Does it Hurt to Die (7 page)

Christian watched his mother for a long time after she had finished telling him his father’s story. She appeared physically drained from having to relive some of the memories. So it was some time before she spoke, and when she did she took his hands in hers.

‘
There’s much more that I can tell you in the next few days, but it’s probably enough for you to deal with at the moment.’

‘
That must have been difficult for you to tell me, and I can understand now why you didn’t say anything before. But I also have to go to find out for myself what happened to my father.’

‘
Yes, I’ve always known that, honey, but I’m afraid we’ve never known what caused your father’s death and whether that threat is still there and could involve you.’

‘
But, Mum, there’s been a change of government now. They no longer have a white supremacist government, and, from what I’ve read, Mandela has been so forgiving that there’s now a less threatening atmosphere in South Africa.’

‘
You’re right, but there are many unanswered questions about your father’s death. We knew eventually that he was involved with the security services, which may have included other governments and organisations. If you go, you’ll have to promise me that you will be careful, as no one knows really, what your father knew or what he was involved in and if it still has any relevance. Mandela’s charisma is waning. There’s a lawlessness that pervades the country, and the rule of law is not the capstone that it is in Australia or that it was once in South Africa. It’s a country that has become increasingly hostile to peoples of all colours.’

‘
Mum, I know it’s not the same place that you lived in. I’ve also been reading about what has happened since Mandela came to power, the power vacuum, the rise of the communist youth league, corruption and violence, but I still need the answers to some of the questions about my father in order to move on.’

‘
I know you want to go, but let’s try to get some sleep and I’ll tell you more about what happened in the morning. Don’t forget that tomorrow is your birthday, so let’s see what that brings,’ she said, kissing him on the cheek.

One of the cats landed on his bed and woke him. Opening his eyes, he saw a large birthday card on the foot of his bed. Smokey, his grey and white cat, which often slept at the foot of his bed, stretched and started purring. He pushed back the duvet and reached down for the card. Opening it, he saw
‘Happy Birthday, Honey’ in his mother’s handwriting. Then he saw that she had added an extra sentence, ‘Your real birthday present comes later.’ Christian smiled thinking that was so typical of his mother. Pulling on his dressing gown, he walked out into the kitchen where he could hear her making coffee.

‘
Happy nineteenth birthday, favourite son,’ she greeted him as he walked in. ‘Birthday coffee?’

‘
Thanks, that’d be great, and thanks for the great card,’ he said as he sat down at the table where they had discussed his father the night before. There were books and clippings on the table about his father which he had not seen before.

‘
Yes, I know.’ Renata paused and smiled at him before continuing. ‘Last night was never going to be enough for you, and with your natural curiosity you’re always going to want the entire story. After breakfast, we can go through the rest of your father’s history. Then I want you to try to enjoy your birthday. I’ve booked a restaurant in the city tonight and invited your friends.’

‘
Favourite Mum,’ Christian said as he walked towards her to give her a customary hug.

Citrus
Restaurant in Hutt Street was a small café-style restaurant fashioned from one of the original blue stone villas, very much like the house in which they lived. Because it had such a casual atmosphere, it had become a favourite haunt for Christian and his friends. It was an easy choice then when his mother asked weeks previously where he wanted to hold his birthday celebrations. In addition to the atmosphere, the food was superb, with some great South Australian wines, which, on this occasion with his mother paying, they might get to try.

Most of his friends arrived at six thirty. In addition, they started to enjoy themselves immediately while they waited for Christian’s mother to arrive. Just before seven o’clock, Christian saw his mother coming in through the door and jumped to his feet, pulling up a chair for her. She did not come straight towards him as he expected, first disappearing behind the bar where he could see that she was, for a short time, talking to the restaurant manager. She then came striding towards him with a curious grin on her face.

‘Hi, Mum. Everything OK?’

‘
Yes, honey, Why do you ask?’

‘
You look like you’re up to something.’

‘
You’re imagining things. This is just a regular birthday party,’ she said, with a twinkle in her eye suggesting otherwise.

Christian was about to introduce her to some other friends that she had not met when the waiter came out from behind the counter with a large cake and nineteen candles burning brightly. The cake was placed on the table between Renata and Christian. All his friends then took that as a signal to start singing
‘happy birthday’ followed by ‘why was he was born so beautiful?’ Christian could feel himself blush a little, as everyone in the restaurant turned to see whose birthday it was. As the last verse finished, Giles, one of his best friends, led three cheers, which was followed by more laughing and clapping.

