When Time Fails

by Marilyn Cohen de Villiers

  The couch dipped as Thys sat next to her and put his arms around her. ‘It will be okay, liefie, you’ll see.’

  She shook her head and buried her face into his comforting chest. Because she knew, she just knew that it wouldn’t be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

  ***

  Annamari sat on the stoep and blew softly at the steaming mug of coffee in her hands. She sipped slowly and gingerly put the mug down on the wobbly table. The sun was perched on the Maluti mountains, and the poplar sentries had shed their night time shadow, standing straight and tall at the edge of Steynspruit. She sighed then jumped, knocking over her mug when the phone rang in the lounge.

  ‘De Wet?’ she said as she snatched up the receiver. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Hello Ma. Who else do you think would phone you at – what’s the time over there? Six o’clock? I knew you’d be up.’

  Annamari sat down heavily on the couch. She couldn’t help it. Every time the phone rang nowadays, her legs just refused to support her. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Brian? Diana?’

  ‘They’re fine, Ma. We’re all fine. Better than fine, actually. I’ve some good news that I just had to tell you. Where’s Pa? Is he up yet? Call him.’

  Annamari felt a weight lift off her chest. She gulped air into her starved lungs. At last. Some good news. It had to be really good, because in the – how long was it? Two, three months since De Wet had left, he had never phoned at this ungodly hour. She hated it that De Wet was so far away. She hated that he had had so much disappointment in his young life, through no fault of his own. She hated that she was unable to make things easier for him. She’d never forget the anguish in his eyes, in his voice when he told her, them – she and Thys – that he was leaving.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot,’ he’d said, standing in the lounge, so straight and tall and so much like his father. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is to play cricket to the best of my ability and my potential. All I’ve ever hoped for is to represent my province – and my country. Well, it’s been made pretty clear to me that that’s never going to happen. Not here. Not in South Africa. Not now.’

  She had tried to dissuade him. She had pointed out that there was still a chance; he could still make the Protea team. He had the talent. Everyone said so.

  ‘If I can’t get a regular game for Free State, how will I ever be selected for South Africa? They say selection is based purely on performance – well, I’m not getting much of an opportunity to demonstrate my performance, am I?’

  So she pointed out that he wouldn’t have been able to play cricket forever anyway. Maybe it was time to give up on his dream. A lot of people couldn’t follow their dream. That was life. It was horrible but that was just the way it was. And he was lucky. He had other options. He had gone to university and got a degree. In agriculture. So he could run Steynspruit Kibbutz. Or even go and work on another farm. Perhaps even buy his own farm one day.

  She had wanted to kill Thys when he not only agreed with De Wet, he actually encouraged him to follow his dream, to leave... to go and live thousands of kilometres away on the chance – the very slim chance, he acknowledged – that De Wet’s dream could possibly come true.

  ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ Thys said. ‘Injury finished my career so I never got the chance to play at the highest level. But you, De Wet, you have a God-given talent. It’s unfortunate that – well, that things are the way they are in this country right now. They will settle down, I am sure of it – but that may be too late for you. So, go with my blessing, my son. Go and play cricket.’

  De Wet even tried to comfort her by pointing out that he wasn’t the only one following this crazy, stupid path. ‘Look at Kevin Pietersen from Natal. He went to the UK and look how well he’s doing. And Jonathan Trott too. And I’ve heard that Clyde Rathbone, the Sharks rugby player is going to Australia... there are lots of others.’

  ‘How many have gone and disappeared into obscurity?’ she demanded. ‘And don’t most of them have family in those countries – the right to citizenship. You don’t. You’re a South African...nothing else. And I can’t lose my son. Not again,’ she’d sobbed and run from the room.

  ‘That’s not fair, liefie,’ Thys had said later when he found her lying on their bed, gazing intently at the growing damp spot on the ceiling. ‘You cannot dictate to De Wet how he must live his life.’

  He hadn’t actually said it, but Annamari could hear the accusation in his words; the unspoken charge that she – and she alone – was responsible for destroying their older son’s happiness. It wasn’t fair. She had tried everything, everything reasonable, to spare Arno. It had eaten at her, gnawed at her gut, but in the end, what choice did she have? So she had told him, firmly, that he would be a lifelong liability to Beauty.

  ‘If you love her, Arno, let her go. For her own sake. You will only hamper her career. You know that, deep down, don’t you?’ she’d said.

  And Arno had nodded, and turned away. But not before she’d seen the tears in his blue, blue eyes – the same tears she had seen in Beauty’s blue eyes when the girl had come quietly into the kitchen a few weeks later and said: ‘You don’t have to worry anymore, MaAnni. Arno and I are finished. For good. He told me we were a mistake. He told me he had a new girlfriend – a white girlfriend.’

  Arno hardly ever came home anymore. He said he was far too busy up in Johannesburg. Working hard. Playing harder. Going out with this girl and that girl – girls he never named and never brought home to Steynspruit. ‘Making up for lost time,’ he said. ‘Nothing serious. I promise you, Ma, when I meet the girl of my dreams, you will be the second person to know.’

  ‘Only the second?’ She’d forced herself to laugh. ‘And who do you plan to tell before you tell me?’

