Ten minutes later the warder led Manfred through to a green-painted cell with high barred windows, furnished only with a plain deal table and three straight-backed chairs.
There was an old man sitting on one of the chairs, but he was a stranger and Manfred looked beyond him expectantly.
The stranger stood up slowly. He was bowed with age and hard work, his skin wrinkled and folded and spotted by the sun. His hair was thin and white as raw cotton, wisped over a scalp that was speckled like a plover's egg. His thin scraggy neck stuck out of the coarse calico prison uniform like a turtle's from the opening of its carapace, and his eyes were colourless, faded and red-rimmed and swimming with tears that gathered like dew on his lashes.
Papa? Manfred asked with disbelief as he saw the missing arm, and the old man began to weep silently. His shoulders shook and the tears broke over the reddened rims of his eyelids and shmed down his cheeks.
Papa' said Manfred, and outrage rose to choke him. What have they done to you? He rushed forward to embrace his father, trying to hide his face from the warder, trying to protect him, to cover his weakness and tears.
Papa! Papa! he repeated helplessly, patting the thin shoulders under the rough uniform, and he turned his head and looked back at the warder in silent appeal.
I cannot leave you alone. The man understood, but shook his head.
it is the rule, more than my job is worth., Please, Manfred whispered.
Do you give me your word, as a brother, that you will not try to help him escape? My word as a brother! Manfred answered.
Ten minutes, said the warder. I can give you no more. He turned away, locking the green steel door as he left.
4 Papa. Manfred led the trembling old man back to the chair and knelt beside him.
Lothar De La Rey wiped his wet cheeks with his open palm and tried to smile, but it wavered and his voice quivered. Look at me, blubbering like an old woman. It was just the shock of seeing you again. I'm all right now. I'm fine.
Let me look at you, let me just look at you for a moment. He drew back and stared into Manfred's face intently.
What a man you have become, strong and well favoured, just like I was at your age. He traced Manfred's features with his fingertips. His hand was cold and the skin was rough as sharkskin.
I have read about you, my son. They allow us to have the newspapers. I have cut out everything about you and I keep them under my mattress. I'm proud, so proud. We all are, everybody in this place, even the narks. Papa! How are they treating you? Manfred cut him short.
Fine, Manie, just fine. Lothar looked down and his lips sagged with despair. It's just that, for ever is such a long time. So long, Manie, so very long and sometimes I think about the desert, about the horizons that turn to distant smoke and the high blue sky. He broke off and tried to smile. And I think about you, every day, not a day that I don't pray to God 'Look after my son.' No, Papa, please, Manfred pleaded. Don't! You will have me weeping too. He pushed himself off his knees and pulled the other chair close to his father's. I've thought about you also, Papa, everyday. I wanted to write to you. I spoke to Uncle Tromp, but he said it was best if, Lothar seized his hand to silence him. Ja, Manie, it was best. Tromp Bierman is a wise man; he knows best. He smiled more convincingly. 'How tall you have grown, and the colour of your hair, just like mine used to be. You will be all right, I know. What have you decided to do with your life? Tell me quickly. We have so little time. I am studying law at Stellenbosch. I passed third in the first year. That is wonderful, my son, and afterwards? I am not sure, Papa, but I think I must fight for our nation.
I think I have been called to the fight for justice for our people. Politics? Lothar asked, and when Manfred nodded, A hard road, full of turns and twists. I always preferred the straight road, with a horse under me and a rifle in my hand. Then he chuckled sardonically. And look where that road has led me. I will fight too, Papa. When the time is right, on a battleground of my own choosing., Oh, my son. History is so cruel to our people. Sometimes I think with despair that we are doomed always to be the underdogs. 'You are wrong! Manfred's expression hardened and his voice crackled. 'Our day will come, is already dawning. We will not be the underdogs for much longer. He wanted to tell his father, but then he remembered his blood oath and he was silent.
Manie. His father leaned closer, glancing around the cell like a conspirator before he tugged at Manfred's sleeve. The diamonds, have you still got your diamonds? he demanded, and immediately saw the answer in Manfred's face.
What happened to them? Lothar's distress was hard to watch. 'They were my legacy to you, all I could leave you.
Where are they? Uncle Tromp, he found them years ago. He said they were evil, the coin of the devil, and he made me destroy them. 'Destroy them? Lothar gaped at him.
Break them on an anvil with a sledgehammer. Crush them to powder, all of them. Manfred watched his father's old fierce spirit flare up.
Lothar leapt to his feet and raged around the cell. Tromp Bierman, if I could get my hand on you! You were always a 1stubborn sanctimonious hypocrite, He broke off and came back to his son.
Manie, there are the others. Do you remember, the kopjeZ the hill in the desert? I left them there for you. You must
go back.
Manfred turned his head away. Over the years he had tried to drive the memory from his mind. It was evil, the memory of great evil, associated with terror and guilt and grief. He had tried to close his mind to that time in his life. It was long ago, and he had almost succeeded, but now at his father's words he tasted again the reek of gangrene in the back of his throat and saw the package of treasure slide down into the cleft in the granite.
I have forgotten the way back, Papa. I could never find the way back. Lothar was pulling at his arm. Hendrick! he babbled.
Swart Hendrick! He knows, he can lead you. Hendrick. Manfred blinked. A name, half-forgotten, a fragment from his past; then suddenly and clearly an image of that great bald head, that black cannonball of a head, sprang
