When Time Fails (Silverman Saga Book 2) (20 page)

Mr Venter carefully replaced his mug on the coffee table and waited while Annamari and Thys, who were sitting on the couch opposite him, pored over the documents he had brought with him.

‘What does this mean? I don’t understand,’ Annamari said.

Thys got up and put another log on the fire. He always did that when he wanted more time to think. Annamari wiped her face with a tissue. It was hot in the lounge. There really was no need for a fire in the middle of the day – even if it was July – but Thys had said it would be cosy and cheerful, especially if Mr Venter was bringing bad news. She’d had this really sick feeling ever since the lawyer had phoned them two days before, saying he had some important information for them but he’d prefer to discuss it with them in person.

‘I think we might be in trouble,’ he’d said.

‘I don’t get it. Why do you think we might be in trouble?’ Thys asked, straightening the family portrait slightly, turning back to the lawyer.

Mr Venter cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘As you know, the cut off date for land claims was 31 December, 1998. This claim was apparently lodged on that day, but there are some anomalies that indicate it was lodged later, and then backdated.’

‘They can’t do that!’ Annamari said. ‘Surely the claim should just be thrown out because of that.’

‘Of course. And that is certainly going to be part of our submission. However, I’m concerned about the people behind the claim.’

The fire crackled and spat as Thys poked it, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.

‘What do you mean? Who are they? There’s nothing about them in the report,’ Thys said as he settled back onto the couch and took Annamari’s hand.

‘That’s because what I’m about to tell you cannot be part of the official record. At least, not yet. Look, Mr van Zyl, Mrs van Zyl. It seems incredible. But it’s the only thing that makes sense. My investigator really battled to find out anything about the claimants, and that, in itself, was unusual and raised all kinds of red flags. I mean, it really shouldn’t have been difficult to find out something, anything about Thabiso Hadebe – but we really had to dig around. Here, this is the confidential report our investigator put together.’

Mr Venter handed them a neatly typed document headed “Thabiso Hadebe – Connections”. Annamari glanced at it. It was long and complicated; there were flowcharts and diagrams with arrows and names she had never heard of. She looked at Thys who was frowning as he read the first page, then the second. Then he put the document down on the coffee table.

‘Okay, Mr Venter. Please explain,’ he said.

‘It’s actually quite simple really,’ Mr Venter said. ‘Thabiso Hadebe is the son of one Sehlolo Moilmo. You probably know Sehlolo better as Johannes, Johannes Moilmo.’

Annamari gasped. Of course she knew Johannes. She had known him since she was a child. He had always lived on Steynspruit, like Petrus and Rosie, dear, dear Rosie. He still lived on Steynspruit; he was a member of Steynspruit Kibbutz. His children had grown up on Steynspruit too and...and then Annamari remembered. Johannes’ oldest son was Thabo. Thabo the Troublemaker, they’d always called him. He was a few years older than Arno and Beauty. Annamari had always found it hard to like him. A sullen boy, he had rebelled against being forced to leave the Driespruitfontein township like the other children and move to Steynspruit at the height of the troubles and violence there. He had run away several times, and Johannes had gone after him and brought him back. Except that once. She remembered. Johannes had come back, shattered. He told them that Thabo was in jail. He’d got caught trying to hijack a Mercedes in Bloemfontein. He got five years, Johannes said. So it wasn’t really surprising that when he got out of jail and wanted to come back to Steynspruit, the kibbutz members voted – almost unanimously – not to accept him as an adult member.

‘Steynspruit was never good enough for him. Why should we take him back now?’ Petrus had asked.

‘He has nowhere else to go. He is sorry for what he said. He is sorry for ..
.
for everything. He has learned his lesson. He will work hard... I will make him work hard,’ Johannes had pleaded.

So the kibbutz members agreed to allow Thabo to come back and live on Steynspruit for a trial period of three months and then, if he proved himself, they would allow him to become a member. But he hadn’t stayed for even two months, Annamari recalled. One night, he just disappeared. Johannes didn’t say anything and as far as Annamari knew, he had never looked for him either.

‘I don’t understand,’ Annamari told Mr Venter. ‘Johannes’ son is Thabo Moilmo.’

‘It looks like it. But he uses the name Thabiso Hadebe now. Hadebe is his mother’s name. And that’s the name that’s been used to file the claim against Steynspruit.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Thys spluttered. ‘Thabo doesn’t have a claim... if anything, his father might but Johannes is a Kibbutz Steynspruit member. He wouldn’t support a claim from his son – would he?’

‘No. As far as we have been able to find out, it doesn’t look as if Johannes knows anything about this.’

‘So what is Thabo up to? Why is he doing this?’ Annamari couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

‘We – my investigators – don’t think Thabo, or Thabiso, is the real instigator of the claim. We think he is being used. As a front.’

‘A front? For whom? For what?’

‘We’re not sure. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. We are pretty sure but we don’t have any proof – yet. But if it is as we suspect, well, as I told you, I think we could be in trouble.’

Mr Venter leaned forward and flipped open the Thabiso Hadebe document. He jabbed his finger at one of the flow charts. Annamari tried to follow his explanation, but it was just so complicated. There were so many names she had never heard before.

‘So you see,’ Mr Venter said, ‘Thabiso’s uncle on his mother’s side is Solomon Tumelo Hadebe; Solomon Hadebe is married to Lerato Schekoera. Lerato’s brother, Mohapi Schekoera, is said to be very close to those who are very close to President Mbeki as well as to the Free State Premier. From what I’ve heard, these guys are something of a law unto themselves, and now that the President has fired the Vice President, Jacob Zuma, they’ve become virtually untouchable.’

Annamari stared at Mr Venter, horrified. This couldn’t be happening. She really had no interest in the seeming never-ending power struggles tha
t
Die Volksbla
d
said were white-anting the ruling African National Congress. She’d never had any interest in politics – not like Thys who devoured stories about the goings on of those in power, tut-tutting and saying the media was terribly biased and really should give the ANC more of a chance to settle down and turn the country around. He never shifted his position; not even when his father, th
e
domine
e
, thundered against the “new” South Africa from his chair at the head of the long dining room table every Easter. Not even, a mere two months ago, when the ANC’s solution to turn the country around had finally driven their son to seek a new life thousands of kilometres away; not even when she wept in the International Departure hall at OR Tambo International Airport as De Wet hugged her and hurried away and Thys put his arms around her and held her close... not even then would he blame the ANC. No, he said as he always did, it was unfortunate... unfortunate! She choked on the word. It wasn’t unfortunate – it was a tragedy, a disaster. But no, Thys wiped his eyes and insisted that what had happened to De Wet was unfortunate; but no one could expect change, which was absolutely critical to the future of South Africa, not to result in some people being hurt. That De Wet was one, was unfortunate; but in the greater scheme of things, it was understandable. Annamari had pulled herself out of his arms and stared at him in disbelief.

‘It’s politics
,
liefi
e
. It’s not personal. We have to look at the bigger picture and learn to forgive them as they have forgiven us,’ he’d said.

‘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
,
liefi
e
, 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 th
e
stoe
p
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
,
liefi
e
,’ 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 – had 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.