— Yes.
— I think I’m beginning to understand the old man.
— Are you?
— I think so. I think I’m beginning. Only beginning, you understand.
— I understand. What’s this I hear about Dominee Stander?
— What did you hear?
— I heard he was angry with you.
— What for, Pieter?
— For neglecting your work.
— Ag, you’re joking, Pieter.
— All right, I’m joking. How’s my sister?
And the young dominee sat again, and contemplated both present and future with bliss.
— Pieter, I can’t tell you over the telephone.
— Why not?
— Ag, it wouldn’t seem right. I’ll tell you this afternoon at the practice.
Then Japie came in, with his case full of papers.
— Old brother, he said, I think I can get the girl Stephanie a job.
And the lieutenant did not speak, but looked at his friend watchfully.
— Abraham Kaplan says he’s willing to give her a chance at the hotel.
And the lieutenant forced himself to speak, and said, it’s too late.
— Now, listen, old brother, you’re not the only one that has the black nation on his heart. I suggested to the magistrate that we might send the child away temporarily, and if the girl proves herself, we might let her have it back.
— What did he say?
— He said he’s willing to consider it.
And the lieutenant said to his friend humbly, you’re a good chap, Japie.
— Of course I’m a good chap. You know it, everyone in Venterspan knows it, but the trouble is, do they know it in Pretoria?
He put his arms on the table and spoke confidentially.
— If I’m to get married, he said, I must earn some more money, for the truth is, old brother, this old Empire builder hasn’t got a penny.
— So you’re going to get married.
— Slowly now, slowly, old brother. I said if I’m to get married.
— So you haven’t asked her yet?
Japie blushed.
— To tell you the truth, old brother, I have, and I haven’t. I told her I’m not the marrying sort, but I have an idea I might change into the marrying sort. I couldn’t have put it clearer, could I?
The lieutenant laughed.
— Japie, you’re wonderful.
— Ag, I know I’m wonderful. The truth is, old brother, I’m almost willing, almost willing, you understand, to marry this girl and her father, and the King and Queen and the whole British Empire.
Then he took his arms off the table and looked at the floor.
— Ag, it’s a state, he said. Old brother, I must go.
So the lieutenant went home to his lunch lighthearted and gay, and ate his lunch with Nella in the garden, with the birds and the sun. And he went back to his work lightheartedly, and as he was turning into the Police Station, he saw two men come out of Pretorius Street, the street that goes to the black people’s location, the street with the blue-gum trees and the vacant ground. And one was Captain Jooste, and the other was his own captain that should have been in Cape Town, a thousand miles away.
THEREFORE HE WENT TO HIS ROOM and closed the door, and sat there alone with the fear and the terror. And while he was sitting there, Sergeant Fourie came to him and said, Captain Jooste wants to see you, lieutenant.
Therefore he went to the captain’s office and knocked and went in, but no Captain Jooste was there, only his own captain. And his own captain looked more than ever grave and austere.
— Shut the door, van Vlaanderen. And sit down.
Therefore he sat down.
— I received an urgent call in Cape Town last night from Captain Jooste. So I flew up to Johannesburg this morning, and came down at once by car. You can see it was a most serious thing.
— Yes, sir.
— It’s a charge, van Vlaanderen, a charge against you under Act 5 of 1927.
— Act 5?
And the captain did not look up, but at the papers, and he said in a low voice, yes, the Immorality Act.
And when the lieutenant did not speak, he said, the allegation is that on the night of Monday last you went to the vacant ground in Pretorius Street, and committed an offence under the Act.
And the lieutenant said, how is it possible?
— Is it true, van Vlaanderen?
— No, sir.
— I hope, and I pray too, that it isn’t true, said the captain.
— It isn’t true, sir.
— You are prepared to give every assistance, van Vlaanderen, so that the charge can be investigated?
— Yes, sir.
— What kind of jacket do you wear, van Vlaanderen, when you’re off duty? How many jackets have you?
— Only one, sir. The rest are blazers.
— And flannels? How many pairs have you?
— Two, sir.
— One new, and one old?
— Yes, sir.
— And shoes?
— Three pairs, sir.
— What kind of shoes?
— One black pair, sir, and two brown pairs.
— The black pair for Sundays?
— Yes, sir.
— And the brown pairs? One old, and one new?
— Yes, sir.
— Would Mrs. van Vlaanderen think it strange if you sent for your jacket, and the older pair of flannels, and the older pair of brown shoes?
— I don’t think so, sir.
The captain pushed over pencil and paper to the lieutenant.
— Ask her to send them in a suitcase, van Vlaanderen. No, wait. Before you ask her, tell me again, can this charge possibly be true?
— No, sir.
— Then write the note, van Vlaanderen.
When the note was written, the captain took it, and he said to the lieutenant, give me your revolver. Therefore the lieutenant gave the captain his revolver. Then the captain went out and shut the door, and left the lieutenant for twenty minutes with the fear and the terror, wondering what terrible secret there could be in the jacket and flannels and shoes.
