‘I’m going to put you over that fence and I want you to stay there and not come out, no matter what you hear, until I call for you, or Mummy does—even if it’s a long time—promise?’
Christian nodded again.
Jannie quickly scooped him up and put him over the neighbouring six-foot high concrete fence, lowering him on to a tree stump.
‘Stay there, quiet as a mouse!’
Jannie, having turned towards the pool, wondered whether he had over-reacted. He glanced towards the kitchen and the sickening fear returned. The first bullet ripped through his abdomen, silently delivered, except for the soft popping sound. He felt it leave his back, and felt the searing pain as it tore out part of his erector spinae. He heard the noise as it hit the back fence, and prayed that Christian would be safe. He prayed to God, too, for forgiveness as the next bullets smashed his leg and chest. He watched in slow motion as the two gunmen approached—one black, the other white.
‘Hy is nie dood nie?’ said the black one as he limped towards him.
‘He’ll be dead shortly,’ said the white gunman, with the thickest Afrikaans accent, as he raised his gun to Jannie’s head.
‘Daddy Waddy, can I come out yet? I don’t want to stay here any longer.’ Christian’s voice drifted over the fence.
Jannie saw the black gunmen look at the white, trying to work out where the voice had come from, and then he heard their neighbour Mrs Wattchow call out, ‘Christian, what are you doing down there in the garden?’
He prayed that they would leave both of them alone as he saw the white man raise the gun again and point it at his temple.
Chapter 15
Having left Jannie in the front room, Renata drove back to the hospital. She sat at her desk thinking about the changes that she had seen in Jannie in the last few days. He was somehow different since she had visited him in the hospital. After the drama of the media interviews, he had become a little bit more talkative than he normally was. She was initially hopeful that this would help him get over any post-traumatic stress syndrome that she was certain that he was going to have. Then when she picked him up from the hospital that morning, they hardly spoke on the way home. Normally he would be talking about what he needed to do at work, and especially, she thought, about Sibokwe and the liver transplant. There seemed to be something that was deeply troubling him, but then she rationalised that perhaps it was just the impact of the trauma. At the best of times, he was an emotional economist. She resolved that, irrespective of him not wanting to talk about things, she would go home earlier than she normally would just to keep an eye on him. She was sure that as soon as he got home, he would be working and not taking it easy as Chris and Digby had recommended. At least, if nothing else, she could try to get him to relax a little more.
She took the short route home from hospital and was halfway down Coghill Street when she saw Lucy in the distance and tooted and waved. As she drew level with her, she wound down the car window.
‘Good afternoon, Madam,’ Lucy called as she spotted Renata.
‘Good afternoon, Lucy. Would you like a ride?’
‘Thank you, Madam.’
Renata pulled the catch for the boot and waited as Lucy loaded four large shopping bags into the back of the car. It was a short distance to their driveway, about eight hundred metres, but Renata knew that Lucy would appreciate the ride. Renata pulled into the driveway and got out of the car to help Lucy unload the food on to the front steps. As she put the bags down she noticed that Lucy had bought rye bread, Jannie’s favourite, and ice blocks for Christian. She was delighted, despite all the recent drama, that there were some things in life that fortunately remained constant. She was closing the boot of the car when she heard Lucy call out to her.
‘Madam, the front door is open.’
Renata looked up and thought that would explain why she had not heard the spaniels barking.
Probably Mike,’ Renata called back. ‘He was coming around and must have left it open.’
Renata picked up two of the shopping bags, thinking that she would have to go and look for the spaniels once she put the food inside. Nevertheless, at the same time, she felt a strange disquiet deep inside.
‘All right, Lucy; let’s put all this shopping inside.’
As Renata opened the doors, she recoiled in shock; just behind the door their two beloved spaniels lay covered in blood, their faces no longer recognisable, like two lifeless stuffed toys, one on top of the other. Their eyes were still open, their tongues hanging out of the side of their mouths but without the slightest sign of life. From beneath them, a pool of blood trickled down the hallway. Renata felt nauseated and light-headed, and as she turned towards Lucy, vomited uncontrollably on to the path.
