Venny sat in his uncomfortable chair, tugging at the frayed ends of its small red-and-purple cushion. He tried flipping through one of his old folders with newspaper clippings of the Soweto uprising and Sharpeville massacre. Then he put it aside and adjusted the volume on his radio again, to make sure the silence wasn’t his fault. He kept flicking the microphone’s switch on and off. To make matters worse, he’d already finished his cup of tea.
“Protea Eleven, this is Protea Ten. Confirm your password.” Venny’s whole body tensed. He flicked the microphone’s switch again and started speaking, but then realised he’d switched it off.
He almost knocked the microphone over trying to switch it on again. “Paulpietersburg. The password is Paulpietersburg.”
The thing he hated most about these conversations was that Protea Ten could never just reply straight away. No, this piece of obtuse rubbish always had to wait an age before he uttered another word.
“Password accepted,” Protea Ten said just as Venny was about to start adjusting the radio again.
“Command is planning a series of initiatives.”
“What kind of initiatives? Does this mean I can—”
“Protea Eleven, restrain yourself, no interruptions during a message.”
Venny wanted to apologise but didn’t want to appear weak, so he pushed the microphone away.
“These initiatives will have a significant impact and will fast-track the way to our end goal. But, as you know so well, the government has introduced increasing measures to thwart our plans. This is slowing down our efforts ... and it’s making everything more expensive.”
Here we go again. He always volunteered to be part of the action, but all they ever wanted was money. Money, money, money. Money for what? he wanted to shout out.
“If you use your special talents to persuade like-minded individuals, true soldiers of our fight, comrades like you, to come together and invest in the future, in freedom, then, Protea Eleven, then ...” Another one of Protea Ten’s drawn-out silences. Then what? Venny wished he could reach through the microphone and give him a slap around the ears. “Command is willing to consider you for the vacant Protea Eight position.”
His mind raced. Yes, he was angry for always being considered a cash cow, and boy had they bled him dry, but word on the street was that Protea Eight was involved in something so big that he was now locked up on Robben Island. Imagine that. He was rubbing shoulders with the leaders of the movement. Venny’s heart beat faster; the mere thought of getting so close to the epicentre of this cause to which he had devoted the past five years of his life was almost too good to be true. He wondered if he had it in him, if he truly had it in him.
“Protea Eleven, please confirm message received.”
“Message received.”
“Report back in one week. Protea Ten out.”
“One week, yes, understood,” Venny rattled off excitedly, but Protea Ten had already ended the transmission.
He picked up the empty cup and tilted it so that the last remaining drop of sweet, cold tea trickled onto his tongue. The room felt smaller, and the stacks of documents seemed like chimneys billowing out thick, airless smoke. He was Venny, the man with the quick wit, a man of influence, a man without fear. Why now, standing at the precipice of greatness, why now start to doubt, fear, tremble? He flapped his hands about, but the trembling didn’t relent.
“Pappa! Dinner’s ready.” The fluttering of his daughter’s sweet voice was like a warm blanket being wrapped around him.
“I know you’re busy, but Mamma started calling you Venkatapathi, so I think you’re in trouble,” she giggled.
How he loved that giggle. After his father drew his last breath, the only thing that helped him through the second-greatest loss of his life was that giggle. When his brother decided to take his share of the family money and seek a fortune in Chatsworth, leaving him to start from scratch, it was that giggle, again, that got him through. And, five years ago ...
“I’ll be right there.” He rubbed his hands together and slapped his cheeks. Okay, Venny, toughen up; remember why you are doing this, he reprimanded himself.