moment it seemed she might burst out with some long-hidden truth, or with a terrible secret that she had carried too long alone. Then he saw her expression firm and it was almost possible to watch the strength and force which had been drained from her since Blaine's death flow back into her.
It was a little miracle. Age seemed to fall away from her. Her eyes brightened and her carriage of head and shoulders was once more erect and perky. Even the lines and creases around her eyes and mouth seemed to smooth away.
'What ever gave you that idea?' she asked crisply, and stood up.
Tve been moping and pining far too long. Blaine would never have approved of that.' She took Shasa's arm. 'Come along. I've still got a life to live and work to do.' Half-way down the hill, she asked suddenly, 'When does the trial of Moses Gama begin?' 'The tenth of next month.' 'Do you know he once worked for us, this Moses Gama?' 'Yes, Mater. I remembered him. That was how I was able to sto him.' He was a terrible troublemaker even in those days. We must d all we can to enstlre that he pays the extreme penalty. That is th least we can do for Blaine's memory.' 'I don't understand why you are saddling me with this little scrubber, Desmond Blake protested acidly. He had been twenty-two years on th.
newspaper and before the gin bottle had taken over, he had been th.
best courtroom and political journalist on the staff of the Golde City Mail. The quantities of gin which he absorbed had not onl placed a ceiling on his career but had greyed and prematurely line his face, ruined his liver and soured his disposition without, how.
ever, clouding his insight into the criminal mind nor spoiling hi political acumen.
'Well, he is a bright lad,' his editor explained reasonably.
'This is the biggest, most sensational trial of our century,' Desmond Blake said, 'and you want me to drag a cub reporter with me, a puking infant who couldn't even cover a local flower show or a mayoral tea party.' 'I think he has a lot of potential - I just want you to take him in hand and show him the ropes.' 'Bullshit!' said Desmond Blake. 'Now tell me the real reason.' 'All right.' The editor showed his exasperation. 'The real reason is that his grandmother is Centaine Courtney and his father is Shasa Courtney, and Courtney Mining and Finance have acquired thirty-five percent of the shareholding of our parent company over the past months, and if you know nothing else you should know that nobody bucks Centaine Courtney, not if they want to remain in business. Now take the kid with you and stop bitciting. I haven't got time to argue any more - I've got a paper to get out.' Desmond Blake threw up both hands in despair, and as he rose to leave the office his editor added one last unsubtle threat.
'Just look at it this way, Des. It will be good job insurance, especially for an aging newshound who needs the price of a bottle of gin a day. Just think of the kid as the boss's son.' Desmond wandered lugubriously down the length of the city room.
He knew the boy by sight. Somebody had pointed him out as a sprig of the Courtney empire and wondered aloud what the hell he was doing here instead of on the polo field.
Desmond stopped beside the corner desk which Michael was sharing with two other juniors.
'Your name is Michael Courtney?' he asked, and the boy leapt to his feet.
'Yes, sir.' Michael was overcome at being directly addressed by somebody who had his own column and by- line.
'Shit!' said Desmond bitterly. 'Nothing is more depressing than the shining face of youth and enthusiasm. Come along, boy.' 'Where are we going?' Michael snatched up his jacket eagerly.
'To the George, boy. I need a double to give me the strength to go through with this little lark.' At the bar of the George, he studied Michael over the rim of his glass.
'Your first lesson, boy --' he took a swallow of gin and tonic.
'Nothing is ever what it seems to be. Nobody is ever what he says he is. Engrave that on your heart. Your second lesson. Stick to your orange juice. They don't call this stuff mother's ruin for nothing.
Your third lesson. Always pay for the drinks with a smile.' He took another swig. 'So you are from Cape Town, are you? Well that's just fine, because that is where we are going, you and me. We are going to see a man condemned to die.' Vicky Gama took the bus from Baragwanath Hospital to Drake's Farm. It went 0my as far as the administration building and the new government school. She had to walk the last mile through the narrow dusty lanes between the rows of raw brick cottages. She walked slowly, for although her pregnancy was only four months advanced, she was beginning to tire easily.
Hendrick Tabaka was in the crowded general dealer's shop, watching the tills, but he came to Vicky immediately and she greeted him with the respect due to her husband's eldest brother. He led her through to his of.rice, and called for one of his sons to bring her a comfortable chair.
Vicky recognized Raleigh Tabaka, and smiled at him as he placed her chair. 'You have grown into a fine young man, Raleigh. Have you finished your schooling now?' 'Yebo, sissie.' Raleigh returned her greeting with polite reserve, for even though she was the wife of his uncle, she was a Zulu. His father had taught him to distrust all Zulus. 'I help my father now, sisMe. I learn the business from him and soon I will manage one of the shops on my own.' Hendrick Tabaka smiled proudly at his favourite son. 'He learns fast, and I have great faith in the boy.' He endorsed what Raleigh had said. 'I am sending him soon to our shop at Sharpeville near Vereeniging to learn the bakery business.' Where is your twin brother, Wellington?' Vicky asked, and immediately Hendrick Tabaka frowned heavily and waved at Raleigh to leave the office. As soon as they were alone, he answered her question angrily. 'The white priests have captured Wellington's heart. They have seduced him from the gods of his tribe and his ancestors and taken him to the service of the white man's God. This strange Jesus God with three heads. It grieves me deeply, for I had hoped that Wellington, like Raleigh, would be the son of my old age. Now he studies to be a priest, and I have lost him.' He sat down at the tiny cluttered table that served him as a desk and studied his own hands for a moment. Then he raised that bald cannonball head, the scalp criss-crossed with ridged scars from old battles.
'So, wife of my brother, we live in a time of great sorrow. Moses Gama has been taken by the white men's police, and we cannot doubt what they will do with him. Even in my sorrow, I must recall that I warned him that this would happen. A wise man does not throw stones at the sleeping lion.' 'Moses Gama did what he knew was his duty. He lived out the deed for which he was born,' Vicky said quietly. 'He struck a blow for all of us - you and me and our children.' She touched her belly where beneath the white nurse's uniform the first bulge of her pregnancy showed. 'And now he needs our help.' 'Tell me how I can help.' Hendrick inclined his head. 'For he was not only my brother, but my chief as well.' 'We need money to hire a lawyer to defend him in the white man's court. I have been to see Marcus Archer and the others of the ANC at the house in Rivonia. They will not help us. They say that Moses acted without their agreement or approval. They say that it was agreed not to endanger human life. They say that if they give us money to help in the defence, the police will trace it to them. They say many other things - everything
