‘So what are you saying? That Arno and Aviva have this... what did you call it?’
‘Genetic sexual attraction. Yes. Probably.’
‘So what? They still can’t be ... they can’t get married or anything.’
Thys was silent. Annamari looked away, towards her mutilated poplar sentries. They looked so sad, so sadly pathetic.
‘Why not?’ Thys said, so softly she thought she’d imagined it.
‘What?’
‘I said, why not. Why can’t Thys and Aviva be... be a couple?’
Annamari gaped at her husband. Had he lost his mind?
‘Thys... are you crazy? It’s ... it’s incest.’
Thys leaned forward, rested his hands on his knees. He spoke slowly. Deliberately. Carefully choosing his words. ‘I’ve read...last night, on the internet. It seems a lot of people are campaigning to ... well, to change the law about incest. They say consensual sex between two consenting adults – a grown up brother and sister for example – a couple like Arno and Aviva. They said that isn’t incest.’
‘Have you lost your mind? Of course it’s incest!’
Thys ignored her outburst and continued: ‘They call it a con... consanguinamorous relationship. Or something like that. I probably didn’t pronounce it properly. Anyway they say incest is only when it’s a power thing – when the one partner doesn’t have a choice.’
‘That’s crazy. No one will ever believe that. Incest is incest. It’s illegal. And that’s because it’s wrong. For heaven’s sake, Thys, you know incest is wrong. The bible says it’s wrong. You of all people, you know that’s what the bible says... you know the bible backwards.’
Thys learned forward and stared at her. He drew in a deep breath. ‘The bible says a lot of things, liefie. But there are some things in the bible... there are things in there that are wrong.’
Annamari opened her mouth to object. Her voice was a strangled gasp. ‘But... but...’
Thys ignored her and continued: ‘Things we don’t accept anymore. And there are even some things that the bible says are okay but we know better. Things that are not only illegal – they are immoral.’
‘You’ve lost it, Thys. You have totally lost your mind!’
Thys smiled at her, sadly. ‘Remember, when we were little, liefie? We were told that the bible said Apartheid was right. Every Sunday, we heard in church that God had said that black and white people were different and should not mix – remember? Well, that part of the bible is wrong. It’s only rightwing crazies who still say that.’
‘But Thys, there are other parts of the bible that contradict that. You always quoted those parts to your father when he got all sniffy and angry about the kibbutz. But there’s nothing in the bible that says incest is okay – is there?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘There isn’t. But the bible also says – without any contradiction – that slavery is okay. And it also says that women who commit adultery should be stoned.’
Annamari felt her cheeks burning.
‘So you see. We cannot take everything that’s in the bible literally. We cannot believe in everything in the bible. We shouldn’t.’
‘Thys! Oh my God. What are you saying? That you no longer believe?’
Anguish, uncertainty, pain, flashed across Thys’ drawn face before he buried it in his giant hands, with their now slightly swollen knuckles.
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know,’ he mumbled. He looked up at her and wiped his eyes. ‘I do know that I no longer have much faith in the bible.’
‘What?’ she croaked.
‘I haven’t... my faith... I’ve been questioning so much, for so long. Man’s interpretation of what we say is God’s word has brought so much pain and suffering to this world. Too many people interpret the bible to mean what they want it to mean – and then use that to justify causing harm to others.’
He paused and leaned forward in his chair and clasped her hands. ‘I cannot believe a God of mercy and forgiveness would want His word to cause anyone pain. Certainly not innocents like Arno and Aviva who have already suffered so much.’
Annamari shook her head and pulled her hands away.
‘But Thys. There’s a reason the law – and the bible – forbids incest. I don’t care what fancy long word you call it. Incest has always been forbidden because children born as a result of incest are born with deformities – they are crippled, or retarded, or have dreadful diseases.’
‘That’s not true, liefie. There’s research that has proved that that’s a fallacy. Children born from an incestuous relationship may have a slightly increased chance of inheriting a bad genetic condition – but the fact is that most don’t.’
