating, with her breasts jumping up and down and sometimes if you looked hard, you could see the black where her bush was. In that week, I’ve got to tell you, man, nobody escaped her sjambok except Pissy! I got blasted twice and one time when she gave me four of the best she called me Die klein kaffirboetie! The little kaffir-lover.

  Of course the boys asked Pissy what was happening.

  ‘Nothing,’ he’d say, and for once you couldn’t get anything out of him, not even lies. At night, it was his turn to cry. So we had his coughing and crying going on ten to the dozen. On the Friday when we were washing our hands for supper he had another fit and had to go to the sick room and the next day we all got the sjambok again. I’m telling you, that was a week and a half orright! But one good thing, nobody said anything about what happened at school with the headmaster and Sergeant Van Niekerk. I don’t know how he did it but he kept me out of it, and when on one occasion I passed Meneer Prinsloo he ignored me like he’d always done.

  In the second week after Mattress’s death, when the lynching had been in the newspaper and the kids who could read had told everyone everything it said, lots of them were asking, ‘What is the motive?’ On Tuesday morning two weeks and two days after Mattress’s death, we were lining up ready to march to school when Sergeant Van Niekerk arrived in the van and stopped beside us. Meneer Prinsloo and Mevrou and Frikkie Botha, who still couldn’t speak properly, came out and stood there as if they were expecting something to happen.

  We all watched silently as Sergeant Van Niekerk got out of the van. He was on his own and he walked up to Meneer Prinsloo and said in a very loud voice, so I think he wanted us all to hear, ‘Goeie môre, Meneer Prinsloo. Ek is hier om Fonnie du Preez inhegtenis te neem.’ I am here to take Fonnie du Preez into custody.

  There was a gasp of amazement from all of us, and Meneer Prinsloo started to wave his arms and stick out his stomach.

  ‘You can’t do it!’ he said to Sergeant Van Niekerk. ‘Not in front of everyone, it is not civilised, you hear!’

  Before Sergeant Van Niekerk could reply, Fonnie du Preez, who still had his arm in a sling, broke from the ranks and started to run. Sergeant Van Niekerk turned around when he heard the noise from the kids and saw what was happening. He walked normally over to the police van and opened the back. Out jumped the three big Alsatian dogs. They landed beside him and sat.

  ‘Go and stop!’ he commanded.

  You should have seen those dogs go! We could see them catching up to Fonnie, who wasn’t running his fastest because of his arm in the sling. The dogs skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust beside him and started to bark fiercely, jumping up and surrounding him so he couldn’t move, but they didn’t bite him or anything. He tried to run but the dogs bumped into him, knocking him off his feet and they stood over him, showing their fierce teeth and gums, but still not biting. They weren’t barking now, just growling.

  ‘Staan op en kom hier, du Preez!’ Sergeant Van Niekerk shouted, ordering Fonnie to get up and come to him.

  We all watched as Fonnie struggled to his feet and Sergeant Van Niekerk put his finger to his lips and whistled. The dogs allowed Fonnie to walk, though they stayed right behind him, their big pink tongues lolling out of their mouths. I’m telling you now, it wasn’t funny and I’m never going to try running from the police. I could see why the blacks got so scared when Sergeant Van Niekerk walked down the street with his three dogs.

  Sergeant Van Niekerk never moved as Fonnie, with his head bowed, walked up to where he was standing. He took out his police whistle, blew it twice and the dogs jumped into the police van. He turned back to Fonnie.

  ‘I am placing you under arrest, du Preez,’ he said. ‘If you resist again I will be forced to handcuff you. Now, come along.’

  ‘You can’t do this, you hear, Van Niekerk!’ Meneer Prinsloo shouted. ‘I am in authority here and this boy is under my supervision. On what grounds are you arresting him?’

  Sergeant Van Niekerk had his hand under Fonnie’s elbow, ready to guide him to the passenger seat of the police van. He turned and said, ‘We have already discussed the need and the reason for the arrest on the telephone this morning, Meneer Prinsloo. Or would you like me to tell the boys what it’s for?’

  ‘It’s not civilised, you hear! This could have been done low-key like decent people and you come here and treat us like we’ve done something wrong and embarrass me and my staff. Wragtig! You will hear more about this, that I can assure you, Van Niekerk!’

  ‘The title is Sergeant, Meneer Prinsloo, and may I say, when you and your staff act like civilised people then that is the way the law will treat you. Please feel free to report me.’

