Christian looked at Mike, realising that although it was a long time ago it must have been as awful for Mike as it was now for him.
‘BOSS was a law unto itself,’ Mike continued. ‘Their sole aim was to preserve white rule. If they had suspected that your father was developing a conscience about what he was involved in, which I believe he had, they would’ve killed him, and maybe they did. Your father would’ve understood that fully. Irrespective, he had the courage to try to rectify his mistake. I think he was so ashamed of how he’d been compromised that he made the ultimate gesture of threatening to expose them, knowing that his life would be in danger. He would also have known that as an organisation they were so out of control that his whole family could be threatened. In that sense, I’d like to remember him as a friend who, like us all, made mistakes, but one who could no longer countenance the lie his life was, and who showed more courage than all of us in trying to end that lie.’
Christian sat back and looked at Mike, aware of the tears in Mike’s eyes and those in his own. Mike reached out and touched Christian’s arm. ‘He was a real friend, a wonderful, powerful thinker who would’ve been really proud of you. I’ll always remember him as someone who saw his faults and was humble enough to admit them. His memory I’ll treasure, not degrade.’
Christian could sense Mike’s feeling of loss all those years ago and the anguish that he must have had to confront, just as he now did, about his father.
Mike interrupted his thoughts, and, looking at the closed envelope with Christian’s name written on it, said, ‘You haven’t read his letter addressed to you yet, have you?’
‘I hadn’t wanted to until now.’
‘Why don’t you take your father’s letter and share it with Isabella. Drive to Sea Point and sit on the beach. It’s an experience that you’re going to need to share with someone who cares; we’ll be here when you get back and can talk some more. Also, I need to give you some advice about what you experienced yesterday in Paarl and Stellenbosch.’
Christian wondered whether he was referring to the two men who had approached them or about the white Toyota that he had noticed. Perhaps he was not paranoid after all. He realised, though, that he needed to deal with his father’s letter first. He called Isabella and explained that Mike had given him two letters from his father. He told her he had read the letter to Mike and that the things his father had revealed to Mike had shocked him. Another letter, addressed to him, he had not yet opened.
‘Would you like me to come over?’ said Isabella, unprompted.
‘That’d be great,’ said Christian. ‘I think there are a few issues I’m going to need to work through and need someone else’s perspective on.’
‘As long as this is not a pretext to ask me out again,’ Isabella teased, lightening his mood a little.
‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘If I wanted to do that I’d be direct, like “what are you doing tonight?”’
Isabella laughed again, but did not acknowledge the question. ‘See you in twenty minutes,’ she said, and before she hung up added, ‘Oh, Christian?’
‘Yes?’
‘I really enjoyed yesterday and sharing some of your discoveries.’
Christian stared at the phone, thinking suddenly how that feeling of anger, betrayal and nausea had been replaced by joy and excitement. It was as though the contents of the letter no longer held any fear for him.
‘G’day, mate!’ she said as she bounced through the doorway shortly after.
Christian stood and stared unconsciously at her black curls sitting on her shoulders, skin shining as though polished and lips delicately traced with red lipstick. Her black t-shirt revealed a beauty of shape that was rare.
Isabella saw his reaction—one that she had seen in men before, but in Christian’s eyes she saw no lust. His eyes, while defining her beauty, were loving her with their gaze. For the first time she loved the reaction she evoked.
‘OK, Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!’ she said, breaking the silence. ‘You can either kiss me or I’ll kiss you.’
He quickly bridged the gap between them, swung his arm around her waist and kissed her quickly on the lips.
Ruby’s voice suddenly brought them both back into the world. ‘Miss Isabella, would you like your coffee standing up or sitting down?’
‘On the stoep is just fine, but I thought we were going to Sea Point?’
‘I didn’t know whether I could wait until we got to Sea Point to talk to you about this,’ replied Christian.
As they sat on the stoep, Isabella moved her chair closer to his.
‘Christian, I know about your father’s letter to Mike. I haven’t read it, but Mike and Nadine have discussed it countless times, so I feel like I’ve read it. I also know what you must be feeling. I can only tell you from what my mother has said that your father was someone to be honoured, not dishonoured—he was loved by many. He did a great deal to help our people, and I don’t think he would have willingly been part of a killing conspiracy against black people.’
‘That’s what Mike more or less said. I just need to understand why he did what he did. My father seemed so straightforward and intelligent, a good surgeon, all the things you would expect of someone in his position, and yet he seemed to betray so many people. I need to know him to be sure that I love him and can honour him as my father.’
‘Good,’ said Isabella, ‘but before we read that letter, a few rules though.’
Christian looked at her, intrigued by her forwardness, but also delighted that she wanted to be part of whatever he may discover.
‘Firstly, no secrets. We share everything. And secondly, that I be treated as an equal in any discovery, not just a sounding board who is given the expurgated version.’