As he recovered from the congratulations, his mother reached into her purse and pulled out a small box wrapped in birthday paper.

‘For you, honey. I think it’s what you’ve been wanting.’

Christian unwrapped the present, feeling its weight and wondering what it might be. Inside the paper was a small box and printed on the outside was the name GPS Explorer watch. It was perfect. He often went walking during the holidays in the Flinders Ranges with his group of friends. On one occasion, a few weeks earlier, they became disoriented and had to wait for one of the park rangers to find them and lead them out. While it only took six hours to find them, it had created great consternation among his friends and family. Now, with a GPS Explorer watch, that would never happen since it had the ability to track you wherever you were from a GPS satellite navigation system.

‘That’s fantastic, Mum. I’ve been admiring one of those for the last few weeks, but it was too expensive for me,’ he said as he clipped it on to his wrist.

‘
Be careful,’ she said, winking at him. ‘Now I’ll always know where you are.’ His friends laughed.

‘
And, honey, there’s something else.’

Christian’s friends turned to look at Renata as she took something out of her purse again.

‘As those of you who are close to us know,’ Renata paused and looked at all those at the table, ‘one of the hardest things that Christian and I have had to do as a family was to leave South Africa. There’s still much of Africa left in us, but we’ve built a new life here and you all have been a wonderful part of it. Most of you will also know the background of our migrating to Australia from South Africa and the tragedy that surrounded his father. There are many questions that he’s asked about his father that he needs to resolve, so this is his real birthday present.’

Quickly wiping the tears from her eyes, she handed Christian the envelope. He opened the clasp on the outside and pulled out Qantas airline tickets for a trip from Adelaide to Cape Town.

‘Thank you so much, Mum,’ he gasped as he reached across and gave her a big hug.

Christian stared at the airline tickets, understanding how difficult it must have been for his mother to buy them considering the concerns that she had about him returning to South Africa.

‘That was a fantastic night, Mum,’ he said as they walked towards the car.

‘
Christian, slow down. My legs are not as long as yours.’

‘
Sorry. I was dreaming about my trip to South Africa… Also, I can’t stop thinking about the blog site. I don’t believe that my father would knowingly be part of an organisation that terrorised and killed their own people.’

‘
I don’t think he was. It was more related to the way that he was brought up in such a strict Afrikaner family. He was rejected by his father and needed to gain respect. I’m sure that what he got into was for the right reasons, and then he was compromised.’

‘
Well, I hope that I can prove that he wasn’t involved in anything terrible, contrary to what they’re saying on the blog.’

‘
Your father’s parents are dead, that you know, but Mike McMahon, your father’s anaesthetist and friend, is still there. We’ve kept in touch. I’ve talked to Mike and Sian and they’d be delighted to look after you.’

‘
Thanks, Mum.’

‘
Christian, one thing you have to promise me.’

‘
What is it?’

‘
You’re never to take off your watch while you’re in South Africa.’

‘
That’s a deal,’ he said.

‘
And one last thing—something that you need to be aware of. When I left your father’s room in the hospital after he’d been shot, I was aware of a man standing in the hallway, who had the most menacing presence. I subsequently found out through Mike McMahon that this person was Andre van der Walt, your father’s contact at BOSS. I saw him again at your father’s funeral. I remember feeling there was no compassion in his eyes, and it was almost as though he was there to make sure your father was dead.’

‘
But, Mum, BOSS was completely dismantled by Mandela’s government; there’d no longer be that threat.’

‘
Honey, there’ll always be threats in South Africa. It was reported that Van der Walt was killed in a car accident, but some thought that was a convenient excuse to avoid being tried for crimes against humanity. There are now underground organisations still committed to a white supremacy and hope of a single white country within South Africa, so there may still be threats of a different kind. If Van der Walt wasn’t killed, he may have become part of that, and such organisations may still find value in whatever research or information that your father may have had. Therefore, I want you also to promise me not to take any risks and be guided by what Mike advises. He has lots of government connections that may help you.’