Then the two captains came back with the suitcase, in which were the jacket and flannels and shoes. His own captain put a drawing on the table in front of the lieutenant and said to him, that is the print of a rubbersoled shoe, taken in the vacant ground. Is it your own?
— No, sir.
— You have never been into this vacant ground?
— No, sir.
Then the captain opened the case, and took out the pair of shoes.
— I should tell you, van Vlaanderen, that a piece of earth was recently dug over in the vacant ground. A small piece of earth about two foot square. The print was made on the piece of earth.
Then the two captains compared the sole of the shoes with the drawing of the print, but the pattern was not the same.
— Would you take out the jacket, van Vlaanderen?
So the lieutenant took out the jacket.
— Is there anything in the left-hand pocket of the jacket, van Vlaanderen?
And the lieutenant felt with fear in the pocket, but found nothing.
— Nothing, sir.
— Look again, van Vlaanderen. It’s a small object.
So the lieutenant felt again, and brought out from the pocket one of those small coloured shells that lie on the Natal beaches under the sun.
— The charge states, van Vlaaderen, that the girl called Stephanie put such a shell in your pocket on the night of Monday last, when you were standing in the vacant ground. Is that true, van Vlaanderen?
— It cannot be true, sir.
Then his own captain made a sign to Captain Jooste, and he went out and returned with Sergeant Steyn.
— Sergeant, where did you get this shell?
And the sergeant held out a box, and said, from this box, captain.
— And the box?
— My daughter brought
it back, captain, with shells that she collected on the beach.
And the captain said to the sergeant coldly, and you gave one of these shells to the girl Stephanie?
— Yes, captain.
— With the instructions to put it into the left-hand pocket of a jacket that a man was wearing?
— Yes, captain.
And the lieutenant said, I had that jacket, sir, when I had my own leave in Natal.
— At the coast?
— Yes, sir.
— Then the captain said to the sergeant coldly, is there anything special about this shell?
— Yes, captain. It is filled with candle grease.
So the captain showed the shell to the lieutenant, and it was filled with candle grease.
— One thing more, sergeant. Where were you on the night of Monday last?
— In Pretorius Street, captain.
— And you saw a man come down Pretorius Street, and go into the vacant ground?
— Yes, sir.
— And you recognised him?
— Yes, sir.
— Who was it?
And the sergeant drew himself up stiff and straight, and showed no sign of joy or hate, and he said, it was Lieutenant van Vlaanderen, captain.
— And one thing more, sergeant.
— Yes, captain.
— It was you yourself who prepared the earth in the vacant ground?
And the sergeant said, with no sign of joy or hate or shame or grief, yes, captain.
— Then you may go.
Then the captain put five pound-notes on the table, and he said to the lieutenant, the girl states further that you gave her this money at this place and time.
But the lieutenant made no answer.
— And she states further that you committed an offence under the Act.
And still the lieutenant made no answer.
So the captain said to him, do you still deny it?
And the lieutenant stood up, and looked at the two captains out of his strained and desperate eyes. And he said, I can see that I am guilty.
His own captain said gently, what do you mean, you can see that you are guilty?
And the lieutenant said, like a child, I can see that everything is against me.
And the captain said gently, what do you mean, van Vlaanderen? Are you guilty, or not guilty?
— I am not guilty.
Then Captain Jooste, the red-faced and jolly captain, went out and shut the door.
— You’re sure you are not guilty?
— I’m sure I am not guilty.
— Then, said the captain gravely, will you write another note to your wife, and ask her to send the other pair of shoes?
Then the lieutenant sat down, and put his head on his arms, and sobbed like any child. And the captain telephoned to Captain Jooste, and told him to keep everyone away from that place; and then he sat down in his chair opposite the lieutenant, and he said to him when he could, why didn’t you tell me all this?
And the lieutenant lifted his head and said with grief, and that longing that comes in grief to return to some day that never will come again, I tried to tell you, I tried to tell you.
And the captain said sorrowfully, and I told you it could wait till tomorrow.
— Yes.
— My God, my God.
Then the lieutenant told him of the vows and the penitences, and the prayers in season and out, and the sitting amongst the oxen that were holy and obedient beasts, and the days of terror, and of his love for his wife and his children, and for his gentle mother, and of the mad sickness and the loathing, and of the great relief from terror and his laughter and his joy, and of the books of the twisted and tormented men, and of his decisions to speak, to Kappie and the captain himself or some psychiatrist, and of the hard and bitter words that he spoke to me at Buitenverwagting. And when this tale of past and present was done, he would have spoken of the future, but he drew back from it, unable to look it in the face, for the whole world was heaving and shaking, and God knew what terror and grief and anger was yet to come, in the hearts of men and women, in streets and houses and churches and bars and rooms. Therefore he put his head on his arms, and sobbed like any child.
And the captain went to him, and put his hand on his shoulder and said to him, there are terrible things to come, but I’ll stand by you, by all of you, and do what I can do.
Then he went for Captain Jooste and asked him if he would sit with the lieutenant. So Captain Jooste sat with the lieutenant, while the captain went to do the duties that must still be done.
