Rage (79 page)
Authors: Wilbur Smith
T
able Bay was wide open to the north-westerly gales that bore in off the wintry grey Atlantic. The ferry took the short steep seas on her bows and lurched over the crests, throwing the spray as high as the stubby masthead.
able Bay was wide open to the north-westerly gales that bore in off the wintry grey Atlantic. The ferry took the short steep seas on her bows and lurched over the crests, throwing the spray as high as the stubby masthead.
It was the first time Vicky had ever been at sea and the motion terrified her as nothing on earth had ever done. She clutched the child to her, and stared straight ahead, but it was difficult to maintain her balance on the hard wooden bench, and thick spray dashed against the porthole and poured over the glass in a wavering mirage that distorted her view. The island looked like some dreadful creature swimming to meet them, and she recalled all the legends of her tribe of the monsters that came out of the sea and devoured any human being found upon the shore.
She was glad that Joseph was with her. Her half-brother had grown into a fine young man. He reminded her of the faded photograph of her grandfather, Mbejane Dinizulu, that her mother kept on the wall of her hut. Joseph had the same broad forehead and wide-spread eyes, and
although his nose was not flattened but high-bridged, his clean-shaven chin was rounded and full.
although his nose was not flattened but high-bridged, his clean-shaven chin was rounded and full.
He had just completed his law degree at the black University of Fort Hare, but before he underwent his consecration into the hereditary role of Zulu chieftainship Vicky had prevailed upon him to accompany her upon the long journey down the length of the sub-continent. As soon as he returned to the district of Ladyburg in Zululand he would begin his training for the chieftainship. This was not the initiation to which the young men of the Xhosa and the other tribes were forced to submit. Joseph would not suffer the brutal mutilation of ritual circumcision. King Chaka had abolished that custom. He had not tolerated the time that his young warriors wasted in recuperation, which could better be spent in military training.
Joseph stood beside Vicky, balancing easily to the ferry's agitated plunges, and he placed his hand upon her shoulder to reassure her. âNot much longer,' he murmured. âWe will soon be there.'
Vicky shook her head vehemently, and clutched her son more securely to her bosom. The cold sweat broke out upon her forehead, and waves of nausea assailed her, but she fought them back.
âI am the daughter of a chief,' she told herself. âAnd the wife of a king. I will not surrender to womanly weakness.'
The ferry ran out of the gale into the calm waters in the lee of the island, and Vicky drew a long ragged breath and stood up. Her legs were unsteady, and Joseph helped her to the rail.
They stood side by side and stared at the bleak and infamous silhouette of Robben Island. The name derived from the Dutch word for seal, and the colonies of these animals that the first explorers had discovered upon its barren rocks.
When the fishing and sealing industries based upon the
island failed it was used as a leper colony and a place of banishment for political prisoners, most of them black. Even Makana, the prophet and warrior, who had led the first Xhosa onslaughts against the white settlers across the great Fish River, had been sent here after his capture, and here he had died in 1820, drowned in the roaring seas that beat upon the island as he tried to escape. For fifty years his people had refused to believe he was dead, and to this day his name was a rallying cry for the tribe.
island failed it was used as a leper colony and a place of banishment for political prisoners, most of them black. Even Makana, the prophet and warrior, who had led the first Xhosa onslaughts against the white settlers across the great Fish River, had been sent here after his capture, and here he had died in 1820, drowned in the roaring seas that beat upon the island as he tried to escape. For fifty years his people had refused to believe he was dead, and to this day his name was a rallying cry for the tribe.
One hundred and forty-three years later, there was another prophet and warrior imprisoned upon the island, and Vicky stared out across the narrowing strip of water at the low square unlovely structure, the new high-security prison for dangerous political prisoners where Moses Gama was now incarcerated. After his stay of execution, Moses had remained on death row at Pretoria Central Prison for almost two years, until finally mitigation of the death sentence to life imprisonment at hard labour had been officially granted by the state president and he had been transferred to the island. Moses was allowed one visit every six months, and Vicky was bringing his son to see him.
The journey had not been easy, for Vicky herself was the subject of a banning order. She had shown herself an enemy of the state by her appearances at Moses' trial, dressed in the colours of the African National Congress, and by her inflammatory utterances which were widely reported by the news media.
Even to leave the township of Drake's Farm to which the banning order confined her she had to obtain a travel permit from the local magistrate. This document set out precisely the terms upon which she was allowed to travel, the exact time which she was required to leave her cottage, the route and means of transport she must take, the duration of her visit to her husband and the route she must take upon her return journey.
