The Colour of Gold

by Oliver T Spedding

  The police vans stopped in the road. White policemen in dark blue uniforms and peaked caps climber out of the backs of the vehicles. Each man held a long black sjambok or quirt in his hand. With practiced efficiently they spread out until they had completely surrounded the group of defenceless Indians. An officer climbed out of the cab of one of the police vehicles and walked to the front of the Department building. He turned to face the demonstrators.

  "Where is your leader?" he shouted, glaring at the Indians.

  Mister Dhupelia stepped forward.

  "We don't have a specific leader." he said. "But I will take responsibility."

  "What's you name?" the police officer asked angrily.

  "Mister Dhupelia."

  "Mister Dhupelia." the policeman said. "You and your followers are breaking the law! You do not have a permit to hold this gathering!"

  Mister Dhupelia nodded.

  "That's true." he said. "We did apply for a permit but we received no response."

  "Just because you didn't receive a response doesn't give you the right to break the law!" the policeman replied. "I'm giving you ten minutes to disperse your group. If you have not dispersed within that time, you and your followers will be arrested for holding an illegal gathering and failing to obey police instructions. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, but…" Mister Dhupelia began to reply.

  "No buts!" the police officer interrupted. "Don't you dare argue with me! Get your people out of here now or face the consequences!"

  Bala heard some of the protesters behind him muttering angrily. The policeman turned his attention to them.

  "You have ten minutes to disperse!" he shouted. "If you haven't dispersed by then you will all be arrested and charged with attending an illegal gathering, causing a disturbance and disobeying police instructions!"

  Bala glanced at the policemen surrounding the crowd. He could see the hatred in their eyes and their eagerness to attack. Some were even licking their lips in anticipation of the violence they were about to inflict on the helpless Indians. He looked up at Mister Dhupelia. He could see that the man was growing angry and defiant.

  "We have a right as South African citizens to protest at the way we are being mistreated!" Mister Dhupelia said.

  "You don't have any rights!" the policeman shouted. "You Indians don't have any rights in this country. If you want rights then go back to India where you belong! This is our country, not yours!"

  "I do have rights!" Mister Dhupelia said angrily. "I was born in this country. I am a South African citizen regardless of what your illegitimate government says!"

  "Listen to me, Mister Doo…whatever your name is!" the police officer shouted, his voice tight with anger. "I'm not going to stand here and argue with you. You and your followers are breaking the law! Now, get out of this area! Right now!"

  Bala could see Mister Dhupelia's defiance rise. He glanced at the protesters behind him. He could see that they too were growing angry and defiant.

  Mister Dhupelia drew himself up to his full height.

  "We're not leaving until out petition has been accepted by somebody of authority." he said. "So you might as well arrest us now."

  The police officer shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the policemen surrounding the crowd.

  "Disperse them!" he shouted, waving his arm towards the Indians. "And if they resist, arrest them!"

  The policemen raise their sjamboks and rushed at the defenceless Indians. The "swish-wop" sound of the whips striking human flesh reverberated through the area. Women screamed and men shouted in fear. People scattered in all directions, many of them stumbling and falling in their haste to escape the assault. The policemen hit out indiscriminately, raining vicious blows on people regardless of whether they were protesters or spectators.

  Before Bala could move he felt a terrible pain across his back as a sjambok bit through his jacket and smashed into his flesh. He was too shocked to move as more blows rained down on him. A quirt wrapped itself around his head, the tip slicing into his cheek. He felt warm blood cascade down the side of his face. He fell to the ground in shock, staring up at the policeman assaulting him and seeing the anger and hatred on the man's face. The sjambok smashed down on Balsa's head, pain lancing through his brain. He tried to struggle to his feet. The policeman kicked him viciously in the ribs. The heavy boot knocked the small man over backwards. His head hit the concrete pavement with a dull thud and he lost consciousness.