  ‘The girl, of course. If she exists.’

  Beauty hardly ever came home anymore either. She said she was far too busy in Cape Town. Working really hard. Getting ahead. Living up to her potential.

  And now De Wet, who would also probably never come home again. That was his good news. That was why he had phoned so early, nearly frightening her to death.

  He said he’d played his first game for his new cricket club’s first eleven that day; he’d scored a century and taken three wickets; and a selector for the Wellington Firebirds – ‘the equivalent of our provincial team,’ he explained – and come up to him afterwards and said he could possibly be selected for the Firebirds as soon as he became eligible. Or perhaps they would even take him on as their overseas player next season.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ he said. ‘It’s starting to happen. Brian says it’s really good news. He’s so excited for me.’

  She congratulated him profusely. Put the phone down. And wept.

  Chapter 38

  Three years later. 2008

  Mr Venter rocked back in his chair and folded his arms. Annamari clasped Thys’ hand.

  ‘That’s it? It’s over?’ Thys said.

  ‘It’s over. Here you are. This makes it official.’ Mr Venter slid a document across his desk.

  Annamari stared at it. She reached out her hand but she couldn’t bring herself to pick it up. If she did, it would disappear, she just knew it. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. For eight long years, it had been her waking thought. For eight years it had pressed down on her chest whenever she remembered, making it difficult for her to breathe. And now it was over. Just like that. There had been nothing, absolutely nothing to indicate that today would be any different from any other day. The sun had come up as usual. White fluffy clouds had scudded across a brilliantly blue sky, freshly washed by last night’s soaking rain. Everything pointed to the fact that it was going to be a beautiful day. But there had been nothing, nothing at all to indicate that today was going to be a spectacular day. A memorable day.

  ‘Do you think it’s because the ANC has kicked Mbeki out – that he’s no longer President?’ Thys asked.

  Mr Venter shook his head. ‘Not directly.
But I was pretty certain after Jacob Zuma ousted him as President of the ANC last year, that things could finally start to go our way. And it seems I was right. It’s too much of a coincidence. The people behind the claim against Steynspruit are on their way out and the final nail in their coffin will be when Zuma becomes President of South Africa next year.’

  ‘But how did it happen? I mean... who decided... when...’ Annamari stuttered. She picked up the document, held it in her hand gingerly, afraid it would disappear, or explode.

  Mr Venter gave her a brief smile, which Annamari had learned over the years, meant he was if not ecstatic, cautiously happy.

  ‘As you know,’ he said, ‘our application to have the land claim dismissed because it had been submitted after the cut off date was ignored for years. But there have been a few changes at the Land Claims Commission in the last few months. It seems like Zuma’s people are starting to take over. Then, all of a sudden, out of the blue, I got that notification.’ He pointed at the document in her hands. ‘As you can see, it says our application for dismissal has been granted.’

  ‘So Steynspruit is safe?’

  Mr Venter hesitated. Then nodded. ‘It seems so.’

  ‘You don’t seem very certain. Is it over, or isn’t it?’ Thys asked. He took the document from her trembling fingers and quickly read it. ‘It says here that the claim has been dismissed. That looks pretty final to me.’

  ‘And so it has. Which obviously is very good news. However, if the claimants appeal the decision – which I think is highly unlikely given the political environment...but if they do, well, anything could happen. And, if they win their appeal – also highly unlikely – but if they do – we have to remember that we have not proved that the claim itself is without merit. But as things stand right now, and in terms of the law, I think we can assume that it is all over. However, if they do decide to appeal, I will of course inform you immediately.’

  Annamari shuddered.

  ***

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ma,’ Arno said. ‘I would have loved to be with you to celebrate, but I just can’t get away. Not now. It’s wonderful news and I’m sure you must all be very relieved.’

  Annamari clutched the phone and blinked. And blinked again. Hard. ‘We are. Yes. It’s been hanging over us for eight years... it feels odd to think it is all over. Probably.’

  ‘Does...is... will...’ Arno faltered.

  Annamari’s heart sank. She knew what he wanted to ask. She wondered if the day would ever come when he wouldn’t ask about her. She let him ask.

  ‘Does Beauty know? What did she say? Is she going to come up for the party?’

  ‘Yes Arno. She knows. Petrus says she is absolutely delighted but she’s involved in some big trial in Cape Town and she can’t get away. So... please, won’t you change your mind and come?’

  Annamari held her breath. She was sad Beauty couldn’t come but perhaps that meant Arno would reconsider. This was important. It was special. They didn’t have much to celebrate these days. Things were always tough on the farm and the news and newspapers were full of stories about some financial crisis in America which apparently was going to cause a global recession. So if they were going to celebrate, now was the time to do it, before things got really bad. Anyway, almost every member of Steynspruit Kibbutz would be there, all the children too. Petrus had said so. They were going to slaughter a cow and everything. It was going to be enormous fun.

  But Arno was adamant. He could not get away from Johannesburg at the moment. Alan Silverman needed him, he said.

