Rage (44 page)

Read Rage Online

Authors: Wilbur Smith

BOOK: Rage
13.19Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
O
n 24 August 1958 the Prime Minister, Johannes Gerhardus Strijdom, ‘Lion of the Waterberg', succumbed to heart disease. He had only been at the head of government for four years, but his passing left a wide gap in the granite cliffs of Afrikanerdom, and like termites whose nest has been damaged, they rushed to repair it.
Within hours of the announcement of the Prime Minister's death, Manfred De La Rey was in Shasa's office, accompanied by two of the senior Cape back-benchers of the National Party.
‘We have to try and keep the northerners out,' he announced bluntly. ‘We have to get our man in.'
Shasa nodded cautiously. He was still regarded by most of the party as an outsider in the cabinet. His influence in the coming election of a new leader would not be decisive, but he was ready to watch and learn as Manfred laid out their strategy for him.
‘They have already made Verwoerd their candidate,' he said. ‘All right, he has been in the Senate most of his career and has little experience as an MP, but his reputation is that of a strong man and a clever one. They like the way he has handled the blacks. He has made the name Verwoerd and the word
apartheid
mean the same thing. The people know that under him there will be no mixing of races, that South Africa will always belong to the white man.'
‘Ja,'
agreed one of the others. ‘But he is so brutal. There are ways of doing things, ways of saying things that don't offend people. Our own man is strong also. Dönges introduced the Group Areas Bill and the Separate Representation of Voters Bill – nobody can accuse him of being a
kafferboetie
, a nigger-lover. But he's got more style, more finesse.'
‘The northerners don't want finesse. They don't want a genteel prime minister with sweet lips, they want a man of power, and Verwoerd is a talker, hell that man can talk and he's not afraid of work – and as we all know, anybody whom the English press hates so much can't be all bad.' They laughed, watching Shasa, waiting to see how he would take it. He was still an outsider, their tame
rooinek,
and he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing their raillery score. He smiled easily.
‘Verwoerd is canny as an old bull baboon, and quick as a mamba. We'll have to work hard if we are to keep him out,' Shasa agreed.
They worked hard, all of them. Shasa was convinced
that despite his record of introducing racially inspired legislation to the House, Dönges was the most moderate and altruistic of the three men who allowed themselves to be persuaded to stand as candidates for the highest office in the land.
As Dr Hendrik Verwoerd himself said, as he accepted nomination, ‘When a man receives a desperate call from his people, he does not have the right to refuse.'
On 2 September 1958, the caucus of the National Party met to choose the new leader. The caucus was made up of 178 Nationalist members of parliament and Nationalist senators voting together, and Verwoerd's short term in parliament that had seemed at first to be a weakness turned out to be an advantage. For years Hendrik Verwoerd had been the Leader of the Senate, and had dominated the upper house by the strength of his personality and the powers of his oratory. The senators, docile and compliant, men whose ranks had been enlarged to enable the governing party to force through distasteful legislation, voted for Verwoerd as a block.
Dönges survived the first ballot in which ‘Blackie' Swart, the Free State's candidate, was eliminated, but on the second ballot, a straight contest between Verwoerd and Dönges, the northerners closed their ranks and swept Verwoerd into the premiership by ninety-eight votes to seventy-five.
That evening when, as prime minister, Hendrik Frensch Verwoerd broadcast to the nation, he did not try to conceal the fact that his election had been the will of Almighty God. ‘He it is who has ordained that I should lead the people of South Africa in this new period of their lives.'
Blaine and Centaine had driven across from Rhodes Hill. It was a family tradition to gather in this room to listen to important broadcasts. Here they had heard speeches and announcements that had shifted the world they knew on its axis: declarations of war and peace, the
news of the evil mushroom clouds planted in the skies above Japanese cities, the death of kings and beloved rulers, the accession of a queen, to all these and others they had listened together in the blue drawing-room of Weltevreden.
Now they sat quietly as the high-pitched, nervously strained but articulate voice of the new Prime Minister came to them, jarring when he repeated platitudes and well-worn themes.
‘No one need doubt for a single moment that it will always be my aim to uphold the democratic institutions of our country, for they are the most treasured possessions of Western civilization,' Verwoerd told them, ‘and the right of people with other convictions to express their views will be maintained.'
‘Just as long as those views are passed by the government board of censors, the synod of the Dutch Reformed Church and the caucus of the National Party,' Blaine murmured, a sarcastic qualification for him, and Centaine nudged him.
‘Do be quiet, Blaine, I want to listen.'
Verwoerd had moved on to another familiar subject, how the country's enemies had deliberately misconstrued his racial policies. It was not he who had coined the word
apartheid
, but other dedicated and brilliant minds had foreseen the necessity of allowing all the races of a complicated and fragmented society to develop towards their own separate potential. ‘As the Minister of Bantu Affairs, since 1950 it has been my duty to give cohesion and substance to this policy, the only policy which will allow full opportunity for each and every group within its own racial community. In the years ahead, we will not deviate one inch from this course.'
Tara had been tapping her foot restlessly as she listened, but now she sprang to her feet. ‘I'm sorry,' she blurted. ‘I'm feeling a little queasy. I must get a breath of fresh air on the terrace—' and she hurried from the room. Centaine
glanced sharply at Shasa, but he smiled and shrugged, was about to make a light comment, when the voice on the radio riveted them all once more.
