Rage (30 page)
Authors: Wilbur Smith
A
ther father's kraal, Victoria's family had built a magnificent new hut for her nuptial night. Her brothers and half-brothers had cut the wattle saplings and the trunk for the central post and plaited the stripped green branches into the shape of the beehive. Then her mother and sisters and half-sisters had done the women's work of thatching, carefully combing the long grass stems and lacing the crisp bundles onto the wattle framework, packing and trimming and weaving them until the finished structure was smooth and symmetrical and the brushed grass stems shone like polished brass.
ther father's kraal, Victoria's family had built a magnificent new hut for her nuptial night. Her brothers and half-brothers had cut the wattle saplings and the trunk for the central post and plaited the stripped green branches into the shape of the beehive. Then her mother and sisters and half-sisters had done the women's work of thatching, carefully combing the long grass stems and lacing the crisp bundles onto the wattle framework, packing and trimming and weaving them until the finished structure was smooth and symmetrical and the brushed grass stems shone like polished brass.
Everything the hut contained was new, from the three-legged pot to the lamp and the blankets and the magnificent kaross of hyrax and monkey skins which was the gift of Victoria's sisters, lovingly tanned and sewn by them into a veritable work of art.
At the cooking fire in the centre of the hut Victoria worked alone, preparing the first meal for her husband, while she listened to the shouted laughter of the guests outside in the night. The millet beer was mild. However, the women had brewed hundreds of gallons and the guests had been drinking since early morning.
Now she heard the bridegroom's party approaching the hut. There was singing and loud suggestive advice, cries of encouragement and rude exhortations to duty, and then Moses Gama stooped through the entrance. He straightened and stood tall over her, his head brushing the curved roof and outside the voices of his comrades retreated and dwindled.
Still kneeling, Victoria sat back on her heels and looked up at him. Now at last she had discarded her Western clothing and wore for the last time the short beaded skirt of the virgin. In the soft ruddy light of the fire her naked upper body had the dark patina of antique amber.
âYou are very beautiful,' he said, for she was the very essence of Nguni womanhood. He came to her and took her hands and lifted her to her feet.
âI have prepared food for you,' she whispered huskily.
âThere will be time later to eat.'
He led her to the piled kaross and she stood submissively while he untied the thong of her apron and then lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed of soft fur.
As a girl she had played the games with the boys in the reed banks beside the waterhole, and out on the open grassy veld where she had gone with the other girls to gather firewood conveniently close to where the cattle were being herded. These games of touching and exploring, of rubbing and fondling, right up to the forbidden act of intromission, were sanctioned by tribal custom and smiled at by the elders, but none of them had fully prepared her for the power and skill of this man, or for the sheer magnificence of him. He reached deeply into her body and touched her very soul so that much later in the night she clung to him and whispered:
âNow I am more than just your wife, I am your slave to the end of my days.'
In the dawn her joy was blighted, and though her lovely moon face remained serene, she wept within when he told her, âThere will only be one more night â on the road back to Johannesburg. Then I must leave you.'
âFor how long?' she asked.
âUntil my work is done,' he replied, then his expression softened and he stroked her face. âYou knew that it must be so. I warned you that when you married me, you were marrying the struggle.'
âYou warned me,' she agreed in a husky whisper. âBut there was no way that I could guess at the agony of your leaving.'
T
hey rose early the following morning. Moses had acquired a secondhand Buick, old and shabby enough not to excite interest or envy, but one of Hendrick Tabaka's expert mechanics had overhauled the engine and tightened the suspension, leaving the exterior untouched. In it they would return to Johannesburg.
hey rose early the following morning. Moses had acquired a secondhand Buick, old and shabby enough not to excite interest or envy, but one of Hendrick Tabaka's expert mechanics had overhauled the engine and tightened the suspension, leaving the exterior untouched. In it they would return to Johannesburg.
Though the sun had not yet risen, the entire kraal was astir, and Victoria's sisters had prepared breakfast for them. After they had eaten came the hard part of taking leave of her family. She knelt before her father.
âGo in peace, my daughter,' he told her fondly. âWe will think of you often. Bring your sons to visit us.'
Victoria's mother wept and keened as though it were a funeral, not a wedding, and Victoria could not comfort her although she embraced her and protested her love and duty until the other daughters took her away.
