She smiled at the usher and withdrew surreptitiously, then turned and hurried away down the wide panelled corridor. When she had finished in the ladies room, she headed for her father's office, which she used as her own.
As she turned the corner she almost collided with a man coming in the opposite direction. She checked only just in time, and saw that he was a tall black man dressed in the uniform of a parliamentary servant.
She would have passed on with a nod and a smile, when it occurred to her that a servant should not have been in this section of the building during the time when the House was in session, for the offices of the prime minister and the leader of the opposition were at the end of the corridor. Then again, although the servant carried a mop and pail, there was something about him that was neither menial nor servile and she looked sharply at his face.
She felt an electric tingle of recognition. It had been many years, but she could never forget that face - the features of an Egyptian pharaoh, noble and fierce, the dark eyes alive with intelligence. He was still one of the finest-looking men she had ever seen, and she remembered his voice, deep and thrilling so that the memory of it made her shiver slightly. She even remembered his words: 'There is a generation, whose teeth are as swords ... to devour the poor from the earth.' It was this man who had given her the first glimmer of understanding as to what it was like to be born black in South Africa. Her true commitment dated from that distant meeting. This man had changed her life with a few words.
She stopped, blocking his path, and tried to find some way to convey her feelings to him, but her throat had closed and she found she was trembling from the shock. The instant he knew he had been recognized, he changed, like a leopard coming on guard as it becomes aware of the hunters. Tara sensed she was in danger, for a sense of African cruelty invested him, but she was unafraid.
'I am a friend,' she said softly, and stood aside to let him pass.
Our cause is the same.' He did not move for a moment, but stared at her. She knew that Then he passed around the corner him, and her heart throat.
he would never forget her again, his scrutiny seemed to set her skin on fire, and then he nodded.
'I know you,' he acknowledged, and once again his voice made her shiver, deep and melodious, filled with the rhythm and cadence of Africa. 'We will meet again.' on and without a backward glance disappeared of the panelled corridor. She stood staring after was pounding, her breath burned the back of her 'Moses Gama,' she whispered his name aloud. 'Messiah and warrior of Africa --' then she paused and shook her head. 'What are you doing here, in this of all places?' The possibilities intrigued and stirred her, for now she knew with a deep instinct that the crusade was afoot, and she longed to be part of it. She wanted to do more than merely stand on a street corner with a black sash draped over her shoulder. She knew Moses Gama had only to crook his finger and she would follow him, she and ten million others.
'We will meet again,' he had promised, and she believed him.
Light with joy she went on down the passageway. She had her own key to her father's office and as she fitted it to the lock, her eyes were on a level with the brass plate: COLONEL BLAINE MALCOMESS DEPUTY LEADER OF THE OPPOSITION With surprise she found that the lock was already opened, and she pushed the door wide and went in.
Centaine Courtney-Malcomess turned from the window beyond the desk to confront her. 'I have been waiting for you, young lady.' Centaine's French accent was an affectation that annoyed Tara. She has been back to France just once in thirty-five years, she thought, and lifted her chin defiantly.
'Don't toss your head at me, Tara chbrie,' Centaine went on.
'When you act like a child, you must expect to be treated as a child.' 'No, Mater, you are wrong. I do not expect you to treat me as a child, not now or ever. I am a married woman of thirty-three years of age, the mother of four children and the mistress of my own establishment.' Centaine sighed. 'All right,' she nodded. 'My concern made me illmannered, and I apologize. Let's not make this discussion any more difficult for each other than it already is.' 'I was not aware that we needed to discuss anything.' 'Sit down, Tara,' Centaine ordered, and Tara obeyed instinctively ,! !
ii, i, :i i
?
?
:
and then was annoyed with herself for doing so. Centaine took her father's chair behind the desk, and Tara resented that also - it was Daddy's chair and this woman had no right to it.
'You have just told me that you are a wife with four children,' Centaine spoke quietly. 'Would you not agree that you have a duty--' 'My children are well cared for,' Tara flared at her. 'You cannot accuse me of that.' 'And what about your husband and your marriage9.' 'What about Shasa?' Tara was immediately defensive.
'You tell me,' Centaine invited.
'It's none of your business.' 'Oh, but it is,' Centaine contradicted her. 'I have devoted my entire life to Shasa. I plan for him to be one of the leaders of this nation.' She paused and a dreamy glaze covered her eyes for a moment, and she seemed to squint slightly.
Tara had noticed that expression before, whenever Centaine was in deep thought, and now she wanted to break in upon it as brutally as she could. 'That's impossible and you know it.' Centaine's eyes snapped back into focus and she glared at Tara.
'Nothing is impossible - not for me, not for us.' 'Oh yes it is,' Tara gloated. 'You know as well as I do that the Nationalists have gerrymandered the electorate, that they have even loaded the Senate with their own appointees. They are in power for ever. Never again will anyone who is not one of them, an Afrikaner Nationalist, ever be this country's leader, not until the revolution and when that is over, the leader will be a black man,' Tara broke off and thought for an instant of Moses Gama.
'You are naYve,' Centaine snapped. 'You do not understand these things. Your talk of revolution is childish and irresponsible.' 'Have it your own way, Mater. But deep down you know it's so.
Your darling Shasa will never fulfill your dream. Even he is beginning to sense the futility of being in opposition for ever. He is losing interest in the impossible. I wouldn't be surprised if he decides not to contest the next
