Rage (61 page)
Authors: Wilbur Smith
T
wenty-four hours later Mr Justice André Villiers delivered his judgement to a hushed and expectant court.
wenty-four hours later Mr Justice André Villiers delivered his judgement to a hushed and expectant court.
âThe basis of the case brought by the crown against the accused rests upon the consideration of how an individual reacts to what he perceives as an injustice. It raises the question of the individual's right or duty to resist those laws
which he considers unjust or evil. I have had to consider what loyalty a person owes to a government which was elected by a process from which he was totally excluded, a government which has furthermore embarked upon a programme of legislation that will deliberately alienate that person from most of the major rights, privileges and benefits of the society of which he is a memberâ' For almost an hour Judge Villiers enlarged on and examined this proposition, then he summed up. âI have therefore reached the conclusion that no duty of loyalty exists towards a state in which the individual is denied the basic democratic right of representation. Accordingly, on the charge of high treason I find the accused not guilty.'
which he considers unjust or evil. I have had to consider what loyalty a person owes to a government which was elected by a process from which he was totally excluded, a government which has furthermore embarked upon a programme of legislation that will deliberately alienate that person from most of the major rights, privileges and benefits of the society of which he is a memberâ' For almost an hour Judge Villiers enlarged on and examined this proposition, then he summed up. âI have therefore reached the conclusion that no duty of loyalty exists towards a state in which the individual is denied the basic democratic right of representation. Accordingly, on the charge of high treason I find the accused not guilty.'
There was a throaty roar from the body of the court and in the non-white section of the gallery they were dancing and singing. For almost a full minute Judge Villiers watched them, and those members of the court who knew him well were amazed by his forbearance. But the judge's features were crumpled with an unusual compassion and terrible sadness as he took up his gavel to quieten them.
In the silence he spoke again. âI come now to the other charges against the accused. Those of murder and attempted murder. The crown has, with the help of the most eminent and trustworthy witnesses, made out a case which the accused has not attempted to challenge. I accept that the accused placed a large body of explosive in the assembly chamber of the South African parliament with the intention of detonating that charge during a speech by the Prime Minister and thereby inflicting the greatest possible damage and death. I accept also that when his plot was discovered, he slew Colonel Blaine Malcomess and immediately thereafter attempted to murder Minister Courtney.' The judge paused and turned his head towards Moses Gama, who sat impassively in the dock, still wearing his leopard-skin robes of chieftainship.
âThe accused has offered the defence that he is a soldier
in a war of liberation and is therefore not subject to the civil law. While I have already expressed my sympathy for and understanding of the accused's aspirations and those of the black people whom he claims to represent, I cannot entertain his demand that he be treated as a prisoner of war. He is a private individual who, while fully aware of the consequences of his actions, set out on the dark road of violence, determined to inflict the greatest possible destruction in the most indiscriminate fashion. It is therefore without any hesitation whatsoever that I find the accused guilty of murder and two charges of attempted murder.'
in a war of liberation and is therefore not subject to the civil law. While I have already expressed my sympathy for and understanding of the accused's aspirations and those of the black people whom he claims to represent, I cannot entertain his demand that he be treated as a prisoner of war. He is a private individual who, while fully aware of the consequences of his actions, set out on the dark road of violence, determined to inflict the greatest possible destruction in the most indiscriminate fashion. It is therefore without any hesitation whatsoever that I find the accused guilty of murder and two charges of attempted murder.'
There was no sound in the courtroom as Judge Villiers went on softly, âThe prisoner will rise for sentence.'
Slowly Moses Gama came to his full height and he regarded Judge Villiers with an imperial stare.
âIs there anything you wish to say before sentence is passed upon you?' the judge asked.
âThis is not justice. We both know that â and history will record it so.'
âIs there anything further you wish to say?'
When Moses shook his head, Judge Villiers intoned, âHaving found you guilty on the three main charges, I have carefully considered whether any extenuating circumstances exist in your case â and at last having determined that there are none, I have no alternative but to impose upon you the maximum penalty which the law decrees. On all the remaining charges, taken jointly and severally, I sentence you, Moses Gama, to death by hanging.'
The silence persisted for a moment longer and then from the rear of the court a woman's voice rose in keening ululation, the harrowing wail of African mourning. It was taken up immediately by all the other black women in the courtroom and Judge Villiers made no attempt to silence it.
In the dock Moses Gama raised a clenched fist above his head.
â
Amandla!'
he roared, and his people answered him with a single voice:
âNgawethu! Mayibuye! Afrika!'
Amandla!'
he roared, and his people answered him with a single voice:
âNgawethu! Mayibuye! Afrika!'
