Heart of the Hunter

But first he had to pass Petrusville and cross the Orange river.

If he were setting up a roadblock, it would be at the Big river, as Koos Kok called it. Close the bridge. There were no other options according to the map, unless you were willing to chance your luck in Orania.

The thought made him smile.

Odd country, this.

What would the Boers of Orania think if he pulled up in a cloud of dust and said, ?I am Thobela Mpayipheli, chaps, and the ANC government would love to get their hands on me?? Would it be a case of ?if you are against the government, you are with us?? Probably not.

He had to pass a sheep lorry, slowing down and using his blinkers like a law-abiding citizen, sped up again, leaning the bike into the turns where the road twisted between the hills, aware of the landscape. Beautiful country, this. Colorful. That is the difference, the major difference between this landscape and the Karoo. More color, as if God?s palette was increasingly used up on the way south. Here the green was greener, the ridges browner, the grass more yellow, the sky more blue.

Color had messed up this land. The difference in color.

The road grew straight again, a black ribbon stretching out ahead, grass veld and thorn bush. Cumulus clouds in line, a war host marching across the heavens. This was the face of Africa. Unmistakable.

Zatopek van Heerden said it was not color, it was genes. Van Heerden was big on genes. Genes that caused the Boers of Orania to pull into the defensive laager. Van Heerden said racism is inherent, the human urge to protect his genes, to seek out his own so the genes could propagate.

Thobela had argued because Van Heerden?s philosophy was too empty. Too damning. Too easy.

?So, I can do as I please and shrug my shoulders and say, ?It?s genes???

?You must differentiate between genetic programming and morality, Thobela.?

?I don'?t know what you mean.?

Van Heerden had bowed his shoulders as if the weight of knowledge were too heavy to bear.

?There is no easy way to explain it.?

?That is usually the case with absolute drivel.?

Laughing: ?That?s fucking true. But not in this case. The problem is that most people won?t accept the big truths. You should see them fighting in the letters page of the Burger over evolution. And not just here. In America they don'?t want to allow evolution into the classroom even. In the twenty-first century. The evidence is overwhelming, but they fight to the bitter end.?

Van Heerden said accepting evolution was the first step. People are formed through natural selection, their bodies and thoughts and behavior. Programmed. For one thing alone: the survival of the species. The preservation of the gene pool. The white man had laid down evidence before him in one motivated layer after another, but eventually, though Thobela had conceded that there was some truth in what Van Heerden said, it could not be the whole truth. He knew that, he felt it in his bones. What of God, what of love, what of all the strange, wonderful things that people were capable of, things we do and experience and think?

Van Heerden waved his hand and said, ?Let?s forget about it.?

And he had said: ?You know, whitey it sounds like the new excuse to me. All the great troubles of the world have been done in the name of one or other excuse. Christianization, colonialism, herrenvolk, communism, apartheid, democracy, and now evolution. Or is it genetics? Excuses, just another reason to do as we wish. I am tired of it all. Finished with that. I am tired of my own excuses and the excuses of other people. I am taking responsibility for what I do now. Without excuse. I have choices; you have choices. About how we will live. That?s all. That?s all we can choose. Fuck excuses. live right, or get lost.?

He spoke with fervor and conviction. He had been loud, and heads turned in the coffee shop where they sat, but he didn?'t care. And now, in this desolate piece of Africa at 160 kilometers per hour, he knew he was right and it filled him with elation for what he must do. Not just the thing in the bag, but afterward. To live a life of responsibility, a life that said if you want change, start here, inside yourself.

* * *

?Ma?am, let us let her go.? Vincent Radebe sat next to Janina Mentz, speaking softly to keep the potential for conflict between them low-key. He knew she was keeping an eye on him, knew she had doubts about his attitude and his support for her. But he had to do what he must do.

She sat at her laptop at the big table. She finished typing but did not turn to him.

?Ai, Vincent,? she said.

?She knows nothing. She can?t add value,? he said.

?But she can do damage.?

?Ma?am, she understands she must not talk to the media.?

Janina put her hand on Vincent Radebe?s arm compassionately. ?It is good that you are part of the team, Vincent. You bring balance. I respect and value your contribution. And your honesty.?

He had not expected that. ?Can I go and tell her??

?Let me give you a scenario to think over. We drop Mrs. Nzu-lulwazi at her house. She fetches her child, and a photographer from the Cape Times photographs them standing hand in hand in front of their little house. Tomorrow the picture is on the front page. With the caption ?Mother and child wait anxiously for fugitive?s return?? or something like that. Do we need that? While the minister works to explain Mpayipheli?s true colors to the media? She has already done damage. You heard the reporter on the radio. ?His common-law wife says he is a good man.? ?

He could see what she meant.

?In any case, Vincent, what guarantee do you have that she will not talk to the media again? What happens when they start pulling out checkbooks??