‘Oh, Beauty, I’ve never had a problem with you being friends. In fact, I always thought you were incredibly lucky to have such a wonderful friendship. But I admit, I’ve worried about the two of you mistaking your special friendship for something more.’
‘It isn’t a mistake. And it always was something more,’ Beauty said with such quiet dignity and determination that Annamari caught her breath.
‘No, it wasn’t. And it isn’t now. You love each other, yes... and that’s natural. You’ve been best friends since you were little. But that’s the problem, you see. You were raised together. You are like brother and sister.’ Annamari forced herself to keep from flinching as she vocally acknowledged Beauty and Arno’s relationship for the first time.
‘So what?’
Annamari hurried on. ‘Listen. It’s a known fact that when children raised as siblings – or as close as siblings, even if they aren’t ... well, when these children grow up and try to ... to be... want to be together, in an adult relationship, you know what I mean... well, it just isn’t a good idea. It never works out and everyone gets badly hurt.’
‘But why? What could be better than being in a relationship with your best friend? Look at you and BabaThys. You were childhood sweethearts, weren’t you?’
‘That’s different,’ Annamari shot back.
‘No it’s not. Arno told me. BabaThys proposed to you when you were twelve years old.’
Annamari forced herself to smile. ‘Yes he did. But... but we weren’t raised together, virtually under the same roof like you and Arno. I mean, you used to bath together when you were little. Every time we came to the farm, you and Arno would play together and get so dirty, your mother would just dump you both in the bath and wash you off. Remember?’
‘But we were just kids...’
‘You see. You and Arno, you know each other too well... there isn’t any of the mystery that keeps romance alive and makes relationships last.’ Annamari desperately tried to recall what else the Huisgenoot article had said. She plunged on: ‘Even after all these years, there are still some things Thys doesn’t know about me and things I don’t know about him. If we didn’t have that... that sense of mystery...we would have grown bored with each other years ago. And once you are bored with each other ... well, that’s when marriages fall apart.’
‘Arno and I will never be bored. We are ... I don’t know how to describe it. We know what each other is thinking; I know what Arno is feeling without him having to tell me. He seems to be able to sense when I’m sad or worried about something – even when we are miles apart. He’ll phone me, out of the blue because, well, he just seems to know when I need to speak to him.’
Annamari stared at the girl, awed, horrified and even a little jealous at the passion in her voice.
‘Did you see that movie?’ Beauty continued. ‘The one with Tom Cruise and Renée Zellweger... Jerry Maguire? Well, in the movie Renée Zellweger says to Tom Cruise – “you complete me”. That’s how it is with Arno and me. He completes me. And I complete him.’
Annamari swallowed her desperation and sorrow. Beauty’s love for Arno, their love for each other, was something most mothers could only dream about for their children. And here she was doing her utmost to destroy it. Because she had to. Because there simply wasn’t an alternative. She’d thought about it. Considered it. Would it be so terrible just to let them be? She wasn’t religious, not like Thys. But. But she couldn’t let Arno and Beauty commit an unforgiveable sin, an abomination, one that the bible said was wicked, and evil, and worse. She had looked it up in Thys’ bible, which he still kept next to his bed, although he didn’t read it every night like he used to. And there it was, in Leviticus 20:17, as clear as anything: “And if a man shall take his sister, his father's daughter, or his mother's daughter, and see her nakedness, and she see his nakedness; it is a wicked thing; and they shall be cut off in the sight of their people: he hath uncovered his sister's nakedness; he shall bear his iniquity.”
She had asked Thys what iniquity meant and he said that the bible said it was the worst kind of sin.
‘But the Lord forgives iniquity, doesn’t He?’ she had appealed in despair.
‘The bible says that the Lord forgives all sin if one truly repents and asks for forgiveness,’ he had replied, looking at her curiously.
But Arno and Beauty would never know – could never know – that they were committing an act of iniquity. So they could never ask for forgiveness and she would be condemning her son, and Beauty, to eternal damnation. What mother would knowingly, willingly, do that to her child? She could tell them the truth, perhaps... but what was the point? It would destroy Arno. And Thys. And her marriage. And for what? They still would not be able to be together.
