by Debbie Roome
“Thank you.” Joel drew a deep breath as he followed the stream of tired passengers. There was a different feel in this country; a vibrancy in the air, but also a feeling of oppression.
He claimed his bag, passed through Customs with no problem, and spilled out into a cavernous arrivals hall. Uniformed drivers were clustered around, holding up signs for various hotels, some bearing visitor’s names. It was all so foreign, so strange, and everyone spoke with an accent of one language or another.
He stopped still for a moment and looked across the surge of humanity that thronged the hall. Many of the people were black and wore wide smiles as they shouted across the room to each other. Joel squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear the fuzziness from his mind before heading across to the information centre.
“Good morning, sir.” The woman had smooth dark skin and neatly braided hair in intricate patterned rows against her scalp. “How can I help you?”
“Could you tell me where to find a taxi?”
“Just that way, through those doors there.”
He followed her finger and emerged into a covered walkway which led to a row of taxis. Mandy had found Sarah’s home address on her lease agreement and they’d Googled directions, finding it was 25 kilometres from the airport.
The flight hadn’t been so easy to secure. Mandy phoned the airlines that flew to Johannesburg and they were all fully booked until after Christmas. Undaunted, she put him on the waiting lists, and an hour later Singapore Airlines called to say a seat was available in two day’s time. It made a big dent in his savings, but he had high hopes that it might turn into a lifelong investment.
A short black man approached Joel, dressed in cream chinos and a blue cotton shirt embroidered with a City Taxi logo. He wore a badge cheerfully declaring that his name was Samson. Damp rings stained his armpits and his face was sweating freely. “Sabona. Taxi, sir?”
Joel pulled out the address. “Are you able to take me here?”
The man grinned, showing a row of straight white teeth. “Of course, no problem.” He was already lifting Joel’s suitcase. “Follow me.”
“Just a minute.” Joel slowed him down. “Is there somewhere I can buy flowers first?”
The taxi driver grinned again. “No problem!” He led the way to a strip of airport stores, talking nonstop as they went. By the time they reached the florist, Joel had received a complete rundown of the must-see sights, not only of Johannesburg, but Pretoria too—and Samson’s business card to go with it.
The florist shop was tiny, and fragrant with tropical blooms, most of which were unfamiliar to Joel. “Do you have any roses?” he asked.
“What colour would you like?”
“Red, if possible.”
The florist brought some out to show him and he nodded. “Those will be perfect.”
“And would you like me to add some gypsophila?” Seeing his blank look, she produced a spray, clustered with delicate white flowers.
Sarah will like those. “Yes, please.” As he waited for her to assemble the bouquet, he thought with a grin that everyone sounded like Sarah and he was now the foreigner; the one who stood out as being different.
Ten minutes later Samson stowed Joel’s bags in the boot of an old Mercedes and opened the back door for his passenger. At the same time he gabbled to another driver, at double speed and top volume. The rapid-fire words were unfamiliar to Joel, and punctuated with melodic clicks.
“What language were you speaking?” Joel asked, as the conversation came to an abrupt end.
“Xhosa. I also speak Zulu, a bit of Afrikaans and of course, English. Venda too, but not so much.” He hopped into the driver’s seat and pulled into the traffic with barely a glance over his shoulder. Joel pressed himself against the seat, remembering what Sarah had told him about reckless driving as the speedo rose to 140 kilometres per hour. The city itself was just as she had described; a sprawling metropolis with a smog-laden skyline. Flat yellow hills rose in the distance and the city centre was an indistinct collection of towers and skyscrapers.
“Do we go through town?”
“No. We go around it. Central Johannesburg isn’t safe. Plenty of tsotsis there.”
“Tsotsis?”
“Trouble makers.”
The highway they were travelling on was four lanes in each direction and the taxi hurtled along, weaving in and out of cars. Joel was thrown against his seat belt when Samson suddenly slammed on brakes and shot onto a bypass that took them to another highway. “Sorry, sir,” he apologised, pulling into a slow crawl of traffic.