Then there were all her stepmothers and her half-brothers and half-sisters, and the uncles and aunts and cousins who had come from the furthest reaches of Zululand. Victoria had to make her farewells to all of them, though some partings were more poignant than others. One of these was her goodbye to Joseph Dinizulu, her favourite of all her relatives. Although he was a half-brother and seven years younger than she was, a special bond had always existed between them. The two of them were the brightest and most gifted of their generation in the family, and because Joseph lived at Drake's Farm with one of the elder brothers, they had been able to continue their friendship.
However, Joseph would not be returning to the Wit-watersrand. He had written the entrance exams and been accepted by the exclusive multi-racial school, Waterford, in Swaziland, and Anna, Lady Courtney would be paying his school fees. Ironically, this was the same school to which Hendrick Tabaka was sending his sons, Wellington
and Raleigh. There would be opportunity for their rivalry to flourish.
and Raleigh. There would be opportunity for their rivalry to flourish.
âPromise me you will work hard, Joseph,' Vicky said. âLearning makes a man strong.'
âI will be strong,' Joseph assured her. The elation that Moses Gama's speech had aroused in him still persisted. âCan I come and visit you and your husband, Vicky? He is a man, the kind of man I will want to be one day.'
Vicky told Moses what the child had said. They were alone in the old Buick, all the wedding gifts and Vicky's possessions filling the boot and piled in the back seat, and they were leaving that great littoral amphitheatre of Natal, going up over the tail of the Drakensberg range onto the high veld of the Transvaal.
âThe children are the future,' Moses nodded, staring ahead at the steep blue serpent of road that climbed the escarpment, past the green hill of Majuba where the Boers had thrashed the British in the first of many battles with them. âThe old men are beyond hope. You saw them at the wedding, how they kicked and baulked like unbroken oxen when I tried to show them the way â but the children, ah the children!' He smiled. âThey are like fresh clean sheets of paper. You can write on them what you will. The old men are stone-hard and impermeable, but the children are clay, eager clay waiting for the shaping hands of the potter.' He held up one of his hands. It was long and shapely, the hand of a surgeon or an artist, and the palm was a delicate shade of pink, smooth and not calloused by labour. âChildren lack any sense of morality, they are without fear, and death is beyond their conception. These are all things they acquire later, by the teaching of their elders. They make perfect soldiers for they question nothing and it takes no great physical strength to pull a trigger. If an enemy strikes them down they become the perfect martyrs. The bleeding corpse of a child strikes horror and remorse into even the hardest heart. Yes, the children are our key to the future.
Your Christ knew it when he said “Suffer the little children to come unto me”.'
Your Christ knew it when he said “Suffer the little children to come unto me”.'
Victoria twisted on the leather bench seat of the Buick and stared at him.
âYour words are cruel and blasphemous,' she whispered, torn by her love for him and her instinctive rejection of what he had just said.
âAnd yet your reaction proves their truth,' he said.
âBut â¦' she paused, reluctant to ask, and fearful to hear his reply. âBut are you saying that we should use our childrenâ' She broke off, and an image of the paediatric section of the hospital came into her mind. She had spent the happiest months of all her training amongst the little ones. âAre you suggesting that you would use the children in the front line of the struggle â as soldiers?'
âIf a child cannot grow up a free man, then he might as well die as a child,' Moses Gama said. âVictoria, you have heard me say this before. It is time now that you learn to believe it. There is nothing I would not do, no price I would not pay, for our victory. If I have to see a thousand little children dead so that a hundred thousand more may live to grow up free men, then for me the bargain is a fair one.'
Then, for the very first time in her life, Victoria Dinizulu was truly afraid.
T
hat night they stayed at Hendrick Tabaka's house in Drake's Farm Township, and it was well after midnight before they could go to the small bedroom that had been set aside for them because there were many who demanded Moses' attention, men from the Buffaloes and the mineworkers' union, a messenger from the council of the ANC and a dozen petitioners and supplicants who came quietly as jackals to the lion when
the word flashed through the township that Moses Gama had returned.
hat night they stayed at Hendrick Tabaka's house in Drake's Farm Township, and it was well after midnight before they could go to the small bedroom that had been set aside for them because there were many who demanded Moses' attention, men from the Buffaloes and the mineworkers' union, a messenger from the council of the ANC and a dozen petitioners and supplicants who came quietly as jackals to the lion when
the word flashed through the township that Moses Gama had returned.
