Sacrificed

by Chanette Paul

  She missed her smallholding. The wild olive trees. The sound of the wind in the poplars. The crisp Overberg air. The deep blue, aircraftless sky. Catya. Even the Cape robin that left its splotches all over the house. The hooting of the owls at night. The creaking sound of blue cranes in flight. Pheasants coming to beg for breadcrumbs or leftover rice.

  She missed so, so many things. Having her own transport. Independence. Familiar roads. Facial expressions she could read. A sense of humor she could understand. A sense of humor, period. Her ears were tired of Flemish and all its various dialects.

  She missed Ellen’s unadorned Afrikaans. She missed Ellen. Her down-to-earth nature.

  The street singer began a new melody. Lamenting yet almost rebellious. Caz pulled herself together, took two euros from the side pocket of her backpack and placed the coins in the inverted cap.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  He didn’t look up, just nodded slightly and sang or talked on, spilling out his own longing.

  Seventeen

  Luc

  Ghent

  “That wasn’t so bad. Why does everyone call him Luc-de-Loser?”

  The student was hastily silenced when her friend noticed Luc slightly behind them. The girl turned, and blushed when she saw him. The two of them disappeared down the passage, giggling.

  Luc-de-Loser. It probably served him right. He was a loser. A pathetic figure. But he had been different today. At least he could give himself credit for that. His lecture might not have been brilliant or a roaring success, but the majority of the class had paid attention while he was telling them about the M23 rebels, the LRA, or Lord’s Resistance Army, the FLDR, ADF and almost every letter in the alphabet that could spell out violence in acronyms.

  Towards the end, their attention had begun to wander until he had mentioned blood diamonds. But by that time the lecture was over.

  He glanced at his cellphone as he turned the sound back on. Lieve. Verdorie, Ammie. He fought his way out of the throng and dialed the moment he thought he could make himself heard.

  “Lieve, it’s Luc. Is anything wrong?” he asked, anxiety rising in his throat. “My phone is on silent while I’m lecturing.”

  “I’m sorry if I gave you a fright, Professor. No, Miss Ammie is the same. Slightly better, I think. Actually surprisingly lucid as well.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You won’t believe me, but she asked where you are. When I said you’re lecturing, she asked when you’d be visiting again.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I do think she’d like to see you again. Or at least she wanted to at that moment.”

  Luc closed his eyes and visualized his calendar. The next day his schedule was full. On Saturday he had to work on a postgraduate student’s dissertation. “Unless there’s an immediate crisis I can come through on Sunday at the earliest, Lieve.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Professor, but you do understand that her mood changes from one moment to the next? She might want to see you today but by Sunday she might not.”

  Luc nodded as if she could see him. “I understand. I’ll call you on Sunday morning. Around nine? Then you can tell me if you think I should come.”

  “As long as you’re not upset if she changes her mind.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you, Professor. I hope it’s a good sign.”

  “So do I, Lieve. So do I.”

  “I truly believe it’s the loneliness that gets to her. The doctor was here again this morning. Except for the light stroke, which might be a warning sign, he said her health is good for her age. But, yes, I’ll hear from you on Sunday morning.”

  “Okay, but please call if there are problems or if her condition deteriorates.”

  “I will.”

  When he returned the phone to his pocket he realized how his attitude toward Ammie had shifted since Lieve’s first phone call. At first, visiting Ammie had felt like a duty he fulfilled more from a sense of curiosity than out of concern. Now it was quite different. He didn’t quite know how or why. Only that his interest in her now went beyond the call of duty.

  He wanted to see Ammie again, even though he barely recognized the dignified, eccentric old lady as the young woman he had known as his mother.

  Someone tugged at his sleeve and he looked down. It was the slim, pale girl who had sat in the front row during his lecture.

  “Professor, I’m sorry to bother you. I was just wondering. I googled, and the enormous diamonds you were talking about, those from the DRC, they’re called the Incomparable and the Millennium Star, aren’t they?”

  He nodded.

  “I see diamonds like those are worth millions.”

  “That’s true.” Where was she heading?

  “I just wondered what would happen if an enormous diamond like that fell into the hands of rebels. Just think how many weapons they could buy. Explosives. Mortars and stuff. I don’t know much about weapons, but you know what I’m saying.”

  He nodded again. “Remember, the value on the internet is mostly an estimate, and it’s based on the end product. In its rough form the stone isn’t worth nearly as much. Anyway, those are truly exceptional stones. I don’t think it would be easy for rebels to lay their hands on stones of that caliber.”

  The girl let out her breath. “Thank goodness. Yes, of course.” She gave him a smile. “Interesting lecture, thanks, Professor. It’s a pity we don’t know how our forefathers really felt about the Congo. What their lives were like. My great-grandmother lived there, but she died before I was born. My grandma was there for only a short while, as a child. She says she can’t remember much. It’s actually the reason I enrolled for the module. I thought I would learn more about Africa and what it’s like there.”

  “What’s your last name, Miss?” he asked.

  “Sluyck, Professor. Nele Sluyck.”