Anyway, she also had to think about their offspring. Her grandchildren. They would probably be born with horrible deformities... and it would all be her fault.
‘Beauty, listen to me,’ Annamari begged. ‘It can’t work, what you and Arno think you have.’
‘Why can’t it?’
‘Because ... because if you are together, you will never be people in your own right. You will... you will devour each other. And you are both too bright, too independent to allow yourselves to disappear into someone else.’
Beauty looked sceptical so Annamari ploughed on. She’d hoped she wouldn’t have to stoop to this but desperate times called for desperate measures. The end would justify the means. A stitch in time ...
‘Also.’ Annamari paused. She had to get this right. It was her last chance. ‘Also, you need to ask yourself... will your love be strong enough to withstand your disappointment when you fail to achieve everything you have worked so hard for, because – and I’m going to be brutally honest now – because your husband is white?’
The question reverberated around the kitchen. Determined to take advantage of Beauty’s dismay, Annamari pressed home her advantage.
‘Just think about it. You changed your name to Bontle. Why?’ She kept her voice gentle, unaccusing. She sipped her rooibos and waited for Beauty to respond.
Beauty opened her mouth. Then closed it.
‘It’s because Beauty is not a black name and you want to be ... you wish you were black, really black. Don’t you?’
Beauty’s eyes filled with tears. Annamari hated herself, hated seeing the pain in Beauty’s eyes, but she forced herself to continue.
‘You know that you are going to find it hard enough to convince the people who appoint judges and people like that to consider you because they will take one look at you and say you are Coloured. Yes, they may appoint you because you are an amazing young woman and you might get lucky. But everyone knows that when it comes to things like transformation of important government institutions like the judiciary, it’s far better to be black than anything else – even Coloured.’
‘I am black. I am!’
‘But you don’t look black. You look Coloured. And you sound white. That’s why you call yourself Bontle, isn’t it?’
Beauty flushed and looked away.
‘So just think how much harder it will be for you to convince everyone that you are black, and that you are proud of your black heritage if your husband is white – a white Afrikaner. A boer. You’ve always spoken about your dream of becoming a judge one day. Will your relationship with Arno survive if you don’t achieve your ambitions because of him?’
‘No one will care what colour my husband is,’ Beauty whispered.
‘Are you sure, Beauty? Bontle? Can you be absolutely certain about that?’
Chapter 36
Three years later. 2005
Mr Venter carefully replaced his mug on the coffee table and waited while Annamari and Thys, who were sitting on the couch opposite him, pored over the documents he had brought with him.
‘What does this mean? I don’t understand,’ Annamari said.
Thys got up and put another log on the fire. He always did that when he wanted more time to think. Annamari wiped her face with a t
issue. It was hot in the lounge. There really was no need for a fire in the middle of the day – even if it was July – but Thys had said it would be cosy and cheerful, especially if Mr Venter was bringing bad news. She’d had this really sick feeling ever since the lawyer had phoned them two days before, saying he had some important information for them but he’d prefer to discuss it with them in person.
‘I think we might be in trouble,’ he’d said.
‘I don’t get it. Why do you think we might be in trouble?’ Thys asked, straightening the family portrait slightly, turning back to the lawyer.
Mr Venter cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘As you know, the cut off date for land claims was 31 December, 1998. This claim was apparently lodged on that day, but there are some anomalies that indicate it was lodged later, and then backdated.’
‘They can’t do that!’ Annamari said. ‘Surely the claim should just be thrown out because of that.’
‘Of course. And that is certainly going to be part of our submission. However, I’m concerned about the people behind the claim.’
The fire crackled and spat as Thys poked it, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
‘What do you mean? Who are they? There’s nothing about them in the report,’ Thys said as he settled back onto the couch and took Annamari’s hand.
