Roots of Outrage

Mahoney put out his hand.

She held up a palm. ‘Please let me finish … It’s my fault because I knew we couldn’t get away with it – I knew sooner or later we’d be found out and go to jail. But …’ Two tears brimmed down her cheeks. ‘But honest to God I didn’t think there was any danger of you being dragged into this other business. But now, of course, you want to know what’s happening, for your own sanity. But, it doesn’t work like that, darling.’ She shook her head. ‘I can tell you nothing. Because the police will be on to you, Luke. And if you don’t tell them voluntarily you’ll eventually tell them involuntarily. So the less you know, the better. That’s the way the system works, darling. And that’s why we can’t work, Luke. Because there’ll be nothing but tension, and anxiety and naked, solid fear … and suspicions.’ She stared at him, then she dropped her face in her hands again. ‘Oh God, wasn’t the Immorality Act enough to live with?’

‘Patti …’ Mahoney stretched out his hand and she got up impulsively holding her face. She walked to the window and dropped her forehead against the frame and sobbed. ‘Patti …’ Mahoney took her in his arms. He held her tight and whispered: ‘Yes, it can work.’

She rested her forehead against his shoulder and took a trembling breath; she whispered fiercely: ‘There’s only one way it could possibly work, darling Luke. And I’ve just proved that can’t either. And there’s no way I’m going to put you through it – or us.’

‘What have you just proved?’

She turned out of his arms, her face wet. ‘So the only thing to do is to quit. Now. Tonight.’

He stared at her, his knocking heart breaking.

‘What is the way that won’t work?’

She tried to wipe the tears off her face. She said resolutely: ‘We have only two options. The obvious one is to quit, right now. Quit, and never see each other again.’ Her mouth trembled.

‘And the other one?’

She closed her eyes. ‘That you play the bastards at their own bloody game. Become an informer. But feed them disinformation.’

He stared at her. Outside the night insects were crick-cricking. ‘False information?’

‘And I’m not going to allow that. I’m not going to put you through that – or me: It would be highly dangerous – I love you too much. And it would be terribly unfair on both of us. Because …’ She shook her head at him. ‘Because you’re not the type, Luke.’

‘Not the type?’

She blurted: ‘To be an activist! A spy, if you like.’ She looked at him tremulously. ‘And that’s not a criticism – very few people are. You’re too straight, Luke. And I wouldn’t put you through that torment even if you were willing. And so –’ she tossed back her hair – And so the only thing is to stop this crazy affair right now.’

Mahoney stared, his heart breaking. And there was no way he could accept that. No way could he let her walk out of his life, never see her again. And no way could they go back to the old ways either – he could not face any more of that subterfuge, he was sick of that drama, sick of South Africa and its sick laws – it was clear as day what he had to do about it. He crossed the room and took her in his arms.

‘There is a way, Patti.’ He wanted to laugh it. ‘And that is to get married, and never go back to goddamn South Africa.’ There – it was as simple and as complicated as that. He held her tight. ‘Just get married. Tomorrow. And live happily ever after – right here in Swaziland. Or in Botswana – I can get a job anywhere, and you’ve got your business.’

She had gone stock still. She slowly lifted back her head. Then she closed her eyes and burst into tears. She dropped her forehead onto his shoulder and she sobbed and sobbed. ‘Oh God why is life such a pig?!’ She banged her forehead against him. ‘A pig – pig – pig!’

‘Patti?’ He tried to lift her head and she clutched him tighter and cried: ‘Of course I want to marry you! And that’s why life’s a pig! Because how the hell can we live happily ever after in a country which forbids it?!’

‘But we’re not going to live in South Africa –’

She banged her forehead against his shoulder and cried: ‘Like hell we’re not! I refuse to run away! I want to live happily ever after right there, as is my basic human right! I refuse to let those bastards terrorize me! I refuse to be made a refugee!’ She turned abruptly out of his arms. She swept her hand through her hair and turned to face him. She said tremulously: ‘And that’s the whole crux of the matter, Luke. I love you but I can’t marry you – because I have to stay and fight.’ She looked at him, her eyes brimming. ‘And so it must end, darling Luke. It is just too dangerous. We’ve been blown wide open – we got away with it today by the skin of our teeth.’ She shook her locks at him. ‘We knew it had to end someday – and that day has come. Tonight. Not tomorrow, not next week, not after waiting to see how the land lies. Tonight. I’m going to go and get a hotel in town. I simply could not bear to sleep in your arms knowing I was saying goodbye forever in the morning.’

