Does it Hurt to Die (16 page)

The pilot overrode his thoughts with another announcement. ‘You will see the tumultuous swirling of the oceans, a phenomenon generated by the meeting of warm and cold currents, which also makes it a great place to fish. Make sure you take one of the tours to the point, but be careful of the baboons; they have sharp teeth and love tourists!’

There was an appreciative murmur from most on the plane, and then Christian watched as the hostesses did their final checks and took up their landing positions. He listened to the landing instructions in both English and Afrikaans, and while he did not understand the Afrikaans,
he knew he would have to if he lived here. As the wheels touched down, he experienced a strange sensation of returning to a familiar place. Clearly, it could not be something that he recognised, as he was only four years old when he left. Maybe it is true, he thought, that genes do have their own memory that can be passed from one generation to the next.

He walked out through the forward door of the plane and was greeted by the warm African sun. He squinted against the brightness, wishing he had brought his sunglasses with him as he struggled to make out where he had to go. As everyone headed off in the direction of the terminal building, he just decided to follow someone in front of him. His mother had told him that Mike McMahon, his father’s friend, would be there to greet him. To make sure everyone recognised each other at the airport Mike had emailed a video clip of himself and family as well as Skyping him a few times. Christian thought he would have no difficulty recognising them. Mike was his father’s age, which would have made him about fifty, but he remembered from the video that he looked much younger and appeared quite athletic, with a full head of hair and intense green eyes.

Making his way towards customs, Christian immediately recognised Mike standing behind the crowd barrier and waved. Mike was with his wife, Sian, whom he had also chatted to on Skype, and they both waved back at him. He stopped in front of one of the customs and immigration officers, trying to keep an eye on where Mike was as he fumbled for his passport. Finally retrieving it from his bag, he handed it to the customs officer, who looked at him, glanced at his passport, and then looked again at Christian before greeting him in Afrikaans. Christian smiled in return as he tried to return the Afrikaans greeting. The customs officer then took Christian’s passport and held it up looking at the photo and comparing it to Christian. He then glanced down to his computer screen.

‘
Are you the son of Professor de Villiers, the transplant surgeon?’ he asked in English.

Christian nodded; completely surprised that anyone would remember his father let alone conclude that he could be his son. He watched as the customs officer then entered something into the computer and appeared to look away in the distance and nodded to someone before handing back his passport. Christian thought it was all a little bit strange and was turning to see who the customs official had been looking at. As he looked in the direction the officer had nodded, he saw a man standing on the balcony in dark glasses, but as he tried to get a good look, the man turned and walked away.

Taking his passport, he made his way through the crowd, noticing that Mike was also moving towards him. His disquiet at what had happened with the customs officer was quickly replaced by the excitement of meeting Mike and Sian. He put his bags down as they approached each other and held out his hand. Mike ignored the hand and engulfed him in a bear hug, the kind he had rarely experienced. A little embarrassed, Christian awkwardly hugged him back, remembering that his mother had remarked on Mike’s easy-going style; a style she had said would contrast with many of the Afrikaners that he would meet. When he finally let go, Christian noticed the wetness around his eyes, and momentarily wondered what to say. He was rescued by Mike’s wife, Sian.

‘
Don’t worry about him, Christian; it’s both a strength and a weakness!’

They all laughed and the feeling of the moment changed.

‘Sorry about that, Christian,’ said Mike. ‘It’s just that you’re the spitting image of your father and it’s just a little unnerving—mind you, you’re better looking than Jannie!’

They all laughed, and with the tension now well and truly broken, Christian found the uneasy feeling replaced by Mike and Sian’s genuine warmth and caring. Mike grabbed his bags and escorted him out through the immigration hall before throwing the bags in the back of the BMW four-wheel drive.

As they drove from the airport, Christian tried to take in the contrasting scenery. In the background, he could see the very majestic Table Mountain, with its tablecloth falling over the North face. To the right of the mountain was Lion’s head, almost an extension of the mountain reaching towards the city. Then, very much closer to him, he could see the shanty towns. He could not remember seeing anything like them before, other than in the news from time to time. People were walking alongside the road carrying wood and bits of machinery. There were hawker’s stands placed fifty metres apart selling everything from souvenirs to flowers and fruit. He could sense the poverty spreading beyond the main road, with the contrast of majesty and raw beauty as its backdrop.

