Cry, The Beloved Country Part 21

Why did you do that?

No, I thought they would think I was a messenger.

Was there anything else that you did?

There was nothing else.

Then you went to Germiston? To what place?

To the house of Joseph Bhengu, at 12 Maseru Street, in the Location.

And then?

While I was there the Police came.

What happened?

They asked me if I was Absalom k.u.malo. And I agreed, and I was afraid, and I had meant to go that day to confess to the Police, and now I could see I had delayed foolishly.

Did they arrest you?

No, they asked if I could tell them where to find Johannes. I said no, I did not know, but it was not Johannes who had killed the white man, it was I myself. But it was Johannes who had struck down the servant of the house. And I told them that Matthew was there also. And I told them I would show them where I had hidden the revolver. And I told them that I had meant that day to confess, but had delayed foolishly, because I was afraid.

You then made a statement before Andries Coetzee, Esquire, Additional Magistrate at Johannesburg?

I do not know his name.

Is this the statement?

The statement is handed up to the boy. He looks at it and says, Yes, that is the statement.

And every word is true?

Every word is true.

There is no lie in it?

There is no lie in it, for I said to myself, I shall not lie any more, all the rest of my days, nor do anything more that is evil.

In fact you repented?

Yes, I repented.

Because you were in trouble?

Yes, because I was in trouble.

Did you have any other reason for repenting?

No, I had no other reason.

The people stand when the Court is adjourned, and while the Judge and his a.s.sessors leave the Court. Then they pa.s.s out through the doors at the back of the tiers of seats, the Europeans through their door, and the non-Europeans through their door, according to the custom.

k.u.malo and Msimangu, Gertrude and Mrs. Lithebe, come out together, and they hear people saying, there is the father of the white man who was killed. And k.u.malo looks and sees that it is true, there is the father of the man who was murdered, the man who has the farm on the tops above Ndotsheni, the man he has seen riding past the church. And k.u.malo trembles, and does not look at him any more. For how does one look at such a man?

23.

THERE IS LITTLE attention being paid to the trial of those accused of the murder of Arthur Jarvis of Parkwold. For gold has been discovered, more gold, rich gold. There is a little place called Odendaalsrust in the province of the Orange Free State. Yesterday it was quite unknown, today it is one of the famous places of the world.

This gold is as rich as any gold that has ever been discovered in South Africa, as rich as anything in Johannesburg. Men are prophesying that a new Johannesburg will rise there, a great city of tall buildings and busy streets. Men that were gloomy because the gold in Johannesburg could not last forever, are jubilant and excited. A new lease of life, they say, South Africa is to have a new lease of life.

There is excitement in Johannesburg. At the Stock Exchange men go mad, they shout and scream and throw their hats in the air, for the shares that they had bought in hope, the shares that they had bought in mines that did not exist, these shares are climbing in price to heights that are beyond expectation.

There was nothing there but the flat rolling veld of the Orange Free State, nothing but sheep and cattle and native herd-boys. There was nothing but gra.s.s and bushes, and here and there a field of maize. There was nothing there that looked like a mine, except the drilling machines, and the patient engineers probing the mysteries of the earth; n.o.body to watch them but a pa.s.sing native, a herd-boy, an old Afrikaans-speaking farmer that would ride by on his horse, looking at them with contempt or fear or hope, according to his nature.

Look at the wonder-share of Tweede Vlei. For it was twenty shillings, and then forty shillings, and then sixty shillings, and then - believe it or not - eighty shillings. And many a man wept because he sold at twelve o'clock instead of two o'clock, or because he bought at two o'clock instead of twelve o'clock. And the man that sold will feel worse tomorrow morning, when the shares go to a hundred shillings.

Oh, but it is wonderful, South Africa is wonderful. We shall hold up our heads the higher when we go abroad, and people say, ah, but you are rich in South Africa.

Odendaalsrust, what a name of magic. Yet some of them are already saying at the Stock Exchange, for their Afrikaans is nothing to wonder at, that there must be a simpler name. What could be easier than s.m.u.ts or s.m.u.tsville? What could be easier than Hofmeyr - no - but there is a place called Hofmeyr already and apart from that - well - perhaps it is not quite the name after all.