  “Well, Miss Sluyck, if there’s time at the end of the next lecture the class might want to discuss it. Some of the other students’ grandparents might have told them or their parents something. We can also look at books that might provide some insight. How does that sound?”

  Nele Sluyck’s cheeks turned a blotchy pink. “Wonderful, Professor. Africa sounds so exotic, so mysterious.”

  If only the dear child knew, Luc thought as he walked to the building that housed his office. He lectured to youngsters whose grandparents had lived in the Congo. In the meantime he had access to a primary source of information he could have tapped years ago if only he had used his head.

  His stepmother had lived in the Congo, while in the case of his students it was their grandparents. It put matters into perspective. He was getting old.

  Caz

  Leuven

  Today, exactly a week ago, she had landed in Amsterdam. A week, and already she was desperately longing for her old life, which she had foolishly thought she would exchange at the drop of a hat for a life in a country with almost no crime.

  And now? All she wanted to do was pick up the rest of her luggage in Ghent and fly back to her comfort zone. Even if it happened to be a discomfort zone.

  Caz gazed down at the note with the telephone number Jennie had given her. Lieve Luykens’s landline number had been easy to find. Especially since she lived in Leuven. Now she had the number. Jennie had kindly said she didn’t mind Caz using her landline, as long as she dialed local numbers. She had also given Caz free access to the internet.

  Through Lieve Luykens she might be able to get in touch with Luc DeReu. If Lieve’s search had met with success after coming up against a blank wall at KU Leuven, of course.

  Caz crossed to the window. Her room was airy and light and freshly furnished, unlike her musty, dimly lit quarters in Tieneke’s home.

  Leuven was a lovely city that she would like to explore, but she seemed u
nable to drum up the enthusiasm. Jennie had given her information on the most important tourist attractions. The Begijnhof had aroused her curiosity. Also Arenberg Castle and the Abdij van ’t Park, but her listlessness remained.

  She wondered whether the man singing his sad stories was still at the bus stop. She had read on the internet that the instrument was called an mvet and was native to countries like Cameroon, Gabon, Guinea and the Congo. And she had been right, traditionally music played on the mvet was more about the story than the melody or the singing.

  To phone Lieve or not. That was where she should be focusing her thoughts, instead of on traditional African musical instruments.

  She was chasing after ghosts—ghosts that hadn’t wanted her in the first place. In the meantime she was spending money she could barely afford and her translation lay waiting.

  Caz crumpled up the note with Lieve Luykens’s number and threw it into the wastepaper basket. Lilah would just have to accept that she was going to book an earlier flight and she would console herself with the thought that she would be seeing her daughter in less than three months anyway.

  She paid a visit to the neat bathroom she shared with Jennie, walked out onto the patio and then back into the bedroom.

  With a frustrated sigh she took the note out of the wastepaper basket and ironed it out with her hand. She would make just this one call. If it came to nothing, that was it.

  The phone was in the living room. The receiver was cool in her hand. The buttons were stiff when she pushed them. After the third ring, she fought the urge to replace the receiver and gripped it more firmly.

  An automated voice invited her in Flemish to leave a message. She found Dutch much easier to understand than Flemish, with its dialects, probably because Hans had been Dutch and Fien had adapted to his way of speaking, but Caz followed the gist of what was said.

  She left her message in English. “Good day. My name is Caz Colijn and I’d like to get in touch with Professor Luc DeReu. Unfortunately I can’t receive calls, only SMSes.” She gave the number, asked Lieve to send her Luc DeReu’s number or to give her number to him, said goodbye and ended the call.

  Caz took a deep breath and discovered that she was perspiring.

  Now it was in the hands of the angels, she thought as she returned to her room. Or the demons.

  Erevu

  Leuven

  At least she hadn’t recognized him from Dampoort. But he could kick himself for arriving too late to see where she’d gone this morning. Bloody roads were jammed with traffic. He should have taken the train, but he thought the car would give him more space to manoeuvre. And then he had to pay a ridiculous parking fee to boot.

  But here he was in Leuven and he had seen her come back from wherever she had been to.

  As a street musician, he could watch her lodgings as well as the closest bus stop but he couldn’t follow her for more than a block or two. After that he would have to change his appearance, which was difficult with the mvet. But he would think of something. He should have brought the donnu harp; it could fit into a backpack.

  Now he could only hope this Caz made contact with the other old woman by email or cellphone. Jela was watching the one and Dove the other.

  Luc

  Ghent

  Luc had just immersed himself in a postgraduate essay when the ringing of the cellphone interrupted him. He was tempted not to answer, but saw that it was Lieve. With a sigh he pushed the green button.

  “Good day, Lieve?”

  “Good day, Professor. I’m sorry to bother you again, but there was a strange message on my landline when I returned from Miss Ammie’s. It sounds as if someone is looking for you.”

  “Me?” He frowned. Who on earth would know about his connection with Lieve Luykens? “Who was it?”