M
anfred De La Rey sat high in the grandstand, in one of the special boxes reserved for the most important spectators. Every single seat in the stand had been sold weeks before and the standing areas around the field were crammed to capacity. This great concourse of humanity had assembled to watch one of the major events of the sporting calendar, the clash between the Western Province and Northern Transvaal rugby football teams. At stake was the Currie Cup, a trophy for which every province of South Africa competed annually in a knock-out tournament. The fanatical partisanship which this contest evoked went far beyond that of mere sporting competition.
anfred De La Rey sat high in the grandstand, in one of the special boxes reserved for the most important spectators. Every single seat in the stand had been sold weeks before and the standing areas around the field were crammed to capacity. This great concourse of humanity had assembled to watch one of the major events of the sporting calendar, the clash between the Western Province and Northern Transvaal rugby football teams. At stake was the Currie Cup, a trophy for which every province of South Africa competed annually in a knock-out tournament. The fanatical partisanship which this contest evoked went far beyond that of mere sporting competition.
Manfred smiled sardonically as he looked around him. The Englishman Macmillan had said that theirs was the first of the African nationalisms. If that was correct, then this was one of their most important tribal rituals, one that united and reaffirmed the Afrikaners as a cohesive entity. No outsider could grasp the significance of the game of rugby football in their culture. True it had been developed at a British public school almost one hundred and fifty years ago, but then, Manfred thought wryly, it was too good for the
rooinekke
and it took an Afrikaner to understand the game and play it to its full potential.
rooinekke
and it took an Afrikaner to understand the game and play it to its full potential.
Then again to call it a game was the same as calling politics or war a game. It was more, a thousand times more. To sit here amongst his own, to be a part of this immense spirit of Afrikanerdom, gave him the same sort of religious awe that he felt when he stood within the congregation of the Dutch Reformed Church, or when he was part of the
throng that gathered before the massive Voortrekker Monument that stood on the hills above the city of Pretoria. On the day of the Covenant with God, his people gathered there each year to celebrate the victory that the Almighty had given them over the Zulu King Dingaan at the battle of Blood River.
throng that gathered before the massive Voortrekker Monument that stood on the hills above the city of Pretoria. On the day of the Covenant with God, his people gathered there each year to celebrate the victory that the Almighty had given them over the Zulu King Dingaan at the battle of Blood River.
As was fitting on such an occasion as this, Manfred wore his green blazer piped in gold with the flying Springbok emblem on the pocket and the legend âBoxing 1936' below it. No matter that the buttons could no longer fasten across his dignified girth, he wore it with pride.
His pride was infinitely magnified when he looked down on the field. The turf was seared by the frosts of early winter but the highveld sunlight gave everything a lucid quality so that Manfred could make out every detail of his son's beloved features as he stood out near the centre of the field.
Lothar De La Rey's magnificent torso was not obscured by the blue woollen jersey that he wore, rather it was emphasized by the thin stuff, so that the lean hard muscle in his belly and chest stood proud. His bare legs were sturdy, but at the same time long and shapely, and the cap of close-cropped hair, coppery blond, burned like fire in the bright highveld sunshine.
Slowly Lothar bowed his head, as though to pray, and a hush fell over the packed grandstand. There was no breath of sound from even one of the forty thousand throats, and Lothar's dark brows clenched in complete concentration.
Slowly he lifted his arms, spreading them like the wings of a falcon on the edge of flight, until they were at the level of his shoulders, a strangely graceful gesture, and he raised his body on tiptoe so that the great muscles of his thighs tightened and changed shape â and then he began to run.
He ran with the bounding motion of that hunting cat, the cheetah, lifting his knees high and driving his whole body forward. Behind him the turf was scarred by the power of his studded boots, and in the immense silence of the
arena his grunting breaths, timed to the long elastic strides, carried to where Manfred sat.
arena his grunting breaths, timed to the long elastic strides, carried to where Manfred sat.
The leather ball, shiny brown and ovate, was balanced on one point, and as Lothar bore down on where it stood on the green turf, his pace quickened yet his body remained in perfect balance. The kick was a continuation of that long driving stride, his right leg whipped straight at the exact instant that his toe struck the ball and his weight was so far forward that his leg swung on up in an arcing parabola until his foot, with his toe extended like that of a ballet dancer, was high above his head, while both his arms were flung forward to maintain that graceful balance. The ball was grossly deformed by the brutal impact of the kick, but in flight it snapped back into shape, and rose in a flat hard trajectory towards the two tall white goalposts at the end of the field. It neither tumbled nor wobbled, but flew with a stable motion, as steady in the air as a flighted arrow.