That is the worst of these mines, their names are unp.r.o.nounceable. What a pity that a great industry, controlled by such brains, advanced by such enterprise, should be hampered by such unp.r.o.nounceable names; Blyvooruitzicht, and Welgedacht, and Langlaagte, and now this Odendaalsrust. But let us say these things into our beards, let us say them in our clubs, let us say them in private, for most of us are members of the United Party, that stands for co-operation and fellowship and brotherly love and mutual understanding. But it would save a devil of a lot of money, if Afrikaners could only see that bilingualism was a devil of a waste of it.

Gold, gold, gold. The country is going to be rich again. Shares are up from twenty shillings to a hundred shillings, think of it, thank G.o.d for it. There are people, it is true, who are not very thankful. But it must be admitted that they do not hold many shares, indeed it must be admitted that some hold no shares at all. Some of these people are speaking in public, and indeed it is interesting and exasperating to some, to note at this point that very often people without shares have quite a trick of words, as though Destiny or Nature or the Life Force or whoever controls these things, gives some sort of compensation. Not in any kindly way, you understand, but not ironically either, just impersonally. But this is a fanciful idea, and in fact it might have been better not to have mentioned it. Now these people, with this trick of words but no financial standing to talk of, speak mostly to small organizations like Left Clubs and Church Guilds and societies that promote love and brotherhood. And they write too, but mostly for small publications likeNew Society andMankind is Marching ; and for that extraordinaryCross at the Crossroads , an obscure eight-page pamphlet brought out weekly by that extraordinary Father Beresford, who looks as though he hasn't eaten for weeks. But he speaks beautiful English, the kind they speak at Oxford, I mean, not the kind they speak at Rhodes or Stellenbosch, and that makes him acceptable, for he never brushes his hair or has his trousers pressed. He looks for all the world like a converted tiger, and has burning eyes; and in fact he burns bright in the forests of the night, writing his extraordinary paper. He is a missionary and believes in G.o.d, intensely I mean, but it takes all kinds to make a world.

Well, some of these people are saying it would be nice if these shares could have stayed at twenty shillings, and the other eighty shillings had been used, for example, to erect great anti-erosion works to save the soil of the country. It would have been nice to have subsidized boys' clubs and girls' clubs, and social centres, and to have had more hospitals. It would have been nice to have paid more to the miners.

Well anyone can see that this thinking is muddled, because the price of shares has really nothing to do with the question of wages at all, for this is a matter determined solely by mining costs and the price of gold. And by the way, it is said too that there are actually some big men in the mines who hold no shares at all, and this is fine to think of, because it must really be a temptation.

In any case, we musn't be too gloomy, as we might be disposed to be when we think that this eighty shillings has gone into something that isn't any different from what it was before the eighty shillings went into it. Let us look at it in another way. When shares rise from twenty shillings to a hundred shillings, someone makes eighty shillings. Not necessarily one man, because that would be too good to be true, and ent.i.tle such a man to be known as a financial wizard, and as a figure behind the Government. It's more likely that several men will share this eighty shillings, because they get nervous and sell out while the share has a lot of kick in it. It's true of course that these men don't actually work for this money, I mean, actually sweat and callous their hands. But a man must get something for his courage and foresight, and there's mental strain too, to be taken into consideration. Now these men will spend the eighty shillings, and make more work for other people, so that the country will be richer for the eighty shillings. And many of them give generously to the boys' clubs and girls' clubs, and the social centres, and the hospitals. It is wrong to say, as they do in remote places like Bloemfontein and Grahamstown and Beaufort West, that Johannesburg thinks only of money. We have as many good husbands and fathers, I think, as any town or city, and some of our big men make great collections of works of art, which means work for artists, and saves art from dying out; and some have great ranches in the North, where they shoot game and feel at one with Nature.