  ***

  Bala opened his eyes slowly, the pain in his head so intense that he almost cried out in protest. He stared at the faces peering down at him. He saw the concern in their expressions as he struggled to orientate himself. Then the memories of the protest demonstration and the attack on the participants by the riot police came flooding back. The image of the huge white policeman beating and kicking him made him cringe. He moved his head slowly and looked about. He was lying on his back on the pavement in front of the Department of Community Development building with Mister Dhupelia and several of the other Indians who had taken part in the protest standing around him with anxious expressions on their faces. He tried to sit up. Mister Dhupelia leant down to help him.

  "Take it easy, Mister Desai." he said. "You've taken a nasty knock on the back of your head. Fortunately, there appears to be little damage apart from some swelling. Here, let me help you to stand up."

  Bala felt several pairs of hands grasp him and lift him onto his feet. He stood unsteadily, trying to control his balance. He looked around, still dazed and confused. He turned his head slowly so as not to aggravate the pain. The riot police were nowhere to be seen. Only a small crowd of onlookers stood nearby staring at him. He put his hand on the back of his head trying to ease the pain.

  "Take him to a doctor." someone said. "He's probably suffering from concussion."

  "Good idea." Mister Dhupelia said. "Doctor Varachia's rooms are not far from here."

  The small group of battered Indians, walking protectively around their injured companion, set off, leaving their broken and torn posters and placards lying on the pavement. Behind them the small crowd of onlookers began to disperse.

  "Was anyone else injured?" Bala asked.

  "We all received lashings from the sjamboks," Mister Dhupelia replied, "but fortunately no blood was spilt."

  "We should lay charges of assault against the police." Bala said.

  "We could do that." one of the men said. "But, apart from the publicity that we might get, it would be a waste of time and money. According to the laws of the country we acted illegally and the police were obliged to act."

  "With such violence?" Bala asked. "We were never even given the chance to disperse."

  "Unfortunately the police will deny that they used excessive violence. They will say that we antagonised them and refused to disperse and they had no option but to force us to disband." the man said. "Besides, our little incident pales into insignificance compared to what is happening in the black townships. I believe that it would be better for us to accept what happened and be grateful that we weren't all arrested and thrown into jail."

  "We could still be arrested." Mister Dhupelia said. "I noticed a policeman filming the whole incident. It's quite possible that we could still be visited by the police at our homes once they have studied the footage and identified us."

  As Bala walked uncertainly towards the doctor's rooms he felt a deep anger begin to grow within him. The police, representing the white government, had over-reacted to the whole situation, probably because of their hatred for people who were not white and who objected to the pain and suffering that they were forced to endure. On top of this, the government was illegitimate in the eyes of everyone except the small number of its supporters who were themselves a minority. In fact, the present government only existed because it was able to use its military might to suppress the majority of people in the country. Somehow they had to be stopped.

  For the first time in his life Bala Desai vowed to oppo
se the policies of the government in every non-violent way that he could.

  ***

  Bogdan picked up the receiver of the 'phone on his desk.

  "Buying Department, Bogdan speaking." he said.

  "Bogdan, it's Julia." his wife said. "I've just received a telegram from Belgrade. My mother's had a heart attack and is desperately ill. It's very likely that she'll die. I must go to her."

  "Of course you must." Bogdan said. "I'll ask Gavin Moore if the mine can help by arranging the tickets for your flight. In the mean time start packing. I'll be home as soon as I can."

  Bogdan 'phoned the mine manager, Gavin Moore.

  "My mother-in-law's had a heart attack in Belgrade and is close to death." Bogdan said. "Julia must go to her as quickly as possible. Can somebody here at the mine please help me by arranging tickets for her.? I'm afraid I don't know how to do that quickly."

  "Of course." Gavin Moore replied. "I'll get my secretary Janet, onto it straight away. Go home and comfort Julia. Janet will let you know what time the flight leaves. I presume that as Julia's still a Yugoslavian citizen there'll be no problem with her getting into the country?"

