A Dry White Season Read online

  There was a letter for him from Melanie. It came so unexpectedly that he could only stare at the unstamped envelope in disbelief.

  “Came inside my own letter,” explained the old man, chuckling contentedly. “She sent it to an old friend of mine and he brought it round this morning. Take your time, I won’t interrupt.”

  It was not a long letter, and strangely sober in tone. Almost feverishly he scanned it in search of some deeper meaning, some subtle intimate reference in the prosaic account of how she hadbeen stopped by Customs at Jan Smuts airport, escorted to a private office and put on a British Airways flight returning to London later the same evening. A brief, unemotional statement about her concern for him and her father. The assurance that there was nothing for them to worry about; she would be all right and had, in fact, already been officially transferred to her newspaper’s Fleet Street bureau. And then, at last:

  What follows is for your eyes only. Please don’t let Dad find out. I started writing an article about Gordon, thinking it might be a good idea to spill all the beans over here. But before I could finish it I received an unexpected visit. Distinguished gentleman, very British in appearance, but betrayed by his accent. ( Unless I’m imagining things: one starts doubting one’s own judgement.) He said very suavely that he felt sure I wouldn’t be so rash as to publish anything about Gordon in Britain. “What can stop me?” I asked. “Common decency, “he said. “You wouldn’t like to cause your old father any trouble, would you?”

  So here I am, stumped. But we must not lose heart, Ben. Please don’t let what has happened to me interfere with what you have to do. Despair is a waste of time. Dad will need your help. You must go on. You must endure. You’ve got to, for Gordon and Jonathan. But also for your own sake. For mine. For ours. Please. As far as I am concerned, I want you to know that I do not regret for one moment a single thing that has happened between us.

  For a long time he sat looking at the letter on his lap before he folded it very meticulously and put it back in the envelope.

  “Satisfied?” asked the old man, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

  He made up his mind very quickly. It was hardly a conscious decision: simply the acceptance of what had become inevitable.

  “Prof, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

  “That you and Melanie are in love?”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m not blind, Ben.”

  “It’s more than being in love. I want you to know. One night, just before she left for Kenya—”

  “Why do you tell it to me?”

  “Because that is the reason they took away her citizenship. Not to punish her for anything. But to get at me. They took photographs of us and tried to blackmail me. And when Irefused, they took it out on her. Because they knew how it would hit me.”

  Very calm, his head bowed, the old man sat opposite him.

  “I don’t want you to go on receiving me in your house after I’ve been responsible for what has happened.”

  “They’ve been eyeing her for a long time, Ben.”

  “But I was the last straw.”

  “Does it really matter what pretext they used?”

  “How can I look you in the eyes again?”

  “Blaming oneself can be a bloody sterile pastime.”

  “How can I not blame myself?”

  “We owe it to ourselves to look beyond this thing, Ben. I think we owe it to Melanie too.” He took the pipe the doctors had expressly forbidden him and started scratching out the dry ash. “You know, what amazes me is to wonder what sort of world this is, what sort of society, in which it is possible for the state to persecute and try to break a man with a thing like this. How does such a system come into being? Where does it start? And who allows it to have its way?”

  “Isn’t it enough to know that it happens?”

  “What will become of us if we ever stop asking questions?”

  “But where do these questions lead to?”

  “No matter where the hell they lead to. The important thing is to bloody well go on asking.” Breathing deeply, more upset than I had seen him in a long time, he struck match after match to light his pipe. “And we’d better keep asking until we’ve cleared up our own responsibility in the matter too.”

  “How can we be responsible for what happened?” said Ben. “We’re rebelling against it!”

  “There may not have been any specific thing we did.” He inhaled the smoke, savouring it, relaxing slowly. “Perhaps it’s something we didn’t do. Something we neglected when there was still time to stop the rot. When we turned a blind eye just because it was ‘our people’ who committed the crimes.”

  For a long time they sat in silence.

  “You don’t blame me for what happened to Melanie then?”

  “You’re not children any more.” With an angry gesture he moved his hand across his face. In the twilight Ben hadn’t noticed the tears before. “Can you beat it?” the old man said. “After all these years this tobacco is getting too strong for me.”

  Monday 24 April. Brief phone-call from Cloete this morning. Wanted to see me urgently. I was surprised by his haste. Why couldn’t he wait until school started again tomorrow? Still, when it came I was very calm. Unless I’m simply getting punch-drunk. But really, there was relief in knowing that one more thing was being taken from me, another burden removed. One marvels at how humble one’s real needs can be. Acceptance of one’s own insignificance. A wholesome and sobering experience.

  Brown envelope on his desk. He didn’t open it in my presence. No need. I’d seen Susan’s.

