[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

 Downhill all the way. His son, my grandfather, became a
299
A NDRÉ B RI NK
soldier a molaodi in fact, a commander but he got wounded in a
battle near Ficksburg. The missionaries got hold of him and healed
him. That was the end for us. In later years he went to work as a
laborer on a Free State farm. There my father was born. And I
myself.
 But you broke away.
 Yes, I broke away, man. Just like you. He looked at me, light
flickering on his glasses.  Have you ever thought about how similar
you and I really are?
 You re exaggerating.
 You think so? We come from the same sort of place. Then we
both went overseas. More subdued, he added:  And then we both came
back. What the hell for? What did we really hope to find? We don t
belong any more, man. You re just as bloody detribalized as I am.
 I m still an Afrikaner.
 That s where the similarity ends and the difference begins. He
nearly doubled up in a sudden spasm of laughter.
 Surely you have no desire to go back to what you once were?
 Of course not.
 So why are you complaining?
 You think I m complaining? He shifted into a more
comfortable position behind the wheel.  I just made a statement of
fact. And today I m going to show you something.
 What do you really want to show me?
He laughed.  The inside of hell, he said.
After supper and evening prayers we spent the evening in front of the
fire Louis on the floor, fondling one of the dogs; Ma and I on two
of the heavy easy chairs. There was no uneasiness in our conversation.
Outside, the wind had come up, causing the chimney hood to spin
300
R UMORS OF R AI N
this way and that with an unearthly screeching sound. Inside, we
relaxed in front of the dancing flames, in which, from time to time,
small bits of bark exploded sending sprays of sparks up into the
chimney; on the ledge beside the grate the kettle of bush tea stood
hissing tranquilly. Ma had switched off the generator just after
supper, and the only light we had was the gentle flickering of the
flames. The day with its harsh, forbidding wintriness seemed to have
subsided like a sea, leaving us stranded in silence and peace. Even
our skirmishes appeared insignificant at this distance.
Later, Louis selected a few magazines to take to bed with him;
Ma and I remained, she with her crocheting. Even at her most relaxed
she couldn t leave her hands unoccupied. Occasionally one of us said
something, or a dog groaned. Otherwise it was silent.
Deep inside the blue and orange of the glowing coals I
discovered Dad s face, sallow and shriveled as it had been the last
time I d seen him, wearing the odd little knitted cap to cover his
hairless head, his nose disproportionately large in the sunken face
and protruding like a beak, his eyes sunken. I d looked in at his room
once or twice a day and dutifully sat with him for a few minutes at a
time; there was nothing left to talk about. At night, Ma and Elise took
turns to watch him not without some hidden tension, because,
exhausted as she was, Ma didn t like the idea of Elise taking over. But
one night Dad called me in and insisted I stayed with him, refusing
to allow one of the women near us, not even Elise. I spent the night
in the chair beside the bed, half-dozing most of the time, going out
occasionally to relieve myself or pour a drink. He appeared to be
sleeping, yet every time I stirred he would open his eyes. Whenever
he tried to say something in his shrill, hoarse whisper of a voice, it
sounded disjointed if not totally incomprehensible. But by three
o clock in the morning a curious, unnatural clarity came over him
and for the first time I had no difficulty in following what he said,
however slowly and haltingly it came out.
301
A NDRÉ B RI NK
 That you, Martin?
 Yes, I m here with you, Dad. Don t worry. Go to sleep.
 No, I don t want to sleep. One of these days I ll have enough
time for sleeping.
 You re not afraid, are you?
 No, I m not afraid. A long pause.  Not afraid. I ve made my
peace. Another pause.  I m just sorry, that s all. Such a pity.
 What is?
 Everything. I ve been a failure, Martin.
 That s not true, Dad. I had to comfort and encourage him.
He persisted, weary but with stubborn effort.  No use to pretend.
When one s got as far as I have, one can afford to be honest. I ve been
a failure, all right. In everything.
I felt the urge to put out a hand and take his, but something like
revulsion held me back.
 There was one short time, he said,  during the war, you know.
Just a few months. When it seemed, when I felt, I was going
somewhere. But then I got scared. That s what it was. I simply got
scared. I could lose my job. I had a wife and young children. And so
I left. I was a coward.
 It s all in the past now, Dad.
 It s never past. That s why I wanted to talk to you tonight. Only,
I m so tired.
I offered him some water. He seemed to have forgotten what he d
been talking about. But after a while he took up the thread again.
 Now it s your turn. I ve had mine and I failed.
 Don t worry, Dad. I ll 
 You must go on, Martin. I want you to succeed. For my sake too.
 Of course I will. I had no idea what he really meant.
 You know, when I get to the other side, God may ask me
anything He wants. I won t mind pleading guilty and asking for His
mercy. But I know there s one thing He ll never forgive me.
302
R UMORS OF R AI N
I prepared myself for a deathbed confession, not sure of what it
would be, but certainly expecting something grave.
And after a long time he came out with it:  I haven t been a good
Afrikaner, Martin. I failed. I left my people in the lurch.
 But what was it you did, Dad?
 Nothing. That s what. I did nothing at all. Another long pause
followed, in which he seemed to drift off to sleep. Then he spoke
again:  And I resisted. When I had to take over the farm, I resisted.
 Every man has the right to decide about his own life.
 No, Martin. History decides for us. And history is the way God
has of making His will clear to us. He made an effort to raise his
hand, as if he wanted to reach out to me; then dropped it.  Whatever
you do in your life, Martin, you must never let this farm go. It s ours.
It s our sin and our redemption. You must promise me that.
 I promise, Dad. After all, there were only the two of us. And
his thoughts were already wandering.
He refused to go to hospital. During his last months he clung to
the farm he d never wanted. Unable to live there, he seemed to have
made up his mind to die there. And sitting at the fire that evening, with
Ma crocheting peacefully and the chimney hood grinding outside, I think
I understood something more of that irrational urge in him: something
of that for ever incomplete, defeated man who d been a stranger all his
life but who, through his death, had finally reconciled himself with his-
tory and with the earth. To him it had been the only way he could atone
for an obligation towards the past which he d been unable to fulfill.
The fact that he d tried to transfer it to me had been quite
unreasonable, of course: how could I be expected to compensate [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

zanotowane.pl

doc.pisz.pl

pdf.pisz.pl

glaz.keep.pl