Mike continued to talk as Christian tried to take in the contrasting views. His mother had warned him that Mike enjoyed talking and that not long after he met them the questions would begin. In between doing his best to answer, he noticed the black townships on either side had towers placed at regular intervals. He wondered what they were for and would ask when Mike stopped talking. After talking about his surfing interests and how his mother had adjusted to living in Adelaide, he finally got a chance to ask Mike about the towers alongside the freeway.

‘They are necessary when things get out of control in the townships; the towers are then occupied by armed police.’

‘
We’ll drive past Groote Schuur,’ said Sian, also taking advantage of the lull in conversation.

Christian could see the hospital in the distance. He tried to imagine his father working there.

‘That’s the old Groote Schuur where your mother and I trained,’ said Mike, pointing at an old grey building set against the hillside as they drove along De Waal Drive towards the city.

‘
The Medical School is next to the new Groote Schuur, and the brick building is the anatomy department where I helped your father work out which side of the body the liver was on.’ Mike looked in the rear vision mirror as he completed his remark with a twinkle in his eye and to see whether Christian had heard him.

Christian smiled back indicating that he had and thinking that he was going to really enjoy this association with his father’s friend. If he had wanted to study medicine here, that is where he would have gone.

‘Mike, slow down so that Christian can get a real sense of what a huge place it was,’ said Sian.

‘
Don’t worry about trying to take it all in, Christian. I just want to give you an idea of where your father worked; we’ll take you back there in the next few days. Then I can guide you through the old building where Christian Barnard used to operate and show you where the first heart transplant took place.’

The entrance to Mike and Sian’s house was skirted on either side by high whitewashed stone walls that created a Mediterranean feeling; appropriate for a warm African climate. There was one stark difference from the pictures Christian had seen of houses in Mediterranean countries: along the top of the wall was an electrified razor sharp barbed wire. Apartheid might have gone, he thought, but crime was obviously still a ubiquitous concern; a startling contrast to the brush fences of Adelaide that kept out noise but little else.

The gate, which opened by remote control as they approached, was part of the perimeter wall. Christian estimated it to be at least three metres high. Across the top twenty centimetres, sharp spikes placed very close together were made out of what he imagined to be specially reinforced steel. Noting his interest in the gate, Mike told him that it had to be constructed in such a way to prevent thieves from ramming through it to gain access to the house. As the gate closed behind them, Christian saw that both Mike and Sian had visibly relaxed.

‘
That’s always a bit tricky, Christian; because car-jackings at traffic lights are the favourite spot and the gates are the next. It’s an unfortunate unpleasant fact in Africa as the gap between the haves and the have nots widens. Keeping your wits about you and just being sensible with your security arrangements is vital.’

Christian watched the gates quickly closing as Mike jumped out to grab his bags.

‘Ruby, this is Christian. He’s going to be staying with us for a few weeks,’ said Mike as they stepped out of the car.

Ruby was a large African woman who wore a wonderfully floral dress that seemed to perfectly complement her warmth and welcoming arms. Her size suggested she ate rather well. Christian held out his hand to greet her. Like Mike, she ignored his outstretched hand and grabbed Christian in a bear hug of proportions that controlled his breathing for a second.

‘Welcome, Master Christian,’ she said. ‘Come, I’ll show you to your room.’

By the time he had recovered from her embrace Ruby had grabbed his bags, and despite his insisting on carrying them she strode up the front steps to the house and in through the front door. He looked at Mike and Sian, more for direction as to what he should do now that she had escaped with his bags.

‘Come on,’ said Mike, ‘you’ll get used to it in time.’ And with that, he took hold of Christian around the shoulders directing him towards the front door steps.

Inside was a large hallway with
a shiny dark wood floor. Christian noticed the opulent furnishings and valuable art works and felt, as he heard the front door close, that this was a world within a world. It was as if outside everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get home to close the door on the reality and enjoy a world where they could have beautiful things and enjoy a peaceful family life, albeit protected by electrified razor wire.

‘
Christian, if you follow Ruby, she’ll show you your room,’ prompted Sian.

Christian hurried to catch up with Ruby who was nearly at the back of the house and was singing an old gospel hymn that he recognised.