‘That’s because what I’m about to tell you cannot be part of the official record. At least, not yet. Look, Mr van Zyl, Mrs van Zyl. It seems incredible. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. My investigator really battled to find out anything about the claimants, and that, in itself, was unusual and raised all kinds of red flags. I mean, it really shouldn’t have been difficult to find out something, anything about Thabiso Hadebe – but we really had to dig around. Here, this is the confidential report our investigator put together.’
Mr Venter handed them a neatly typed document headed “Thabiso Hadebe – Connections”. Annamari glanced at it. It was long and complicated; there were flowcharts and diagrams with arrows and names she had never heard of. She looked at Thys who was frowning as he read the first page, then the second. Then he put the document down on the coffee table.
‘Okay, Mr Venter. Please explain,’ he said.
‘It’s actually quite simple really,’ Mr Venter said. ‘Thabiso Hadebe is the son of one Sehlolo Moilmo. You probably know Sehlolo better as Johannes, Johannes Moilmo.’
Annamari gasped. Of course she knew Johannes. She had known him since she was a child. He had always lived on Steynspruit, like Petrus and Rosie, dear, dear Rosie. He still lived on Steynspruit; he was a member of Steynspruit Kibbutz. His children had grown up on Steynspruit too and...and then Annamari remembered. Johannes’ oldest son was Thabo. Thabo the Troublemaker, they’d always called him. He was a few years older than Arno and Beauty. Annamari had always found it hard to like him. A sullen boy, he had rebelled against being forced to leave the Driespruitfontein township like the other children and move to Steynspruit at the height of the troubles and violence there. He had run away several times, and Johannes had gone after him and brought him back. Except that once. She remembered. Johannes had came back, shattered. He told them that Thabo was in jail. He’d got caught trying to hijack a Mercedes in Bloemfontein. He got five years, Johannes said. So it wasn’t really surprising that when he got out of jail and wanted to come back to Steynspruit, the kibbutz members voted – almost unanimously – not to accept him as an adult member.
‘Steynspruit was never good enough for him. Why should we take him back now?’ Petrus had asked.
‘He has nowhere else to go. He is sorry for what he said. He is sorry for ... for everything. He has learned his lesson. He will work hard... I will make him work hard,’ Johannes had pleaded.
So the kibbutz members agreed to allow Thabo to come back and live on Steynspruit for a trial period of three months and then, if he proved himself, they would allow him to become a member. But he hadn’t stayed for even two months, Annamari recalled. One night, he just disappeared. Johannes didn’t say anything and as far as Annamari knew, he had never looked for him either.
‘I don’t understand,’ Annamari told Mr Venter. ‘Johannes’ son is Thabo Moilmo.’
‘It looks like it. But he uses the name Thabiso Hadebe now. Hadebe is his mother’s name. And that’s the name that’s been used to file the claim against Steynspruit.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Thys spluttered. ‘Thabo doesn’t have a claim... if anything, his father might but Johannes is a Kibbutz Steynspruit member. He wouldn’t support a claim from his son – would he?’
‘No. As far as we have been able to find out, it doesn’t look as if Johannes knows anything about this.’
‘So what is Thabo up to? Why is he doing this?’ Annamari couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘We – my investigators – don’t think Thabo, or Thabiso, is the real instigator of the claim. We think he is being used. As a front.’
‘A front? For whom? For what?’
‘We’re not sure. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. We are pretty sure but we don’t have any proof – yet. But if it is as we suspect, well, as I told you, I think we could be in trouble.’
Mr Venter leaned forward and flipped open the Thabiso Hadebe document. He jabbed his finger at one of the flow charts. Annamari tried to follow his explanation, but it was just so complicated. There were so many names she had never heard before.
‘So you see,’ Mr Venter said, ‘Thabiso’s uncle on his mother’s side is Solomon Tumelo Hadebe; Solomon Hadebe is married to Lerato Schekoera. Lerato’s brother, Mohapi Schekoera, is said to be very close to those who are very close to President Mbeki as well as to the Free State Premier. From what I’ve heard, these guys are something of a law unto themselves, and now that the President has fired the Vice President, Jacob Zuma, they’ve become virtually untouchable.’
