Rage c-11

by Wilbur Smith

  He left that for a future generation to settle. We are that future generation." 'All right, so what are you going to do about the black people of this country who outnumber you nearly four to one and have no political rights whatsoever in the land of their birth?" 'Firstly, we will try to avoid the trap of simplistic thinking." 'Can you explain that?" Kitty frowned. She didn't want him to wriggle out of her grip by using vague terminology. 'Give us a concrete example of simplistic thinking." He nodded. 'You glibly use the terms black people and white people, dividing this population into two separate, if unequal, portions. That is dangerous. It might work in America. If all the American blacks were given white faces they would be simply Americans and think of themselves as that--' 'You are suggesting that this is not the case in Africa?" 'I am indeed,' Shasa agreed. 'If all the blacks in this country were given white faces, they would still think of themselves as Zulus and Xhosas and Vendas, and we would still be English and Afrikaners very little would have altered." Kitty didn't like that, it was not what she wanted to tell her audiences.

  'So, of course, you are ruling out the idea of a democracy in this country. You will never accept the policy of one man one vote, but will always aspire to white domination--' Shasa cut in on her quickly. 'One man one vote would lead not to the black government you seem to foresee, but to a Zulu government, for the Zulus outnumber any other group. We would have a Zulu dictator, like good old King Chaka, and that would be a thrilling experience." 'So what is your solution?" she demanded, hiding her irritation behind that little-girl smile. 'Is it white baasskap, white domination and savage oppression backed by an all-white army and police force --9." 'I don't know the solution,' he cut her off. 'It's something we have to work towards, but I expect it will be a system in which every tribal group, whether it be black, brown or white, can maintain its identity and its territorial integrity." 'What a noble concept,' she agreed. 'But tell me when, in the history of mankind, any group who enjoyed supreme political power over all others ever gave up that power without an armed struggle.

  Do you truly believe the white South Africans will be the first?" 'We'll have to make our own history,' Shasa matched her honeyed smile. 'But in the meantime theanaterial existence of the black people in this country is five or six times better than any other on the African continent. More is spent on black education, black hospitals and black housing, per capita, than in any other African country." 'How does the expenditure per capita on black education compare with expenditure on white education?" Kitty shot back at him. 'My information is that five times more is spent on the education of a white child, than on a black." 'We will strive to correct that imbalance, as we build up the wealth of our nation, as the black peasant becomes more productive and makes more of a contribution to the taxation that pays for that education. At the moment the white section of the population pays ninety-five percent of the taxes --' That wasn't the way the interview was meant to go and Kitty headed him off smoothly.

  'And just how and when will the black people be consulted in these changes? Is it fair to say that nearly all blacks, and certainly all the educated and skilled blacks who are the natural leaders, totally reject the present political system which allows one sixth of the population to decide the fate of the rest?" They were still sparring when Hank lifted his head from the camera lens, and rolled his eyes.

  'Out of film, Kitty, you told me twenty minutes tops. We have forty-five minutes in the can." 'Okay, Hank. My fault. I didn't realize we had such a garrulous bigot on the show." She smiled at Shasa acidly. 'You can wrap it up, Hank, and I'll see you in the morning. Nine o'clock at the studio." She turned back to Shasa and they didn't even look up as Hank left the suite. 'So what did we decide?" she asked Shasa.

  'That the problem is more complex than anybody, perhaps even we in government, realize." 'Insoluble?" Kitty asked.

  'Certainly - without delicacy and the utmost good will of everybody in the country, and our friends abroad." 'Russia?" she teased him, and he shuddered.

  'Britain,' he said.

  'What about America?" 'No. Britain understands. America is too wrapped up in her own racial problems. They aren't interested in the dissolution of the British Empire. However, we have always stood by Britain - and now Britain will stand by us." 'Your confidence in the gratitude of great nations is refreshing.