However, a hoarse and anxious sigh went up from the watchers, as they realized that it was aimed too far to the right. Although the power of that mighty right leg had driven it high above the level of the cross bar, it was going to miss the goalposts on the right and Manfred came to his feet with forty thousand others and groaned in helpless agony.
A miss would mean ignominious defeat, but if the ball passed between the white uprights, it would be victory, sweet and famous, by a single point.
The ball rose higher still, up out of the sheltered arena, and it caught the wind. Lothar had studied the flags on the roof of the grandstand before he began his run, and now the wind swung the ball in gently, but not enough, oh, sweet God, not nearly enough. Then gradually the ball lost impetus and power as it reached the zenith of its trajectory, and as it slowed, so the wind took charge, curving it ever more sharply to the left, and Manfred's groan turned to a roar of delight as it fell through the very centre of the
goalposts, grazing the white cross bar, and the referee's shrill long-drawn-out whistle signalled the end of the match.
goalposts, grazing the white cross bar, and the referee's shrill long-drawn-out whistle signalled the end of the match.
Beside Manfred his boyhood friend, Roelf Stander, was pounding his back in congratulation.
âMan, I tell you, he is going to be a Springbok for sure, just like his Pa.'
On the field Lothar was surrounded by his team mates who were fighting for a chance to embrace him, while from the stands a wave of spectators was sweeping across the field to lionize him.
âCome, let's go down to the dressing-room.' Manfred took his companion's arm, but it was not that easy. They were stopped every few paces by the well-wishers and Manfred smiled and shook their hands and accepted their congratulations. Although this was part of his life, and his very soul fed on the adulation and enormous respect which every one of them, even the richest and most famous of them, showed towards him, yet today it irked Manfred to be kept from his son.
When at last they reached the dressing-room, the crowd that filled the corridor outside opened miraculously before them, and where others were turned away, they were respectfully ushered through into the steamy noisy room that stank of sweaty clothing and stale urine and hot masculine bodies.
Lothar was in the centre of the crowd of naked young men, singing and wrestling in rough camaraderie, but when he saw his father he broke away and came to him immediately, dressed only in a pair of grass-stained shorts with his magnificent young body glossy with sweat and a brown beer bottle clutched in one hand. His face was rapturous with pride and the sense of his own achievement.
âMy sonâ' Manfred held out his right hand and Lothar seized it joyously.
âMy sonâ' Manfred repeated, but his voice failed him
and his vision misted over with pride. He jerked his son's hand, pulling him against his own chest, and held him hard, hugging him unashamedly, even while Lothar's sweat stained his shirt and his team mates howled with delight.
and his vision misted over with pride. He jerked his son's hand, pulling him against his own chest, and held him hard, hugging him unashamedly, even while Lothar's sweat stained his shirt and his team mates howled with delight.
The three of them, Manfred, Roelf Stander and Lothar, drove home in the new ministerial Cadillac. They were happy as schoolboys, grinning and joshing each other and singing the bawdy old rugby songs. When they stopped at the traffic lights before entering the main traffic stream at Jan Smuts Drive that would take them the thirty miles across the grassy undulating highveld to Pretoria there were two small black urchins darting and dodging perilously amongst the vehicles, and one of them peered through the side window of the Cadillac at Manfred, grinning cockily and holding up a copy of the
Mail
from the bundle of newspapers he carried under his arm.
from the bundle of newspapers he carried under his arm.
Manfred was about to dismiss him with an impatient gesture, for the
Mail
was an English rag. Then he saw the headlines APPEAL FAILS: GUY FAWKES KILLER TO HANG and he rolled down his side window and flipped the child a coin.
was an English rag. Then he saw the headlines APPEAL FAILS: GUY FAWKES KILLER TO HANG and he rolled down his side window and flipped the child a coin.
He passed the paper to Roelf Stander with the terse command, âRead it to me!' and drove on.
This morning the appeal of Moses Gama against his conviction for murder and attempted murder by the Cape Division of the Supreme Court was dismissed by a full bench of the Appellate Division in Bloemfontein and the date set for the execution by hanging was confirmed.
âJa, goed.'
Although Manfred scowled with concentration as he listened, his relief was intense. Over the months the media and the public had come to accept the Gama case as something intimately linked to Manfred De La Rey. The fact that he had personally made the arrest
and that he was Minister of Police had combined so that the prosecution of the case had become, in the public imagination, a measure of the strength and efficiency of the police force and of Manfred's
kragdadigheid
, his own personal power.
Although Manfred scowled with concentration as he listened, his relief was intense. Over the months the media and the public had come to accept the Gama case as something intimately linked to Manfred De La Rey. The fact that he had personally made the arrest
and that he was Minister of Police had combined so that the prosecution of the case had become, in the public imagination, a measure of the strength and efficiency of the police force and of Manfred's
kragdadigheid
, his own personal power.