  “Mr Du Toit, I don’t think it is necessary to tell you how shocked I was. All these months I’ve been confident – I mean, I’ve always been prepared to stand by you. But in the present circumstances—” He was panting heavily, like the bellows in Pa’s primitive smithy on the farm so many years ago; the winter mornings white with frost; the sheep outside; the dog lying in front of the fire; the spray of sparks. His voice went on relentlessly: “ – one’s first responsibility, don’t you agree? The school, the pupils entrusted to our care. I think you’ll appreciate that you leave me no choice in the matter. I have been in touch with the Department. There will have to be a formal enquiry, of course. But until such time—”

  “It won’t be necessary, Mr Cloete. If you wish I can write out my resignation while I’m here.”

  “I had hoped you would offer to do so. It will make things so much easier for all concerned.”

  Was it really necessary for him to have discussed it with the rest of the staff? Or is there no sense in hoping to be spared even the most blatant humiliation? There were four or five of them in the common room as I came from Cloete’s study.

  Carelse in great form: “Now really, I take my hat off to you. You should start a stud farm.”

  Viviers unexpectedly sullen, avoiding me until the last moment. Then, following me outside, as if he’d suddenly made up his mind: “Mr Du Toit” – no longer Oom Ben – “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I do feel you’ve let me down terribly. I’ve always taken your side, from the very first day. I really thought you were concerned with an important cause, and with basic principles. But to do what you have done now—”

  I didn’t want to discuss it with Susan. Not so soon, not today. But tonight at supper – thank God there were only the two of us – when she said something about my clothes for tomorow I could no longer put it off.

  “I’m not going to school tomorrow.”

  She stared at me in amazement.

  “I offered them my resignation this morning.”

  “Are you out of your mind then?”

  “Cloete was prepared to offer me the honourable alternative.”

  “Are you trying to tell me—”

  “He also received a photograph in the mail.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her: the way one feels compelled to stare at an accident happening in front of you. It makes you feel nauseo
us, yet you’re fascinated by it, mesmerised, you can’t look the other way.

  “Then they all know about it now.” It was a flat statement, not a question. “All this time I’ve been forcing myself to think it was something for you and me to come to terms with. God knows it was bad enough as it was. But at least it was kept between us.”

  That was all she said. After supper she went to her room without clearing the table. I came to the study. It is past midnight now. Half an hour ago she came to me. Very calm. Her formidable self-control.

  “I’ve made up my mind, Ben. If it’s all right with you I’ll still stay here tonight. But I shall clear out in the morning.”

  “Don’t.”

  Why did I say that? Was there any alternative? Why was it suddenly so important for me to restrain her, to hold on to her? It was unworthy of me. Because it wasn’t for herself I was trying to hold her back, only for my own sake. This terrible anguish. Not this too. Not total solitude.

  She smiled painfully. “Really, Ben, you can be so childish.”

  I wanted to get up and go to her, but I was afraid my legs might fail me. I remained where I was. And without looking round again she went away.

  3

  Understandably, the waves rippled through the whole family, in one shock after another.

  After a fierce argument with Susan Johan stayed on in the house with Ben. Whether she had told him the whole truth is difficult to determine; in any case, the boy lost his temper completely:

  “You’ve all been against Dad from the beginning. But he’s my father and I’m staying right here. The whole world can go to hell for all I care!”

  Linda’s reaction, on the other hand, upset Ben deeply. She was so thoughtless as to bring her Pieter with her for the uncomfortable, passionate, final discussion. That Ben had been making life so difficult for all of them, she said, she could still accept because she had kept faith in his integrity and his good intentions. She might not have been in agreement with his methods or the particular direction he’d chosen, but she had never doubted his motives. He was her father and she’d loved him and respected him; she’d been willing to defend him against all comers. But what had happened now was too much. This – this sordid, disgusting thing. And to think it was common knowledge by now. How could he expect her ever to raise her head in public again to face anyone squarely? What had become of the values he’d preached to them? The temple of God. Now this. How could he hope ever to demand respect from her again? All right, it was her Christian duty to forgive. But she would never be able to forget. Never. She was lyingawake at night, or crying herself to sleep. The horror of it. The only way in which to keep her own self-respect was to take her final leave of him, there and then.

  Pieter assured Ben that he would continue to pray for him. Afterwards they drove back to Pretoria in the young man’s secondhand Volkswagen.

  In a totally different way it was Suzette’s reaction Ben found by far the most unexpected. Only a day after Susan had left she arrived at the house in her sleek new sports car. In a near-panic Ben’s first thought was to get away as soon as possible. Her antagonism was the last thing he could face at that moment. But immediately he saw her he discovered in her something different from the hostility he’d grown accustomed to. Tall and blond and beautifully groomed, she came towards him, but without that aggressive self-assurance which had so often rattled him. Biting her lip she glanced up nervously, pressed an impulsive, awkward kiss on his cheek and started fumbling with her snake-skin handbag. As if she was the culprit expecting recrimination. Tense, agitated, evasive.

  “Are you here all on your own?”

  He looked at her guardedly. “I thought you knew?”

  “What I meant was—” Once again the furtive glance in his direction, her whole manner apologetic. “Isn’t there anything you need?”

  “I can manage all right.”

