Embrace (81 page)

And Bok said yes, these are the big boys, turning into men, a proud smile shared between him and the onlookers. Karl took in his father, dashing in his black deacon suit, beside Bokkie, as gorgeous as ever in silver lame. Bokkie whispered to the children, ‘Don’t look, there’s a TV camera on us,’ and Karl, Lena and Bernice tried to ignore the light that suddenly fell upon them and the movement of the camera from whence it shone. Alette pinched Karl and he flinched, acted even more engrossed in the stories.

The storytelling was finally broken when Ma’am, in a long burgundy dress with a low-cut neckline, joined the group accompanied by her equally tall sister Miss Hope. Ma’am and Miss Hope shook a few hands. Bok and Bokkie introduced Ma’am as the boys’ teacher and Miss Hope as Lena’s English teacher at Port Natal. From the look of pity that Aunt Siobhain and Juffrou Sang cast at Ma’am, Karl knew that Bokkie had signalled to them that Ma’am was the one who had lost a son on the border. The group grew further with the addition of Uncle Charlie and Mr Walshe, the latter whom the boys had driven down with in the afternoon and now saw for the first time in full evening suit with tie. Lukas threw Karl a playful glance, indicating his surprise at how smart the two usually informally dressed men now appeared. Introduced respectively as the house-master and the farm manager, Mr Walshe in particular looked uncomfortable with the suit, the tie and the public glare. Karl listened bashfully as Bok and Uncle Charlie spoke about his and Lukas s departure from the school. Intending the bystanders to hear, Bok joked that the house-master must be happy getting rid of the two Philistines. Uncle Charlie, smiling, said no, neither Karl nor Lukas were the worst cases he’s had and surely would not be worse than he’d have in future. And on his own accord Mr Walshe said how he’d miss Lukas and Karl, not only for Lukas s help on the farm, but for the boys’ cheerful presence on the rides.

‘Karl’s quite a horseman, Mr De Man. He sits a horse like he was born there.’ Karl was happy that Mr Walshe’s deep baritone carried well, so that each word could be heard.

A couple stepped forward, their young son, collared and tied, standing between them. They asked whether the boys minded if they asked a few questions, as they were thinking of auditioning their son. Karl looked at the tiny dark-headed fellow in front of him. The boy gave a confident smile. He was probably eight or nine at the most, and to Karl’s enquiry the father answered that the boy was seven, but if he auditioned next year, he would be nine and qualified to go year after next. Either to the Berg, or to Hilton or Michaelhouse. Aware of the eyes and ears of their teachers around them, Karl and Lukas spoke of the special time the past three years had been for them, what unique opportunities for travel and education they had been given. ‘It is an education to travel, in and of itself’ Karl said, refraining from looking at Ma’am. Tough, being away from home, Lukas said. ‘One gets homesick sometimes. Are you ready for that?’ He smiled, and when the boy nodded his head rigorously the witnesses laughed. Karl and Lukas assured the parents, and thus also everyone within earshot, that being in the Berg was the best, most unforgettable experience anyone could ask for. ‘And we have tours, which Hilton and Michaelhouse don’t.’

‘Good luck.’ Karl and Lukas said as the parents stepped back and led off the beaming boy.

Miss Hope asked Lena to introduce her to Karl. He shook the womans hand. She smiled and offered that she was looking forward to having him in her English class at Port Natal. A friendly and familiar smile, he thought, that made her resemble her twin sister. Also the smile of someone who has heard a lot about the one being introduced. But for when she smiles — and her height — Miss Hope looks nothing like Ma’am, Karl thought. One would never have believed they were twins. Although he clearly remembered Miss Hope from the funeral, there it had been to Ma’am that his attention was drawn. And to the coffin and the tragic drama: military trumpets and drums as Graham’s flag-draped coffin was carried into church on the shoulders of six of his platoon. Naval, air force and army officers in uniforms standing to grim-faced attention as the organ pipes vibrated Bach into the floor, causing windows and pews to shudder as if the earth were quaking. Enormous protea and strelitzia arrangements, triangled to military precision. Amongst the senior military staff was General Erasmus, head of the SADF, with whom Karl and Dominic had stayed in Muizenberg during the Cape Tour. Every uniformed chest seemed to be laced with ribbons and medals, the specific meaning of each unknown to Karl, but the overall impression awe-inspiring. Tension on the faces of every man in the church as they stood beside their unsmiling behatted wives. Members of Parliament. The elite of the South African government and army. Newspaper photographers.