  However, I think you will find that in the next decade there will be an enormous rip-tide of concern over human rights emanating from the United States. At least I hope so - and North American _.Broadcasting -Studios- -will -be--doing all-in its-power to- build it up into a tidal wave." 'Your job is to report reality, not to attempt to re-structure it,' Shasa told her. 'You are a reporter, not the God of judgement." 'If you believe that, you are naive,' she smiled. 'We make and destroy kings." Shasa stared at her, as though he were seeing her for the first time.

  'My God, you are in the power game, just like everybody else." 'It's the only game in town, buddy boy." 'You are amoral." 'No more than you are." 'Oh yes you are. We are prepared to make our decisions and live with the consequences. You wreak your'destruction, then like a child with a broken toy, throw it aside and go on without a moment's remorse to some new cause that will sell more advertising time." He had made her angry. Her eyes slanted and narrowed into brigl arrowheads and the freckles on her nose and cheeks glowed ll specks of gold leaf. It roused him to see her come out from behm the screen, as hard and formidable as any adversary he had ev faced. He wanted to goad her further, to make her give way con pletely.

  'You have made yourself the guru of southern Africa on US tek vision for one reason only. Not for concern over the fate of th black masses, but quite simply because you smell blood and violenc in the air. You have sensed that this is where the action will be the and you want to be the one who captures it on film--' 'You bastard,' she hissed at him. 'I want peace and justice." 'Peace and justice don't make good footage, Kitty my love. You or here to record the killing and the screaming - and if it doesn't happe] soon enough, well that is easily fixed - you'll give it a little shove." She was out of her chair now, facing him, and her lips were frost' with rage.

  'For the last hour you have been spouting the most vicious racia poison, and now you accuse me of injustice. You call me an agen provocateur for the violence that is coming." He raised an eyebrow, giving her the taunting supercilious smih which had enraged his opponents across the floor of the House, an( it was too much for her to bear. She sprang at him, white-lipped ant shaking with fury, and she clawed for his single mocking eye wit both hands.

  Shasa caught her wrists, and lifted her feet clear of the floor. She wa, shocked by his strength, but she lifted her knee sharply, driving fm his groin. He turned slightly and caught the knee on the hard muscle of his thigh.

  'Where did a nice girl learn a trick like that?" he asked, and twisted her arms behind her, took both her wrists in his left hand and then bowed over her. She pressed ler lips together, and tried to turn her face away, but he found her mouth and while he kissed her, he opened her blouse and with his free hand took out her small breasts.

  Her nipples were standing out like ripe mulberries, she was as aroused as he was, but kicking and spitting with fury.

  He swung her round and threw her face down over the thick padded arm of the buttoned leather chair, pinning her with a hand between her shoulder blades, and her bottom in the air. That's how they had administered the cane at Shasa's school, and now while she screamed and kicked he jerked the leather belt out of the loops of her jeans, and pulled her trousers and panties down as far as her ankles and stepped in close behind her. Her buttocks were white and round and they maddened him.

  Though she fought and struggled without let-up, at the same time she lifted her hips slightly and arched her back to make it easier for him, and only when it happened did she stop fighting and push back hard against him, sobbing with the effort of keeping pace with him.

  It was over very quickly for both of them, and she rolled over and pulled him down
on to the chair and whispered raggedly into his mouth, 'Well, that's one hell of a way to settle an argument, I'll give you that much." Shasa ordered dinner served in the suite, grilled crayfish with a sauce Mornay, followed by a Chateaubriand, baked baby potatoes and fresh young asparagus. He sent the waiter away and served it himself for Kitty was clad only in one of the hotel's long towelling dressing gowns.