Now when there is more work for other people, these people will start spending part of this eighty shillings. Not all of it, of course, for the men who sell at a hundred shillings must keep some to buy back the shares when they haven't got quite so much kick in them. But the farmers will be able to produce more food, and the manufacturers will be able to make more articles, and the Civil Service will be able to offer more posts, though why we should want more Civil Servants is another question that we can hardly deal with here. And the natives need not starve in these reserves. The men can come to the mines and bigger and better compounds can be built for them, and still more vitamins be put in their food. But we shall have to be careful about that, because some fellow has discovered that labour can be over-vitaminized. This is an example of the Law of Diminishing Returns.

And perhaps a great city will grow up, a second Johannesburg, with a second Parktown and a second Houghton, a second Parkwold and a second Kensington, a second Jeppe and a second Vrededorp, a second Pimville and a second Shanty Town, a great city that will be the pride of any Odendaalsrust. But isn't that name impossible?

But there are some who say that it must not be so. All the welfare workers and this Father Beresford and the other Kafferboeties say it must not be so, though it must be admitted that most of them haven't one share-certificate to rub against another. And they take heart too, for Sir Ernest Oppenheimer, one of the great men of the mines, has also said that it need not be so. For here is a chance, he says, to try out the experiment of settled mine labour, in villages, not compounds, where a man can live with his wife and children. And there is talk too that the Government will set up something like the Tennessee Valley Authority, to control the development of the Free State mining areas.

They want to hear your voice again, Sir Ernest Oppenheimer. Some of them applaud you, and some of them say thank G.o.d for you, in their hearts, even at their bedsides. For mines are for men, not for money. And money is not something to go mad about, and throw your hat into the air for. Money is for food and clothes and comfort, and a visit to the pictures. Money is to make happy the lives of children. Money is for security, and for dreams, and for hopes, and for purposes. Money is for buying the fruits of the earth, of the land where you were born.

No second Johannesburg is needed upon the earth. One is enough.

24.

JARVIS THOUGHT HE would go to the house again. It was foolish to go through the kitchen, past the stain on the floor, up the stairs that led to the bedroom. But that was the way he went. He went not to the bedroom but to the study that was so full of books. And he went round the books again, past the case full of Abraham Lincoln, and the case full of South Africa, and the case full of Afrikaners, and the case full of religion and sociology and crime and criminals, and the case full of poetry and novels and Shakespeare. He looked at the pictures of the Christ crucified, and Abraham Lincoln, and Vergelegen, and the willows in the winter. He sat down at the table, where lay the invitations to do this and that, and the invitations to come to this and that, and the paper on what was permissible and what was not permissible in South Africa.

He opened the drawers of his son's table, and here were accounts, and here were papers and envelopes, and here were pens and pencils, and here were old cheques stamped and returned by the bank. And here in a deep drawer were typewritten articles, each neatly pinned together, and placed one on top of the other. Here was an article on "The Need for Social Centres," and one on "Birds of a Parkwold Garden," and another on "India and South Africa." And here was one called "Private Essay on the Evolution of a South African," and this he took out to read: It is hard to be born a South African. One can be born an Afrikaner, or an English-speaking South African, or a coloured man, or a Zulu. One can ride, as I rode when I was a boy, over green hills and into great valleys. One can see, as I saw when I was a boy, the reserves of the Bantu people and see nothing of what was happening there at all. One can hear, as I heard when I was a boy, that there are more Afrikaners than English-speaking people in South Africa, and yet know nothing, see nothing, of them at all. One can read, as I read when I was a boy, the brochures about lovely South Africa, that land of sun and beauty sheltered from the storms of the world, and feel pride in it and love for it, and yet know nothing about it at all. It is only as one grows up that one learns that there are other things here than sun and gold and oranges. It is only then that one learns of the hates and fears of our country. It is only then that one's love grows deep and pa.s.sionate, as a man may love a woman who is true, false, cold, loving, cruel and afraid.

I was born on a farm, brought up by honourable parents, given all that a child could need or desire. They were upright and kind and law-abiding; they taught me my prayers and took me regularly to church; they had no trouble with servants and my father was never short of labour. From them I learned all that a child should learn of honour and charity and generosity. But of South Africa I learned nothing at all.