‘Madam, what’s the matter?’
Renata did not reply but dropped the two packages that she was carrying and pushed the door back against the dead spaniels, running down the hallway, calling out frantically to Jannie and Christian. As she reached the back door, she willed herself to see Jannie and Christian sitting around the pool playing, hoping that there would be an explanation for the dead spaniels, hoping that the sick feeling in her stomach would not worsen.
She looked through the back door and could see Jannie lying face down across the pool netting. Blood was dripping into the pool, seeping out towards the centre, creating swirling crimson patches.
‘NO!’ she screamed and raced over to where he lay. ‘Jannie, Jannie, talk to me!’
She felt immediately for his carotid pulse, willing it to be there, wanting him to respond to her. ‘Jannie,’ she screamed at him, recognising all the signs of death she had witnessed so regularly as an intern.
‘Jannie,’ she whispered, ‘please don’t be dead,’ as she felt the nausea return. She looked at him searching to see where the blood was coming from, instinctively applying pressure to his neck wound and then vomiting uncontrollably again.
‘Madam.’
Renata felt Lucy touching her shoulder, and she turned to see Lucy standing behind her, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Madam, shall I call the police?’
‘No, Lucy. Call the hospital and tell them there is an emergency and we need the ambulance, and then get me the first aid kit from under the kitchen sink.’
Lucy turned to hurry back inside and then stopped. ‘Madam, where is Christian?’
The question suddenly tore at Renata. In her revulsion at finding Jannie, Christian’s absence had been momentarily forgotten. A feeling of fear and uncertainty gripped her, a feeling so alien she initially did not know how to respond to it. Was Christian lying dead in some part of the garden? Did she need to find Christian and save him? If she left Jannie, would he die? Her brain would not process and prioritise the situation. ‘Take a deep breath,’ she told herself. ‘Apply pressure, and remember your training from the trauma unit. Treat those you have in front of you first, and use others to triage.’
‘Lucy, see whether Christian is hiding somewhere.’
‘Lucy.’ Renata spoke more forcefully.
‘Yes, Madam.’
‘Look in Christian’s bedroom, in his cupboard, under the bed.’
‘Mamma!’ Christian’s voice silenced both women. It was shortly followed by Mrs Wattchow’s face as she peered over the back fence clutching on to Christian.
‘Is he all right?’ she directed at Mrs Wattchow, who was now as transfixed as Lucy by the sight of Jannie.
‘Can you please look after him while we deal with Jannie?’
Renata saw the colour draining from Mrs Wattchow’s face. She turned back to Jannie. The blood continued to run across the tiles and slowly dripped into the pool. She could not find a pulse and there was no movement from his eyes. He needed intravenous fluids to compensate for his blood loss. If an ambulance did not arrive immediately, he was going to die.
Chapter 16
The terrorist attack on the church had brought a huge public outcry and subsequent media frenzy. Jannie’s death coming so
soon after the mass violence had, by contrast, caused little public reaction. The official conclusion ascribed to Jannie’s killing was an unfortunate isolated act of robbery and violence. Renata had always felt uncomfortable with the findings because the break-in that was associated with Jannie’s death was unlike the previous break-ins—nothing had been touched and nothing had been stolen. It did not really add up to an isolated act of robbery or incidental violence. However, no matter how hard she pushed the police, they remained unconvinced there was anything else to investigate.
Colleagues from the university and hospital had attended the funeral, with many eulogising about Jannie’s contribution to surgery. The flowers that had arrived at their home were like none that she had seen; large bouquets were left at the front door. Although Jannie’s mother had come to the funeral, she had refused to speak to Renata, presumably on instructions from her husband who, true to his Afrikaner stubbornness, did not attend.