  “I’m afraid the message is in English and I don’t understand it very well. It’s a woman. I could make out something about messages and she mentioned your name. She said she could only receive SMSes, not calls. And, oh, her last name is Colijn.”

  Luc sat up straight. “Her name? Did she mention her name?”

  “Yes, she did. It’s a short, odd name. Something like Kess.”

  Kess? Caz, maybe? Caz Colijn? But it was impossible. How would she know about him? About Lieve? Get hold of Lieve’s number? From South Africa as well. Nothing made sense. “Lieve, could you please send me that number?”

  “I will. Oh, and I told Miss Ammie you might come over on Sunday. She nodded and mumbled something about finishing business, but I couldn’t really make out what she was saying.”

  “Thank you, Lieve, that’s good news.”

  “I’ll send the number, Professor. Good day.”

  Moments later the number arrived. It started with +27. South Africa. It had to be the translator he had spotted on LinkedIn.

  He felt like the fox terrier that had caught the bus. What should he do now?

  Think. Think very carefully. That’s what. Lieve probably had no idea she had been contacted by someone who might be Ammie’s daughter. A daughter Ammie had been hiding from for more than half a century. Because she believed she was as evil as her father.

  Does a mother know that kind of thing? Can a mother sense that her child is evil?

  Caz

  Leuven

  Caz sat at the small desk by the window, which she had opened wide. In the distance she could still hear the far-off sound of the African playing his mvet.

  The email she was writing to Lilah was becoming very long. Yet she still hadn’t explained that they were actually not Colijns. It would give rise to so many questions. No, first she had to find out herself what was what.

  She told Lilah about Fien’s death, but not about Tieneke’s part in it. She told her she had been to Doel, but not why. She described the town, but kept it short when she realized she couldn’t put it into words. She considered telling Lilah about her visit to KU Leuven, but let it go. She told her about the man from Africa who had made her so homesick, before she gave her the bad news.

  Lilah, my love, your mother wants to go home.

  I know you’ll be disappointed. I was looking forward to seeing you on your birthday, but with Fien no longer with us and Tieneke not wanting me there (I can’t imagine staying with her for another two weeks anyway—it would drive me round the bend), I can’t really afford to stay. It’s not just the money. I have a book to translate and even though the deadline has been postponed, I’m battling with the new Word program. It’s bound to slow me down.

  Tomorrow I’m going back to Ghent to pick up my luggage. From there I’ll try to get an earlier flight to Cape Town. I’ll let you know when I’ll be leaving. Let me know if I should send your boots and books and things by courier or if you’d prefer to pick them up or have them fetched at Tieneke’s. I don’t know if you know anyone in Ghent? I certainly don’t fancy hauling everything all the way back.

  I’m sorry it’s going to cost you money and trouble, but I hope you understand. I’ll see you in less than three months.

  Love you very, very much and miss you terribly.

  MaCaz

  Caz was tearful when she had sent the email. She felt as if she had let Lilah down, but also as if the country was doing its best to get rid of her. It was a melodramatic thought, born chiefly from the friction between herself and Tieneke, but also from her struggle with public transport, the unreadable faces of the people, the language she had more trouble following than she had anticipated and the lack of real fresh air.

  She would go home and try to be less of a recluse. One good thing this trip had taught her was that John Donne had been right: no man is an island. She had made an island of her smallholding and she had to put it right. There were wonderful people in Stanford, who had tried to involve her in their activities, but she had always shied away. Once she was home, it would change. A good way to
start would be by joining a book club. Books were her life, after all. Maybe she could even find a hobby. Take a few classes.

  She wasn’t much of an artist, but she was quite good at making things. Like the wind chimes and clay objects she had made in Pretoria and sold at a craft market to finance one of Lilah’s more expensive excursions.

  Caz made coffee in the kitchen and when she returned, Lilah had sent a reply.

  Dearest MaCaz

  I can’t tell you how disappointed I am that you want to cut your trip short. I was soooo looking forward to showing you my world. There’s also something I want to talk to you about. Yes, it’s a man, but don’t stress now. I just like him a lot, despite a few complications. But I want to tell you face to face. NOTHING for you to worry about. Really.

  I’m so pissed off at that Tieneke bitch. If she had been nice to you, you would have stayed. But I do understand. And I don’t want you to stay just to please me if you’re clearly not happy. As you said, we’ll see each other in December. I’ll try to come earlier so that we’ll have more time together. It’s because of my busy schedule that you’ve had to hang around to see me.

  Don’t worry about my boots and stuff. I’ll arrange for a courier when I’m back.

  Love you loooooooots. Keep me up to speed with your travel arrangements.

  Have to run.

  Your little jacaranda blossom

  This time Caz couldn’t hold back the tears. Why did everything have to be so hard? She really wanted to see her child. Really wanted to hear about the man in her life. What complications?

  Another frightening thought struck her. What if Lilah got married and stayed here forever? But, to be fair, could she really expect Lilah, after the life she’d been leading, to return to South Africa? Go back to living in a country where one’s life is permanently in danger?

  Of course not. Of course bloody not.

  Erevu

  Leuven