Christian nodded; thinking at that moment there was nothing he did not want to share with Isabella.
‘Is that all? Only two requests?’ Christian ventured.
‘As a matter of fact, it’s not.’
Christian raised his eyebrows, smiling, knowing that her next requests would probably be laced with humour.
‘If we’re going to be together for a while, you must kiss me at least once a day.’
Christian laughed out loud, reached across and kissed her firmly on the lips, before breaking off and saying, ‘I accept your conditions, on one condition.’
‘And what’s that?’ Isabella attempted an imperious pose.
‘That there be no minimum.’
‘Don’t be greedy,’ she playfully rebuked him, before adding, ‘I thought this was going to be about your father’s letter.’
Christian looked at her, understanding that despite their growing fondness and its manifestation in their verbal affectations, a wall still had to be scaled and its roots explored.
‘Let’s have coffee first,’ said Christian, unsure about the effect of reading his father’s letter with Isabella.
‘Christian,’ she said, with a degree of authority that caused him to concentrate his gaze on her. ‘Christian, I realise that your father’s letter may have a profound effect on you. It’s always difficult to start a journey, but unless you do, you never reach the end.’
Christian looked at her and smiled.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Say something.’
‘So smart and so beautiful.’
The coffee, he knew, was just a way of delaying reading his father’s letter. What if he experienced more of the nausea he had with the first letter? As the last of the coffee was poured, Isabella came and sat beside him.
‘Let’s do it,’ she said.
Christian took the letter out of his pocket and unfolded the pages attempting to straighten them out. It was a typed letter, not in his father’s handwriting, but Christian could feel the closeness of his father.
My Dear Christian,
That you’re now reading this means you’re a man. You’ll be curious about the person who was your father. I’m sure you’ll need whatever information I can give you to allow you to underst
and me and develop your own life. In this letter, there will be many disappointments for you.
Let me start with something that every father needs to say, and which I now realise will be my only opportunity. Your mother had always tried to encourage me to communicate, and what I couldn’t say, I could often write. So, as I sit on the beach here looking back at Table Mountain, let me say to you things that I hoped one day that I may.
Your mother and I thought we would never have children, as we both had our careers. Your arrival was a surprise and the greatest thing that ever happened to us. From the time you arrived you stimulated a love in me that I didn’t know was possible.
I remember the excuse that it provided for me to act like a child again, to get down on the floor and crawl along with you. How your first words were Dadda. How proud I was of you when you pulled yourself up and staggered towards me, and fell into my arms bursting into laughter at having overcome such a huge challenge.
I know in doing what I’ve done that I’ve deprived you of a father and all the things that I had thought about doing with you like fishing at Cape Point and diving at Langebaan for crayfish. I’m sorry that we will not share those experiences together. The decisions I made were made in isolation before I knew the love that a son could awaken in a father. Knowing the love that I have for you, how I love seeing you smile at me, and hearing you say ‘Dadda’ would have changed the way I decided things. To have had the chance to be with you each day and watch you grow up, I would have given all this up. Some day when you also have a son, you will understand the power of this feeling. In depriving myself, I also deprived you of a great deal more. Not only that but, as you will probably have experienced, I was a sell-out, selfish, arrogant, misguided, to name but a few. I will try to explain to you, not to excuse, my actions so that this part of your life may be complete and that you can make your contribution to this world, as I know you will.
I had a vision for a better South Africa, a place where there would be greater equality, and I hoped to achieve this partly through medicine and surgery. I was also ambitious for my own personal success. Unfortunately, in trying to achieve one, I fatally compromised the other. I became involved with the Bureau for State Security (BOSS) through the persuasive efforts of one man, Andre van der Walt. I wanted to believe that we both shared a common vision, but my insight into that vision was, as I said, clouded by my ambition. At first, the tasks were minor and the rewards significant. The transplant programme blossomed; we were able to obtain all kinds of equipment and medication. Finance was no obstacle. Eventually, the demands became more aggressive, culminating in an incident that will forever remain my greatest shame, and which was to be a watershed in my life and death.
South Africa, Israel and Taiwan had developed nuclear weapons. This was with the covert co-operation of the United States, who had even announced to the world that a nuclear explosion had been detected in the Kalahari Desert by one of their spy satellites. That was no slip on the part of the Americans; it was designed to let the opposing players (Mainland China, Cuba, Iraq and Nigeria in particular) know that the three pariah states had nuclear weapons. What we didn’t have was the ability to deliver them. What had been stated as being a deterrent political tool (nuclear weapons) then became an industry that had significant export potential.