Annamari bristled. ‘And when did you find time to find out so much about it?’
‘I’ve been searching the internet for information about this from the time Arno came home with Aviva. I was shocked. And horrified. I realised that was why you had fainted. But then I started thinking about it. And I wondered. Why was I so appalled? They make such a happy, wonderful couple. So after the doctor had come and given you something to make you sleep, I went to the study and I searched the internet and read everything I could find. And again last night.’
‘And?’
‘And I’ve come to the conclusion that if Arno and Aviva want to stay together, we should support them.’
‘Are you out of your mind? They’ll end up in jail. And what will people say? What will we tell De Wet? And Steyn? What about your father? He would never allow...’
‘They will never know. We are the only people who know. You and me, Arno and Aviva. If we don’t tell, no one need ever know.’
Annamari shook her head. ‘That journalist knows. She asked me...’
‘That journalist has no proof.’
‘But...’
‘Annamari, that journalist has nothing except her suspicions based on what? How is she going to prove anything? Don’t you want your son to be with the woman he loves? Look how long he took to get over Beauty. Do you really want him to go through that dreadful pain again? He loves Aviva. Anyone can see how much he loves her. And it’s obvious that she loves him.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.’
‘It’s simple... can you accept seeing Arno and Aviva making a life together?’
Annamari didn’t answer. She couldn’t. It was too much to take in. She looked out towards the poplars. Force of habit, really. They weren’t as reassuring as they used to be. Something caught her eye. Something wasn’t right.
‘Thys, where’s Arno’s car? It was parked over there, under the jackalberry tree. But it’s not there now.’
***
Two weeks later, Arno’s car was found in Alexandra Township in Johannesburg. Stripped. There was no sign of the occupants.
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs van Zyl, Mr van Zyl,’ the young, black police officer said. ‘We’ve searched everywhere but there is no sign of them. We found some blood on the back seat but we’re not sure whose it is. The laboratory is going to test it but there is such a backlog... I’m so sorry. We suspect they were hijacked somewhere ... We will continue to look for them but... you have to be strong.’
He backed awkwardly out of the lounge and almost fell down the stoep stairs in his haste to get away from their misery and pain.
Annamari looked at Thys. ‘They’ll never find them. I know they’ll never find them. I’ll never see my son again.’
Thys put his arms around her. Held her close.
‘They’ve gone,’ he said. Then he whispered: ‘Please Lord, watch over them.’
Epilogue
Eight months later.
Annamari listlessly prodded the dough with her forefinger. Almost ready for the oven. A knock on the kitchen door startled her. No one knocked on the back door anymore. She and Thys rattled around the big house with its creaks and leaks, watched television, went to bed, slept, got up, had breakfast, got through the day, and the next and the next.
Steyn popped down to visit when his schedule allowed, but since getting the job with Etihad Airways, he was too busy flying the Asian route. Thys went to the Steynspruit Kibbutz School every day, taught his classes and came home, but there were more qualified teachers there now. He didn’t have to do it all. Neither did she. She really wasn’t needed in the nursery school anymore. And sometimes, it felt as if she wasn’t wanted. Perhaps she was paranoid, but conversations seemed to stop, become stilted, when she walked into the little room they had set up as a staffroom. She wondered if Thys had noticed. She didn’t want to ask him. She didn’t want to upset him. He was always so sad. Poor, poor Thys.
She wiped her floury hands on her apron and opened the door. A freezing gust of wind brought tears to her eyes.
‘Hello, MaAnni. Can I come in?’
Annamari stepped back as Beauty nipped in through the open door and slammed it shut. The two women stared at each other. Wary.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ Beauty said. ‘Oh, and before I forget, I brought you this. It was in the Steynspruit post box in Driespruitfontein. Busi picked it up with some other post but she forgot about it. It’s been lying on her desk. I saw it when I went in there and I thought I’d bring it over and give it to you. Where’s BabaThys?’