  Annamari snapped. ‘Arno – Alan Silverman has his family and lots and lots of employees and from what I’ve heard, buckets of money. Surely he can give you this one weekend off...He doesn’t own you. I never would have thought you would put that... that man before your own family.’

  ‘It’s not like that, Ma. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t go away. I just ... I can’t. Not now. It’s not work... it’s a personal thing. I can’t really discuss it.’

  Her heart leaped into her throat. Personal? What lies was Alan Silverman telling Arno now? It was bad enough that he saw her son every single day; that he had insinuated himself into such an important position in Arno’s life – a position he didn’t deserve, a position that belonged to her, and to Thys.

  ‘Personal? Alan Silverman is your boss, never forget that. There’s nothing personal about that.’

  ‘Ma... listen, I’m not supposed to say anything. But – well, you and Pa are old friends of his so I don’t suppose he’d mind too much if I told you. It’s his daughter. She’s disappeared.’

  ‘What do you mean, disappeared?’

  ‘Gone. Vanished. No one knows where. Her car is missing too.’

  ‘Oh my word, how terrible! Was she hijacked? Or has she been kidnapped – like that other young girl a few years ago? The one taken from the parking lot at her university? They found her body after her father had paid the ransom, remember? Oh my word, I hope she hasn’t been kidnapped!’

  ‘No, there hasn’t been a ransom demand, as far as I know. Yair – that’s Mr Silverman’s son – he told me she’s probably run away – but no one knows and it really doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Do you know her? What’s she like?’

  ‘I’ve met her a few times – when Mr Silverman invites me over for supper on a Friday night and sometimes when I go there on a Sunday to do some work. She’s a student at Wits University. I’ve told you about her.’

  Annamari swallowed. She seldom listened when Arno chatted on about the wonderful Silverman family. She hated hearing about them. About how close they were, or how rich, or what a wonderful home they had.

  ‘Actually, she’s a lovely girl. I like her. Very bright and self-assured. A bit of a swot, I think. She’s also very religious and doesn’t have a boyfriend or anything. Apparently they will arrange a marriage for her or something. But now she’s disappeared and Mr Silverman is taking it really hard. They were – are – they are very close. Not like Yair who’s a bit of a problem child, if I read between the lines of what Mr Silverman tells me.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘She left for varsity as usual on Wednesday last week... and that was it. No one has seen or heard from her since. Mr Silverman is frantic, as you can imagine. He hasn’t been into the office – I’m doing everything I can to keep things going. So I can’t go away now. You do understand?’

  ‘Of course,’ Annamari said, feeling a little sick. It was bad enough not having her sons at home. She hadn’t seen De Wet for years, but at least she knew where he was. She knew he was safe. And that if he needed anything, if he was sick, Brian and Diana would take care of him. They spoke to each other once a week; more, if he had some exciting news to tell them. He had been overjoyed when she had phoned him to tell him about the land claim. Even Brian and Diana – De Wet’s de facto New Zealand parents he called them – had been excited and happy that Steynspruit was safe.

  She didn’t want to be, but she felt sorry for Alan Silverman. No matter what he had done – or not done – no parent deserved to be going through what he must be going through. She’d go crazy if anything happened to Arno, or De Wet or Steyn – or even Beauty. And not knowing if your child was hurt or ill or being kept prisoner and tortured, or even dead – well, she could not begin to imagine what that must be like.

  ‘How is Alan’s wife coping?’ Annamari asked. She didn’t like Alan Silverman’s wife. She’d never met her, obviously. But according to Arno she was thin and beautiful and very elegant and smart and knew how to be the perfect hostess. In other words, the total opposite of her – a frumpy, fat plaasjapie, the kind of woman men like Alan Silverman wouldn’t look at twice. But Alan’s wife was also apparently a bit sickly. Arno said she often had to leave the dinner table and go and lie down when he went there for Friday night dinner.

  ‘I haven’t seen Mrs Silverman since it happened and Mr Silverman hasn’t said. I don’t want to ask or interfere. He’s so worried a
bout Aviva. Everyone is.’

  Chapter 39

  Three years later. 2012

  ‘Nooooo!’

  Annamari shrugged off Thys’ comforting arm. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes but they were glued to the white toy plane with its red markings – how had she ever thought it was pretty? – as it flipped over, and flipped again in the ominous, threateningly clear blue sky. She heard the sewing machine engine cough, splutter, stall. The single, pathetic, tiny little propeller stopped turning. And she knew, she just knew that the plane was going to plummet into the ground.

  ‘Nooooo!’ she shrieked again. ‘Thys do something!’

  She glared at her husband’s white face. There were droplets of sweat beading his forehead. He was clearly as panicked as she felt. Served him right. Why had she ever let him talk her into this? He knew how she felt about aeroplanes. Arno too. This was also his fault.

  ‘It’s okay liefie... see?’ Thys said as the engine spluttered... took... and the little plane straightened out and started to climb again, the inadequate propeller disappearing against the sky. ‘Come, let’s go and find some shade. It’s too hot to keep standing here.’

  ‘No. I’m not moving until that... that thing is down on the ground and my son is safe. You obviously don’t care.’

  She turned away and scanned the sky, holding up her hand to block the mocking sun, searching for the little plane which had vanished again.