More than any other quality the Afrikaner
Volk
demanded strength and determination in its leaders. This case, with its terrifying message of black peril and bloody revolution, had invoked the most intense feelings of insecurity throughout the land. People wanted to be reassured that their safety and the security of the state were in strong hands. Manfred, with his sure political instincts, had realized that the dice of his future were being cast.
Volk
demanded strength and determination in its leaders. This case, with its terrifying message of black peril and bloody revolution, had invoked the most intense feelings of insecurity throughout the land. People wanted to be reassured that their safety and the security of the state were in strong hands. Manfred, with his sure political instincts, had realized that the dice of his future were being cast.
Unfortunately, there had been a complication in what should have been a straightforward matter of justice and swift retribution. The fact that the judge of the Supreme Court had dismissed the charge of high treason and had made some controversial and ill-considered remarks about the individual's duty of loyalty to a state in which he was denied direct representation had been taken up by the foreign press and the case had captured the attention of left-wing liberals and Bolsheviks around the Western world. In America the bearded hippies and Commie university students had formed âSave Moses Gama' committees and had picketed the White House and the South African Embassy in Washington, while even in England there had been demonstrations in Trafalgar Square outside South Africa House by Communist-inspired and financed gangs of black expatriates and some white riff-raff. The British Prime Minister had summoned the South African High Commissioner for consultations and President Eisenhower had instructed his ambassador in Pretoria to call upon Hendrik Verwoerd and appeal for mercy for the condemned man.
The South African government had stood firm in its rejection of these appeals. Their position was that the matter was one for the judiciary and that they would not
interfere with the course of justice. However, their lordships of the Appellate Division were occasionally known to indulge in unwise demonstrations of compassion or obscure legal dialectic, in fits of independent thinking which accorded ill with the hard task of the police and the aspirations of the Afrikaner
Volk
.
interfere with the course of justice. However, their lordships of the Appellate Division were occasionally known to indulge in unwise demonstrations of compassion or obscure legal dialectic, in fits of independent thinking which accorded ill with the hard task of the police and the aspirations of the Afrikaner
Volk
.
This time, mercifully, they had been spared one of their lordships' quirky decisions and in that little green-painted room in Pretoria Central Prison the noose now waited for Moses Gama, and he would crash through the trap to the eternity into which he had planned to send the leaders of the nation.
âJa, goed!
Now read the editorial!' Manfred ordered Roelf Stander. The
Golden City Mail
was one of the English-language newspapers, and even for that section of the press the views it held were liberal. Manfred would never have bought it for preference, but having done so he was now prepared to dilute his grim satisfaction at the Appeal Court's verdict, with the irritation of listening to the left-wing erudition of the
Mail
's editorial staff.
Now read the editorial!' Manfred ordered Roelf Stander. The
Golden City Mail
was one of the English-language newspapers, and even for that section of the press the views it held were liberal. Manfred would never have bought it for preference, but having done so he was now prepared to dilute his grim satisfaction at the Appeal Court's verdict, with the irritation of listening to the left-wing erudition of the
's editorial staff.
Roelf Stander rustled the news sheet and cleared his throat.
“âA Martyr is Born”,' he read, and Manfred gave a growl of anger.
When Moses Gama dies at the end of the hangman's rope, he will become the most significant martyr in the history of the black African struggle for liberation.
Moses Gama's elevation will not be on account of his moving eloquence nor of the awe-inspiring power of his presence. Rather it will be for the simple reason that he has posed a question so grave and so fateful that by its very nature the answer to it can never be given by a single national court of law. The answer rests instead in the heart of mankind itself. For that question is aimed at the very foundation of man's existence upon this
earth. Simply stated, it is this: is a man who is deprived of any peaceful or lawful means of asserting his basic human rights justified in turning, in the last resort, to violence?
earth. Simply stated, it is this: is a man who is deprived of any peaceful or lawful means of asserting his basic human rights justified in turning, in the last resort, to violence?
Manfred snorted. âEnough of that. I should not have bothered to have you read it out. It is so predictable. If the black savages cut the throats of our children and ate their raw livers, there would still be those
rooinekke
who would chastize us for not having provided salt for the feast! We will not listen to any more of that. Turn to the sports page. Let us hear what they have to say about Lothie and his
manne
, though I doubt that those
souties
can tell the difference between a stick of biltong and a rugby ball.'
rooinekke
who would chastize us for not having provided salt for the feast! We will not listen to any more of that. Turn to the sports page. Let us hear what they have to say about Lothie and his
manne
, though I doubt that those
souties
can tell the difference between a stick of biltong and a rugby ball.'
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