When Time Fails

by Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  Steyn swooped around the kitchen with his arms outstretched once more, then screeched to a halt in front of De Wet and brushed energetically at the grass stains on his big brother’s white shirt and pants.

  ‘Oh, I suppose that happened when I dived for a catch, like Jonty Rhodes,’ De Wet said.

  ‘Did you? Catch it, I mean?’ Annamari looked up at her middle son, who seemed to have grown another few inches. He was already taller than Arno and was rapidly gaining on Thys.

  ‘No, but Hansie said it was a very good effort. He said I reminded him of himself, he said I showed real batting talent, he said I could possibly even be a Protea one day, he said ... Ma, he even shook my hand and he said...’

  ‘Hansie? Hansie Cronje? Really? He saw you play? Thys did you also see him?’

  Thys laughed and confirmed that indeed, the South African cricket captain and Grey College Old Boy had turned up unexpectedly to watch the Grey College Under 17s take on – and hammer – Bloemfontein Technical High School thanks largely to De Wet’s unbeaten sixty-five.

  ‘But what De Wet hasn’t told you was that Hansie also told him that it takes more than raw talent to be a first class sportsman, didn’t he, son? He told De Wet that to be a first class sportsman takes discipline and application, on the field and off. And that means getting good marks in class, not so?’

  De Wet nodded sheepishly. ‘Ja well, I can do that. I’m going to play for South Africa one day. You’ll see. I’d give anything to play in the same team as Hansie. And maybe I’ll also be the Protea captain, like him, one day. After he retires, of course.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to be a Springbok. You can’t be a rugby Springbok and play first class cricket. Not anymore,’ Thys said.

  Annamari held her breath. She forced herself to go with Thys to watch De Wet’s rugby matches at school in Bloemfontein when they could get away from Steynspruit, but she hated it. Every time he touched the ball, or worse, was tackled, the memory of Thys at the bottom of that pile of blue jerseys flashed before her. She knew it would break Thys’ heart if De Wet gave up rugby, but she’d be delighted.

  So when De Wet said, ‘Sorry Pa, but I think I really do prefer cricket,’ Annamari murmured a quick prayer of thanks to the Lord. And Hansie Cronje.

  Chapter 23

  Two years later: 2000

  Annamari settled back in the old wicker chair on the stoep, blew ripples onto her black coffee and sipped. Still too hot. The sun had just crept over the mountains, dappling the poplars in a pale green haze. She cupped her hands around the warmth of her mug. The rain last night had cooled the air and washed the sky a bright, clear blue. It was going to be a beautiful day.

  She listened to the million sounds that made up the silence of the early morning: the chirpings, chirrupings, tweetings, callings... whoo hoo hoo... crick, crickcrickcrick... huuu hu huuu. She blew her coffee again, wishing as always that she’d paid attention when her father had tried to teach her about the hundreds of bird species that made Steynspruit their home. She was pretty sure she could hear a hoopoe, but she wouldn’t bet on it. Even a townie like Thys was better at identifying bird calls than she was. Still, it didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the feathered orchestra. She shut her eyes and relaxed, revelling in her “me” time before having to go in to the kitchen to prepare Sunday lunch.

  The jarring jangle of the telephone startled her reverie. She swore softly, bumped her mug down on the table and brushed at the damp stain on the front of her tracksuit pants as she hurried through the French doors, her heart pounding. Arno. Could something have happened to Arno? De Wet? Beauty?

  She snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Annamari? Estie Viljoen here. From Viljoenspruit. It’s not too early to call, is it? I wanted to catch you before you left for church.’

  Annamari sank down on the couch, relief whistling past her pursed lips. Then she smiled grimly. Tannie Estie knew jolly well that she and Thys wouldn’t be leaving for church any time soon. She knew they hadn’t set foot in the Driespruitfontein Nederduitse Gereformede Kerk for years and even if they had, they wouldn’t be setting off to Driespruitfontein for at least another two hours.

  But that was Tannie Estie for you. Thoughtless. And mean. She had never made a secret of the fact that she strongly disapproved of everything Annamari and Thys had done. And that was putting it mildly.

