'Wait,' he said. 'I will open the door.' He loomed in the doorway, naked except for a pair of white shorts, and his body shone in the moonlight like wet tar.
'You are foolish to come here,' he said, and taking her arm drew her into the single room. 'You are putting everything at risk.' 'Moses, please, listen to me. I had to tell you. It cannot be tomorrow.' He stared at her contemptuously. 'You were never a true daughter of the revolution.' 'No, no, I am true, and I love you enough to do anything, but they have changed the arrangements. They will not use the chamber where you have set the charge. They will meet in the parliamentary dining-room.' He stared at her a second longer, then he turned and went to the narrow built-in cupboard at the head of his bed and began to dress in his uniform.
'What are you going to dot she asked.
'I have to warn the others - they also are in danger.' 'What others'?.' she asked. 'I did not know there were others.' 'You know only what you have to know,' he told her curtly. 'I must use the Chev - is it safe?' 'Yes, Shasa is not here. He has gone out. Can I come with you.'?' 'Are you mad?' he asked. 'If the police find a black man and a white woman together at this time of night--' he did not finish the sentence. 'You must go back to the house and make a phone call.
Here is the number. A woman will answer, and you will say only 'Cheetah is coming - he will be there in thirty minutes.' That is all you will say and then you will hang up.' Moses threaded the Chev through the maze of narrow streets c District Six, the old Malay quarter. During the day this was colourful and thriving community of small stores and businesse..
General dealers and tailors and tinsmiths and halaal butcherk occupied the ground-floor shops of the decrepit Victorian building while from the cast-iron fretwork of the open balconies above him a festival of drying laundry, and the convoluted streets were clarr.
orous with the cries of street vendors, the mournful horns of itinerar fishmongers and the laughter of children.
At nightfall the traders shuttered their premises and left the streel to the street gangs and the pimps and the prostitutes. Some of th more daring white revellers came here late at night, to listen to th jazz players in the crowded shebeens or to look for a pretty coloure, girl - more for the thrill of danger and discovery than for any physJ cal gratification.
Moses parked the Chev in a dark side street. On the wall were th graffiti that declared this the territory of the Rude Boys, one of th most notorious of the street gangs, and he waited only a few second before the first gang member materialized out of the shadows, all urchin with the body of a child and the face of a vicious old man.
'Look after it well,' Moses flipped him a silver shilling. 'If th tyres are slashed when I come back, I'll do the same for your back side.' The child grinned at him evilly.
He climbed the dark and narrow staircase to the Vortex Club. t couple on the landing were copulating furtively but furiously agains the wall as Moses squeezed past. The white man turned his fac away but he never missed a beat.
At the door to the club somebody studied him briefly through th peephole and then let him enter. The long crowded room was haz with tobacco smoke and the sweet smell of cannabis. The clientel included the full spectrum from gang members in zoot suits an( wide ties to white men in dinNer-jackets. Only the women were all coloured.
Dollar Brand 'and his Quartet were playing a sweet soulful jaz and everybody was still and attentive. Nobody even looked up a Moses slipped down the side wall to the door at the far end, but th man guarding it recognized Moses and stood aside for him to enter In the backroom there was only one man sitting at a rounc gambling table under a green shaded light. There was a cigarette smouldering between his fingers, and his face was pale as putty, hi, eyes implacable dark pits.
'You are foolhardy to call a meeting now,' said Joe Cicero, 'with.
out good reason. All the preparations have been made. There is nothing more to discuss.' 'I have good reason,' said Moses, and sat down on the empty chair, facing him across the baize-covered table.
Joe Cicero listened without expression, but when Moses finished, he pushed the lank hair off his forehead with the back of his hand.
Moses had learned to interpret that gesture as one of agitation.
'We cannot dismantle the escape route and then set it up again later. These things take time to arrange. The aircraft is already in position.' It was an Aztec chartered from a company in Johannesburg, and the pilot was a lecturer in political philosophy at Witwatersrand University, the holder of a private pilot's licence and a secret member of the South African Communist Party.
'How long can he wait at the rendezvous?' Moses asked, and Cicero thought about it a moment.
'A week at the longest,' he replied.
The rendezvous was an unregistered airstrip on a large droughtstricken ranch in Namaqualand which was lying derelict, abandoned by the discouraged owner. From the airfield it was a four-hour flight to Bechuanaland, the British protectorate that lay against the northwestern .border of the Union of South Africa. Sanctuary had been arranged for Moses there, the beginning of the pipeline by which most political fugitives were channelled to the north.
'A week must be enough,' Moses said. 'Every hour increases the danger. At the very first occasion that we can be sure Verwoerd will take his seat again, I will do it.' It was four o'clock in the morning before Moses left the Vortex Club and went down to where he had parked the Chev.
Kitty Godolphin sat in the centre of the bed, naked and crosslegged with all the shameless candour of a child.
In the years Shasa had known her, she had changed very little physically. Her body had matured slightly, her breasts had more weight to them and the tips had darkened. He could no longer make out the rack of her ribs beneath the smooth pale skin, but her buttocks were still lean as a boy's and her limbs coltishly long and slim.
Nor had she lost the air of guileless innocence, that aura of eternal youth which so contrasted with the cynical hardness of her gaze. She was telling him about the Congo. She had been there for the last five months and the material she had filmed would surely put her in line for her third Emmy and confirm her position as the most successful television journalist on the American networks. She was speaking in the breathless voice of an ingdnue.