‘
No risk-taking unless I checked with Mike first, I promise. I’m sure that Van der Walt has long gone,’ Christian said, looking at his mother with that knowing smile that he knew she loved.

Andre
van der Walt greeted Jannie in Afrikaans but ventured nothing else as he walked into his room and stood at the foot of his bed.

Jannie watched as he slowly paced the hospital room methodically checking for any threats, the way the security services personnel always seemed to do. He then moved back to the foot of the bed and looked at the plaster on Jannie’s arm.

‘So you survived,’ he said. ‘You obviously didn’t get our message to stay away from the church?’

‘
What message?’ said Jannie. ‘You mean you knew that they were going to attack the church and you didn’t warn anyone?’

He looked at Van der Walt, with his square jaw and prominent eyebrows that were common to those of European Dutch ancestry. It created a sense of foreboding, but it was the eyes that had always concerned Jannie. There was blackness where there should have been colour, impenetrability where there should have been transparency. When Van der Walt looked at you it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, something that he assumed that Van der Walt both enjoyed and cultivated. There was much supporting evidence, Jannie thought, that these were killing eyes.

Jannie knew Van der Walt had been brought up on a farm near Bloemfontein in not dissimilar circumstances to Jannie, with parents who, like Jannie’s, were related to the original settler farmers—or Boers, as they were more commonly called in Afrikaans. They were unshakeable believers in, and architectural supporters of, racial segregation.

The initial approach from Andre van der Walt, and the Bureau of State Security, came about as Jannie looked for funding to set up the liver transplant unit. Groote Schuur Hospital had not been deemed a priority when it came to research funding, as it was too closely associated with the liberal University of Cape Town. He knew that most of the funding for research went to the pre-eminent Afrikaner universities in Stellenbosch and Pretoria. Partly in desperation, Jannie had reached out initially through his local Broederbond. This organisation was established in the early nineteen twenties to preserve the tradition and culture of the Afrikaner and to counter the English-speaking clubs. Those who were chosen to join had to be financially sound, white and Afrikaans-speaking Protestant males over the age of twenty
-five. They had to be unimpeachable characters who actively accepted South Africa as a separate Afrikaner nation with its own language and culture. Jannie was aware that it had grown beyond its original mandate of a cultural organisation and now wielded huge political influence. It was an organisation shrouded in secrecy that reached into all aspects of Afrikaner life, particularly the two that concerned Afrikaners most—politics and religion. It was seen as both the secret protector and the lifeblood of the Afrikaner nation. So influential had the Broederbond become that promotion in public or political life was difficult without membership.

Jannie had reluctantly joined when he graduated, thinking at the time it was something that would further his career ambitions and preserve his cultural roots. Uncertain about the direction of the Broederbond, he had told no one about his membership, not even Renata. The monthly meetings he always managed to merge into a clinical meeting at the hospital. It was at one of these meetings that it was suggested that BOSS were interested in acquiring the best scientific minds to assist in ongoing research that was in the national interest, and was he interested. There was, it was suggested to Jannie, a quid pro quo for those who were committed to preserving the status quo of the Afrikaner at higher levels. With some misgivings, he expressed an interest, and shortly afterwards Andre van der Walt made contact.

As he stared at Van der Walt standing menacingly at the foot of his bed, he realised those initial misgivings had been well placed. Van der Walt and BOSS were not so much interested in preserving white Afrikaner traditions as continuing the subjugation of blacks by any means. They had become inosculated with an apartheid government and the ruthless pursuit of a national ideology which now apparently allowed pretermit hecatombs. And he had unwittingly become part of that all due to stupid pride. In many ways, he imagined he was no better than his father, although, ironically, he knew his father would have been proud of him working with the apartheid government. If he had not been so nauseated by the killings, the irony may have been something he would have reflected on more fully.

‘
You let all those people be killed and injured? You’ve lost the plot. That sickens me and I want nothing further to do with you or BOSS—I’m out.’

‘
You don’t get out; you’re part of the fight. As part of the president’s committee, you were trusted with matters of national and international importance. You’ve sworn an oath of allegiance, and with such intelligence, you only stay alive when we know that you’re completely with us. Have you forgotten that? For God’s sake, man, this is about the preservation of our country that our fathers fought for and now the blacks want to take from us.’

‘
So you knew about the threat, or you orchestrated it?’ said Jannie, still disbelieving that an organisation that he belonged to would allow those to die who they were meant to protect.