At all these meetings Victoria was present, although she never spoke and sat quietly in a corner of the room. At first the men were surprised and puzzled, darting quick glances across at her and reluctant to come to their business until Moses pressed them. None of them was accustomed to having women present when serious matters were discussed. However, none of them could bring themselves to protest, until the ANC messenger came into the room. He was invested with all the power and importance of the council he represented, and so he was the first to speak about Victoria's presence.
âThere is a woman here,' he said.
âYes,' Moses nodded. âBut not just a woman, she is my wife.'
âIt is not fitting,' said the messenger. âIt is not the custom. This is men's business.'
âIt is our purpose and our aim to tear down and burn the old customs and to build up the new. In that endeavour we will need the help of all our people. Not just the men, but the women and children also.'
There was a long silence while the messenger fidgeted under Moses' dark unrelenting stare.
âThe woman can remain,' he capitulated at last.
âYes,' Moses nodded. âMy wife will remain.'
âLater in the darkness of their bedroom, in the narrowness of the single bed, Victoria pressed close to him, the soft plastic curves of her body conforming to his hardness, and she said:
âYou have honoured me by making me a part of your struggle. Like the children, I want to be a soldier. I have thought about it and I have discovered what I can do.'
âTell me,' he invited.
âThe women. I can organize the women. I can begin with the nurses of the hospital, and then the other women
â all of them. We must take our part in the struggle beside the men.'
â all of them. We must take our part in the struggle beside the men.'
His arms tightened around her. âYou are a lioness,' he said. âA beautiful Zulu lioness.'
âI can feel your heartbeat,' she whispered, âand my own heart beats in exact time to it.'
In the morning Moses drove her to the nurses' home at the hospital. She stood at the top of the steps and did not go into the building. He watched her in the rear-view mirror as he drove away and she was still standing there when he turned into the traffic, heading back towards Johannesburg and the suburb of Rivonia.
He was one of the first to arrive at Puck's Hill that morning to attend the council meeting to which the previous night's messenger had summoned him.
Marcus Archer met Moses on the verandah, and his smile was vitriolic as he greeted him. âThey say a man is incomplete until he marries â and only then is he finished.'
There were two men already seated at the long table in the kitchen which had always been used as their council chamber. They were both white men.
Bram Fischer was the scion of an eminent Afrikaner family whose father had been a judge-president of the Orange Free State. Though he was an expert on mining law, and a QC at the Johannesburg bar, he had also been a member of the old Communist Party and was a member of the ANC, and lately his practice had become almost entirely the defence of those accused under the racial laws that the Nationalist government had enacted since 1948. Although he was a charming and erudite man with a real concern for his countrymen of all races, Moses was wary of him. He was a starry-eyed believer in the eventual miraculous triumph of good over evil, and firmly opposed the formation of
Umkhonto we Sizwe
, the military branch of the ANC. His pacifist influence on the rest of the Congress set a brake on Moses' aspirations.
Umkhonto we Sizwe
, the military branch of the ANC. His pacifist influence on the rest of the Congress set a brake on Moses' aspirations.
The other white man was Joe Cicero, a Lithuanian immigrant. Moses could guess why he had come to Africa â and who had sent him. He was one of the eagles, fierce-hearted as Moses was himself, and an ally when the need for direct and even violent action was discussed. Moses went to sit beside him, across the table from Fischer. He would need Joe Cicero's support this day.
Marcus Archer, who loved to cook, set a plate of devilled kidneys and
Åufs ranchero
in front of him, but before Moses had finished his breakfast the others began to arrive. Nelson Mandela and his faithful ally Tambo arrived together, followed quickly by Walter Sisulu and Mbeki and the others, until the long table was crowded and cluttered with papers and dirty plates, with coffee cups and ashtrays which were soon overflowing with crushed cigarette butts.
Åufs ranchero
in front of him, but before Moses had finished his breakfast the others began to arrive. Nelson Mandela and his faithful ally Tambo arrived together, followed quickly by Walter Sisulu and Mbeki and the others, until the long table was crowded and cluttered with papers and dirty plates, with coffee cups and ashtrays which were soon overflowing with crushed cigarette butts.
The air was thick with tobacco smoke and Marcus' cooking aromas, and the talk was charged and serious as they tried to decide and agree exactly what were the objects of the defiance campaign.
âWe have to stir the awareness of our people, to shake them out of their dumb cowlike acceptance of oppression.' Mandela put the premier proposition, and across from him Moses leaned forward.