The ferry manoeuvred in towards the jetty and there were uniformed warders to seize the mooring ropes as they were thrown across. Joseph took the boy's hand from her and with his free hand helped Vicky across the narrow gap. They stood together on the wooden boards of the jetty and looked around uncertainly. The warders ignored them as they went on with the business of docking and unloading the ferry.
It was ten minutes before one of them called across to them, âAll right, come this way,' and they followed him up the paved road towards the security block.
The first glimpse that Vicky had of her husband after six months appalled her.
âYou are so thin,' she cried.
âI have not been eating very well.' He sat down on the stool facing her through the mesh of the screen. They had developed a cryptic code during the four visits she had been allowed at Pretoria Central, and not eating well meant that he was on another hunger strike.
He smiled at her and his face was skull-like so that his lips had retracted and his teeth were too big for his face. When he placed his hands on the shelf in front of him his wrists protruded from the cuffs of his khaki prison uniform and they were bone covered with a thin layer of skin.
âLet me see my son,' he said, and she drew Matthew to her.
âGreet your father,' she told the boy, and he stared solemnly at Moses through the grille. The gaunt stranger on the other side of the wire had never picked him up or held him on his lap, had never kissed or fondled him, had never even touched him. The mesh was always between them.
A warder sat beside Moses to see that the visiting rules were strictly observed. The time allowed was one hour, sixty minutes exactly, and only family matters could be
discussed â no news of the day, no discussion of prison conditions and especially nothing with a political flavour to it.
discussed â no news of the day, no discussion of prison conditions and especially nothing with a political flavour to it.
One hour of family matters, but they used their code. âI am sure that my appetite will return once I have news of the family,' Moses told her, âon paper.' So she knew that he was hunger-striking to be allowed to read the newspapers. Therefore he would not have heard the news about Nelson Mandela.
âThe elders have asked
Gundwane
to visit them,' she told him.
Gundwane
was their code name for Mandela. It meant âcane rat' and the elders were the authorities. He nodded to show that he understood that Mandela had at last been arrested, and he smiled tautly. The information he had given to Manfred De La Rey had been used effectively.
Gundwane
to visit them,' she told him.
Gundwane
was their code name for Mandela. It meant âcane rat' and the elders were the authorities. He nodded to show that he understood that Mandela had at last been arrested, and he smiled tautly. The information he had given to Manfred De La Rey had been used effectively.
âHow are the family members on the farm?' he asked.
âAll is well, and they are planting their crops,' Vicky told him, and he understood that the
Umkhonto we Sizwe
teams working out of Puck's Hill had begun their campaign of terror bombings. âPerhaps you will all be reunited sooner than we think,' she suggested.
Umkhonto we Sizwe
teams working out of Puck's Hill had begun their campaign of terror bombings. âPerhaps you will all be reunited sooner than we think,' she suggested.
âLet us hope so,' Moses agreed. A reunion would mean that the Puck's Hill team would join him here on the island, or take the shorter road to the gallows.
The hour passed too swiftly, and the warder was standing up. âTime up. Say your goodbyes.'
âI leave my heart with you, my husband,' Vicky told him, and watched the warder lead him away. He did not look back at her, and his gait dragged like that of an exhausted old man.
âIt is only the starvation,' she told Joseph as they walked back to the ferry. âHe is still courageous as a lion, but weak from lack of food.'
âHe is finished,' Joseph contradicted her quietly. âThe Boers have beaten him. He will never breathe the air of
freedom again. He will never see the outside of his prison again.'
freedom again. He will never see the outside of his prison again.'
âFor all of us, born black, this whole country is a prison,' Vicky said fiercely, and Joseph did not reply until they were once more aboard the ferry and running back before the gale, towards the flat-topped mountain whose lower slopes were flecked with white walls and shining glass.
âMoses Gama chose the wrong road,' Joseph said. âHe tried to assault the walls of the white fortress. He tried to burn it down, not realizing that even if he had succeeded all he would have inherited would have been ashes.'
âAnd you, Joseph Dinizulu,' Vicky flashed at him scornfully, âyou are wiser?'
âPerhaps not, but at least I will learn from the mistakes of Moses Gama and Nelson Mandela. I will not spend my life rotting in a white man's prison.'
âHow will you assault the white man's fortress, my clever little brother?'
âI will cross the lowered drawbridge,' he said. âI will go in through the open gates, and one day the castle and its treasures will be mine, even if I have to share a little of them with the white man. No, my angry little sister, I will not destroy those treasures with bombs and flames. I will inherit them.'
âYou are mad, Joseph Dinizulu.' She stared at him, and he smiled complacently at her.
âWe shall see who is mad and who is sane,' he said. âBut remember this, little sister, that without the white man we would still be living in grass huts. Look to the north and see the misery of those countries which have driven out the whites. No, my sister, I will keep the white man here â but one day he will work for me, not I for him.'