Shocked and hurt, Jarvis put down the papers. For a moment he felt something almost like anger, but he wiped his eyes with his fingers and shook it from him. But he was trembling and could read no further. He stood up and put on his hat, and went down the stairs, and as far as the stain on the floor. The policeman was ready to salute him, but he turned again, and went up the stairs, and sat down again at the table. He took up the papers and read them through to the end. Perhaps he was some judge of words after all, for the closing paragraphs moved him. Perhaps he was some judge of ideas after all: Therefore I shall devote myself, my time, my energy, my talents, to the service of South Africa. I shall no longer ask myself if this or that is expedient, but only if it is right. I shall do this, not because I am n.o.ble or unselfish, but because life slips away, and because I need for the rest of my journey a star that will not play false to me, a compa.s.s that will not lie. I shall do this, not because I am a negrophile and a hater of my own, but because I cannot find it in me to do anything else. I am lost when I balance this against that, I am lost when I ask if this is safe, I am lost when I ask if men, white men or black men, Englishmen or Afrikaners, Gentiles or Jews, will approve. Therefore I shall try to do what is right, and to speak what is true.

I do this not because I am courageous and honest, but because it is the only way to end the conflict of my deepest soul. I do it because I am no longer able to aspire to the highest with one part of myself, and to deny it with another. I do not wish to live like that, I would rather die than live like that. I understand better those who have died for their convictions, and have not thought it was wonderful or brave or n.o.ble to die. They died rather than live, that was all.

Yet it would not be honest to pretend that it is solely an inverted selfishness that moves me. I am moved by something that is not my own, that moves me to do what is right, at whatever cost it may be. In this I am fortunate that I have married a wife who thinks as I do, who has tried to conquer her own fears and hates. Aspiration is thus made easy. My children are too young to understand. It would be grievous if they grew up to hate me or fear me, or to think of me as a betrayer of those things that I call our possessions. It would be a source of unending joy if they grew up to think as we do. It would be exciting, exhilarating, a matter for thanksgiving. But it cannot be bargained for. It must be given or withheld, and whether the one or the other, it must not alter the course that is right.

Jarvis sat a long time smoking, he did not read any more. He put the papers back in the drawer and closed it. He sat there till his pipe was finished. When it was done he put on his hat and came down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs he turned and walked towards the front door. He was not afraid of the pa.s.sage and the stain on the floor; he was not going that way any more, that was all.

The front door was self-locking and he let himself out. He looked up at the sky from the farmer's habit, but these skies of a strange country told him nothing. He walked down the path and out of the gate. The policeman at the back door heard the door lock, and shook his head with understanding. He cannot face it any more, he said to himself, the old chap cannot face it any more.

25.

ONE OF THE favourite nieces of Margaret Jarvis, Barbara Smith by name, had married a man from Springs, and both Jarvis and his wife, on a day when the Court was not holding the case, went to spend a day with them. He had thought it would be a good thing for his wife, who had taken the death of their son even more hardly than he had feared. The two women talked of the people of Ixopo and Lufafa and Highflats and Umzimkulu, and he left them and walked in the garden, for he was a man of the soil. After a while they called to him to say they were going into the town, and asked if he wished to go with them. But he said that he would stay at the house, and read the newspaper while they were away, and this he did.

The newspaper was full of the new gold that was being found at Odendaalsrust, and of the great excitement that still prevailed on the share-market. Someone with authority was warning people against buying at higher and still higher prices, and saying that there was no proof that these shares were worth what they were fetching, and that they might come down after a while and cause much loss of money and much suffering. There was some crime too; most of the a.s.saults reported were by natives against Europeans, but there was nothing of the terrible nature that made some people afraid to open their newspapers.

While he was reading there was a knock at the kitchen door, and he went out to find a native parson standing on the paved stone at the foot of the three stone steps that led up to the kitchen. The parson was old, and his black clothes were green with age, and his collar was brown with age or dirt. He took off his hat, showing the whiteness of his head, and he looked startled and afraid and he was trembling.