‘Do you call everyone Master, Ruby?’ Christian asked.

‘
Yes, Master,’ Ruby replied as she showed him to his room.

Christian was again shaken by its splendour, its rich thick curtains and ornately carved double bed with matching bookcase, which contained an assembly of books that would rival most bookstores. It looked as if someone had created this just to be admired, and he wondered whether sleeping here would disturb him, not being used to such luxury.

‘Why do you still call everyone Master, Ruby? I thought that would change once apartheid had gone.’

‘
I’ve tried to change, Master, as Master Mike has often asked me to call him Mike, or Doctor Mike, but then when I try “Master Mike” just seems to come out. We’ve had a good laugh about it but I think I’m too old to change!’

Thinking what a warm and caring person she was, Christian wondered how she had survived the trauma of segregation and discrimination
. ‘Did you know my father?’ he blurted out, partly embarrassed, having just met her, but seemingly unable to resist asking now that he was actually here.

‘
I’d see him sometimes, but my friend Lucy was your maid then. You can talk to her another time. Dinner will be at eight o’clock on the stoep!’

Christian unpacked quickly, unsure of how to deal with the feeling of being so close to where his father had been. He knew that he had to visit the house where they had lived, and wondered whether the McMahons would consider it rude if he asked to go there before dinner. He decided it would be, sensing they would be keen to learn about his mother and their life in Australia. Nevertheless, he had a desire to be somewhere physically that he had been to as a child.

They sat at a small table on the veranda. It was covered in a white lace cloth with a silver candelabra placed on it that was so polished he could see his reflection. He noticed the darkness of nearby Table Mountain and could feel an imposing presence, unsure whether it was the darkness that now surrounded it or just the rough and raw sheer cliffs defending its summit. As he waited for Mike and Sian to join him, he reflected on the flight and his arrival in Cape Town. He was unsettled about being where his father had worked and lived, and suddenly he felt all those feelings culminate, and tears welled in his eyes. He wished his father were alive instead of having to deal with his memory; he wanted to see him so badly.

He heard footsteps approaching and he dabbed his eyes with the starched white napkin, hoping Mike had not noticed.

‘Africa can do that to you, Christian. It can be quite overwhelming, no matter how strong you are; and being Jannie and Renata’s son, you’re no doubt audacious enough to cope with uncovering your father’s circumstances. With your need to bond with your father’s memory combined with jet lag, it’s perfectly normal to feel anxious,’ he said, sitting next to Christian. ‘And, of course, if I think you’re not coping, I reserve the right to send you home,’ Mike said protectively.

Christian finished wiping his eyes before saying
, ‘Thanks, Dr McMahon.’

‘
You’re not going to be like Ruby, are you? I thought all you Australians were less formal; first names, and if you forget, it’s just “mate”.’

Christian laughed and was intrigued by Mike’s ability to go right to the heart of things and change the mood. His mother was right; he was going to like them. Ruby, on cue, brought out the food—steaming rice and the most delicious smelling curry, complete with poppadums, a favourite of his.

‘Please help yourself,’ said Sian as she sat down next to Mike.

The curry was even better than its aroma, reminding Christian that it had been forty-eight hours since he had eaten anything that had any kind of flavour. To finish off the delicious meal Ruby brought them coffee. Realising the shrill cicadas had quietened and were sleeping, Christian also suddenly felt tired.

Stifling a yawn, he asked, ‘How long have you lived here? I’d been meaning to ask you before we got talking about Mum.’

‘
Eight years, Christian, which means your father wouldn’t have ever been here, and when you and your mother stayed with us before you went to Australia we were in a different house.’

Christian was startled by Mike’s intuition, his tiredness receding a little.

‘Don’t worry about him,’ interrupted Sian. ‘He loves to do that. He tries to make people think that he knows what they’re thinking; it’s part of the deification process that apparently comes with a medical degree,’ she said mischievously, and grinned at Christian.

‘
We’ll have breakfast late tomorrow. If you wake early, help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen, as it’s Ruby’s day off.’

‘
Thank you,’ said Christian as he pushed the chair back and stood up. ‘Goodnight.’