But he stopped as he went out of the Police Station, and he said to Sergeant Steyn who was alone, may God forgive you for an evil deed.
For once a charge is made, a charge is made; and once a thing is written down, it will not be unwritten. And a word can be written down that will destroy a man and his house and his kindred, and there is no power of God or Man or State, nor any Angel, nor anything present or to come, nor any height, nor any depth, nor any other creature that can save them, when once the word is written down.
AND WHILE THE CAPTAIN WAS WALKING along van Onselen Street to our house, my brother was telling Sybrand Wessels and my sister-in-law and me the story of old Theunis Burger and his failing eyesight. For Theunis Burger sent for the doctor and told him he was going blind.
And the doctor said to Theunis, meneer, can you see the mountains? And Theunis looked in the direction of the mountains, and shook his head sorrowfully and said, no, I cannot see the mountains. So the doctor pointed and said, meneer, can you see those trees, and Theunis again shook his head sorrowfully and said, no, I cannot see any trees. Then the doctor shook his head also and said, that’s bad, meneer; so he pointed nearer at hand and said, meneer, can you see those cows? And Theunis looked and said again sorrowfully, no, I cannot see any cows. Then the doctor was also sorrowful, and pointed again and asked earnestly, meneer, are you sure you cannot see the cows? So Theunis looked more carefully than ever, even shading his eyes, and saying with the greatest sorrow of all, no, I cannot see any cows, but I can see some oxen.
And Sybrand snorted and blew his nose, and behaved more like a girl than a man who would never be sixty again. And my sister-in-law and I laughed too, not at the story, for we had heard it before, but at the way my brother told it. For you could see Theunis Burger and his mischief before your very eyes.
That was the last such story told in our house, for the captain knocked at the door. I opened it, and when I saw how grave was the captain’s face, I did not say to him, I thought you were in Cape Town, I said only, goeie midday, captain, and let him in. But my brother said, I thought you were in Cape Town. The captain said, I was in Cape Town, but an urgent matter brought me back again. Then he looked round gravely at us all, and especially at Sybrand Wessels, and said to my brother, meneer, I have a very private matter to discuss with you. So Sybrand Wessels left us.
Then the captain looked at my sister-in-law and me, and said again to my brother, it is a very private matter. And my sister-in-law got up, and she and I would have gone out, but I could see that my brother did not want to be left alone with this very private matter, for he said to the captain, as though he had some foreknowledge, does it concern us all? The captain said gravely, it concerns you all, but he looked again at us two women, so that we were again ready to go, had not my brother said finally, then tell us all. And the captain looked unwilling, but he was no doubt thinking to himself, sooner or later, so he said, as you wish, meneer.
Then my sister-in-law and I sat down, and my brother asked the captain to sit down also, but he said that he would stand.
— It is a very painful duty I have to perform, he said.
And my brother said in a low voice, perform it then.
— I was in Cape Town, said the captain, when Captain Jooste telephoned me, and asked me to return at once, on a most urgent matter.
— What is the urgent matter?
— The urgent matter, said the captain,
is that a charge has been laid against your son, Lieutenant van Vlaanderen, that on Monday night of this week he committed an offence under the Immorality Act of 1927.
And my brother said unbelieving, the Immorality Act?
— Yes.
And my brother said nothing. He was sitting with his arms stretched out before him on the table, as he has them out when the Book is between them, only no Book was between them now. He did not look at us nor at the captain but straight before him. And I did not look at my sister-in-law, but I could see her out of the corner of my eye, and she sat without moving. And I sat without moving also, thinking to myself, thinking to myself, but what does it matter what I thought to myself, except that I knew that the whole house was destroyed, because I had not hammered and hammered on the door, and cried out, not ceasing. And the captain did not move either, but stood there gravely in front of us all.
Then my brother said, is the charge true?
— I fear it is true, said the captain.
Then my brother said, are you sure it is true?
Then the captain said, that is a matter for a court.
But my brother persisted, are you yourself sure?
And the captain said, he has confessed to me.
After that all was silence, except that my brother’s breathing could be heard by us all, like the breathing of some creature in pain. But he did not look at us, he stared in front of him; and my sister-in-law looked down at her hands; and the captain stood like a soldier in front of us all.
Then the sound of my brother’s breathing ceased, and he said to me, Sophie, the Book. So I brought him the Book, and put it between his arms, and wondered where he would read; but he did not read at all, he opened it at the beginning where are all the names of the van Vlaanderens, for more than a hundred and fifty years.
Then he said to me, Sophie, the pen and the ink.
So he took the pen and the ink, and he crossed out the name of Pieter van Vlaanderen from the Book, not once but many times, not with any anger or grief that could be seen, nor with any words.
Then he said to the captain, is there anything more?
Now whether the captain had anything more or not I could not say, but he had seen the crossing out of the name from the Book, and he went to my sister-in-law and took her hands, which she had in her lap not moving, and he said to her, you have my help in anything that you need.