For five minutes they inched along, until he lost patience. He turned to Joel with a wide grin. “This time I’m warning you to hold on.” Taking advantage of a gap, he cut across a lane of traffic and pulled the taxi onto the shoulder of the road. “We’ll drive down the emergency lane until we came to a bypass. It’ll be quicker to drive through the suburbs than stay on here.” He pulled a finger at an angry motorist and cursed loudly at another who honked at him.
Joel let out a slow breath. Had New Zealand seemed so foreign to Sarah when she first arrived? Different cars, different buildings, different accents, different people … He guessed it must have. His thoughts turned to their first meeting in the mountains and the way she’d been so wary of him. It made much more sense now.
After half an hour, Samson spun the steering wheel and they jerked to a stop in a quiet street with homes hidden behind large walls and security fences. Every gate seemed to have a sign warning of guard dogs and a 24-hour response service.
“Here it is, sir, number twenty-six.” Samson stabbed his finger on the piece of paper Joel had given him.
Joel peered through the windscreen at the house in front of him. It was surrounded by six-foot walls that were smothered in brilliant blossoms. An electric gate barred the driveway and an intercom sat on an angled arm to its right.
Samson announced the cost of the trip and Joel counted out the unfamiliar currency, adding another R10 when Samson kept his hand outstretched. “Thank you, sir.” He hauled Joel’s bags out and followed his eyes as he stared at the intercom. “You do like this.” He punched the top button and after a short delay, a tinny voice answered. Samson rattled off in Xhosa before straightening up. “It’s the maid. She wants to know your name?”
“Joel … just say it’s Joel, from New Zealand.”
More rapid discussion through the intercom, then: “She says the missus is in the shower, but she’ll open for you.”
Just then the gate shuddered and began to roll open along a metal rail. “Thank you, Samson.” Joel waved as he stepped across the track and entered the property.
Directly out of the air-conditioned interior of the taxi, the heat bore down on him, dry and oppressive, and he wondered how hot it would be by midday. The garden looked invitingly cool and shady. Tall trees protected shrubs, and bursts of red and yellow adorned white trellises. The side of the house was lined with rose bushes, just as Sarah had described.
Joel followed a paved path to the front door, where a large black woman in a floral uniform with matching bandana was waiting for him. A smile almost wider than she was adorned her face.
“Come in, sir.” She reached for his cases. “Missus will be here soon.” He followed her through a hallway adorned with leafy plants, into the lounge. The furniture was cream leather and a zebra skin hung on the wall. Brass ornaments and dark wood gave an impression of opulence.
Joel placed the bouquet on a side table and sat carefully in an armchair, wondering again at the wisdom of arriving unannounced, and where Sarah was. A haughty ginger cat stalked past a few minutes later and hissed when he reached out a hand. Must be Lady Godiva. Sarah said she was full of attitude.
A striking woman somewhere in her forties appeared just then, dressed in a sleeveless turquoise dress. Her hair was shorter than Sarah’s and her eyes lightly creased with laughter lines. Even so, the resemblance was remarkable.
“Good morning … Joel, is it?
” Her tone was questioning, curious and a little disbelieving.
Joel stood at once and stretched out his hand. “Joel Baxter, Ma’am. Sorry to arrive unannounced. I was actually hoping to see Sarah.”
The doubt disappeared at once, replaced by pleasure, and … was that satisfaction he detected?
“Joel? Joel from New Zealand?”
“That’s me.”
“You’ve come all this way to see Sarah?”
“Yes I have. We didn’t part on very friendly terms I’m afraid, and I wanted to … well …”
Her smile widened. “Oh my, she’s not going to believe this. Oh my!”
As though remembering her manners, she suddenly changed tack. “Did you just arrive now? You must be exhausted. You’ll stay with us of course.” She turned to the maid, who was hovering in the doorway. “Patience, will you prepare the guest room, please? And open the windows?”