He could not believe this was happening. He started towards her, to say he knew not what, and she put her hand out on his chest, her eyes bright. He whispered: ‘This is your whole life you’re dealing with! You’re going back into the lions’ den!’

‘The struggle is my life, darling Luke. And the lions’ den is where it’s happening.’

‘For God’s sake, Patti, we’ve got the whole world to live in.’

She took a deep breath, then put her finger on his lips. ‘Goodbye, darling Luke.’

She turned to her overnight bag. She picked it up. She put her hand on the doorknob and opened it. She looked back at him, her face streaked with tears. She whispered: ‘It’s over, darling. Believe that.’

He looked at her, his eyes full of tears.

‘Do you believe that?’ she whispered.

He took a deep breath, then he shook his head. ‘No.’

She cried: ‘Believe it, darling! Believe it! For your sake and mine!’ She turned abruptly and walked through the door. She closed it behind her with a bang.

He heard her sob once. Then there was the sound of her high heels down the corridor.

He stood there. And with all his breaking heart he wanted to run after her, to seize her arid make her come back. Drag her back. But, oh God, he did not believe this was the end. And he needed time to think, about what she had said – about a thousand things. Think. About what today meant. What Krombrink meant. What she had meant. He stood there, his eyes full of tears; then he turned to the double bed and sat down and held his face.

He heard her car start, and he sobbed out loud.

18 (#ulink_7ba1d2bb-1d6a-58b3-8960-1652839cb20a)

He woke up before dawn, and he thought his heart would break. He swung out of bed, slammed on the shower and stood under cold jets, trying to knock the pain out of himself. He pulled on his tracksuit and set out into the first light, to think.

He climbed along the mountain paths, then down into the valley to their waterfall. He sat on the big flat rock where they had made love so often, and it seemed he could almost hear her splashing in the water, almost see her long black hair floating and her golden body glistening, almost hear her laughter, almost feel her satiny nakedness. When he could bear it no longer he climbed up to the very top of the mountain.

Spread out below him was the vast mauveness of South Africa, so beautiful, so quiet, and so bloody cruel, so mindless. And way over there Patti Gandhi was doing something about it, doing God knows what, but putting her freedom and life on the line for what she believed in. He admired her and loved her and, oh God, he was frightened about what could happen to her, and he despised himself for not having her guts …

It was midday when he came down from the mountain. He knew what he had to do: there was only one way he could live with himself, and with her – and that was to play the Afrikaner bastards at their own bloody game. No way could he turn his back on her, let her walk away into the lions’ den alone …

In the early afternoon he drove across the border back into South Africa. His heart was knocking like a criminal’s. But the young policeman showed no interest in him beyond a polite ‘Goeie dag’ and the routine question, ‘Iets om te verklaar?’ Anything to declare? But as he walked out of the immigration post he imagined the man reaching for the telephone. Driving through the beautiful afternoon, he tried to shut his mind to his fear and just think about her. And when the bushveld began to give way to the rolling grassland of the highveld, and the industrial satellites of Johannesburg began to loom up on the skyline, it was unthinkable that he wouldn’t see her again. All he cared about was her and, oh, he hated this land which made it illegal to live happily ever after with her. He had to get to a phone. He saw a filling station and pulled in. He rammed his coins into the callbox and dialled.

‘Hullo,’ she said.

He closed his eyes in relief. She hadn’t been arrested. She was still in the land of the living. What he wanted to say was ‘I love you’, but he said: ‘Is that Mrs Lambert?’

There was a silence. He heard her breathing. Then she said softly: ‘You’ve got the wrong number.’ She hung up.

He walked back to the car happily.

It was not until he was winding his way through downtown Johannesburg that he was sure he was being followed. He had first seen the blue Ford about fifty miles back. Three men in it. At a set of traffic lights, where he would normally turn left to the Indian quarter, he carried straight on, towards Hillbrow, and the car followed him. His knocking heart sank.

The car tailed him all the way across town. As it pulled up behind him in front of The Parsonage, he was shaking.

The men got out and came towards him. The first said, in a heavy Afrikaans accent: ‘We’re police. Will you come with us to the station, please.’

His heart was pounding. ‘What on earth for?’

‘You either come voluntarily or we arrest you.’

‘On what bloody charge?!’

‘The Terrorism Act.’