When Time Fails Read online

  A few weeks later, when she told him her period was late, he wiped away her tears and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘I’m sorry, Annamari. I’m so sorry. But I love you. I’ll take care of you, always. Don’t cry, it will be okay, you’ll see.’

  Now, in front of all their friends and his father, he bent his head and whispered in her ear: ‘I love you, Mrs van Zyl. I’ll always love you – and our baby.’

  They made love again that night, quietly, awkwardly, in their new room in his ouma’s house in Bloemfontein. This time, with the thin gold band reassuringly on her finger, she could have compared, but she didn’t, she really didn’t. She didn’t even think of him for very long when the storm woke her. And she didn’t think of him when Thys went home to Driespruitfontein to prepare for his final matric exams. She was too busy, with Ouma, preparing for motherhood.

  Chapter 2

  Five years later: 1982

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  She hadn’t meant to tell him like that. Thys deserved better, this time. She’d had it all planned. He’d come home and play with Arno for a while. Then she’d read Arno a short bedtime story and put him to bed. Then they’d sit at the beautifully set table with candles burning and everything, and she’d serve his favourite curry with yellow rice and raisins, and she’d give him another cold Castle lager and afterwards they’d snuggle on the couch to watch Dallas. And then she’d tell him.

  But it hadn’t worked out like that. She’d always been grateful that the raging storm the afternoon Arno was conceived hadn’t affected her son’s sweet nature. But today, the nursery school had exchanged her placid, gentle, co-operative little boy for a five-year-old monster with the same blond curls and enormous blue eyes. He wouldn’t eat his lunch. He wanted pizza, not fish fingers. He’d charged in to her just as she was taking the rice off the stove and she’d dropped the pot. A teeny, tiny splash of hot water just caught his flailing arm as he dashed past. He screamed and screamed as she ran cold water over the imagined scald and apologised for hurting him. He calmed down after she kissed the “eina” better again; and he splashed happily through the spreading lake of turmeric water on the kitchen tiles, tracking soggy rice grains and squashed raisins into the lounge carpet. Then Ouma had walked in, her arms filled with yellow Checkers bags and she had to give Ouma a nice mug of hot coffee and some buttermilk rusks. She only remembered to pack away the groceries Ouma had brought when she spotted the ice-cream dripping down the kitchen cabinet to join the yellow puddle on the floor.

  Then the curry had boiled over while she was trying to persuade Arno to come inside for his bath; and he insisted on demonstrating again how he’d won the tadpole trophy at swimming yesterday. Then he’d knocked his Nesquik chocolate drink all over his favourite Superman pyjamas, just as Thys walked in all cool, calm and collected in his neat army browns and she couldn’t help it. She cried. She never cried. Well, not often. Arno stopped squirming and stared at her. Thys folded her into his arms and she snivelled and dribbled onto his stiff brown shirt while Arno watched, fascinated.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Thys asked after he’d dressed Arno in his newly favourite Springbokkie pyjamas and put him to bed and wiped up the bathroom flood while she attended to the kitchen floor.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said, and burst into tears again. She’d cried when she told him she was pregnant with Arno too, but this time it was different. This time she was happy, especially for him. He deserved a child – another child. He adored Arno. Thys was such a good, good man and a wonderful husband. He’d be a great father. He was a great father. He really was.

  ***

  They said grace and snuggled down on the couch, munching the Kentucky Fried Chicken that Thys had run out to buy while she had a nice soothing bath and washed her hair.

  ‘We’re going to have to get a place of our own. This place will be far too small for all of us when the baby comes,’ he said, licking his fingers.

  ‘No. We’ll manage here.’

  They’d have to. It had been a relief to move into the converted garage a couple of weeks before Arno was born. They’d been living in the room right next to Ouma’s for so long.

  ‘Ssh,’ Thys had said whenever she reached out for him in the first months of their marriage. ‘Ouma will hear.’ As her bump transformed into a mountain, it hadn’t mattered so much.

  After Arno was born, they’d put his little camp cot at the foot of their bed. Thys closed his books in the spare room, checked that the baby was breathing, and climbed in to bed. She reached out for him.

  ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘The baby.’

  The night that Thys graduated, Annamari moved Arno’s little bed into the study.

  ‘Shh,’ Thys said. ‘I don’t think he’s properly asleep. He’ll hear us.’