That organised, she turned back to Joel. “Would you like a cool drink, coffee, tea, Milo?”
“A cool drink would be good, thank you. I’m not used to the heat here.”
She brought him a tall glass of iced mango juice and sat down opposite him. “Sarah went to the courthouse with her father this morning. They went to a hearing for Dlamini.” She looked enquiringly at him. “I’m assuming you know the story?”
Joel nodded. “Sarah went to the hearing?” He was amazed. Had his words really affected her so strongly that she would brave such an ordeal?
“They should be back after lunch.” Her mother sat back and looked at him. “I can’t believe you’re sitting here. Sarah’s going to be so shocked.”
“In a good way, I hope. It’s not the type of thing I normally do …”
She nodded. “How’s she been, Joel? She seems a lot more settled in herself than when she left.”
“I’ve seen a vast improvement over the last few months, Mrs Johnson—”
“Diana, please.”
“Diana.” They smiled at each other, complicit. He went on: “She’s made some good friends and is doing well with her work. She’s stronger emotionally too. I think she’s finally starting to move on from her relationship with Luke.”
“She was a wreck after the shooting.” Joel could see pain in the older woman’s eyes. “She lost her nerve, her self-confidence, the will to live.” She paused briefly. “Did she tell you she’d also been shot?”
“Yes, she did.”
“Well, that healed within weeks, but her psyche is another matter. She wouldn’t go back to work and she stopped seeing her friends. She just moped around the house all day, too scared to do anything. Her only social contacts were us, Luke’s parents and her therapist. It was a miracle we got her to go to New Zealand.”
Joel felt his heart soften even further. Sarah hadn’t let on what a bad state she’d been in. “How did you convince her to leave?”
“We reminded her of Luke’s final request. His parents kept his ashes, wanting her to take them to New Zealand, and eventually she agreed.”
Joel looked at the woman in front of him and saw beyond the smile and calm exterior. “It must have been incredibly hard, sending your only child to the other side of the world. And in such a fragile state too.”
“It was better than watching her wither away here.” She smiled sadly. “But it was gut-wrenching, make no mistake.”
Joel liked this woman. He could see where Sarah had got her looks and strength of personality.
“Did she tell you we’re planning to move to New Zealand?” Diana asked. “Our papers are with immigration at the moment.”
“Yes, she did. It’ll be fantastic if you come over.”
“She showed us her photos of New Zealand yesterday. It’s a beautiful country.”
“The best.”
She chuckled. “She also showed us a whole bunch of pictures of you.”
Joel was surprised. “Maybe there is hope,” he said, smiling.
“More than you can imagine,” she replied. “I know my daughter. She’s been missing you. I can see it in her eyes, the way she talks about you.”
Patience appeared at the door. “The room is ready, missus.”
“Thank you, Patience.” She turned back to Joel. “Let me show you where it is, and then I’m sure you’d like to shower and settle in.”
Joel picked up his bags and followed her down a thickly carpeted passageway.
“Here you are.” She led the way into a comfortable room with a double bed and a couple of chairs. “There’s an en suite shower ...” She opened a door to reveal a smart wetroom. “I see Patience has already put fresh towels on the rails, so you should be fine, but if you need anything just ask.”
“It’s very good of you, but are you sure I’m not inconveniencing you? It’s right before Christmas and I’m sure you’ve got plans. I can easily book into a motel …”
“After coming all this way? I wouldn’t hear of it.” She paused in the doorway, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “And when you’ve freshened up, we must work out how we’re going to surprise Sarah, hey?”
Chapter Thirty Three
I asked Dad to take me to court today. Dlamini has a hearing and I want to see him again. I want to look into his eyes and know that I am stronger.
