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‘So what are you saying?’ Thys asked. ‘Do you believe that this land claim is a sham? That it’s from some politically connected individuals who... what? Who are using the system to get their hands on Steynspruit? I can’t believe it. I don’t believe it. That kind of thing doesn’t happen here. This isn’t Zimbabwe. This is South Africa.’
‘We could be wrong. But I don’t think we are,’ Mr Venter said. ‘The connections are there. And they are using Thabiso – or Thabo as you know him – and even Johannes – to give their claim a whiff of legitimacy. That’s why the claim has also been lodged on behalf of the Moilwa family: Johannes’ real name, remember, is Sehlolo Moilmo. Moilmo, Moilwa – close enough to convince a court that one is merely a misspelling should the Moilmo family be required to provide legitimacy to the claim; but far enough apart to convince a court that Moilwa and Moilmo have nothing to do with each other should they decide the Johannes connection is not really required.’
‘Do you think Johannes knows what’s going on?’ Annamari could hear her voice tremble. This was a dreadful nightmare. She’d wake soon and find herself safe and secure in Thys’ strong arms. There would be a letter from the Land Claims Commission saying it was all a gigantic mistake and the claim against Steynspruit had no merit at all. Or it had been withdrawn. Because the people who had made the claim had been found out. They were liars and cheats, and liars and cheats could not get away with lying and cheating forever. Sooner or later they would be caught. Perhaps. She shivered.
‘There is very little we can do now,’ Mr Venter said, gathering up the papers and carefully placing them in a folder clearly marked with the words: “Steynspruit – Land Claim”. He put the folder into his large box-like briefcase and stood up.
‘As I said, we have lodged an objection to the entire claim based on the date of application. But I’m not holding my breath. The backlog at the Land Claims Commission is going to take months, even years, to be resolved. I just wanted you to understand what we are up against here. At this point I suggest you keep the information I have given you to yourselves – do not tell anyone about it, certainly no one who would or could pass on information to Thabiso Hadebe. Including his father. I will be in touch with you as soon as I hear anything more.’
As Thys escorted Mr Venter out to his car, Annamari sank down on the couch and put her face in her hands. She hated the feeling of powerlessness that had swamped her, threatening to overwhelm her. It was so unfair, so wrong. All Thys had ever wanted – all she and Thys had ever wanted – was to do the right thing. And look where it had got them. They could lose their home just as they had lost De Wet. All because of stupid, stupid, stupid politics. She had to believe that. It was politics. And, as Thys always said, quoting some famous British politician she had never heard of: A week is a long time in politics. Things could change. She had to believe that, she had to try and believe that... or she would go crazy.
The couch dipped as Thys sat next to her and put his arms around her. ‘It will be okay, liefie, you’ll see.’
She shook her head and buried her face into his comforting chest. Because she knew, she just knew that it wouldn’t be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.
***
Annamari sat on the stoep and blew softly at the steaming mug of coffee in her hands. She sipped slowly and gingerly put the mug down on the wobbly table. The sun was perched on the Maluti mountains, and the poplar sentries had shed their night time shadow, standing straight and tall at the edge of Steynspruit. She sighed then jumped, knocking over her mug when the phone rang in the lounge.
‘De Wet?’ she said as she snatched up the receiver. ‘Is that you?’
‘Hello Ma. Who else do you think would phone you at – what’s the time over there? Six o’clock? I knew you’d be up.’
Annamari sat down heavily on the couch. She couldn’t help it. Every time the phone rang nowadays, her legs just refused to support her. ‘What’s wrong? Are you okay? Brian? Diana?’
‘They’re fine, Ma. We’re all fine. Better than fine, actually. I’ve some good news that I just had to tell you. Where’s Pa? Is he up yet? Call him.’
Annamari felt a weight lift off her chest. She gulped air into her starved lungs. At last. Some good news. It had to be really good, because in the – how long was it? Two, three months since De Wet had left, he had never phoned at this ungodly hour. She hated it that De Wet was so far away. She hated that he had had so much disappointment in his young life, through no fault of his own. She hated that she was unable to make things easier for him. She’d never forget the anguish in his eyes, in his voice when he told her, them – she and Thys – that he was leaving.
‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot,’ he’d said, standing in the lounge, so straight and tall and so much like his father. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is to play cricket to the best of my ability and my potential. All I’ve ever hoped for is to represent my province – and my country. Well, it’s been made pretty clear to me that that’s never going to happen. Not here. Not in South Africa. Not now.’
She had tried to dissuade him. She had pointed out that there was still a chance; he could still make the Protea team. He had the talent. Everyone said so.
‘If I can’t get a regular game for Free State, how will I ever be selected for South Africa? They say selection is based purely on performance – well, I’m not getting much of an opportunity to demonstrate my performance, am I?’
So she pointed out that he wouldn’t have been able to play cricket forever anyway. Maybe it was time to give up on his dream. A lot of people couldn’t follow their dream. That was life. It was horrible but that was just the way it was. And he was lucky. He had other options. He had gone to university and got a degree. In agriculture. So he could run Steynspruit Kibbutz. Or even go and work on another farm. Perhaps even buy his own farm one day.
She had wanted to kill Thys when he not only agreed with De Wet, he actually encouraged him to follow his dream, to leave... to go and live thousands of kilometres away on the chance – the very slim chance, he acknowledged – that De Wet’s dream could possibly come true.
‘I didn’t have a choice,’ Thys said. ‘Injury finished my career so I never got the chance to play at the highest level. But you, De Wet, you have a God-given talent. It’s unfortunate that – well, that things are the way they are in this country right now. They will settle down, I am sure of it – but that may be too late for you. So, go with my blessing, my son. Go and play cricket.’
De Wet even tried to comfort her by pointing out that he wasn’t the only one following this crazy, stupid path. ‘Look at Kevin Pietersen from Natal. He went to the UK and look how well he’s doing. And Jonathan Trott too. And I’ve heard that Clyde Rathbone, the Sharks rugby player is going to Australia... there are lots of others.’
‘How many have gone and disappeared into obscurity?’ she demanded. ‘And don’t most of them have family in those countries – the right to citizenship. You don’t. You’re a South African...nothing else. And I can’t lose my son. Not again,’ she’d sobbed and run from the room.
‘That’s not fair, liefie,’ Thys had said later when he found her lying on their bed, gazing intently at the growing damp spot on the ceiling. ‘You cannot dictate to De Wet how he must live his life.’
He hadn’t actually said it, but Annamari could hear the accusation in his words; the unspoken charge that she – and she alone – was responsible for destroying their older son’s happiness. It wasn’t fair. She had tried everything, everything reasonable, to spare Arno. It had eaten at her, gnawed at her gut, but in the end, what choice did she have? So she had told him, firmly, that he would be a lifelong liability to Beauty.
‘If you love her, Arno, let her go. For her own sake. You will only hamper her career. You know that, deep down, don’t you?’ she’d said.
And Arno had nodded, and turned away. But not before she’d seen the tears in his blue, blue eyes – the same tears she had seen in Beauty’s blue eyes when the girl had come quietly into the kitchen a few weeks later and said: ‘You don’t have to worry anymore, MaAnni. Arno and I are finished. For good. He told me we were a mistake. He told me he had a new girlfriend – a white girlfriend.’
Arno hardly ever came home anymore. He said he was far too busy up in Johannesburg. Working hard. Playing harder. Going out with this girl and that girl – girls he never named and never brought home to Steynspruit. ‘Making up for lost time,’ he said. ‘Nothing serious. I promise you, Ma, when I meet the girl of my dreams, you will be the second person to know.’
‘Only the second?’ She’d forced herself to laugh. ‘And who do you plan to tell before you tell me?’
‘The girl, of course. If she exists.’
Beauty hardly ever came home anymore either. She said she was far too busy in Cape Town. Working really hard. Getting ahead. Living up to her potential.
And now De Wet, who would also probably never come home again. That was his good news. That was why he had phoned so early, nearly frightening her to death.
He said he’d played his first game for his new cricket club’s first eleven that day; he’d scored a century and taken three wickets; and a selector for the Wellington Firebirds – ‘the equivalent of our provincial team,’ he explained – and come up to him afterwards and said he could possibly be selected for the Firebirds as soon as he became eligible. Or perhaps they would even take him on as their overseas player next season.
‘I’m on my way,’ he said. ‘It’s starting to happen. Brian says it’s really good news. He’s so excited for me.’
She congratulated him profusely. Put the phone down. And wept.