  Meneer Prinsloo went very red in the face and waved his hands frantically. I thought his tummy was going to burst open and his braces snap right off. He turned and walked away, back into The Boys Farm.

  Mevrou turned and shouted at the sergeant, ‘What would you know about civilised, hey? The kaffir’s dead, so what is the use of arresting a good Afrikaner boy, one of your own volk?’

  Sergeant Van Niekerk turned and said, ‘Mevrou Van Schalkwyk, if I were you I would be very careful what I said next.’

  But Mevrou couldn’t restrain herself. ‘You should be ashamed, you hear?’ She turned and walked away and Frikkie Botha just looked at the sergeant and shook his head and went ‘tsk’ and followed her.

  Sergeant Van Niekerk guided Fonnie into the police van, started the engine and drove away slowly.

  I caught a last glimpse of Fonnie du Preez. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I thought as we were marched off to school.

  The next week Pissy was put on the train to Pietersburg to go to the boys home there and Mevrou said it was because his mother, who’d put him in the orphanage, lived there and wanted to be near him. I knew this was a lie but I didn’t say anything.

  But Pissy got me one more time! Before he left he tried to become the innocent victim and put all the blame for what had happened on Fonnie du Preez, now that he was safely out of the way. In telling the whole story he said how Fonnie had made me kiss Pissy’s arse and lick his arsehole and how I had to suck Fonnie’s prick. Suddenly I was an arse-licker and a cocksucker and a rooinek! And I was the one who was left behind.

  Now that everyone knew the story they also knew how Mattress had saved me, and that he was completely innocent but still got murdered by whoever lynched him, and it looked like whoever did it had got clean away with murder.

  But that’s the funny thing. Not one boy at The Boys Farm or even an adult thought about Mattress and what he’d done to save me. Maybe he’d even saved Pissy’s life by putting the stick in his mouth, but nobody wanted to remember that either. Mattress seemed to disappear from everyone’s memory as if he was never there. One day he was milking the cows with his broken face and lip hanging off and his kidneys bleeding so the cows would be comfortable and not suffer, and the next day he was dragged face down by a bakkie in the dust until he was dead and couldn’t be recognised. Mattress had a nice face and they went and wiped it clean off his head. It was as though if you don’t have a face, you don’t exist. I don’t suppose his wife or Joe Louis would ever know what happened to him. The postal orders just wouldn’t arrive in Zululand. I didn’t even know where they buried him. I started to worry about what happened to a person who had no face when he arrived in heaven because maybe God wouldn’t recognise him. Just in case, I prayed and told God to look at his platform feet and He’d be able to tell for sure it was Mattress.

  We heard that the magistrate in Tzaneen sent Fonnie to the Boys R
eformatory in Pretoria. I thought that would be the last of him in my life, but I was wrong. Pissy was another one I hoped never to see again, but I was also wrong about that.

  I didn’t understand things properly at the time, but as I grew older I realised how it was Pissy’s malicious lies that had led to Mattress’s death, and that Pissy was as much the murderer as the people who dragged Mattress behind their bakkie. This was another thing I had to think about in life: that everything we do has a consequence and that it is beholden on all of us to stop and think what the consequence of any action we undertake might be. That lying to save our own skin and getting away with it usually results in others being hurt or wronged.

  One good thing did happen. Frikkie Botha said Tinker could be my dog anywhere and any time I liked because a month after the murder she caught her first rat in the dairy. It wasn’t a very big rat, but then Tinker wasn’t properly grown-up yet. Meneer Botha said it showed she had ‘all the right instincts’. He said that from now on she could get food from the kitchen so she could grow up strong and be good at her new job. It was after Frikkie Botha’s jaw was mended that he managed to say all this.

  Everyone said he was very lucky that Mattress had broken his jaw in the boxing ring and that Doctor Van Heerden had put him in hospital, because otherwise he would be suspect-lyncher-number-one in the murder case. But because he couldn’t have been one of them, whoever did it remained a dark mystery and no charges were laid, even though Sergeant Van Niekerk did his best for justice.

  All I knew was that I had lost the first person in my life I had ever loved, and that the love Mattress had given me had simply disappeared into thin air as if it didn’t matter to anyone. I couldn’t understand why that should be. I knew that I would love Mattress for as long as I lived. To have loved somebody is not something you can just go and forget, because you just can’t.