The coffin, draped in the orange, white and blue flag, stood elevated on a silver stand before the high wooden pulpit. A magnet to Karl’s eyes, solemnly in front of Ma’am and a man who must have been Graham’s father. On either side of Mr Sanders and Ma’am’s drawn black figure in the front pew between the Generals sat their daughter Jenny and Miss Hope. Ma’am’s knee-length black dress was tucked beneath her legs. Her arms, covered in elbow-length sleeves, were clutched to her sides and she held her hands together, clasped taut into an unmoving white ball in her lap. A charcoal lace mantillawoven with a pattern of black orchids covered her hair and cast her face in shadows, making it impossible to discern her expression. Jenny, as tall as her mother and aunt, was the only woman in the church without a hat. She sat sternly, her eyes never venturing from the pulpit. Miss Hope clutched a programme in one hand — the fingers of her other extended on the fabric of the black dress above the knee — gazing into her lap. Other than to stand and sit during the singing, not one of the three women seemed to alter once their initial postures. The father looked around quite a bit, taking in all that was going on. But the two sisters’ heads turned only slightly towards the choirs when they sang. The two choirs, men in uniform on one side, boys on the other, had been arranged in a wedge to face each other at the front of Pietermaritzburg’s Central Methodist church. In this way the end of the first and second soprano boys linked with the beginning of the male tenor and baritone voices of Infantry School. The men were clad in their green and khaki uniforms and wore no berets. The boys were in grey flannels, black ties and blazers, the blue and white of their concert attire too conspicuous for the occasion. From the centre of the wedge Jacques conducted, his face ashen, none of the usual expressiveness to communicate with the voices before him. Together with the Infantry School men they sang ‘Exerce Perfectioni’. And then Dirkie De Villiers’s arrangement of Psalm 23. For the Sanctus from Gounod’s
Messe solennelle de Ste. Cecile,
Dominic stepped forward and stood to Jacques’s left. The conductor in effect allowed the boy to lead while he did little more than guide the combined voices of men and boys from behind. Dominic’s voice rose into the church dome, even without microphone ringing above the dominant male timbre. The minister read passages from Exodus and Matthew. He spoke about the greatest gift being the gift of love. Love not only for family, but love of nation and of faith. He said that the biggest and most selfless death was that which occurred in service of love, nation and faith. That Graham’s death fulfilled these criteria from whichever angle one tried to understand the loss. ‘Mr and Mrs Sanders. Jenny,’ he said, looking down at the two women in the pew below him. ‘You have lost a beloved son, a beloved brother. None of us here will ever know or be fully able to share in your grief, your loss. But as incomprehensible as the ways of fate and God might seem to you now, the Word tells us enough for us to understand that your loss has not been in vain. You are the mothers and daughters of this nation. Your sacrifice will be a mark of pride, from here to eternity.’ The minister then prayed for strength in the face of adversity, for each man in uniform guarding the borders of South Africa, for courage and strength in the souls of the bereaved. Graham’s coffin was again lifted onto the shoulders of his platoon-mates. As they began moving towards the door, the organ and brass played the introduction to ‘The Call of South Africa’. During the singing it seemed to Karl that around him every single boy wept as they stood to attention. Jacques too, who stood to one side of the choir, head bowed, lips unmoving. When the congregation sang the final
‘At thy will to live or perish, oh South Africa dear land’,
it felt to Karl as though for the first time in his life he understood the terrifying meaning of the words. Through his own tears he shuddered as he pictured Bokkie, Bok, Bernice and Lena, standing one day in the place of Ma’am and Jenny.

The choir did not sing at the burial. The boys boarded the buses the moment they left the church. Outside waited the hearse. Flags on the bonnets of the vehicles, preceded by twelve black motorcycles. Behind the hearse followed Ma’am, Jenny and Miss Hope in the back seat of a black Mercedes. Then another eight black vehicles carrying military dignitaries and government VIPs. The streets of Pietermaritzburg were lined with casual onlookers. The entire city seemed to be mourning. Passers-by, white and black, stood quietly and expressionless as the motorcade moved from the church and down the streets.

