This book is a work of fiction. All the characters developed in this novel are fictional creations of the writer’s imagination and are not modelled on any real persons. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781370699100
I
After Dr Trevor Guzmán had finished packing his meagre belongings into the boot of his dark blue Ford Capri, he returned to his old flat to make sure that nothing had been left behind, he then locked the flat door and returned the flat keys to the caretaker. It was 16.30 pm and a chilly wind was blowing over the Highveld plains. The cold front that the weather bureau predicted had finally arrived after its long journey from the Antarctic. It was now lapping on the shores of Wednesday afternoon in Potchefstroom. Dr Guzmán had resigned from the Summer Grain Centre where he had been working as a plant breeder for the past five years, and he had now finally worked in his months notice. It had originally been his intention to leave Potchefstroom as early as possible but then he decided at the last moment that his car needed new tires and a wheel alignment and this had delayed his departure to the late afternoon of that day.
He was 31 years old but he looked considerably younger than his actual age. Being of average height and weight and not particularly good looking he was always aware that people did not notice him. He had got used to being easily overlooked. But in spite of his misgivings regarding his chances of success he had responded to the job advertisement in the Sunday Times for the position of senior plant breeder at an international agrochemical and seed company based in the industrial township of Isando which was geographically speaking located between Kempton Park and Boksburg, and was also close to Jan Smuts Airport. In the interview for the job he proved to be the most experienced and knowledgeable candidate and was given the job with no one expressing any reservations regarding his suitability for the appointment.
For the previous past five years he had been submerged, almost completely, in a social and cultural milieu where Afrikaans as a language reigned supreme. He was born in Mooi River in the Natal midlands. He grew up on the family dairy farm that had been owned by the Guzmán family for decades. Being a Natal boy it took a while for him to become proficient in Afrikaans. His merit verslag (performance appraisal) depended heavily on his Afrikaans language proficiency. He was always amused to discover that new comers to the Summer Grain Centre often mistook him to be Afrikaans speaking or Afrikaans in other words. In fact he started to dream in Afrikaans. Often days went by when he never spoke or heard or read a single word of English, sometimes he had to consciously apply his mind to find the appropriate English term or word or phrase to express an idea or thought especially when he was writing up his research or drafting a report in English. Sometime he wondered if it were possible to lose one’s ethnic or cultural identity or whether one could be readily assimilated into another culture if one allowed oneself to become submerged in that culture. Obvious humans were capable of significant degrees of phenotypic or behavioural plasticity. He had proven this with his own experiences. Ironically it was his fluency in Afrikaans that had also been a major factor in his favour in the job interview, which was eventually conducted in Afrikaans, as all of the professional research officers and managers present at the interview were Afrikaans speaking. They treated him as one of their own. Even his surname sounded Afrikaans. They were quite serious when they firmly shook his hand at the end of interview and told him
“Jy is n’Boer net soos ons.” (You are an Afrikaner just like us.)
This admission had come out of blue after they had spent almost an hour discussing rugby. It was by sheer chance that he landed up at the Officers Training Academy in Heidelberg and had earned the rank of second lieutenant during his National Military Service. This fact, together with the disclosure that he had grown up as a farm boy in the Natal midlands added additional weight to his curriculum vitae. They were all unanimous in recognizing that he was definitely one of them, a Boer by adoption.
After the completion of his National Military Service he was obliged to do annual military duties as a citizen force soldier. Because of apartheid military service had become a seemingly endless obligation for the majority of white males who were born in the country or who had become naturalized citizens. Of course as an officer in the citizen force when he moved to Potchefstroom from Natal he was also reassigned to the Johannesburg Regiment. In 1975 he had been called up for Operation Savannah in Angola. The fact that he had been in the Angolan invasion made him a brother in arms with the interviewers, all of whom had also been on a tour of duty in Angola during that time. The interview eventually ended after they had spent another hour reminiscing about their days in the army and in the Angolan war, while he sat quietly at the polished boardroom table and politely listened to their conversation without making any contribution to the discussion other than answering questions when directed specifically at him about his army experiences or his rugby playing history. He came across as an unassuming and likable character even though there was something enigmatic and mysterious about him, which seemed to be linked to his darker than normal skin tone, but then again this phenotypic attribute was not unacceptably unusual since a sizeable minority of Afrikaners were also of a darker shade of skin tone than the average, however any probing reflection on the possibly of one’s own history of miscegenation was a taboo topic amongst the majority of whites. His facial features were definitely of European origin, so his ancestry was clearly from the old country. Yet while his physiognomic bona fides seemed to be in order none of the interviewers could put a precise finger on what exactly it was that made him so strangely enigmatic and mysterious, and yet highly likable at the same time.
He would be starting his new job on Monday. It seemed a good idea for him to book into the Southern Suns Hotel next to Jan Smuts Airport until he had found suitable accommodation close to Isando. As he drove out of Potchefstroom he began to plan in his mind how he will occupy himself until Monday morning. He had exactly four days to kill, that is, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday, before starting his new job. He decided that after booking in at the hotel he would first take in a movie at Eastgate and then after the movie he would have a big 500g T-bone steak and chips at one of the restaurants. He could spend the whole of Thursday, Friday and Saturday catching up on all the new movies at Eastgate and perhaps he could also visit other movie theatres in Johannesburg. Sunday he would definitely sleep late and spend the day hunkered down in his hotel room reading the Sunday newspapers. Anyway he was looking forward to a veritable film festival of movie watching. While mulling over all the options with respect to what he could do for the next couple of days during his well-deserved break which was going to be devoted solely to relaxation and recreation he spotted a hitchhiker standing at the side of road and decided to stop and give him a lift. He glanced at his watch. It was now 16.45 and if the road was not too busy he would be able to book into the hotel before seven-o-clock that evening. In his review mirror the sun remained hidden behind the grey skies, but it was still well above the horizon. The countryside looked grim and desolate in the weak and diffuse afternoon sunlight.
Slowing down sharply after passing the hitchhiker he stopped the car at the side of the road. In the rear view mirror he could see that it was a young Indian man who was running towards the car. He opened the passenger door and the hitchhiker bent over and peered into the car.
“Hi, I’m going to Lenasia,” he said.
“I’m going to Johannesburg, hop in.”
After minute or two he said: “I’m Trevor Guzmán”
“I’m Brendan Abrahams.”
“
Are you from Potchefstroom?” Trevor asked.
“I stay in Potchefstroom during the week. I am a teacher at an Indian primary school. I hitchhike to Lenasia almost every Friday and then I hitchhike back to Potchefstroom on Sunday afternoons. But now that the July school holidays have started I am going to be staying with family in Durban. In fact I will be travelling down to Durban tonight. My elder brother is getting married in Phoenix in Durban on Saturday. We will all be trekking down to Phoenix later tonight in a convoy of Kombis with family and friends,” said Brendan.
“I will happy if you can drop me off at the Lenasia turn-off,” he said.
“That should not be a problem,” Trevor replied.
“Do you live in Joburg?” Brendon asked.
“No. Up until today I have been living and working in Potchefstroom. I am actually starting at new job in Isando next week. I have not yet decided where I am going to stay. I might find a place either in Boksburg or Kempton Park, I will have to see,” Trevor answered.
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I am a geneticist and I have been involved in crop breeding