Mike McMahon phoned a few days after Jannie’s funeral and asked whether he could call in and talk to her. Renata was pleased. She always enjoyed talking to Mike and thought she would ask his advice about moving into a more secure house in Bishops Court, not too far from Mike and Sian. Soon after there was a knock at the door, and she walked down the hallway to let Mike in. He gave Renata the customary hug and greeted Lucy as he made his way through to the kitchen. Despite his graciousness, Renata sensed that he was not his normal bubbly self. There was no extra long embrace for Christian or ruffling of his blond curls as he walked past him.
‘What’s the matter, Mike? Is the transplant programme faltering?’
Mike stared at her a little before replying. ‘No, that’s going well. Sibokwe is up and moving around, and there has been no acute rejection.’
‘Well, a cup of tea then?
‘That would be great. Any Rooibush tea?’
‘Yes, I can do Rooibos. Please, sit down.’
When she brought the tea through, Christian had surfaced from the playroom and raced towards Mike. He squealed with delight as Mike threw him over his shoulder and twirled him around in a fire-fighter’s grip. That is more like the Mike I know, Renata thought. Maybe everything is OK.
Renata placed the tea on the yellow-wood table away from Christian’s playful hands. As she looked down at him, she felt relieved he had been protected from all the drama that had surrounded his father and his death. She presumed that it must have had some impact, but it appeared to be less than what she could have imagined.
As Mike twirled Christian around, the squeals became louder. Tipping Christian upside down produced greater peals of laughter, and Mike then tucked him under one arm and headed in the direction of the playroom, calling for Lucy as he went. Before he got to the bedroom door, Christian became quiet, and then pushed back from Mike’s chest, so that he could look him in the eye and said, ‘Does it hurt to die, Uncle Mike?’
Renata looked anxiously at Mike, understanding that Christian was concerned in a child’s way that his father had been in great pain before he died.
‘No, it doesn’t hurt to die, Christian,’ said Mike, hoping that no further explanation would be necessary.
Christian looked at him, and hugged him before asking again, ‘So, Daddy is in heaven?’ Smiling now, he asked, ‘And we can see him one day?’
‘One day I’m sure you will,’ said Mike, giving him an extra hug. Renata turned and hurried into the lounge, wiping away the tears that she did not want Christian to see.
Finally, Lucy came down the hallway to take Christian, unaware of the moment that had just preceded her entrance. She grabbed Christian and tickled him while kissing him on the head. Mike released him into her arms, blinking back his own tears.
‘Are you alright, Ren?’ he said when he found Renata in the kitchen dabbing her eyes.
‘Yes, I’m OK, thanks; I just seem to have these periods of uncontrollable crying.’
‘Have the nightmares stopped yet?’
‘I’m not sure; I haven’t dared to stop taking the sleeping tablets.’
They both sat down somewhat awkwardly, and Renata poured the tea. ‘You have something to tell me, Mike?’
He looked at her, not sure whether it was his male superficiality or Renata’s finely tuned sensitivity. He knew she had a highly developed female intuition that he may previously have underestimated.
‘It’s about Jannie, isn’t it?’ she said as she took her first sip of tea. ‘He was having an affair, wasn’t he? I knew that for almost six months, or at least I suspected as much as we hadn’t slept together for that long. At the funeral his theatre nurse, Nadine, had come up to me and said that he was someone to whom many owed their lives and only a few were privileged to love.’ Renata looked at Mike as she finished her statement, searching for confirmation. Mike held her gaze but remained silent.
