We detect a softness in him. Our psychologists believe that he will flinch from the hard and bloody work of the revolution. We know also that he does not have the same high regard for Mother Russia that you do. He has even called her the new oppressor, the colonialist of the twentieth century.' 'What about the others?' Moses asked.
'There are no others,' Joe told him flatly. 'It was either you or Mandela. It is you. That is the decision.' 'They want my answer now?' Moses stared into the tar pits of his eyes, but they had a strangely lifeless dullness in them and Joe Cicero shook his head.
'They want to meet you, talk to you, make sure you understand the bargain. Then you will be trained and groomed for the task ahead.' 'Where will this meeting take place?' Joe smiled and shrugged. 'In Moscow - where else?' And Moses did not let his amazement show on his face, though his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
'Moscow! How will I get there?' 'It has been arranged,' Joe assured him, and Moses lifted his head and stared at the tall thunderheads that rose in silver and blue splendour along the horizon. He was lost in thought for many minutes.
He felt his spirits grow light and take wing up towards those soaring thunder clouds. It had come - the moment for which he had worked and waited a lifetime. Destiny had cleared the field of all his rivals, and he had been chosen.
Like a victor's laurel they were offering a land and a crown.
'I will go to meet them,' he agreed softly.
'You will leave in two days' time. It will take me that long to make the final arrangements. In the meantime keep out of sight, do not attempt to take leave of any friends, do not tell anybody you are going - not even the Courtney woman or your new wife. I will get a message to you through Marcus Archer and if he is arrested before then, I will contact you at the expedition base at Sundi Caves. Professor Hurst is a sympathizer.' Joe dropped the butt of his'cigarette and while he ground it under his heel, he lit another. 'Now we will go back to the car.' Victoria Gama stood at the top end of the sloping lawns of the Baragwanath nurses' home. She was still dressed in her uniform with the badges of a nursing sister sparkling on her tunic, but she looked very young and self-conscious as she faced the hundred or so off-duty nurses who were gathered on the lawns below her. The white matron had refused permission for them to meet in the dining-hall, so they were standing out under a sky full of towering thunderheads.
'My sisters!' She held out her hands towards them. 'We have a duty to our patients - to those in pain, to those suffering and dying, to those who turn to us in trust. However, I believe that we have a higher duty and more sacred commitment to all our people who for three hundred years have suffered under a fierce and unrelenting oppression --' Victoria seemed to gather confidence as she spoke, and her sweet young voice had a music and rhythm that caught their attention.
She had always been popular with the other nurses, and her winning personality, her capacity for hard work and her unselfish attitude had seen her emerge, not only as one of the most senior nursing staff for her age, but also as an example and a trend-setter amongst the younger nurses. There were women ten and fifteen years older than she was, who listened now to her with attention and who applauded her when she paused for breath. Yheir applause and approval bolstered Victoria and her voice took on a sharper tone.
'Across the land our leaders, in actions rather than pale words, are showing the oppressors that we will no longer remain passive and acquiescent. They are crying to the world for justice and humanity.
What kind of women will we be if we stand aside and refuse to join them? How can we ignore the fact that our leaders are being arrested and harassed by the infernal laws --' There was a stir in the crowd of uniformed nurses, and the faces which had been lifted towards Victoria turned away and the expressions of rapt concentration changed to consternation. From the edges of the crowd one or two of the nurses broke away and scuttled back up the steps of the nurses' home.
Three police vans had driven up to the gates, and the white matron and two of her senior staff had hurried out to confer with the police captain in charge of the contingent as he alighted from the leading vehicle. The matron's white tunic and skirt contrasted with the blue of the police uniforms, and she was pointing at Victoria and talking animatedly to the captain.
Victoria's voice faltered, and despite her resolve, she was afraid. It was an instinctive and corrosive fear. From her earliest remembered childhood the blue police uniforms had been symbols of unquestionable might and authority. To defy them now went against all her instincts and the teaching of her father and all her elders.
'Do not challenge the white man,' they had taught her. 'For his wrath is more terrible than the summer fires that consume the veld.
None can stand before it.' Then she remembered Moses Gama, and her voice firmed; she beat down her fear and cried aloud, 'Look at yourselves, my sisters.
See how you tremble and cast your eyes down at the sight of the oppressor. He has not yet spoken nor raised a hand to you, but you have become little children!' The police captain left the group at the gate and came to the edge of the lawn. There he paused and raised a bull-horn to his lips.
'This is an illegal gathering on state-owned property.' His voice was magnified and distorted. 'You have five minutes to disperse and return to your quarters.' He raised his arm and ostentatiously checked his wristwatch. 'If you have not done so in that time --' The nurses were scattering already, scampering away, not waiting for the officer to complete his warning, and Victoria found herself alone on the wide lawn. She wanted to run and hide also, but she thought about Moses Gama and her pride would not let her move.
The police officer lowered his loud-hailer and turned back to the white matron. They conferred again, and the officer showed her a sheaf of paper which he took from his despatch case. The mattoil nodded and they both looked at Victoria again. Alone now, she still stood at the top of the lawn. Pride and fear held her rigid. She stood stiffly, unable to move as the police captain marched across to where she stood.
'Victoria Dinizulu? he asked her in a normal conversational voice, so different from the hoarse booming of the loud-hailer.
Victoria nodded, and then remembered. 'No,' she denied. 'I am Victoria Gama.' The police officer looked confused. He was very fair-skinned with a fine blond mustache. 'I was told you were Victoria Dinizulu - there has been a mess-up,' he muttered, and then he blushed with embarrassment and immediately Victoria felt sorry for him.
'I got married,' she explained. 'My maiden name was Victoria Dinizulu, but now I am Victoria Gama.' 'Oh, I see.' The captain looked relieved, and glanced down at the document in his hand. 'It's made out to Victoria Dinizulu. I suppose it's still all right though.' He was uncertain again.
