Rumors of Rain

Ceaselessly, irresistibly, it came down from the dark skies. In a blunted stupor I resigned myself to the thought that it would never stop again. I didn’t care any more. Let it go on, I thought, let it increase and grow worse and worse, a flood to soak the earth and uproot trees and split rocks; causing the red earth to run down the hills, streaming, streaming endlessly, red water as if the earth itself was crying, as if the earth was crying blood. Nkosi sikelel’ iAfrika.

In our time the notion of an apocalypse need no longer imply actual or active destruction. It is much more subtle. We have our Soweto, we have our Voortrekker Monument, we have thickets among hills on farms: but we no longer have hell.

After she’d gone, Ma sighed: “Poor old Kristina. What’s going to become of her now?”
“They’ll stay on the farm even if it’s sold.”
“Part of the livestock, you mean?”
“They’ll be all right, Ma. And once the Ciskei becomes independent, they’ll all be free in their own country.”
“And we’ll all die of freedom in our own country,” she said morosely.
I decided it was better to leave her alone while she was in that mood.

Everybody is always going on about time, time,” I said. “As a matter of fact we have all the time we are prepared to allow ourselves. Only changes introduced gradually and naturally have any hope of surviving. The moment you go too fast, you stimulate a revolutionary situation – and then all is lost.”

“I wanted to know. One gets curious. And you never wanted to tell me anything about her or your home.”
“Obviously not. One tries to keep the different parts of one’s life apart. What do you think would happen —”
“And for how long do you think your sort of apartheid is going to work?” she asked quietly.
I was vexed, but controlled it by first pouring myself another whisky and taking a sip. “It will last for as long as I have control over my own life,” I said at last, sitting down again. “And now you’ve gone and —”
“I did nothing about it whatsoever. I only wanted to know, I told you.”

Perhaps there is a similar transition from a state of innocence to a state of guilt in historical processes. (Would Dad have agreed?) Somewhere in history there comes a day when, for the first time, a territory is annexed, not because land is necessary but because a nation has grown addicted to the idea of expansion as such. There comes a day when, for the first time, violence is used not because it is unavoidable but because it is easier. There comes a day when, for the first time, a leader is allowed to promote his own interests simply because he happens to be the leader. There comes a day when, for the first time, the weak one is exploited, not in ignorance but because he cannot offer resistance. There comes a day when, for the first time, a verdict in a court case is given, not on the basis of what is right but on the basis of what is expedient. And so on.

peculiar aching sadness about something beautiful that had gone to waste so stupidly.

“I didn’t sleep too well last night,” she said flatly. But on her doorstep she stopped for a moment to look round at me. “Sometimes, you know,” she said, “sleep is like prayer. A way of appealing for help to a place you can’t reach otherwise.” Before I could answer she closed the door between us.

Because one knew: One day it will be our turn to take to the road just like that, with our little vans and our cardboard suitcases and our rolled blankets and our water bottles. And who will help us?”

At some stage Mr Lawrence pointed to Ma’s little aloe painting which he’d never been able to stand: “So you’ve still got that masterpiece?” He chuckled. “Good thing, pictures. Cover up a wall nicely. You know, when I was young, I zigged and zagged my way through Europe. Instead of going to brothels I spent all my time museum-crawling. But now I’ve had enough. This art racket is grossly overrated if you ask me. Just draws one’s attention away from the real issues. In a land like this there’s no need for art.”