âF
orget your anger, my son.' Hendrick Tabaka leaned forward and placed his right hand on Raleigh's shoulder. âYour anger will destroy you. Your enemy is too strong. See what has happened to Moses Gama, my own brother. See what is the fate of Nelson Mandela. They went out to fight the lion with bare hands.'
orget your anger, my son.' Hendrick Tabaka leaned forward and placed his right hand on Raleigh's shoulder. âYour anger will destroy you. Your enemy is too strong. See what has happened to Moses Gama, my own brother. See what is the fate of Nelson Mandela. They went out to fight the lion with bare hands.'
âOthers are still fighting,' Raleigh pointed out. âThe warriors of
Umkhonto we Sizwe
are still fighting. Every day we hear of their brave deeds. Every day their bombs explode.'
Umkhonto we Sizwe
are still fighting. Every day we hear of their brave deeds. Every day their bombs explode.'
âThey are throwing pebbles at a mountain,' Hendrick said sadly. âEvery time they explode a little bomb against the pylon of a power line, Vorster and De La Rey arm another thousand police and write another hundred banning orders.' Hendrick shook his head. âForget your anger, my son, there is a fine life for you at my side. If you follow Moses Gama and Mandela, you will end the way they have ended â but I can offer you wealth and power. Take a wife, Raleigh, a good fat wife and give her many sons, forget the madness and take your place at my side.'
âI had a wife, my father, and I left her at Sharpeville,' Raleigh said. âBut before I left her, I made a vow. With my fingers deep in her bloody wounds, I made a vow.'
âVows are easy to make,' Hendrick whispered, and Raleigh saw how age had played like a blowtorch across his features, withering and searing and melting the bold lines of his cheekbones and jaw. âBut vows are difficult to live with. Your brother Wellington has also made a vow to the white man's god. He will live like a eunuch for the rest of his life, without ever knowing the comfort of a woman's body. I fear for you, Raleigh, fruit of my loins. I fear that your own vow will be a heavy burden for all your life.' He sighed again. âBut since I cannot persuade you, what can I do to ease the rocky pathway for you?'
âYou know that many of the young people are leaving this country?' Raleigh asked.
âNot only the young ones,' Hendrick nodded. âSome of the high command have gone also. Oliver Tambo has fled and Mbeki and Joe Modise with many others.'
âThey have gone to set the first phase of the revolution afoot.' Raleigh's eyes began to shine with excitement. âLenin himself taught us that we cannot move immediately to the Communist revolution. We must achieve the phase of national liberation first. We have to create a broad front of liberals and churchmen and students and workers under the leadership of the vanguard party. Oliver Tambo has gone to create that vanguard party â the anti-
apartheid
movement in exile â and I want to be part of that spearhead of the revolution.'
apartheid
movement in exile â and I want to be part of that spearhead of the revolution.'
âYou wish to leave the country of your birth?' Hendrick stared at him in bewilderment. âYou wish to leave me and your family?'
âIt is my duty, Father. If the evils of this system are ever to be destroyed, we will need the help of that world out there, of all the united nations of the world.'
âYou are dreaming, my son,' Hendrick told him. âAlready that world, in which you place so much trust and hope, has forgotten Sharpeville. Once again money from the foreign nations, from America and Britain and France, is pouring into this country. Every day the country prospersâ'
âAmerica has refused to supply arms.'
âYes,' Hendrick chuckled ruefully. âAnd the Boers are making their own. You cannot win, my son, so stay with me.'
âI must go, my Father. Forgive me, but I have no choice. I must go, but I need your help.'
âWhat do you want me to do?'
âThere is a man, a white man, who is helping the young ones to escape.'
Hendrick nodded. âJoe Cicero.'
âI want to meet him, Father.'
âIt will take a little time, for he is a secret man, this Joe Cicero.'
It took almost two weeks. They met on a municipal bus that Raleigh boarded at the central depot in Vereeniging. He wore a blue beret, as he had been instructed, and sat in the second row of seats from the back.
The man who took the seat directly behind him lit a cigarette and as the bus pulled away, said softly, âRaleigh Tabaka.'
Raleigh turned to look into a pair of eyes like puddles of spilled engine oil.
âDo not look at me,' Joe Cicero said. âBut listen carefully to what I tell youâ'
Three weeks later Raleigh Tabaka, carrying a duffel bag and authentic seaman's papers, went up the gangplank of a Dutch freighter that was carrying a cargo of wool to the port of Liverpool. He never saw the continent disappear below the watery horizon for he was already below decks at work in the ship's engine room.
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