  "No problem at all." Bogdan said. "And thank you for your help, Gavin. I really appreciate it."

  Bogdan drove to the house. Julia was in the bedroom packing clothes into a large suitcase. Catherine, the domestic maid helped her.

  "Gavin Moore's secretary, Janet, is arranging your flight for you." Bogdan said. "Your tickets will be waiting for you at the airport by the time we get there. I don't have much cash on me so use your credit card and I'll deposit funds into your account."

  "Thanks." Julia said, her forehead creased with worry. "I just hope that I get there in time."

  "Don't worry. You will." Bogdan said.

  ***

  Bogdan stood in the kitchen doorway. Catherine, the black domestic maid stood with her back to him washing the breakfast dishes in the sink. He stared at her attractive body under the tight light blue dress. He could clearly see the strap of her bra and the outline of her panties. He felt himself begin to harden.

  "Catherine, while the madam's away you only need work until one o'clock." he said. "I'll arrange my own supper."

  "Thank you, baas." Catherine said turning to her employer with a shy smile.

  Bogdan had great difficulty not staring at the woman's firm breasts as they pushed against the front of her dress. A noticeable cleavage line showed between the two mounds of golden brown flesh above the collar of her dress. He forced himself to turn away and walk along the passage towards the front door. The image of Catherine's glowing flesh stuck in his mind. He picked up the receiver of the 'phone in the lounge and dialled his office number.

  "Jack? It's Bogdan." he said. "Instead of coming to the office I'm going to go straight to Score Engineering to look at those hoppers we ordered so I'll only be in at about ten."

  Bogdan replaced the receiver and stood listening to Catherine working in the kitchen. He felt himself growing harder. He'd never had a black woman before but he'd heard the saying "you've never eaten a real sweet until you've eaten chocolate" many times from his co-workers and the guys that he drank with in the mine bar on Friday evenings.

  Bogdan knew that he would have to be very careful. A white man having sex with a black woman was a criminal offence in South Africa and Catherine may object to his advances and expose his intensions. That would mean the end of his job and his stay in South Africa and probably the end of his marriage as well. But the urge was too strong. He turned and walked back to the kitchen.

  Catherine stood at the kitchen sink as Bogdan entered the room. He pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down.

  "So, Catherine." he said. "How old is your little boy?"

  Catherine turned toward her employer as she wiped her hands with a dishcloth. She smiled shyly.

  "He's three years old, Baas." she said.

  "What's his name?" Bogdan asked.

  "Sibosiso."

  "That's a nice name." Bogdan said.

  The black woman smiled.

  "Come and sit here at the table with me and tell me about yourself." Bogdan said.

  Catherine smiled coyly and walked closer. She pulled out a chair and as she sat down her dress rode up her thighs exposing the smooth soft flesh. Bogdan forced his gaze away although he could see that Catherine had seen him staring at her legs. He could smell the delicate scent of her perfume. His heart began to beat faster.

  "So you say you come from Rustenburg." Bogdan said.

  "Yes." Catherine replied staring down at her hands on her lap.

  Bogdan could hardly restrain himself. He was as hard as a rock.

  "Come and sit on my lap, Catherine." he said, his voice husky with lust.

  Catherine smiled shyly and moved onto Bogdan's lap, careful not to sit too close to his groin. Bogdan moved his right hand onto her left breast and began to massage it gently. He heard her breath quicken. He undid the buttons down the front of her dress and slid his hand under her white bra. He almost gasped at the exquisite softness. He found her nipple and rubbed it gently. She leant forward and rested her head on his shoulder gently kissing his neck. Slowly she moved her hand across his stomach until it rested on his hard penis. She began to rub gently.

  "Let's go to the bedroom." Bogdan said, his voice hoarse.

  Catherine stood up as Bogdan withdrew his hand from under her bra. He stood up and walked to the bedroom with Catherine walking slightly behind him.