From the journal of Sarah Johnson
Thursday 18th December
Sarah sat on the hard wooden bench next to her father. She’d seen in the morning newspaper that Dlamini had a court hearing today in connection with the recent hijacking, and had immediately decided that God had presented her with an opportunity she must not miss. “There are no co-incidences,” Luke had once said. So when David Johnson had strongly questioned the wisdom of attending, she’d insisted. “I need to see him again, Dad. I can’t explain why. It’s something I have to do.”
It was warm and muggy in the courtroom and the air smelled of old wood and paper and perspiring humanity. She didn’t pay too much attention as the court was called into session. She just wanted to see him; to see if he’d changed, to see if his eyes were still cold and lifeless. To face her demons.
He was led inside wearing an orange jump suit, hair cropped close to his head. He was slightly taller than she remembered and still heavy-set. He stared across the room as the court official read out the charges. Sarah felt an icy cold grip her spine. His eyes were just the same; blackened pits of hatred. They rested on her for a moment, then moved onto her father before coming back to her. The evil smirk on his face widened to a sneer.
David, seeing what was happening, took hold of her arm. “Are you okay, honey? We can leave any time you want.”
“I’m alright, Dad.”
It turned out to be a short hearing. Dlamini was remanded into custody until a future date could be set for the hearing. He locked his eyes on Sarah as they led him out, full of evil and menace.
She shivered again. “I’m glad he’s locked up,” she whispered to her dad. “So glad they caught him again!” Not wanting to push through the throng of people, they stayed seated for a few minutes, allowing reporters and weeping relatives of the deceased policeman to file out.
It was as they stood to leave that Sarah realised a young black man in police uniform was standing at her shoulder, an older woman at his side. They looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place them, until the man addressed her father.
“Mr Johnson?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Thabo Dlamini. This is my mother, Rachel. Her English is poor so I’m speaking for her.”
Sarah stood absolutely still. Dlamini?
“How can I help you?” Her father’s voice was controlled but she knew he recognised them too.
“Sipho is my brother. My mother wanted to speak to you before—at the other trial—but she was afraid to at the time.”
The woman said something in Zulu.
“She says she wants to apologise for the pain Sipho has brought you.” He looked at Sarah, his eyes dark pools, alight with sorrow. So different from
his brother’s … “I’m sorry, too,” he said sincerely. “You can’t imagine what grief he’s brought our family.”
She nodded, uncertain, wondering where he was going with all this.
“My mother says she knows we cannot undo what is done, but she wants to invite you to our home. She wants to talk to you about Sipho and explain how he ended up like this.”
Sarah’s father took over the conversation. “I don’t think that will be possible …”
“Hold on, Dad.” Sarah looked at Thabo. “Where do you live?”
“Soweto.”
“Sarah. It’s not a good idea.”
Thabo persisted. “It would mean a lot to both of us. I’ll be happy to escort you out there. It’s safe these days. Many tourists come out, and even stay over.”
“Nowhere’s safe!” David interjected. “Come on, Sarah.”
But for perhaps the first time in her life Sarah ignored him, looking across to the mother. She was a diminutive woman, dressed in a faded cotton dress with a scarf wrapped round her head and trainers on her feet. She kept her eyes lowered and her posture spoke of subservience and hope.
“I want to go, Dad.” The certainty rose up in her. “I need to understand what happened. You can come with us if you want to.”
“You’re certainly not going on your own.” He pulled her to one side. “Why do you want to do this, Sarah? Wasn’t it enough to come here today?”
Sarah could see the concern in his eyes but stood her ground. “It’s important to me, Dad. I want to know what turned him into a monster.”
“But it’ll drag up all the memories and pain. Wouldn’t it be simpler to just forget him?”
“That’s just it, Dad. I can’t forget; but maybe if I understand, I can forgive.”
I sound like Joel, she thought, shocked at what she just said. Is this You, God? Are You answering my prayer?
There was a long silence before David turned to Thabo. “When does your mother want us to come?”
“Would tomorrow afternoon suit you? I have the day off, I can pick you up here at 2pm?”