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backveld congregation, people had objected to the idea of a dominee
taking part in something as worldly as sport, so he d had to give it
up. He had several blind spots too: for example, he was much too
dogmatic for my liking, insisting on the Biblical foundations of
apartheid. (Why justify from the Scriptures a system explicable in
terms of basic economics?) Still, all things considered, he was quite
a pleasant man, burning with ambition the sort of stuff church
moderators are made of.
But we were less taken with his wife. She certainly was attractive,
perhaps even too beautiful for her role as mother of the congrega-
tion; and impressing one with a very cold and correct sense of
propriety. Hardly a week before the catastrophe Elise had complained
about the woman s unsympathetic attitude at a meeting where the
sisters of the congregation had assembled to discuss a young  fallen
girl s plea for help. ( It s no use being gentle and forgiving just because
she s one of us. The Afrikaner has a duty to set an example to
others. Etc.)
On the night in question I d just arrived home from working late
when the telephone rang. The rest of the family had already gone
to bed.
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A NDRÉ B RI NK
 It s the Randburg police station, said the formal voice on the
phone.  Sergeant Van Wyk. I m looking for a Reverend Rautenbach.
 Yes, he s staying with me, I said.  But he s asleep now. Why do
you want to speak to him?
 Man, can you please call him for me? He sounded ill at ease.
 If it s really urgent. But what s happened?
 We got a Cloete here, says he s also a dominee.
 Yes, I know him. But 
 He asked us to call Rev. Rautenbach to the station.
 Certainly. But what s the matter?
 If you don t mind, we ll talk when he gets here, all right?
Fortunately the old man was a light sleeper and he awoke the
moment I touched his shoulder. After I d left the room I could hear
him conferring softly with his wife before he came out, in his gown
and slippers. Ten minutes later we were on our way.
Some visual impressions seem to remain with one for ever; and
in the heart of this London winter I can recall all the small particulars
of that disturbing summer night. The blue lamp in front of the face-
brick building. The flat white light in the charge office. The brown
counter; the tables marked with white stenciled numbers; the files tied
with pink ribbons. A few wooden cupboards and steel cabinets. The
notice board with a map of the area and an assortment of official
papers pinned to the green felt. Rev. Cloete on the wooden bench.
He was wearing his black suit, but it looked as if he d just crawled
from a mealie bag. His tie was missing, his normally straightened hair
disheveled and the tail of his white shirt protruding, half torn off, over
his trousers. He looked up quickly as we came in, then dropped his
head. Elise s father sat down beside him, putting an arm round his
shoulders, as I went up to the counter. On the other side of a wooden
partition a constable was painstakingly taking down a statement
dictated by an immaculately dressed Black man. He seemed to have
trouble with his spelling, as he scratched out every third or fourth
346
R UMORS OF R AI N
word; and as he wrote his mouth soundlessly formed every syllable.
Behind the counter a group of other policemen were lounging on and
behind their tables, most of them in uniform, one wearing a black
tracksuit.
 Mynhardt, I announced briefly.  I ve brought Rev.
Rautenbach.
The big man in the tracksuit came to the counter, offering his
hand.  Evening, Mister. Sergeant Van Wyk. It was I who phoned.
Sorry to bother you this time of the night, man. He had an open,
friendly, boyish face, with one front tooth missing. The zip of his
tracksuit top was unfastened, revealing, through the dark tangle of hair
on his chest, the blue and red outlines of a tattoo. He appeared gen-
erous to the point of joviality, like a compére at a sports meeting.
 What happened? I asked again.
He motioned me to come closer, as if he didn t want the two
clergymen on the bench to hear us.
 Immorality, he said.
 My God! I couldn t hide my shock.  But it s impossible!
The sergeant pulled up his bull shoulders.  I wish I could say so,
Mister. But in our sort of job you soon find out that nothing is too
impossible to be true.
 But how ? I still couldn t believe my ears. Involuntarily I
turned round at the very moment Cloete looked up in my direction.
Those dark eyes burning in the pale narrow face. He quickly looked
down again, but I still remember that expression of complete bewil-
derment, and the cringing attitude of a dog expecting to be beaten.
 We ve been suspecting it for a long time now, confided Sergeant
Van Wyk in his hearty way, as if to say:  This way, boys, this way.
Come and enjoy yourselves. Propping himself up on his elbows on
the counter he leaned even closer than before:  Been watching him
for a month, you know. Once or twice a week. Regular as anything.
Just after he s done his rounds. Same servant girl every time. Picks
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A NDRÉ B RI NK
her up at the back gate, house of one of his elders. Then it s off to
the bluegum plantation.
 What s going to happen now?
 Well, he kept on asking for Dominee Rautenbach, so we ll let
them chat for a while to calm him down a bit. Then we ll have to
lock him up. Too late now to bother about bail and all that. Better
to arrange it in the morning.
As I turned round again, at a complete loss about what to do, my
father-in-law was just getting up from the bench to come to the
counter. Cloete didn t look up.
 Well? I asked.  Did he tell you?
He nodded. He, too, was looking pale.
 Sergeant Van Wyk says they can arrange bail tomorrow. He ll
have to stay here for the night.
 Oh, no, no, he said.  It s quite out of the question. He came
to the counter, his white hair shining in the unmerciful light.  He
must go home tonight, Sergeant. Please.
 Just look at the time, Dominee! For the first time the policeman s
friendly face became sullen, suggesting an altogether different side
to his character.
 I know, Sergeant. And I hate to give you any unnecessary trouble.
But it s imperative to arrange bail straight away. Here and now.
I knew him well enough to predict that he wouldn t leave the charge
office before he d had his way. In that respect he was just like Bernard.
Now I wasn t being inhuman or anything, but to my mind, if a
man went in for that sort of thing, he had to face the consequences.
He d gone into it with open eyes, knowing it was forbidden. In such
circumstances sympathy was quite misplaced; it became a sickness.
But I knew it would be useless to argue with my father-in-law.
In spite of all his protests, and openly resentful, the sergeant had
to comply. The forms were filled in and signed. But even that wasn t
enough for the old man.
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R UMORS OF R AI N
 Now for the woman you caught with him, he said calmly.
 What about her, Domineer?
 We can t bail one of them out and not the other. After all, they
were together.
 But really !
 Please, Sergeant. We re expected to do something for our neighbor,
aren t we? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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