‘I come now to one of the most, if not the most sacred ideal of our people,' the high-pitched voice filled the room, ‘and that is the formation of the Republic. I know how many of the English-speaking South Africans listening to me tonight are filled with a sense of loyalty to the British Crown. I know also that this divided loyalty has prevented them from always dealing with the real issues on their merits. The ideal of monarchy has too often been a divisive factor in our midst, separating Afrikaners and English-speakers when they should have been united. In a decolonizing world, the black man and his newly fledged nations are beginning to emerge as a threat to the South Africa we know and love. Afrikaner and Englishman can no longer afford to stand apart, but must now link arms as allies, secure and strong in the ideal of a new white republic.'
‘My God,' Blaine breathed, ‘that's a new line. It used always to be the Afrikaner Republic exclusively, and nobody took it seriously, least of all the Afrikaners. But this time he is serious, and he has started something that is going to raise a stink. I remember all too well the controversy over the flag, back in the 1920s. That will seem like a love feast compared to the idea of a republic—' He broke off to listen as Verwoerd ended:
‘Thus I give you my assurance that from now on the sacred ideal of Republic will be passionately pursued.'
When the Prime Minister finished speaking, Shasa crossed the room and switched off the radio; then he turned and stood with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets, and his shoulders hunched as he studied their faces. They were all of them subdued and shaken. For one hundred and fifty years the country had been British, and there was a
pride and a vast sense of security in that state. Now it was to change, and they were afraid. Even Shasa felt strangely bereft and uncertain.
‘He doesn't mean it. It's just another sop for his own people. They are always ranting about the republic,' Centaine said hopefully, but Blaine shook his head.
‘We don't know this man very well yet. We only know what he wrote when he was editor of
Transvaler
, and we know with what vigour and determination he has set about segregating our society. There is one other thing we have learned about him. He is a man who means exactly what he says, and who will let nothing stand in his way.' He reached across and took Centaine's hand. ‘No, my heart. You are wrong. He means it.'
They both looked up at Shasa, and Centaine asked for both of them, ‘What will you do,
chéri?'
‘I am not sure that I will have any choice. They say he brooks no opposition, and I opposed him. I lobbied for Dönges. I may not be on the list when he announces his cabinet on Monday.'
‘It will be hard to move to the back bench again,' Blaine remarked.
‘Too hard,' Shasa nodded. ‘And I will not do it.'
‘Oh,
chéri
,' Centaine cried. ‘You would not resign your seat – after all we have sacrificed, after all our hard work and hopes.'
‘We'll know on Monday,' Shasa shrugged, trying not to let them see how bitterly disappointed he was. He had held true power for too short a time, just long enough to learn to enjoy the taste of it. He knew, furthermore, that there was so much he had to offer his country, so many of his efforts almost ready for harvesting. It would be hard to watch them wither and die with his own ambitions, before he had even tasted the first sweets, but Verwoerd would sack him from his cabinet. He could not doubt it for a moment.
“‘If you can meet with triumph and disaster”,' Centaine quoted, and then laughed gaily, with only the barest tremor in it. ‘Now,
chéri
, let's open a bottle of champagne. It's the only way to treat those two impostors of Kipling's.'
Shasa entered his office in the House, and looked around it regretfully. It had been his for five years, and now he would have to pack up his books and paintings and furniture; the panelling and carpeting he would leave as a gift to the nation. He had hoped to make a larger bequest than that, and he grimaced and went to sit behind his desk for the last time and try to assess where he had erred and what he could have done if he had been allowed. The telephone on his desk rang, and he picked it up before his secretary in the outer office could reach it.
‘This is the Prime Minister's secretary,' the voice told him, and for a moment he thought of the dead man and not his successor.
‘The Prime Minister would like to see you as soon as is convenient.'
‘I will come right away, of course,' Shasa replied, and as he replaced the receiver he thought, ‘So he personally wants to have the pleasure of chopping me down.'
Verwoerd kept him waiting only ten minutes and then rose from behind his desk to apologize as Shasa entered his office. ‘Forgive me. It has been a busy day,' and Shasa smiled at the understatement. His smile was not forced, for Verwoerd was displaying all his enormous charm, his voice soft and lulling, unlike the higher harsher tone of his public utterances, and he actually came around the desk and took Shasa's arm in an avuncular grip. ‘But, of course, I had to speak to you, as I have spoken to all the members of my new cabinet.'
Shasa started so that he pulled his arm out of the other man's grip, and they turned to face each other.
‘I am keeping the portfolio of Mines and Industry open, and of course there is no man better qualified for the job
than you. I have liked your presentations to the old cabinet. You know what you are talking about.'
‘I cannot pretend not to be surprised, Prime Minister,' Shasa told him quietly, and Verwoerd chuckled.
‘It is good to be unpredictable at times.'
‘Why? Shasa asked. ‘Why me?' Verwoerd cocked his head on the side, a characteristic gesture of interrogation, but Shasa insisted, ‘I know you value straight talk, Prime Minister, so I will say it. You have no reason to like me or to consider me an ally.'
‘That is true,' Verwoerd agreed. ‘But I don't need sycophants. I have enough of those already. What I have considered is that the job you are doing is vital to the eventual well-being of our land, and that there is no one who could do it better. I am sure we will learn to work together.'
‘Is that all, Prime Minister?'
‘You have mentioned that I like to talk straight. Very well, that is not all. You probably heard me begin my premiership with an appeal for a drawing together of the two sections of our white population, an appeal to Boer and Briton to forget old worn-out antipathy and side by side to build the Republic. How would it look if with the next breath I fired the only Englishman in my government?'
They both laughed, and then Shasa shook his head. ‘On the matter of the Republic I will oppose you,' he warned, and for a moment saw through a chink the cold and monolithic ego of a man who would never bow to the contrary view, and then the chink was closed and Verwoerd chuckled.
‘Then I will have to convince you that you are wrong. In the meantime you will be my conscience – what is the name of the character in the Disney story?'

Other books

Never Give In! by Winston Churchill
Dark Ride by Caroline Green
The Deliverance of Evil by Roberto Costantini
Man Tiger by Eka Kurniawan