The eyes were her own, she recognized them immediately.
This was her grandchild, she knew it instinctively, and the shock of it made her tremble. They stared at each other.
Then she gathered herself and approached him slowly. She held out her hand and smiled.
Hello, she said. What is your name? I am Lothar De La Rey, he answered importantly. And I am nearly eight years old. Lothar! she thought, and the name brought all the memories and heartaches back to swamp her emotions. Still she managed to hold the smile.
What a big fine boy, she began, and she had almost touched his cheek when the woman appeared in the door behind him.
What are you doing here, Lothie? she scolded. You have not finished your dinner. Back to the table this instant, do you hear? The child bolted from the room and the woman smiled at Centaine.
I'm sorry. He is at the inquisitive age, she apologized.
My husband will see you, Mevrou. Please come with me. Still shaken from her brief encounter with her grandchild Centaine was unprepared for the additional shock of meeting her son face to face. He stood behind a desk that was strewn with documents and he glared at her with that disconcerting yellow gaze.
I cannot tell you that you are welcome in this house, Mrs Malcomess. He spoke in English. You are a blood enemy of my family, and of mine. That is not true. Centaine found her voice was breathless, and she tried desperately to regain control.
Manfred made a dismissive gesture. You robbed and cheated my father, you crippled him, and through you he has spent half his life in prison. If you could see him now, an old man broken and discarded, you would not come here seeking favours from me. Are you certain I came for a favour? she asked, and he laughed bitterly.
For what other reason? You have hounded me, from the day I first saw you in the courtroom at my father's trial. I have seen you watching me, following me, stalking me, like a hungry lioness. I know you seek to destroy me as you destroyed my father. No! She shook her head vehemently, but he went on remorselessly.
Now you dare to come and beg my favour. I know what you want. He pulled open the drawer of his desk and lifted out a file. He opened it and let the papers it contained spill upon the desktop. Amongst them she recognized French birth certificates and old newspaper clippings.
Shall I read all these to you or will you read them yourself? What other proof do I need to show the world that you are a whore and your son a bastard? he asked, and she flinched at the words.
You have been very thorough, she said softly.
Yes, he agreed. Very thorough. I have all the evidence No, she contradicted him. Not all the evidence. You know about one bastard son of mine, but there is another bastard. I will tell you about my second bastard. For the first time he was uncertain, staring at her, at a loss for words. Then he shook his head.
You are shameless, he marvelled. You flaunt your sins before the world. Not before the world, she said. Only before the person they concern most. Only before you, Manfred De La Rey. I do not understand. Then I shall explain why I followed you, as you put it hounded and stalked you like a lioness. It was not the way a lioness stalks her prey, it was the way a lioness follows her cub. You see, Manfred, you are my other son. I gave birth to you in the desert and Lothar took you away before I had seen your face. You are my son and Shasa is your halfbrother. If he is a bastard, so are you. If you destroy him with that fact, you destroy yourself., I do not believe you! He recoiled from her. Lies! All lies!
My mother was a German woman of noble birth. I have her photograph. There! Look there on the wall! Centaine glanced at it. 'That was Lothar's wife,, she agreed. She died almost two years before you were born. No. It's not true. It cannot be true. Ask your father, Manfred, she said softly. Go to Windhoek. The date of that woman's death will be registered there. He saw it was true, and he slumped down into his chair and buried his face in his hands.
if you are my mother, how can I hate you so bitterly? She went and stood over him. Not as bitterly as I have hated myself for renouncing and abandoning you. She bent and kissed his head. If only - she whispered.
But now it is too late, far too late. As you have said, we are enemies separated by a void as wide as the ocean. Neither of us can ever cross it, but I do not hate you, Manfred, my son. I have never hated you. She left him slumped at his desk and walked slowly from the room.
At noon the following day Andrew Duggan telephoned her.
My informant has retracted his allegations, Centaine. He tells me that the papers, all the papers connected to the case, have been burned. I think somebody got at him, Centaine, but I cannot for the life of me think who. On 25 May 1948, the day before polling for the general election, Manfred addressed a huge crowd in the Dutch Reformed Church hall in Stellenbosch. All of them were staunch Nationalist supporters. No opposition was allowed to enter the hall, Roelf Stander and his action squad saw to that.
Yet when Manfred rose to speak, he also was prevented from doing so. The standing ovation that the crowd gave him kept him silent for fully five minutes. However, when it was over, they sat and listened in attentive silence as he gave them a vision of the future.
Under Smuts this land of ours will become peopled by a coffee-coloured race of half-bred mongrels, the only white ones left will be the Jews, those same Jews who at this very moment in Palestine are murdering innocent British soldiers at every turn. As you well know, Smuts has hastened to recognize the new state of Israel. That is only to be expected. His paymasters are the Jewish owners of the gold mines, Now the crowd cried: Skande, Scandal! and he paused impressively before he went on.
What we offer you instead is a plan, nay more than a plan, a vision, a bold and noble vision which will ensure the survival of the pure untainted bloodlines of our VoLk. A vision that will at the same time protect all the other people of this land, the Cape coloureds, the Indians, the black tribes.
This grand concept has been drawn up by clever men working with dedication and without self-interest, men like Dr Theophilus Donges and Dr Nicolaas Diederichs and Dr Hendrik Frensch Verwoerd, brilliant men every one of them. The crowd roared their agreement, and he sipped a glass of water and shuffled his notes until they quieted.
It is an idealistic, carefully worked out and completely infallible concept that will allow all the different races to live in peace and dignity and prosperity and yet allow each of them to retain its separate identity and culture. For