‘He’s lying down. He doesn’t feel well. I’d rather not disturb him.’
Annamari put the brown envelope on the table. She looked curiously at Beauty. She bore very little resemblance to the young girl who had learned to read and write at this same table. But she looked uneasy. Which wasn’t surprising really, considering everything. It had been months – no years – since Beauty had been in this kitchen.
‘Oh, I suppose you can tell him,’ Beauty said, and shifted uneasily from one foot to another.
Annamari waited. Still Beauty hesitated. Then she said: ‘Have you heard anything more about Arno? Have the police...’ She faltered. Annamari was surprised to see tears in her eyes. ‘I can’t believe anything bad has happened to him. I wish... Sometimes I wish... but.’
Annamari reached over and took the younger woman’s hand. ‘Oh Beauty, I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved him.’
Beauty glared at her. ‘You knew, but you did everything you could to keep us apart. I’ll never forgive you for that. I always thought you ... I regarded you as a mother, and you rejected me. When push came to shove, you just couldn’t accept me as part of your family, could you? I never believed Arno when he said he’d found another girlfriend but it was obvious you meant more to him than I did.’
‘It wasn’t that, Beauty. I didn’t care – I don’t care that you’re... that you’re coloured...black.’
‘Then why?’
‘Tell her, liefie,’ Thys said, smoothing down his tousled hair as he came through the kitchen door. ‘Don’t you think she deserves the truth after all these years? Hello Beauty. It’s good to see you. I think you should sit down.’
Annamari swallowed. She looked helplessly at Thys, but he just stared back at her. Waiting. As Beauty was waiting, sitting stiffly on her old stool, her blue eyes questioning.
‘Beauty... your father...’
‘What about my father? My mother has never told me but I’ve always presumed he was just some passing white man who came to the township for a bit of fun. And raped her. Like Stefan Smit raped her. And me.’
‘Oh Beauty. I don’t know anything about your father’s relationship with your mother, but I do know who he was.’
‘Who?’
‘Arno’s father. Beauty, you and Arno have the same father. You are brother and sister. That’s why I had to... why I couldn’t let you...’
Beauty jumped up and stared at Thys. ‘You? You’re my father?’
‘No, Beauty – not Thys,’ Annamari said quietly.
‘But... I don’t understand.’
‘Thys isn’t Arno’s biological father. That’s why I couldn’t tell him, you... anyone. No one knew – except me. Not even your mother. Or Petrus.’
Beauty slumped. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
‘Why should I believe you?’ she muttered. ‘You’ve lied to me about everything else.’
‘Why would I lie about this?’
Thys took Annamari’s hand. Beauty stared at them, seemed to stare right through them.
‘Beauty? Are you okay?’ Annamari asked.
‘It wasn’t racism,’ she said. It wasn’t a question, more of a resigned statement.
‘Of course not. I loved you. I love you. I’ve always regarded you as the daughter I never had.’
Annamari stopped. She waited. She knew what Beauty’s next question would be.
‘So who is my father? Who is Arno’s father?’
Annamari took a deep breath. This was it. But Thys interrupted. ‘I don’t think that matters now. He died a couple of years ago but he had a wife and children...it really wouldn’t serve any purpose now to expose what he did when he was young and reckless.’
Annamari held her breath.
Then Beauty smiled, a sad, wry little smile. ‘You know, Arno and I always used to joke about the fact that our eyes were the same colour.’
‘Oh God. I am so sorry,’ Annamari said. ‘But I couldn’t tell you. Not back then. I hope you will come to understand...’
Beauty stood up and walked slowly towards the kitchen door. As she reached for the handle, she paused, then turned back to Annamari and Thys. ‘You know... you might just have done me a favour. I have made a life for myself, and I’m enjoying it. I love being a judge, and making a meaningful contribution to our country. To be honest, I don’t think I could have done it if I’d been a wife, and possibly a mother too... So... maybe... Goodbye Annamari, Thys...’
