Roots of Outrage. John Davis Gordon
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was overthrown tomorrow, you honestly think that the blacks could successfully take over the administration of this country?’ He shook his head. ‘It would be a shambles.’
‘Anything,’ she said, ‘would be better than apartheid. Like anything would have been better than the Nazis in Germany. And you, sir –’ she placed her fingertip on his nose – ‘are a racist in your secret heart.’
But what the fuck were they going to do about each other? About the real world.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘This is the real world. We’ll do nothing, until we’re caught and sent to jail.’ She added: ‘Or until you leave me.’
Oh, bullshit. ‘So that only leaves one alternative: leave South Africa.’
‘I’m not leaving South Africa, Luke.’
He sighed angrily. ‘So that only leaves jail. And when we come out, what happens? Get caught again?’
‘True. So? So there’s only one thing to do.’
‘And that is?’
She said solemnly: ‘Capitalize and get married.’
He wondered if he had heard aright.
She smiled. ‘We get married in Swaziland in a blaze of publicity. You set it up through Drum and we’ll get other newspapers involved. “Young White Lawyer Defiantly Marries Indian Wench.” We drive back into South Africa to set up our happy home, we get arrested the first night and thrown in jail. Outcry. A black eye for South Africa.’
He groaned. ‘Be serious, for God’s sake. We go and live somewhere else. In England. In Swaziland.’
She smiled at him. Tenderly. ‘Thank you, Luke. And I love you too. But darling? This is my country of birth and I’m going to stay and see it through.’
‘See what through? Our jail terms? The bloodbath?’
‘I’m going to see those bastards in jail. A Nuremberg trial. Crimes against humanity.’
He took both her hands. ‘We can’t wait for that. We have no alternative but to leave the country.’
She sighed. ‘Yes we have. And that is to quit.’ She looked at him. ‘Split up. Before we’re caught. And never see each other again.’
He stared at her. ‘You don’t want that, so don’t say it. Ask yourself what you do want. And how you can achieve it.’
‘I want,’ she said, ‘a hell of a lot more than most women. I don’t just want a nice home and a nice husband with a nice job and nice children – I want justice for all. Freedom. Legal freedom – instead of legal bondage. And how do we achieve that? By getting rid of this Afrikaner government.’
‘You’re preaching to the converted.’
‘Yes, but you’re not prepared to fight for it. I am.’
Oh Jesus. He said grimly: ‘You’re right, I’m not prepared to fight for it – because you can’t win, because they’ve got all the big battalions. All the laws. But I’m prepared to work for it –’
‘By leaving the country?’
‘By writing about it. Creating a fuss, raising public awareness, international public awareness –’
‘From outside the country.’
‘Jesus Christ, I only want to leave so that I can live with you! As we can’t do that here we’ve got to do the best we can from outside. You can’t fight if you’re in jail, Patti.’ He glared at her. ‘Tell me how you’re going to fight, Patti.’
She said grimly. ‘Ask no questions and you’ll get no lies.’
Oh Jesus, words like that frightened him. ‘For Christ’s sake! Tell me what you’re doing! So I can evaluate it!’
‘Evaluate it? And if you don’t approve?’ she said grimly. ‘What you don’t know you can’t be forced to tell Colonel Krombrink next time he pulls you in.’
‘For God’s sake! Do you think I’d betray you?’
‘I think our cops can make anybody betray anybody. Unless you throw yourself out of one of their upper windows.’
He paced across the room. ‘Patti – I can’t live like this, tell me what you’re doing. So that maybe I can … help you. Protect you.’
‘Help me?’ She smiled fondly ‘You weren’t meant to be a fighter, Luke. You’re a great guy, and I love you to bits, and you’re an adventurer, but you’re not a warrior, you’re a worrier – that’s why you’re such a good writer. You’re a wordsmith – that’s what nature intended you to be, and that’s wonderful.’
He was stung. Not a fighter? He sat down and took her hands. ‘But you are a fighter?’
‘Yep.’ Then she closed her eyes. ‘Darling, I’m doing nothing.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
She snorted softly. ‘Too bad. Nor would Colonel Krombrink.’
He glared at her. Too bad, huh? He stood up angrily. ‘Okay. That’s it. You don’t trust me. And I don’t trust you not to land us in the shit. So neither of us trusts the other. And we can’t live inside the country, and you refuse to leave. So you don’t love me enough. So there’s no future in this relationship. So? So I’m off. I’m getting out of your hair.’
She looked up at him. ‘On the contrary,’ she said quietly, ‘I love you with all my heart.’
‘But not enough to run away with me!’
‘I’m not a runner. I’m a stayer.’
He glared at her. ‘Goodbye, Patti. It’s been great. I really mean that.’
Her eyes were moist. She said: ‘Next weekend I’ll be here.’
It was a long week.
‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you too,’ she said. ‘But as you say, there’s no future in it. So let’s just have fun. Fun-fucking, that’s all we’re really good for, Mr Mahoney. So, tell me a fantasy.’
He wondered if he’d heard that right. ‘A fantasy?’
She smiled in the dark. ‘A sexual fantasy. Everybody has them, so tell me yours.’
He was astonished. ‘You are my sexual fantasy.’
‘I can’t be, because you’ve got me. But you can have a fantasy involving me. Wouldn’t that be fun? Exciting?’
‘Involving you?’
She smiled. ‘For example wouldn’t you like to fuck two girls at the same time – me and another girl?’
It shocked him. And it was wildly erotic.
She grinned. ‘Poor baby, do I shock you?’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
She smiled. ‘Because for all your maturity you’re a well-brought-up Anglo-Saxon who believes in love and marriage and being faithful.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘Oh I do, I’m well-brought-up too. But I’m an Indian girl in South Africa so I’m not allowed to have love and marriage with you. I’m not allowed by law to be jealous about you. So I’m making myself bulletproof. So, tell me your fantasies.’
‘I wish we could stop talking about apartheid.’
‘So do I – oh don’t I just. I wish apartheid wasn’t there, to be talked about, but it is. So, I can’t