A Ripple from the Storm

Martha listened critically: he missed nothing of it. She interrupted to ask: ‘If you despise it so much, why do you take the trouble to learn it by heart?’

‘That belongs to my decadent period. Thought you’d appreciate it. Ta ta.’

The street was hot and stuffy. The evening sky was loaded with black sulphurous clouds. A few large sparkling drops fell. She ran down the street as the storm broke, feeling the warm sting of the rain on her shoulders with acute pleasure.

By the time she reached the Sympathizers of Russia committee meeting it had already started and she was soaked.

They were discussing how to restore the status of the society, for as Anton had predicted, the episode with Jackie Bolton had caused all the respectable patrons to resign, including the Reverend Mr Gates who had had second thoughts. The policy, exactly the same now as it had been before, was being overseen by Boris Krueger, chairman, Betty Krueger, secretary, and a committee of people co-opted by them. Martha and Marjorie were on it with instructions to keep ‘an eye on the Trotskyists’. While the hostility between the Krueger faction and the communist faction was extreme, so that before or after meetings they could scarcely bring themselves to exchange more than the minimum of politeness, their political views, at least so far as this society was concerned, caused the work to go on much faster than it had in the past when the susceptibilities of the respectable had to be pandered to in the wording of every resolution. The Kruegers and Martha and Marjorie were in one way and another raising large sums for Russian Aid, and in addition were selling propaganda leaflets all over town in numbers which took them by surprise. When the meeting was over, Betty Krueger, who had been eyeing Martha with elaborate hostility throughout, suggested she had better go and change her dress before she caught cold. Martha had forgotten she was soaked, and said: ‘But I haven’t got time.’

‘Such busy little bees you Reds are,’ said Betty, her fair and delicate face ugly with dislike.

‘I thought you were a Red,’ retorted Martha, and she and Marjorie left.

‘Those Trotskyists are really so awfully childish,’ said Martha explosively, thinking of Solly that afternoon.

Marjorie said: ‘But they are all right for that kind of work.’ She was looking embarrassed, and Martha knew why: she liked to slip off for a meal alone with Colin before or between meetings, and always felt as if this submission to ‘personal feelings’ was disloyal to the group.

‘Meeting Colin?’ Martha asked; and Marjorie, relieved, said: ‘You know we are getting married next week.’

‘But that’s wonderful.’

Marjorie was hesitating on the edge of the pavement, giving Martha lingering glances of appeal. The wet street swam blue and red and gold as the cars swished by. It was still raining a little, and though it was a warm rain, Martha had started to shiver.

‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’ demanded Marjorie.

‘To get married?’

Marjorie’s face, usually open with enthusiasm and response, seemed pinched. She was wearing a red shirt, open at the neck, but she was holding it close in front of her throat with her thin brown hand, clenched like a fist.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Martha.

‘I don’t know; I feel I haven’t known Colin very long. He’s so nice.’ She added humorously – and the moment the humorous note entered the conversation Martha knew that the impulse to confess had passed: ‘He’s so nice, and he’s just what I wanted – a solid man, you know.’ She grimaced, staring across the street at the cinema which was showing some war film. Spitfires and Focke-Wulfs dived, spitting fire, across a vast wall-high poster. The reflection from the reddish lights of the cinema shone on her face. ‘You know I always said I didn’t want that kind of marriage, I mean a dull marriage – I don’t mean dull, of course; no, I don’t mean that. But I’ve been playing around quite a bit now and you get fed up …’

‘You talk as if you were forty,’ said Martha, suddenly angry.

‘Well, I’m twenty-five, and if you want to have children, though of course if we’re in a revolutionary situation we won’t be able to have children … but I suppose everyone feels like this when they’ve committed themselves,’ she added, smiling, again reaching out firmly for the support of humour. She nodded, and went off, saying hastily: ‘I’ll see you in half an hour at the meeting.’

So she’s not in love, Martha thought, disapproving, feeling that Marjorie had betrayed something. Then she thought: Well, what does it matter, what matters is we should all work hard for the Party. And with this she walked off towards the group office. She had had no lunch and proposed not to have supper. She was still damp and shivering and thought she might warm herself in the office by doing some work, whatever needed to be done.

Anton was first into the office, and at once sat in his chairman’s place at the table, looking at his watch. ‘We cannot tolerate unpunctuality,’ he said. The comrades are late.’

Marjorie and Colin came in. She was being gruffly humorous; he was eyeing her uneasily. Martha thought that the supper together must have been an uncomfortable one. They accepted Anton’s reproof for being five minutes late with nervous apologies.