‘Beauty... no.’
Beauty held up her hand. Shook her head. She turned and pulled the door open. A freezing wind rushed in.
‘Beauty wait,’ Annamari said. ‘What was it you came here to tell us?’
Beauty stopped. ‘Oh yes. Of course. You should be getting a call from Mr Venter tomorrow, but I just wanted to tell you personally.’
‘What?’
‘As you know, or maybe you don’t. The Restitution of Land Rights Amendment Act was signed into law last week. This means new land claims – ones that missed the previous 1998 deadline can now be lodged. Well, a new claim has been lodged against Steynspruit.’
‘No! Who?’ Annamari shivered.
‘Us. The people of what you call Kibbutz Steynspruit. People who actually do have a real claim to this land, people whose families have lived on and worked this land for decades.’
Thys gasped. ‘But why? I don’t understand. They already own Steynspruit.’
‘No, you do. You and your family. The kibbutz was your creation, and while it gave people like Petrus and Johannes and my mother and Busi a greater say in the operation of the farm, ultimately, they do not own this land. There was, and is, nothing to stop you from reneging on the kibbutz agreement. I’ve seen the agreement. You went to a very sharp lawyer to draw it up.’
‘But once the kibbutz has paid off the agreed purchase price, ownership of the land will officially be transferred...We would never... Beauty, you know we would never go back on an agreement,’ Thys said.
‘You instituted the kibbutz more than twenty years ago. And how much has been paid towards the purchase price? Hardly anything.’
‘That’s because we’ve been through some difficult years.’
‘The purchase price will never be paid. You will continue to own this land, and my people will continue to work it. That is not going to change unless we do something – I do something – to change it. Now, thanks to the amendment to the Act, things will change. The government will pay you a fair market price for this land. My people belong on here, on this this land and this land belongs to them.’
‘But ... my grandfather... my great grandfather... This has been our home for more than a century,’ Annamari whispered.
Beauty started to s
ay something, stopped, turned and stepped through the door into the cold winter night. ‘Goodbye,’ she said.
Annamari didn’t respond. Neither did Thys.
***
The brown envelope that Beauty had brought fluttered onto the floor. Annamari picked it up. Turned it over. There was no return address. She peered at the postmark: Heathrow International Airport. The date was blurred. She slipped her finger under the flap and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a single, folded sheet of paper. She recognised the handwriting. Her hands began to shake.
Dear Ma and Pa.
I am sorry if you have been worried about us but I want to reassure you that we are both fine. We discussed everything and we agreed that we are going to be together and nothing is going to stop us. I hope you will find it in your hearts to be happy for us and, perhaps, to wish us well.
Love,
Arno and Aviva.
PS. You are grandparents. We have just had a son. His name is Thys.
Annamari handed the note to her husband, and wept bitter tears of relief. Tomorrow, when Mr Venter phoned, she’d tell him not to fight the new land claim. She’d tell him that there was nothing left for her and Thys on Steynspruit. She’d tell him that they were going to make a new home for themselves with their children, and grandchildren. Somewhere.
Acknowledgements
Writing When Time Fails was a lot more difficult than writing A Beautiful Family – largely because I wrote the latter in a heady rush of naive enthusiasm. I basically had absolutely no idea what I was letting myself in for. I was more cautious – and critical – the second time around. So writing took me a lot longer and there were times when I questioned what I was attempting to do.
If it hadn’t been for my husband, Poen, I might have given up. He let me bend his ear with my ideas and thoughts for the plot, even at the most inopportune times (when he was watching his beloved Sharks and Cheetahs play rugby); he gave advice; he encouraged and prodded me. And, of course, he gave me invaluable insight into life in small Free State dorpie and a privileged entré (as an honorary Afrikaner) into the rich culture of South Africa’s Afrikaans community.
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