For the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to school, no one on the packed bus could be heard speaking. No one laughed. Quietly, between Bennie and Dominic somewhere near the middle, sat Karl. Near Estcourt, as the bus approached the Wagendrift Dam with its sluices open and jets of silver spray pounding the stream below, Dominic put his mouth close to Karl’s ear and whispered: ‘As bad as Liza Minnelli doing cabaret for the Nazis.’ Karl at once shifted his weight from where he had been resting against Dominic’s shoulder. He gripped his hands to the silver beam of the seat before him and lay his forehead on his arms, looking down. His black shoes and the turn-ups of his grey flannels vibrated from the engine against the bus floor.

Karl had looked around the foyer and caught himself unconsciously combing the crowd for a face which might resemble the photographs on Jacques’s dressing table. They had to be here somewhere, but how to spot them amongst the hundreds of chattering mynahs? The women in their glitz, the men all like penguins. Near the entrance was Mathison, and with him Mr and Mrs Clemence-Gordon and other parents whom Karl knew from sight but couldn’t name. Addressing Ma’am, Juffrou Sang behind Karl was saying she’d heard many praiseworthy things about her and that meeting at last was an honour. Lifting her gaze and smile up at the tall woman, Juffrou Sang recalled how she had been the one to motivate Karl to audition for the school. She had spotted his musicality the moment he’d stepped into Kuswag’s pre-fab music room. ‘Raw out of Zululand,’ she laughed. ‘But the talent was visible from the moment I laid eyes on him.’ Now smiling at Karl, she said that he had come a long way since — ‘that first eisteddfod where you sang — what was it again — and you got your first golden diploma?’

‘Ek Bemin my Land van Harte.’ Karl smiled, shaking his head and shrugging at Lukas and Alette, feigning lapsed memory and diffidence, abashed at being reminded of an amateur eisteddfod career. He deliberately kept his eyes off Lena, all too aware that she was probably in a tizz at the attention being showered on him.

You also won a gold for recitation, didn’t you, Karl?’ Bokkieoffered, and he felt himself blush. Hoped Bok was still engaged with Unde Charlie and Mr Walshe.

‘So the love of poetry has been there for years?’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ He couldn’t help but catch Lena’s eye. No foam around the mouth.

‘Actually, I too remember the first time I’ saw him,’ Ma’am said, winking at Bokkie and Juffrou Sang. ‘Rather a poetic moment, if I can call it that.’ She cast a playful glance at him. ‘Do you mind if I tell them, Karl?’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Ma’am?’ He would have done anything for the bell to ring then.

‘Can’t you remember the first time I spoke to you? Good heavens, I remember it like yesterday. Lukas, can you? You were all there!’

‘Oh yes!’ Karl blurted. ‘I remember. It was in Miss Holloway’s dass!’

‘Well, thank you!’ And she smiled, now also at Bok who had rejoined the group. ‘From my dassroom I heard a commotion down the veranda.’ Bok shook his head, clearly in jest, and said he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this. Ma’am again winked and said there was no need for them to be embarrassed. ‘I had seen Mrs Holloway leave, so I suspected the mice were at it. Off I went to inspect the scene of the crime.’

Bokkie shook her head. Ma’am laughed and shot her a smile.

‘A little way before I reached the door, I heard a boy’s voice,’ she paused. ‘Very, very expressively.’ Her eyes rested on Karl. ‘Melodramatically, of course. Reciting Langenhoven’s “The Moth and the Flame”. There were sporadic bursts of laughter from the dass as the boy’s voice grew louder and louder and more urgent.’ Ma’am looked around the group and then settled her gaze on Karl. ‘I was standing on the veranda — out of sight — and I let him continue. And then, there was the crash of something as the voice almost cried out the final lines!’The group laughed. ‘I stepped into the doorway to see this young man,’ her hand now on Karl’s shoulder, ‘spread like a corpse over the desk.’ Again everyone laughed.

‘Where was Miss Holloway?’ Bolckie asked, shaking her head, putting on discomfort.

‘Running an errand,’ Ma’am answered, a look of genuine fondness caressing Karl’s face.

‘Well, I hope you saw to it he got six of the best,’ Bok joked, to which a mix of laughter and mirthful shock erupted. The first bell shrilled into the foyer’s din. It was time for members of the audience to take their seats.

‘Not at all,’ Ma’am answered, and then looking at Juffrou Sang. ‘Like you, I knew an exceptional talent when it stared me in the face.’ Then, before they left the foyer to come and take their seats, Ma’am asked Karl to make sure he and Lukas said goodbye after the concert.

‘Were taking Lukas to the airport, Ma’am, so we won’t have much time.’