One of the weaknesses of the nuclear programme was that the early devices did not extrude sufficient radiation to kill people in armoured vehicles. The upgrading of the programme to fusion devices, and then to a neutron weapon, meant there was a need also to have a delivery system, for these weapons required the importation of red mercury. This substance was an accelerant used to boost the range of the missiles and enhance the primary explosion. Emphasis then shifted to chemical, biological and genetic weapons. I found myself advising on biological weapons that could be directed against people of colour all of which was contrary to my medical training and Hippocratic Oath.
My research had been into liver proteins and trying to mask foreign proteins to prevent transplanted livers being rejected. I discovered a DNA sequence which could identify coloured people. The coupling of antibodies to the manifested protein of this gene meant disease and death could be spread to a race group that displayed the gene. The important part of this research has been hidden, as it would not only have been of great importance to a white government in controlling a black population but also it would have been of interest to the Israelis and the Taiwanese.
Following the terrorist attack in Cape Town, part of this research was discovered. I had also been secretly given a folder detailing the nuclear programme and the involvement of the Israeli, Taiwanese and French governments. This was given to me by another scientist who I know was killed by BOSS. The threat of exposure of these documents is what has kept your mother and you safe.
I wonder if you will have my stubbornness. I trust you won’t ever be as blinded by ambition. My stubbornness was legendary, and I refused to be dictated to. If I was to speak out about what was going on, I needed to protect you and your mother. I sent letters to an overseas academic exile. He was instructed to reveal all information if anything happened to you and your mother. I then sent a letter to Van der Walt and wrote this letter to you.
As an extra precaution there is one part of my research that’s the key to the rest, but it’s in a code on the back of the photograph of all of us that your mother has. I’m sure that by the time you read this it’ll be of little relevance. I hope that white supremacists will be confined to history and you both will be safe.
I know that I was naïve and corrupted by naked ambition; hopefully part of my legacy may have included your freedom. I trust that you will one day read this with a heart that allows forgiveness of your father.
My son, I can only wish I was there to talk with you, but we all have to live with our decisions. I trust that you will grow into the young man I would love to have had for a son, and so finally bequeath to you a favourite poem of mine from The Wind in the Willows. I hope that one day you come to like this as much as I did.
‘The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the pool he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat beneath the willow, while the pool still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.’
All my love, my son
Your father
Christian stopped reading, wiping the tears from his eyes, not realising that Isabella had not yet finished. He was unaware, too, of how close she had moved to him. He could see her eyes scanning his father’s words and saw the tears that matched his. As he watched her he tried to think of his father sitting at Sea Point writing. Was it at one of the small cafes or was he sitting on the big rounded rock his mother used to tell him they often visited? He sensed that when Isabella finished reading he would not have time to reflect, knowing she would want to probe his feelings.
‘What did you feel?’ she ventured, wiping her tears.
‘Mostly anger,’ said Christian, looking back at her, watching her digest his words.
Christian felt her eyes measuring him. Her expression alone was telling him that he could trust her and that his feelings would not be belittled. It was something he had not previously experienced.
‘Anger, but also grateful that I didn’t have to read it alone.’
Isabella moved closer still and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Just tell me one thing, Issy, that what you’re doing to me is unique.’
‘Oh, men!’ she said, in mock anger. ‘Christian, don’t you know anything about women yet? That part of my soul that you see is reserved only for those…’ She hesitated and Christian looked at her.
She is about to continue but he cuts her short. ‘Only for those you really care about?’ he said, raising his eyebrows to add the question mark.
‘There you are
,’ she said, the sparkle back in her eyes, ‘you do know something about women.’ Christian laughed and grabbed her roughly.
‘Yes, and I know how to deal with the cheeky ones, too.’
‘So now tell me about the anger.’
‘Well, firstly there was the anger towards my father because although he was obviously intelligent, he couldn’t see the potential danger in being involved with BOSS. It was astonishingly naïve that he thought he could control his involvement and commitment. Then, as the letter went on, I started to see how he had realised that a sense of integrity could be corrupted by those with an amoral agenda and I was angry and sad that he didn’t survive that realisation.’
Isabella listened. One of the things that fascinated her about Christian was his ability to put thoughts into words.
‘Do you follow what I mean, Issy?’
‘Christian,’ she started, putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m not sure that I know how to deal with what I’m feeling or more importantly what you’re experiencing and therefore whether I’m the best person to be trying to help you.’
Christian started to object, but she silenced his objection by placing her fingers on his lips. ‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ she continued, ‘but it may not be correct. I don’t have much experience with situations like these.’ She paused, catching her breath quickly. ‘You haven’t yet dealt with your father’s dying and what that death robbed you of—a family, father, love, laughter, good and bad times. I think you’re angry at him for taking those things away from you and because he didn’t consider you before he made a decision that you think was, in hindsight, naïve. You have to remember that he became involved with BOSS before you were born and he didn’t know the love that would ensue through having a son. It seems to me that when he did, his love for you drove him to try and correct some of his past mistakes.’
Does it Hurt to Die Page 23