  As he drew the cork on the bottle of Chambertin, he told her, 'I've put four days aside for us. In the last few weeks I have been fortunate enough to get my hands on fifty thousand acres of land across the Sabi river from the Kruger National Park. I've been after it for fifteen years. It belonged to the widow of one of the old Randlords and I had to wait for the old biddy to cross the great divide before it came on the market. It's marvelous unspoilt bush country, teeming with wild game, perfect place for a lost weekend, we'll fly down after breakfast tomorrow - nobody will know where we are." She laughed at him. 'You are out of your little mind, lover. I'm a working girl. At eleven o'clock tomorrow I've got an interview with the leader of the opposition, De Villiers Graaff, and I'm certainly not breezing off into the boondocks with you to stare at lions and tigers." 'No tigers in Africa - you are the African expert, you should know that." He was angry again. 'It's a case of false pretences. You got me all the way up here for nothing,' he accused.

  'Nothing?" she chuckled again. 'You call that nothing?" 'I expected four days of it." 'You overestimate the going price for an interview. All you get is the rest of the night, and then tomorrow it's back to work - for both of us." She was getting under his guard too often, Shasa realized. Last time he had proposed marriage to her, and the idea still had its appeal. She had moved him the way no woman had since he had first met Tara. It was partly her unattainability that made her so desirable. Shasa was accustomed to getting what he wanted, even if it was a hard and heartless little vixen with a childlike face and body.

  He watched her eat the rare steak with the same sensual gusto as she made love. She was sitting cross-legged on the front edge of her chair and the hem of her dressing-gown had ridden up high on her thighs. She saw the direction of his gaze but made no effort to cover herself.

  'Eat up,' she grinned at him. 'One thing at a time, lover." Shasa was chary of Tara's offer to assist his election campaign, and for the first two meetings left her at Weltevreden and drove out alone over Sir Lowry's Pass and the mountains.

  South Boland, his new constituency, was an area of rich land, between the mountains and the sea, on the Cape's eastern littoral.

  The voters were almost entirely of Afrikaner extraction, and their families had held the land for three hundred years. They were wealthy farmers of wheat and sheep, Calvinist and conservative, but not as rabidly republican and anti-English as their cousins of the interior, the Free Staters and the Transvalers.

  They received Shasa's first speeches with caution, and applauded him politely at the end. His opponent, the United Party candidate, was a blood Smuts man, like Blaine, who had been the incumbent until 1948 when he lost it to the Nationalists. Yet he still had a base of support in the district amongst the men who had known Smuts and had gone 'up north' to fight the Axis.

  After Shasa's second meeting, the local Nationalist organizers were looking worried and scared.

  'We are losing ground,' one of them told Shasa. 'The wives are suspicious of a man who campaigns without his own wife. They want to have a look at her.?

  'You see, Meener Courtney, you are a bit too good-looking. It's okay for the younger women who think you look like Errol Flynn, but the older women don't like it, and the men don't like the way the young women look at you. We have to show them you are a family man." Tll bring my wife,' Shasa promised, but his spirits sank. What kind of impression would Tara create in this dour God-fearing community where many of the women still wore the voortrekker bonnets and the men believed a woman's place was either in the bed or in the kitchen?

  'Another thing,' the chief party organizer went on tactfully. 'We need one of the top men, one of the cabinet ministers to stand up on the platform with you. You see, Meneer Courtney, the people are having difficulty believing that you are a ware Nationalist. What with the English name and your family history." 'We need somebody to make me look respectable, you mean?" Shasa hid his smile, and they all looked relieved.

  'Ja, man! That's it!" 'What if I could get Minister De La Rey to come out for the meeting on Friday - and my wife, of course?" 'Hell, man!" they enthused. 'Minister De La Rey is perfect. The people like the way he handled the trouble. He is a good strong man. If you get him to come to talk to them, we'll have no more problems." Tara accepted the invitation without comment, and by an exercise J--elfxest, raknt.-Shoe, a..r-ofr.ed.Cca giiag-lcr-advice On how to dress or to conduct herself, and was delighted and grateful when she came on to the platform in the town hall of the little town of Caledon, dressed in a sober dark blue dress with her thick auburn hair neatly gathered into a bun behind her head.

  Though pretty and smiling she was the picture of the good wife.