  As Bogdan got to the bed he bent down and removed his shoes and socks. He removed his tie and turned towards Catherine. She moved closer to him and began to undo his trouser belt. He slid his hand down her dress and moved it up the inside of her naked thigh. He gasped as his trousers fell to the floor and Catherine wrapped her fingers around hid throbbing penis. His hand moved to her panties and he pulled them down. She stepped out of them as Bogdan pushed her slowly onto the bed. He stepped out of his pants, pulled off his underpants and as she opened her legs he moved onto her. He felt himself slide into her warm wetness. They both gasped with pleasure. He found her mouth with his. They moved rhythmically together. Gradually their pace increased and then, with a hoarse gasp and a small cry of pleasure, the two lovers climaxed in an ecstasy of gratification.

  ***

  Isaiah began working on his plan to become a dealer in explosives stolen from the Deep Reef Gold Mine. He was convinced that he could do very well as a dealer in stolen explosives but to do so he needed to have people on the mine steal for him while he spent his time selling the stolen dynamite.

  He knew that he had to be extremely careful though. Dealing in stolen explosives was a very serious criminal offence with jail sentences in excess of fifteen years. The police and the mine itself were offering large cash rewards for information leading to the arrest and conviction of those involved in the theft and distribution of stolen explosives. Isaiah's attitude though, was "nothing ventured - nothing gained".

  To find potential sources for the stolen explosives Isaiah began frequenting illegal shebeens, the mine's recreation centre and the numerous government beer halls in the nearby townships. He listened to the men whose tongues had been loosened by the alcohol that they consumed. He paid special attention to those miners who expressed bitterness and anger at the dismal financial situations that they found themselves in. These men usually had a grudge against their employers and authority in general and were more likely to do something that was anti-establishment and at the same time soothed their animosities and eased their financial burdens.

  At the same time Isaiah approached some of the leaders of the gangs that mined the remaining gold in the abandoned mines to see if they would support him. He didn't tell Paul about his plans though. The other mining gang leaders were very sceptical about Isaiah's plans warning him that the other dealer's wouldn't easily let him take a share of their market.

  "You're playing a very dangerous game." one leader told him. "The other deal
ers could quite possibly kill you and throw your body down a mine shaft. They don't like competition and why should they share their market with you? I think you're making a big mistake."

  But Isaiah wouldn't listen. After six weeks he had a list of three potential recruits for his venture. All three were in desperate financial straits, were angry with the establishment and their inability to solve their problems and urgently needed to ease the pressure that they were experiencing. Isaiah also felt sure that they had no contact or relationship with the authorities and were unlikely to go to the police or the mine management after he had approached them with his plan. The first man that he approached was a fellow "lasher boy" by the name of Solomon.

  Isaiah and Solomon sat on two large rocks deep underground. They were eating their lunch near the rock face that was being prepared for blasting. Isaiah's ears still rang from the shattering clatter of the compressed air drill that were used to drill the holes in the rock face into which the dynamite would later be packed. As the two men sat in the dim light and the relative quietness Isaiah could see the worried expression on Solomon's face.

  "You look worried." he said to the big black man.

  Solomon took a bite of the thick sandwich in his dirty hand and, as he chewed, he nodded his head.

  "I am." he said. "I received a letter from my mother a few weeks ago. She and my father live on their small farm in the Transkei where they have some cattle and grow vegetables and maize for their food. They are very poor and that's why I'm working here and not on the farm. Without the money that I'm able to send them they would not be able to survive. Now my mother tells me that my father is very sick and, not only can he not work, but the medicines that he needs are too expensive for them to buy. The problem is that I'm already sending them everything that I can. I must find a way to get more money."

  Isaiah nodded.

  "I was in a similar position." he said. "But I have found a way to make more money. It's illegal though and very dangerous. I could go to jail for more than fifteen years if I'm caught. But like you, I have to have more money. Would you be interested in doing something illegal to get more money?"