Good morning, umfundisi, said Jarvis in Zulu, of which he was a master.

The parson answered in a trembling voice, Umnumzana, which means Sir, and to Jarvis' surprise, he sat down on the lowest step, as though he were ill or starving. Jarvis knew this was not rudeness, for the old man was humble and well-mannered, so he came down the steps, saying, Are you ill, umfundisi? But the old man did not answer. He continued to tremble, and he looked down on the ground, so that Jarvis could not see his face, and could not have seen it unless he had lifted the chin with his hand, which he did not do, for such a thing is not lightly done.

Are you ill, umfundisi?

I shall recover, umnumzana.

Do you wish water? Or is it food? Are you hungry?

No, umnumzana, I shall recover.

Jarvis stood on the paved stone below the lowest step, but the old man was not quick to recover. He continued to tremble, and to look at the ground. It is not easy for a white man to be kept waiting, but Jarvis waited, for the old man was obviously ill and weak. The old man made an effort to rise, using his stick, but the stick slipped on the paved stone, and fell clattering on the stone. Jarvis picked it up and restored it to him, but the old man put it down as a hindrance, and he put down his hat also, and tried to lift himself up by pressing his hands on the steps. But his first effort failed, and he sat down again, and continued to tremble. Jarvis would have helped him, but such a thing is not so lightly done as picking up a stick; then the old man pressed his hands again on the steps, and lifted himself up. Then he lifted his face also and looked at Jarvis, and Jarvis saw that his face was full of a suffering that was of neither illness nor hunger. And Jarvis stooped, and picked up the hat and stick, and he held the hat carefully for it was old and dirty, and he restored them to the parson.

I thank you, umnumzana.

Are you sure you are not ill, umfundisi?

I am recovered, umnumzana.

And what are you seeking, umfundisi?

The old parson put his hat and his stick down again on the step, and with trembling hands pulled out a wallet from the inside pocket of the old green coat, and the papers fell out on the ground, because his hands would not be still.

I am sorry, umnumzana.

He stooped to pick up the papers, and because he was old he had to kneel, and the papers were old and dirty, and some that he had picked up fell out of his hands while he was picking up others, and the wallet fell too, and the hands were trembling and shaking. Jarvis was torn between compa.s.sion and irritation, and he stood and watched uncomfortably.

I am sorry to detain you, umnumzana.

It is no matter, umfundisi.

At last the papers were collected, and all were restored to the wallet except one, and this one he held out to Jarvis, and on it were the name and address of this place where they were.

This is the place, umfundisi.

I was asked to come here, umnumzana. There is a man named Sibeko of Ndotsheni - Ndotsheni, I know it. I come from Ndotsheni.

And this man had a daughter, umnumzana, who worked for a white man uSmith in Ixopo - Yes, yes.

And when the daughter of uSmith married, she married the white man whose name is on the paper.

That is so.

And they came to live here in Springs, and the daughter of Sibeko came here also to work for them. Now Sibeko has not heard of her for these twelve months, and he asked - I am asked - to inquire about this girl.

Jarvis turned and went into the house, and returned with the boy who was working there. You may inquire from him, he said, and he turned again and went into the house. But when he was there it came suddenly to him that this was the old parson of Ndotsheni himself. So he came out again.

Did you find what you wanted, umfundisi?

This boy does not know her, umnumzana. When he came she had gone already.

The mistress of the house is out, the daughter of uSmith. But she will soon be returning, and you may wait for her if you wish.

Jarvis dismissed the boy, and waited till he was gone.

I know you, umfundisi, he said.

The suffering in the old man's face smote him, so that he said, sit down, umfundisi. Then the old man would be able to look at the ground, and he would not need to look at Jarvis, and Jarvis would not need to look at him, for it was uncomfortable to look at him. So the old man sat down and Jarvis said to him, not looking at him, there is something between you and me, but I do not know what it is.

Umnumzana.

You are in fear of me, but I do not know what it is. You need not be in fear of me.