Soon Andrew came in with two of the men from the camp: there should have been five more, but he said they had all promised to be here and did not know where they were. They all sat around on the hard benches, waiting, while Anton watched the door.

‘Why can’t we start?’ asked Marjorie.

‘This is a full organization meeting; we have one only once a week and everyone should be here.’

‘I’ve a mind that Murdoch will not be with us,’ said one of the airforce men.

‘And why not?’

‘He’s had a wee drop too much,’ said the lad apologetically.

Anton let his cold eyes settle on him, and Andrew protected him hastily with: ‘Murdoch’s a good lad. He’ll be here if he can.’

Martha remembered the scene of that afternoon, and thought: He couldn’t possibly have got drunk just because I said I wouldn’t marry him … Acutely depressed all of a sudden she thought: Are we all going to pair off? But it’s like cards being shuffled, something quite arbitrary. It’s frightening.

Fifteen minutes passed and Piet and Marie du Preez came in. They were late because they had been at the Hall with Jasmine, who sent a message to say she was not coming.

‘And why not?’ demanded Anton.

Marjorie said: ‘I don’t blame her for not wanting to leave, after last time,’ but Anton quelled her with his pale glance.

A month before, a representative of the Johannesburg Medical Aid for Russia had paid a visit to this town. He was essentially ‘respectable’, being a Professor at the Rand University.

On the evening, more than a thousand people, the biggest public meeting the town had seen, were assembled to hear the Professor on the subject of Aid for Russia. The Prime Minister, a Bishop, and half the Cabinet had graced the platform. For an hour and three-quarters the speaker had held forth on the virtues of communism, and the utter decay and corruption of capitalism.

The members of the group had had the time of their lives, while the faces of the Cabinet Ministers had reddened and writhed, and the audience applauded each violently revolutionary sentiment.

But afterwards Anton had broken into the excited chatter of the comrades, when they were discussing the meeting, to say: ‘Yes, yes. That was all very amusing, in its way, But it has no political importance at all. The new comrades do not realize that being a communist can be very hard indeed, a matter of life and death. They have joined at a time when any Tom, Dick or Harry calls himself a communist and communism is respectable. If you called a meeting in the middle of the night to discuss social insurance in Siberia they’d turn up and shout slogans. There’s no need to lose our heads over it. And there are better ways we can occupy our time than listening to a pack of fools applauding Comrade Rochester from Johannesburg. ‘

The justice of this had been, with regret, recognized, and as a result, a decision had been taken that this second public meeting should be organized by Jasmine, but that no comrades should waste their time attending it.

‘We’ve taken a decision,’ said Anton, ‘that this kind of meeting can perfectly well be handled by the Borises and the Bettys. We have better things to do.’

Bill Bluett came in, saying casually: ‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘Half an hour,’ said Anton.

‘We are under discipline but the voluntary helpers are not. The girl who was supposed to take over from me was late.’

‘In that case you are excused,’ said Anton.

Bill said, ‘Thanks’ in such a way that Anton raised his head sharply and the two men exchanged a long, thoughtful, challenging look. Bill Bluett, by no means the loser in this contest, waited until Anton had lowered his gaze and added: ‘Besides, there was the literature. I had to lug four cases of the stuff over from the exhibition.’

‘You, I imagined, were not responsible for the literature. What have you to say, Matty?’

‘I didn’t have time,’ said Martha. ‘I was down selling The Watchdog in the Coloured Quarter this afternoon. And all the afternoons this week.’

Anton laid down his pen, pushed aside his papers, and sat back, in a way which told them all they could expect the full force of his critical disapproval. But it was deflected by the entrance of Jasmine and Tommy Brown both elated and laughing, because of the mass enthusiasm of the meeting they had come from.

You are both under severe censure,’ said Anton to them. Tommy went to sit by big Piet, as if wanting his protection. Jasmine, instantly sobering, took her place beside Anton at the table in the secretary’s position.

‘We are more or less complete,’ said Anton. ‘I now declare the meeting open. First item, Party Work. And now I propose to speak unless anybody objects.’ He did not pause for objections. ‘I propose to talk about discipline. Discipline in a group like this is voluntary. There is no means of enforcing it. But what is the use of making collective agreements if they are not kept. It is an insult to the Party.’ He turned to Jasmine. ‘Comrade, if you and Comrade Tommy had come away from that meeting in time to be here, would anything have been lost by it – except, of course, your enjoyment at seeing all the bourgeoisie popping up and down in their seats and applauding every time the Soviet Union was mentioned just for the sake of applauding.’

‘I can’t understand why we bother to organize these meetings if you despise the people who come to them,’ said Marie.