  She’d become quite formal and distant after the construction of the new cottages for Steynspruit’s farmworkers. But when she heard about the establishment of the Steynspruit Kibbutz, well, she went ballistic. As the news raged through the district like a hurricane-fanned winter veld fire, the Viljoens had blazed up Steynspruit’s driveway in their white diesel Mercedes Benz. They launched themselves onto the stoep, refused a friendly offer of coffee and rusks, and proceeded to berate Annamari and Thys, insisting, demanding, that they kill the whole kibbutz idea. They warned that it would set off all the kaffirs in the district – and none of them would be safe in their beds. They said that Steynspruit had been in Annamari’s family even longer than Viljoenspruit had been in Oom Johan’s. They sneered at Thys, calling him an outsider, a traitor to the Boer nation, a hendsopper and joiner with no respect for how things had always been done around here and if he wanted to give everything away to the kaffirs just like that traitor F W de Klerk was giving away the whole bloody country, well what could you expect? But they would never understand how Annamari – who had suckled on Steynspruit’s wide open spaces and fresh, clean air and history and tradition – how she could go along with this heresy, this treachery. How, they demanded, could she betray her own dear parents and her only brother by giving away her heritage and her inheritance to the very people who had murdered them?

  Thys had tried to pacify them but Annamari told him not to bother. People like Estie and Johan Viljoen would never understand.

  Since then, for the last seven or so years, when Tannie Estie and Oom Johan saw Annamari or Thys in Driespruitfontein, they would suddenly become engrossed in the Pep Store’s window display, gaze earnestly into their jumbo Wimpy coffee, or cross the street. Thys, of course, always waved and shouted a friendly greeting. Annamari simply returned the favour and ignored them.

  Annamari was convinced they had been the ones who had complained to the new dominee when they took Beauty with them to church that once. They probably shouldn’t have; it had been asking for trouble, even if Apartheid was over and there was a new government and everything. But Arno and De Wet had been home that weekend, and the children had been in the lounge watching TV and when it was time to leave for church, Beauty got up to go back to the khaya.

  ‘Can’t Bootie come with us? Please?’ Arno asked.

  ‘Ja, please can she come,’ De Wet echoed.

  And Thys had smiled and said it was a good idea and, ja well, what was she supposed to do? Then, after church, when everyone was standing around chatting, the new dominee had called Thys aside and told him not to bring “that Hotnot girl” to church with them again. For a while, Thys had conducted their Sabbath service in the new Steynspruit multipurpose hall. Most of the Steynspruit Kibbutz members attended, along with workers from neighbouring farms. But Thys had handed the reins to a black pastor a few years ago. He said the pastor was better equipped to teach them the word of the Lord. He... well, he was not so sure anymore. After returning from Israel, after what he had seen in Jerusalem and at Yad Vashem, after everything he had seen in South Africa... well, he began to wonder if, maybe, perhaps, the Lord’s word wasn’t quite as clear as he had always thought.

  ***

  ‘Tannie Estie?’ Annamari spluttered. ‘What a surprise. How are you? How’s Oom?’

  ‘It doesn’t help to complain. Listen Annamari, have you got the Government Gazette?’

  ‘The Government Gazette? Why on earth would I have the Government Gazette? I wouldn’t even know where to get hold of it. Why?’

  ‘So you haven’t heard anything?’

  ‘About what?’
>
  ‘Have you got the letter yet?’

  ‘What letter? Tannie, what are you talking about? What’s happened?’

  ‘Well, it might be nothing, Annamari. Especially since you’ve already given away your farm to the kaffirs – your poor parents and poor Christo must be turning in their graves. Anyway, I heard ...’ Estie’s voice dropped conspiratorially. ‘One of my kaffir girls told me that there’s a land claim against Steynspruit.’ Her voice soared spitefully: 'You see? We were right. Give the kaffirs a finger and they’ll take your whole bloody arm.’