âMore important, we must awaken the conscience of the rest of the world, for that is the direction from which our ultimate salvation will come.'
âOur own peopleâ' Mandela began, but Moses interrupted him.
âOur own people are powerless without weapons and training. The forces of oppression ranged against us are too powerful. We cannot triumph without arms.'
âYou reject the way of the peace, then?' Mandela asked. âYou presuppose that freedom can only be won at the point of the gun?'
âThe revolution must be tempered and made strong in
the blood of the masses,' Moses affirmed. âThat is always the way.'
the blood of the masses,' Moses affirmed. âThat is always the way.'
âGentlemen! Gentlemen!' Bram Fischer held up his hand to stop them. âLet us return to the main body of the discussion. We agree that by our campaign of defiance we hope to stir our own people out of their lethargy and to attract the attention of the rest of the world. Those are our two main objects. Let us now decide on our secondary objects.'
âTo establish the ANC as the only true vehicle of liberation,' Moses suggested. âAt present we have less than seven thousand members, but by the end of the campaign we should aim to have enrolled one hundred thousand more.' To this there was general agreement, even Mandela and Tambo nodded, and when the vote was taken it was unanimous and they could go on to discuss the details of the campaign.
It was a massive undertaking, for it was planned that the campaign should be nationwide and that it should be conducted simultaneously in every one of the main centres of the Union of South Africa so as to place the utmost strain on the resources of the government and to test the response of the forces of law and order.
âWe must fill their gaols'until they burst. We must offer ourselves up for arrest in our thousands until the machinery of tyranny breaks down under the strain,' Mandela told them.
For three more days they sat in the kitchen at Puck's Hill, working out and agreeing every minute detail, preparing the lists of names and places, putting together the timetable of action, the logistics of transport and communication, establishing the lines of control from the central committee down through the provincial headquarters of the movement, and ultimately to the regional cadres in every black township and location.
It was an onerous task but at last there was only one detail left to decide â the day on which it would begin. Now they all looked to Albert Luthuli at the head of the table and he did not hesitate.
âJune the 26th,' he said, and when there was a murmur of agreement, he went on, âSo be it, then. We all know our tasks.' And he gave them the salute of upraised thumbs. â
Amandla!
Power!
Ngawethu!
Amandla!
Power!
Ngawethu!
When Moses went out to where the old Buick was parked beneath the gum trees, the sunset was filling the western sky with furnace colours of hot orange and smouldering red, and Joe Cicero was waiting for him. He leaned against the silvery trunk of one of the bluegum trees, with his arms folded over his broad chest, a bearlike figure, short and squat and powerful.
He straightened up as Moses came towards him.
âCan you give me a lift in to Braamfontein, comrade?' he asked, and Moses opened the door of the Buick for him, and they drove in silence for ten minutes before Joe said quietly, âIt is strange that you and I have never spoken privately.' His accent was elusive, but the planes of his pale face above the short dark fringe of beard were flat and Slavic and his eyes were dark as tar pools.
âWhy is it so stranger Moses asked.
âWe share common views,' Joe replied. âWe are both true sons of the revolution.'
âAre you certain of that?'
âI am certain,' Joe nodded. âI have studied you and listened to you with approval and admiration. I believe that you are one of the steely men that the revolution needs, comrade.'
Moses did not reply. He kept his eyes on the road, and his expression impassive, letting the silence draw out, forcing the other man to break it.
âWhat are your feelings towards Mother Russia?' Joe asked softly at last, and Moses considered the question.
âRussia has never had colonies in Africa,' Moses answered carefully. âI know that she gives support to the struggle in Malaya and Algeria and Kenya. I believe she is a true ally of the oppressed peoples of this world.'
Joe smiled and lit another Springbok cigarette from the flat maroon and white pack. He was a chain-smoker and his stubby fingers were stained dark brown.
âThe road to freedom is steep and rocky,' he murmured.
âAnd the revolution is never secure. The proletariat must be protected from itself by the revolutionary guards.'
âYes,' Moses agreed. âI have read the works of both Marx and Lenin.'
âThen I was correct,' Joe Cicero murmured. âYou are a believer. We should be friends â good friends. There are difficult days ahead and there will be a need for steely men.' He reached over the back seat and picked up his attache case. âYou can let me out at the central railway station, comrade,' he said.
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