‘
Sleep well, Christian. Oh and how about we visit your old home in the morning? I know the owner quite well; he’s a retired professor and is happy for you to have the house key and security code so that you can have a look through. That would give you a chance to get a feel for the place, and then I could pick you up later; although I’m more than happy to come with you and then leave you to the experience.’

‘
Mike,’ said Sian, partly reprimanding him, ‘now he definitely won’t sleep.’

‘
No, the jet lag will take over,’ Mike offered in defence.

Christian woke early and made himself a cup of coffee. He unlocked both the perimeter and infrared alarms, as Mike had shown him, and sat on the veranda. It was a beautiful clear morning, its crispness something unusual for him. He sipped his coffee, thinking about the house they had all shared together. His mother had destroyed all the photos and so his only visualisation was from what she had described.

He heard Mike in the kitchen and his voice filtered through the doorway. ‘You’re up early. Did you have a good sleep?’

‘
Great, thanks!’

‘
You were so deep in thought; I assume it must have been that Jannie again!’

Christian laughed
. ‘Yeah, you’re right, Mike. I guess I’m either going to have to get used to your intuition or perfect covering it up.’

‘
I don’t think you’d be very good at covering it up; you’d better adjust to being surprised. Besides, if you successfully conceal your thoughts, it won’t be nearly as interesting a past-time for me.’ He paused for a moment before saying, ‘Anyway, I’m sure you’re keen to understand your father’s circumstances. Sian and I thought you were amazingly well controlled last night, dealing with all our questions about your mother and Australia without directing us to your father.’

‘
Like some real coffee,’ Sian’s voice called from the kitchen, ‘or is this an early morning boys’ club?’

‘
No, darling, I mean, yes, to the coffee and, no, this is not exclusive. I’m sure Christian would love to hear you talk about Jannie. He’s probably keen to listen to anyone who would talk about him at this stage. Not so, Christian?’

Christian laughed quietly and nodded.

Sian joined them, carrying a tray with cups and coffee, the smell fresh and aromatic.

As she poured she said
, ‘Your e-mail photo doesn’t do you justice. You’re so much like your father it’s uncanny: the way you walk; the way you use your hands to talk; the way you hold your head when listening—although your father didn’t do much of that. I think from what we’ve seen he’d be extremely proud of you, Christian. We’re delighted to have you here and to help in any way that we can. And to get to know you, of course.’

Christian felt a little embarrassed. He was a stranger to compliments and open discussions about feelings; it certainly was not his mother’s style and he suspected not his father
’s. Part of him enjoyed the freedom and he believed they were going to be a great support in finding out what he needed to about his father. Refreshed by the coffee, he sat and chatted.

‘
So, what can you tell me about my father, Mike?’

‘
Depends where you want to start.’

‘
Well, I’ve read about how he started the transplant programme, and Mum has given me quite some detail on his father, Hannes Marais, and my father’s twenty-first birthday party that you all went to. But I don’t know much about what happened when he was at medical school with you.’

Without hesitating, Mike said
, ‘Well, you know that we both went to the University of Cape Town. That was a huge step for your father as it was expected that he would go to the University of Stellenbosch. Nevertheless, by the time he had finished school, he had wanted to get away from that environment that was so indoctrinating. While he didn’t agree fully with the liberality of the University of Cape Town, he instinctively knew that it was better than the oppressive atmosphere of a university that was not only reflecting the government’s attitudes towards apartheid in many ways but also was involved in formulating new approaches to apartheid.’

‘
So, you mean he wanted to leave his past behind?’

‘
I don’t know whether it was that; his past was clearly so much a part of him and he would’ve found it very difficult to deny. In many of the discussions that we had, you could perceive many of his family’s beliefs manifesting in his thoughts, which I think confused, him, from the point of view of their irrational foundation. Although he probably understood that it would be complicated to overcome his background, he needed more balance if he was to become a more rounded human being. You have to remember, Christian that many of the precepts that he’d been given he’d been given as truths, and now when he looked at them they defied logic and rational thought. That must have been confounding for a person like him. He wanted to moderate his indoctrination and, I suspect, liberate his mind a little. But that’s all a bit heavy for early in the morning. Let me tell you about one of the many amusing things that happened while we were medical students that will help you understand his sense of humour that we all loved.’

‘
Was this when he was with my mother?’ Christian quickly interjected, trying to place when all this happened in his father’s life.