  ***

  As she and Thys sat side by side listening to the Steynspruit Kibbutz members and workers from Viljoenspruit and the other farms raise their voices in exquisite harmony, praising the Lord, Annamari couldn’t shake the unease that had insinuated itself into her brain the moment she’d heard Estie Viljoen’s spiteful voice. She wondered whether she should tell Thys – she hated keeping secrets from him, she really did, especially secrets that she didn’t have to keep. But this wasn’t really a secret – it was just a rumour and Thys hated rumours. Particularly when they were being spread by nasty old skinnerbekke like that old cow next door.

  But for once, the singing didn’t transport her, taking her outside of herself. She never told Thys that that was really the only reason she attended the church service. He always seems to enjoy the singing too – he certainly didn’t understand the Pastor’s impassioned preaching; and sometimes she could see that the exuberance of the service with lots of clapping and ululating made him cringe although she quite enjoyed it. But today, the unease wouldn’t go away.

  Annamari always scoured the Die Volksblad for any stories about the laughably labelled “Land Restitution” process. The more she read, the more she came to the conclusion that it was just a fancy way of justifying and legalising land theft. She’d been shocked when the new government, which had barely warmed the seats on the nice green benches in Parliament after the first elections, immediately started to pick on white farmers – always referred to them as boers which seemed to have become synonymous with far right wing racists.

  She’d been horrified when the government passed a new law that everyone said would drive white farmers off their legally owned land. Thys hadn’t been too concerned about it, though.

  ‘The Restitution of Land Rights Act is aimed at restoring land to the rightful black owners who were chased off because of Apartheid and the Land Act of 1913,’ he explained. ‘It’s hard for us farmers, but it’s not unjust. However, your family has been living on Steynspruit since long before 1913. It won’t affect us, you’ll see.’

  All through the Sunday church service, Annamari prayed that Thys would be right, as he always was. Surely, if there was a claim against Steynspruit, they would have heard by now?

  By the time they sat down to lunch and Thys finished saying a perfunctory grace, Annamari was starting to convince herself that Tannie Estie was obviously just being Tannie Estie. No wonder her ma and pa had never liked her.

  ‘What’s wrong, liefie?’ Thys asked as she handed him his plate of nicely roasted lamb bout with crispy roast potatoes, fluffy white rice, sweet pumpkin, boereboontjies and lashings of thick, brown gravy, just as he liked it.

  Annamari wished he couldn’t read her so well. She knew he’d eventually manage to get the truth out of her, so she told him about the phone call, thankful that Arno and De Wet weren’t home to hear, and Steyn was still too young to understand.

  Thys shook his head. ‘Honestly, everyone is getting in a panic over what’s been going on in Zimbabwe lately. The farm invasions only started because Mugabe is losing his grip on power and he needs to blame someone for everything that’s gone wrong up there. The white farmers are an easy target. That’s why he tried to change the constitution to allow for land to be confiscated without compensation. He thought it would win him votes but he lost, so now his thugs are simply taking what he promised them and Tannie Estie and everyone thinks it’s going to happen here too. It won’t. South Africa is not Zimbabwe. President Mbeki is a clever man. He understands how important productive farms are to the economy. And the ANC is very strong; there’s no need for them to turn on the whites.’

  ‘Ja,’ Annamari said doubtfully, ‘but there’s a lot of farms with claims against them. Thousands of them, it said in Die Volksblad. Maybe Steynspruit is one of them.’

  ‘The cut-off date for claims was more than a year ago. We would have heard something by now. Really liefie, you don’t have to worry. Anyway, any black people who might have a claim against Steynspruit – like Petrus and Rosie’s families – have been living on Steynspruit for years and years and they already own the farm, with the kibbutz and everything. No one else could possibly have a claim.’

  Chapter 24

  2000

  Annamari could hear the phone ringing as she battled to unlock the back door, but the lock was stiff and the key wouldn’t turn. She swore softly as one of the Spar packets slipped out of her hand and clattered onto the stone stoep. She hoped it wasn’t the one with the eggs. She put down the rest of the packets, wrestled the door open, and ran through the kitchen to the lounge. The phone stopped ringing just as she reached it. Damn.