‘
I’m not authorised to tell you that, but sometimes a few must die so that many others survive. This just shows the world that if the blacks were in charge, they’d kill whoever they liked and now the entire world understands why we have to preserve apartheid. Any other way that involves the blacks would be chaos.’

Jannie wondered whether they had really tried to warn him, or whether having someone of his stature killed would have just added to the belief that all blacks were terrorists and incapable of integration.

Van der Walt continued to look at him with an unblinking gaze. ‘We’ve been through your office; we needed to ensure that there was no evidence linking you to us, as both the Israelis and the Taiwanese were concerned when they heard that you’d been shot. We found this research. What is it?’

Jannie looked at the handful of papers that he was waving. He could see from the diagrams and drawings that they had some of his genetic research.

‘That’s research from the liver transplant programme,’ he said.

‘
Ag, man, I know that you think I’m stupid, but even I can see this is something about the difference between blacks, coloureds and whites.’

Jannie stared back at him, concerned, firstly, that they had found the research and, secondly, what they might do with it when they fully understood what he had discovered. He felt Van der Walt’s eyes searching his for some confirmation that he had found something significant. Unblinking, he returned the stare, determined not to betray any feeling. He had given enough to this organisation masquerading as a wider public protector. No way was he going to give them what he had discovered in order for them to suppress the blacks; what was left of his conscience would not allow it. He wished he had never become part of them.

He looked at the papers in Van der Walt’s hand and quietly cursed himself for leaving even that part of the research where it could be found. The only consolation, he thought, was that the important formulas, the DNA sequences and unknown enzyme that he had discovered, were encoded and buried. He had hidden the research, plus the folder that Stein had given him, deep under the roots of a willow tree in the back garden. He doubted they would ever find it.

While he was reasonably confident they would never find the other half of his research on premature ageing, he knew they now believed that he had discovered something that might help them, if they could comprehend it, increase the chance of subjugating the blacks. His research on premature ageing meant that being able to identify gene sequences and targeting them could then create population groups that were ageing and docile, like a population group of serfs. In addition, given the extremes that they were now prepared to go to, they could prevent the blacks from ever having equality. It was a means by which they could quietly oppress large portions of the black population into silence—an opportunity that would be irresistible to any apartheid government or white supremacist group.

Van der Walt’s menacing eyes still had not left him. Nonetheless, Jannie believed, irrespective of his explanation, that he did not possess all of the research.

‘
If there’s any more of this research, you need to give it to us now; you’ll remember what happened to Martyn Stein who was with you on the president’s committee. He was responsible for developing our nuclear weapons with Israel and Taiwan when he suddenly developed a Kaffir conscience and became a threat to national security.’

‘
There is no more research,’ Jannie said.

Van der Walt held Jannie’s gaze, his look more threatening than Jannie could remember.

‘The one chance to live,’ he said, ‘and you’ve turned it down.’

As Jannie lay in bed thinking about Van der Walt’s last words, not only did the pain return but also the bilious thought that BOSS had orchestrated the terrorist attack to prevent any kind of peace dialogue with the blacks. It was a thought that lay like a fimiculous duvet over his bed. He felt contaminated and violated, helplessly ensnared and unable to extricate himself. That he had been complicit in such an act sickened him to the point where he momentarily considered taking his life. No one would understand that his intentions had been to preserve his traditions. If his friends and colleagues found out, he would be a pariah. That Van der Walt had also confirmed the role of BOSS in the death of Martyn Stein helped him understand the fear that he had seen in Martyn Stein’s eyes a few months ago when he had been passed a classified folder by Stein.

He thought about how they had allowed so many to die in the church, realising that this was a ruthless regime which would stop at nothing to ensure its survival. And he wasn’t sure that they had tried to warn him especially now that they suspected Martyn Stein had given him information.

He consoled himself that it was obviously information they needed, and as long as they were unable to find the rest of the research on ageing or the folder he might live. However, it was evident from the terrorist act on the church the lengths they were now prepared to go to, and keeping him alive would, he imagined, be a low priority. Perhaps if they did not find the Stein folder or his research, they would still kill him knowing that no one else would then have access to it. He needed to ensure, in some way, that they knew that if he were killed, information would be released to the international media.