‘It’s alright, Mike. I don’t expect you to slander your dead friend. I assume it was Nadine. I mean, he was always talking about what a wonderful scrub nurse she was, and how difficult it was for a coloured person to make something of themselves. He was certain that she could have done medicine if she’d been white. It was only when I saw her at the funeral, how beautiful and adoring she was, that I realised she was everything Jannie wanted and hadn’t found in me. She was soft, compliant and clearly idolised him. I don’t blame him, Mike, really; it was the Afrikaner part of him that he could never really deny. He wanted the sum of multiples that were incompatible. He wanted not only beauty, adoration and sexual disinhibition, but he also wanted someone who was his intellectual equal, who could challenge him without usurping him. That person also needed to be partly an acquisition that highlighted his success and achievements. I couldn’t be all those things to him.’
‘Renata,’ Mike said, trying not to look at her weeping green eyes, ‘as far as I know Jannie never had an affair with Nadine.’
She looked at him, searching for any clues in his eyes that he was covering up for his friend. ‘I’m sorry, Mike, I’m sure it’s the stress of the last few weeks, and I knew that there was something deeply troubling Jannie when he came back from the hospital. Because he didn’t confide in me, I’d assumed it was personal.’
‘No doubt, he was very fond of Nadine, and because of his work he spent many hours with her. She clearly idolised him. Working with someone who was as powerful and skilful as Jannie can cause that. This wouldn’t be the first time, or the last, for this to happen in an operating theatre. Jannie never discussed it with me, but others amongst us had talked about it. We were sure that if Jannie had encouraged Nadine it may well have happened, but from what we could see he never really did.’
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just don’t seem to have the same control I had when Jannie was here. I’m sorry. One thinks strange things at times like these.’
‘That’s partly what I wanted to talk to you about, Ren. Perhaps it’s time for a new start somewhere away from all of this.’
‘Yes, I’ve also been considering that.’
‘Renata, the day that Jannie was shot we were sitting by your pool. We were talking about the transplant programme—how Sibokwe was doing and that sort of thing. It was unusual because Jannie was making small talk, and he never really did that. It was almost as if he had a premonition that something dreadful was going to happen. Then he said he wanted to talk to me about something serious and gave me two envelopes for safekeeping. Because the hospital then paged me about Sibokwe, we never got a chance to talk about what was worrying him. The morning after his death, I remembered the envelope and opened it. It explains partly what he wanted to talk to me about. There was a covering letter to me. I think you should read the covering letter first.
Renata looked at Mike. She saw a deep sadness and wondered what Jannie could have written to have so affected his friend. She took the letter Mike handed her and recognised Jannie’s writing. As she read, she fought the desire to again cry.
Dear Mike,
That you are now re
ading this means that I am dead. I have been concerned that this could happen for the last few weeks. I have made many mistakes in my life, and you will see by the time you finish this letter that this is the biggest and obviously the most catastrophic. Becoming involved with the Bureau of State Security I will long regret. In my naiveté I thought that my co-operation would secure extra funding for the transplant team and that I could develop the transplant unit into the best in the southern hemisphere. I became concerned about some of the requests that were made that compromised both my personal and medical principles. I would tell you more but that might compromise your safety. It’s important to me that you have some good memories of our friendship. I knew too much, which is why you are now reading this letter.
I am entrusting Renata and Christian’s safety, and future, to you, Michael. After what has happened to me, it is going to be difficult for Renata to make rational decisions. Please tell them in your way that I love them; you were always better at that than me. Tell Renata that I often wished I could have loved her the way she wanted me to. Christian will have no father. If there is anyone I could choose for him to have as a role model, it is you. Look after him, guide him, and help him when the time comes to understand his father. The letter addressed to Christian I ask you to keep somewhere safe until you think he should read it, or when he starts to question his father’s life, as he will. Thank you, my friend, I love you.
On my death, please send the first letter immediately to the Bureau of State Security. I will not tell you its content. Trust me that it will protect Renata, Christian and yourself. Take care, my great friend. I apologise for burdening you with such a responsibility. I trust that one day you might forgive the Afrikaner, not only for destroying his heritage but the heritage of those who could have shared it. Please use your discretion as to when you show this to Christian and the separate letter that I entrust specially to him alone.
Does it Hurt to Die Page 12