?One day, in my memoirs. But let us talk about the man of the moment, Miss Healy. What do you want to know about Tiny Mpayipheli??
She opened her notebook. She explained about the minister?s declaration, the allegations that Mpayipheli was a fallen hero, misusing his skill. She was interrupted by the arrival of the tea and coffee. He asked her if she took milk, poured for her. He put milk and three spoons of sugar with his, sipped it.
?The spooks came to me last night. Asking questions with that attitude: ?we have the power and the right.? It is interesting to me, the way everything changes but nothing changes. Instead of chasing the Nigerians that are taking over here. How is one supposed to make a living? Nevertheless, it made me think, last night and this morning, when Tiny was in the news. I thought a lot about him. In my line you see all kinds. You learn to recognize people for what they are, not for what they are trying to show you. And Tiny ? I knew he was different from the moment he walked in my door. I knew he was just passing through. It was as if he was there, but not his spirit. For years I thought it was because he was a Xhosa in a colored people?s world, a fish out of water. But now I know that was not so. He was never an enforcer at heart. He is a warrior. A fighter. Three hundred years ago he would have been the one in front, charging the enemy with spear and shield, the one who reached the lines while his comrades fell around him, the one who kept stabbing until there was only blood and sweat and death.?
He came back to reality. ?I am a romantic at heart, my dear, you must excuse me.?
?Was he violent??
What is ?violent?? We are all violent, as a species. It simmers just below the surface like a volcano. The lucky ones go through their entire lives without an eruption.?
?Was Thobela Mpayipheli more inclined to violence than the average person??
?What are we trying to prove here?? he said with some anger.
?Have you seen today?s
?Yes. They say he is a war hero.?
?Mr. Arendse ??
?Orlando.?
?Orlando, the intelligence services are pursuing this man over the length and breadth of the country. If he is a violent and criminal man, it places a whole different perspective on what they are doing. And how they are doing it. The public needs to know.?
Orlando Arendse grimaced until the lines of his face creased deeply.
?That is my problem with the media, Miss Healy You want to press people into packages, that is all there is time and space for. Labels. But you can?t label people. We are not all good or bad. There is a bit of both in all of us. No. There is a lot of both in all of us.?
?But we don'?t all become murderers or rapists.?
?Granted.? He took a packet of sugar in his fingers, twirling it around and around. ?He never sought violence. You must understand, he was big. Six foot five. If you are a dealer on the Flats and this big black bugger walks in the door and looks you in the eye, you see your future and it doesn'?t look good. Violence is the last thing you want to provoke. He carried the threat of violence in him.?
?Did he resort to violence sometimes??
?Lord, you won?t give up until you have the answer, the sensation you are looking for.?
She shook her head, but he continued before she could protest.
?Yes, sometimes he did use violence. What do you expect, in my line of business? But remember, he was provoked. In the days before the Nigerians started messing us around, it was the Russians who tried to get control of the trade. And they were racist. Tiny worked a couple of them over right into intensive care. I wasn'?t there, but the men told me, whispering with big eyes as if they had seen something otherworldly. The intensity was awesome. Raw. What frightened them most? they said he enjoyed it. It was as if a light shone out from him.?
She scribbled in her notebook, hurrying to keep up.
?But if you want to define him like that, you will be making a mistake. He has a lot of good in him. One bad winter we were in the city late at night, other side of Strand Street in the red-light district, collecting protection money, and he was watching the street kids. And then he went over and gathered them up? there must have been twenty or thirty? and took them to the Spur Steakhouse and told the management it was their birthday, all of them and each one must get a plate of food and a sparkler and the waiters must sing ?Happy Birthday? That was a party for you.?
She glanced up from her writing. ?He made a choice in those days. He came to work for you. I can?t understand why an MK veteran would go to work for a drug baron.?
?That is because you were never an MK veteran out of work in the new South Africa.?
?Touche.?
?If you committed your life to the Struggle and won, you?d expect some kind of reward. It?s human, an inherent expectation. Freedom is an ephemeral reward. You can?t grasp it in your hand. One morning you wake up and you are free. But your township is just as much a ghetto as yesterday, you are just as poor, your people are as burdened as before. You can?t eat freedom. You can?t buy a house or a car with it.?
He took a big swallow of coffee. ?Madiba was Moses and he led us to the Promised Land, but there was no milk or honey.?
He put his cup down.
?Or something like that.? And he smiled gently. ?I don'?t know what to say to you. You are looking for the real Tiny, and I don'?t think anyone knows who that is. What I can say is that in the years he worked for me, he was never late, he was never sick; he did not drink or sample the produce of the trade. Women? Tiny is a man. He had his needs. And the girls were mad about him, the young ones? seventeen, eighteen? they ran after him, pursued him with open desire. But there was never any trouble. I can tell you his body was in the work, but his mind was