Annamari stared at Mr Venter, horrified. This couldn’t be happening. She really had no interest in the seeming never-ending power struggles that Die Volksblad said were white-anting the ruling African National Congress. She’d never had any interest in politics – not like Thys who devoured stories about the goings on of those in power, tut-tutting and saying the media was terribly biased and really should give the ANC more of a chance to settle down and turn the country around. He never shifted his position; not even when his father, the dominee, thundered against the “new” South Africa from his chair at the head of the long dining room table every Easter. Not even, a mere two months ago, when the ANC’s solution to turn the country around had finally driven their son to seek a new life thousands of kilometres away; not even when she wept in the International Departure hall at OR Tambo International Airport as De Wet hugged her and hurried away and Thys put his arms around her and held her close... not even then would he blame the ANC. No, he said as he always did, it was unfortunate... unfortunate! She choked on the word. It wasn’t unfortunate – it was a tragedy, a disaster. But no, Thys wiped his eyes and insisted that what had happened to De Wet was unfortunate; but no one could expect change, which was absolutely critical to the future of South Africa, not to result in some people being hurt. That De Wet was one, was the unfortunate; but in the greater scheme of things, it was understandable. Annamari had pulled herself out of his arms and stared at him in disbelief.
‘It’s politics, liefie. It’s not personal. We have to look at the bigger picture and learn to forgive them as they have forgiven us,’ he’d said.
Chapter 37
2005
‘So what are you saying?’ Thys asked. ‘Do you believe that this land claim is a sham? That it’s from some politically connected individuals who... what? Who are using the system to get their hands on Steynspruit? I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it. That kind of thing doesn’t happen here. This isn’t Zimbabwe. This is South Africa.’
‘We could be wrong. But I don’t think we are,’ Mr Venter said. ‘The connections are there. And they are us
ing Thabiso – or Thabo as you know him – and even Johannes – to give their claim a whiff of legitimacy. That’s why the claim has also been lodged on behalf of the Moilwa family: Johannes’ real name, remember, is Sehlolo Moilmo. Moilmo, Moilwa – close enough to convince a court that one is merely a misspelling should the Moilmo family be required to provide legitimacy to the claim; but far enough apart to convince a court that Moilwa and Moilmo have nothing to do with each other should they decide the Johannes connection is not really required.’
‘Do you think Johannes knows what’s going on?’ Annamari could hear her voice tremble. This was a dreadful nightmare. She’d wake soon and find herself safe and secure in Thys’ strong arms. There would be a letter from the Land Claims Commission saying it was all a gigantic mistake and the claim against Steynspruit had no merit at all. Or it had been withdrawn. Because the people who had made the claim had been found out. They were liars and cheats, and liars and cheats could not get away with lying and cheating forever. Sooner or later they would be caught. Perhaps. She shivered.
‘There is very little we can do now,’ Mr Venter said, gathering up the papers and carefully placing them in a folder clearly marked with the words: “Steynspruit – Land Claim”. He put the folder into his large box-like briefcase and stood up.
‘As I said, we have lodged an objection to the entire claim based on the date of application. But I’m not holding my breath. The backlog at the Land Claims Commission is going to take months, even years, to be resolved. I just wanted you to understand what we are up against here. At this point I suggest you keep the information I have given you to yourselves – do not tell anyone about it, certainly no one who would or could pass on information to Thabiso Hadebe. Including his father. I will be in touch with you as soon as I hear anything more.’
As Thys escorted Mr Venter out to his car, Annamari sank down on the couch and put her face in her hands. She hated the feeling of powerlessness that had swamped her, threatening to overwhelm her. It was so unfair, so wrong. All Thys had ever wanted – all she and Thys had ever wanted – was to do the right thing. And look where it had got them. They could lose their home just as they had lost De Wet. All because of stupid, stupid, stupid politics. She had to believe that. It was politics. And, as Thys always said, quoting some famous British politician she had never heard of: A week is a long time in politics. Things could change. She had to believe that, she had to try and believe that... or she would go crazy.
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