  She turned and headed back to the kitchen to rescue her groceries before the dogs got to them. The phone rang again. She hesitated. Then she hurried across the kitchen into the lounge.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ma, hello.’

  Arno. She’d forgotten he’d told her he would be phoning her today – or tomorrow – as soon as he heard anything. He was so hopeful this time. It had been nearly five months since he’d finished his honours degree, and he still hadn’t been able to find a job.

  ‘Come home,’ Thys said every time Arno phoned to tell them about another job he hadn’t got. ‘You can market Steynspruit produce. I’ll speak to Petrus. It will be good for us to have a professional handling our sales and stuff.’

  But Arno refused. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help Steynspruit Kibbutz, he said; it was just that he really loved it in the city. So he was going to stick it out in Gauteng and hopefully, something would come up.

  ‘Hello seun.’ Annamari clutched the phone and crossed her fingers.

  ‘I didn’t get it, Ma. They phoned me just now and they said they had been really impressed with me and my presentation and everything, but – well, I wasn’t what they were looking for.’

  Annamari sank down on to the couch and tried to keep her voice neutral, unaccusing. ‘But you said the interview went really well. Why didn’t they tell you then that you weren’t what they were looking for? That’s just not fair.’ Her heart broke for him. He’d been so excited about this job too. Usually, his applications merely received a form letter telling him that he hadn’t been considered. Or he didn’t get a response at all.

  ‘Ja, well... apparently there was someone else who was more what they wanted.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She could hear her voice rising, but she couldn’t stop it. ‘I just don’t get it. You did so well. It’s not as if they just dish out cum laude awards like flipping Smarties. You’d think big companies – small companies – everyone, would be falling over themselves to employ you.’

  ‘Times have changed, Ma. There’s lots of people with marketing degrees out there looking for jobs.’

  ‘Ja, but there were only two of you in your whole class who got cum laude. Are you telling me that all the people you graduated with also can’t find jobs? I’m sorry. I’m not cross with you. I know how hard you’re trying but...it just doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘Well... it’s not so easy for guys like me. I didn’t think it would matter so much, but it seems it does.’

  ‘What do you mean “guys like you”? What’s wrong with you?’ Annamari looked up at the large photograph on the wall above the fireplace – a “family portrait” the man at the photo studio in Bethlehem had called it when they all went together to have it taken for Annamari and Thys’ tw
entieth wedding anniversary two years before. Arno looked so handsome in that picture. All her boys did – even little Steyn was absolutely adorable. He might be her son, but anyone could see that Arno would be an asset for any business.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, Ma. It’s just that ... I’m white. And a man.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ja well, it seems that pale males like me are sort of at the bottom of the pile when it comes to getting employed nowadays. But really, Ma, don’t worry. Something will come up. You’ll see. Before Pa’s deadline.’

  Thys had given Arno one more month and then, he said, Arno would have to come home. They’d taken a vote at the last Kibbutz Members’ meeting, and the result had been unanimous. Arno would be accepted as a full adult member of the Steynspruit Kibbutz – the third Steynspruit Kibbutz child to be considered, and only the second to be accepted. Johannes’ son had been rejected after a furiously heated argument. But ultimately, the kibbutz members had decided they didn’t want that “lazy, disrespectful boy” to be a full kibbutz member until he learned a few manners.

  When Arno’s name came up for debate, his acceptance had been unanimous.

  ‘It’s a great honour, Arno,’ Thys had said. ‘It shows how much the kibbutz members think of you. It means that Steynspruit – the whole farm, not just our house – will always be your home.’

  Now it looked like Arno might not have a home, not if Tannie Estie was correct.

  But Annamari didn’t tell Arno. She couldn’t. So she told him about Steyn’s latest crash-landing as he tried to take off from the stoep balustrade; and about De Wet’s selection for the Free State Craven Week rugby side.

  ‘Your Pa is so happy, you can’t believe it. You’d think De Wet had won the Lotto. Pa was so upset when De Wet said he’d decided that he would rather play cricket when he finishes matric,’ Annamari said.