  She stood up nervously. “Shall I make us some tea?”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “I’m thirsty. I’m sure it will do you good too.”

  “Suzette.” He couldn’t play this game any longer. “If you’ve come to talk to me about what happened—”

  “Yes, I have.” Her cool blue eyes looked at him, but with an expresssion of concern, not accusation.

  “Don’t you think I’ve heard enough about it lately? From all sides.”

  “I didn’t come to reproach you, Dad.”

  “What else?” He looked straight at her.

  “I wanted you to know that I understand.”

  He couldn’t help thinking bitterly: Oh I understand your understanding. You’ve never had much respect for the sanctity of marriage. But he said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  She found it difficult; he could see her struggling with herself. “Dad, what I mean is – Well, I’m not blaming Mum for going away. I know she’s had a bad time. But these last few weeks I’ve been battling with it day and night. And I know now” – once again the hesitant glance as if she expected him to condemn her – “for the first time I think I know what you also had to go through. This past year. And even before that. And so I thought – I can’t agree with all of it, and I’m not sure I always understood you well, but I respect you for what you are. And all I can hope for is that I haven’t waited too long to tell you.”

  He bowed his head. Dully, dazedly, he said: “Let’s go and make the tea.”

  They didn’t mention it again that morning, preferring to restrict their conversation to harmless small-talk about his grandchild, and her work for the magazine, and Johan’s studies, gossip, even the weather. But when she returned on other days it became easier to talk about what was of more concern to him, including Gordon and what had happened and what was still happening. And much against his will – though there was an almost childlike eagerness in him as well – she even referred to Melanie. Gradually her visits became part of his routine. Every other day or so she would drive over in the morning to tidy up, and make tea, and have a chat. A new Suzette he still found hard to believe, even though he accepted the change with almost sentimental gratitude.

  There were days when her presence irritated him – he’d become possessive about his solitude, his hours in the empty house, his silence-but once she’d left he would discover that he actually missed her. Perhaps not so much for herself as for the opportunity of talking to someone, of being in someone’s company. It was different from the blind loyalty of his son. – Contact with Johan was limited to non-commital remarks at table, going out to a café or a restaurant; attending a rugby match. Mainly, they played chess, which offered the opportunity to communicate without a need to talk. But Ben was becoming absent-minded, relying on unimaginative standard openings, neglecting to follow up properly so that he usually had to pay a heavy toll in the middle games; more often than not losing theendgames through lack of concentration. – What Suzette offered him was the understanding and sympathy of an eloquent, mature woman, sustaining his confidence just when it had begun to crumble. Young Dominee Bester also came to see him, but only once. He offered to read from the Bible and say a prayer, but Ben declined.

  “Oom Ben, don’t you see it’s useless to kick against the pricks? Why don’t we rather try to do away with this thing?”

  “It can never be done away with while Gordon and Jonathan lie unavenged in their graves.”

  “Vengeance belongs to God, not to us.” The young man was pleading with great seriousness. “There is a bitterness in you which makes me very unhappy. I find something hard in you which I never knew before.”

  “How well did you really know me, Dominee?” he asked, staring through the smoke with smarting eyes. They were both smoking; and he hadn’t slept the previous night.

  “Hasn’t it gone far enough, Oom Ben?” asked the minister. “There has been so much destruction and devastation in your lives already.”

  He seemed to gaze inward at the battlefield of his own life. “There would be no sense in it unless I’m prepared
to pay the full price, Dominee.”

  “But don’t you see the arrogance, the terrible presumption in this urge you have to go on regardless and to suffer more and more in the process? Don’t you see it’s something like the perversion of those medieval Catholics who went into ecstasies flogging themselves? There is no humility in that, Oom Ben. It’s naked pride.”

  “Who is doing the flogging now, Dominee?”

  “But don’t you understand? ‘I’m trying to help you. It’s not too late.”

  “How do you want to help me? What do you want to do?” His thoughts were wandering; he found it hard to concentrate.

  “We can stop this divorce for a start.”

  He shook his head.

  “After all the years you two have lived together? I refuse to believe a relationship can be ended just like that.”

  “Susan and I have nothing to say to one another any more, Dominee. It’s all over. She is exhausted. I’m not blaming her for anything.”

  “One can always try to search one’s own heart.”

  He sat listening tensely, suspiciously, waiting for it to come.

  “This other woman, Oom Ben.”

  “I won’t have her dragged into this!” he exploded, losing all control instantly. “You know nothing about her.”

  “But if we want to achieve something with this discussion—” His voice trembled with loving kindness.

  “You want to achieve something that no longer interests me,” he said, choking. “My life is my own.”

  “We all belong to God.”

  “If that is so He certainly made a sorry mess of my life!” he said. After a while he calmed down. “And I prefer not to blame Him for it. I’d rather take the responsibility myself.”

  “Do you remember the night you came to me, just after the court inquest? If only you’d listened to me then.”

  “If I’d listened to you then I wouldn’t have had a conscience left tonight. God knows I may have lost everything else. But I still have my conscience.”