  Isabella sat up beside her with knee-length white socks and ribbons in her hair. A born actress, Isabella responded to the occasion by behaving like a candidate for holy orders. Shasa saw the organizers exchanging approving nods and relieved smiles.

  Minister De La Rey, supported by his own blonde wife and large family, introduced Shasa with a fiery speech in which he made it very clear that the Nationalist government was not going to allow itself to be dictated to by foreign governments or communist agitators, especially not if these agitators were black as well as communist.

  Manfred had a finely tuned style of oratory, and he thrust out his jaw and flashed those topaz-coloured eyes, he wagged his finger at them, and stood with arms defiantly akimbo when they stood up to applaud him at the end.

  Shasa's style was different, relaxed and friendly, and when he tried his first joke, they responded with genuine amusement. He followed it with assurances that the government would increase the already generous subsidy for farm products, especially wool and wheat, and that they would at the same time foster local industry and explore new overseas markets for the country's raw materials, particularly wool and wheat. He ended by telling them that many English speakers were coming to realize that the salvation of the country lay in strong uncompromising government and predicted a substantial increase in the Nationalist majority.

  This time there was no reservation in the tumultuous applause that followed his speech, and the votes of confidence in the government, the National Party and the Nationalist candidate for South Boland were all carried unanimously. The entire district, including the United Party supporters, turned up for the free barbecue on the local rugby grounds, to which Shasa invited them. Two whole oxen were roasted on the spit and were washed down with lakes of Castle beer and rivers of mampoer, the local peach brandy.

  Tara sat with the women, looking meek and demure and speakiJ little, allowing the older women to develop pleasantly matern feelings towards her, while Shasa circulated amongst their husband talking knowledgeably about such momentous subjects as scale ( wheat and scab on sheep. The whole atmosphere was cosy and reassu ing, and for the first time Shasa was able to appreciate the depth planning by the party organizers, their dedication and commitmel to the Nationalist cause, which resulted in this degree of mobilizatio of all its resources. The United Party could never match it, for tk English speakers were complacent and lethargic when it came t politics. It was the old English fault of wanting never to appear t try too hard. Politics was a kind of sport and every gentleman kne that sport should be played only by amateurs.

  'No wonder we lost control,' Shasa thought. 'These chaps or professionals, and we just couldn't match them' - and then he checke himself. These were his organizers now, no longer the enemy. H had become a part of this slick, highly tuned political machine, am the knowledge was a little daunting.

  At last, with Tara at his side, Shasa made a round of goodnight: with a party organizer steer
ing him tactfully to each of the enos important local dignitaries, making sure that none of these wa slighted, and everybody agreed that the family made a charmint group.

  They stayed overnight with the most prosperous of the local farmers, and the following morning, which was Sunday, attended the Dutch Reformed Church in the village. Shasa had not been in a church since Isabella was christened. He was not looking forward to it. This was another grand show, for Manfred De La Rey had prevailed upon his uncle, the Reverend Tromp Bierman, moderator of the church, to deliver the sermon. Uncle Tromp's sermons were famous throughout the Cape, nd families thought nothing of travelling a hundred miles to listen to them.

  'I never thought I would ever speak for a cursed rooinek,' he told Manfred. 'It is either advancing senility, or a sign of my great love for you, that I do so now." Then he climbed into the pulpit, and with his great silver beard flashing like the surf of a stormy sea, he lashed the congregation with such force and fury that they quivered and squirmed with delicious terror for their souls.

  At the end of the sermon, Uncle Tromp reduced the volume to remind them that there was an election coming up, and that a vote for the United Party was a vote for Satan himself. No matter how some of them felt about Englishmen, they weren't voting for a man here, they were voting for the party upon which the Almighty had bestowed his blessing and into whose hands he had. delivered the destiny of the Volk. He stopped just short of closing the gates of Heaven in the face of any of them who did not put their cross opposite the name of Courthey, but when he glared at them threateningly, there were very few who felt inclined to take a chance on his continued forbearance.