  A place of their own, a bigger place would be a dream come true, once Thys had finished his National Service. Ouma was a darling. She helped out with Arno, she helped with the shopping, especially now that Thys couldn’t always get home in the evenings. She was kind and generous. She never said one word about Arno being premature. Not like her daughter and son-in-law, the dominee, who always made some snide comment, every time he summonsed Thys to visit and Ma van Zyl would purse her immaculately pinked lips and shake her stiffly coiffured head and Thys would say, ‘Stop it, Pa.’

  But the fact was that their little flat was just two metres from Ouma’s back door and she’d walk over for a chat when the dishes were piled in the sink and the beds weren’t made and unironed washing was strewn over the couch. Not that Ouma ever criticised. She even offered to let her cleaning girl come in and help occasionally.

  ‘Listen,’ Thys said. ‘I’ll take that job next year. At the prep school. It comes with a cottage in the grounds and Arno will get reduced fees...’

  ‘But I thought you wanted to teach and coach at a high school?’

  ‘I do. I did. But it doesn’t matter. You and our laaities are more important. Listen, it will only be for a few years. We can save and when we can afford our own place I’ll try for another job. Anyway, at least it’ll be convenient for training. The doc said I’d be fine again.’

  ‘Maybe I should get a job too?’

  ‘Doing what? It’ll cost us more for someone to take care of the children than you’ll ever earn. Oh, Annamari, I’m so sorry,’ he said as tears spilled down her face again.

  Of course he was sorry, but it was true. She knew it and he knew it. The best job she could hope for was as a cashier at Checkers... unless...

  ‘Thys,’ she said, as if she had just thought of it. ‘Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I finished matric?’

  ‘Go back to school? That would be wonderful ... but you’re too old for that. And you’re pregnant again, that’s why you didn’t finish...’

  ‘I’m not even twenty-three yet.’

  Thys flushed. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I’m not talking about going back to school in a school uniform and everything. But surely I could do a correspondence course? I was more than halfway through when... you know.’

  Thys nodded and reached for her hand. She pulled away, impatiently. ‘I should have written my finals. I’m sure I could have. I heard they let pregnant girls write at the police station. Oh well, it’s too late for that now but it shouldn’t be too difficult to pick it up again.’

  Except for maths. He had helped her with maths. Thys had asked him to. Poor Thys.

  ‘It’s a wonderful idea,’ Thys said. ‘If you’re sure. It won’t be easy, you know. With matric you should be able to get a nice job in an office or something – but hopefully you won’t have to. I will take care of you and the laaities, I promise.’

  ‘I know you will. It’s not that. It’s just that I feel so useless and stupid sitting around at home all day.’

  ‘You’re not stupid! You always got fantastic marks at school. You were right at the top with Alan, with Jaco. You could have got distinctions and everything. Except in maths. You were
as useless as me in maths. I would never have passed if Alan hadn’t...’

  Her heart thumped. She wished Thys would stop talking about him when she just wanted to forget.

  She changed the subject. ‘I bumped into Mina at Checkers the other day. She’s in her final year of nursing. She looked at me all superior and pitying.’

  ‘Mina? A nurse? But she was so dof.’

  ‘Ja well. She at least got matric. And she got into nursing college.’

  Annamari had wanted to be a nurse. That was why she’d had to improve her maths mark – so she’d be accepted for a BSc nursing degree at the University of the Orange Free State. Well, that was never going to happen. But if she got matric, then... then she’d see. Perhaps a teaching diploma, like Thys. She was sure Pa would help pay the fees.

  ***

  It was still dark but she got up and ironed Thys’ uniform as he cleaned his boots and prepared to go back to Thaba ’Nchu.

  ‘Do you enjoy it? Teaching, I mean.’

  She’d never asked him before but now that she was considering teaching...

  ‘Ja. Yes I do,’ Thys said. ‘You can’t believe how much those kids love to learn. They’re like little sponges. I just wish I didn’t have to wear army uniform in the classroom. It’s not ... it makes them uncomfortable.’

  ‘Why? They should be grateful to have a white teacher – and one who’s qualified.’

  ‘Well, I’d be on the border fighting terrorists and not in a classroom if I wasn’t qualified.’

  ‘Rubbish. They’d never send you to the border. Free State rugby needs you.’

  ‘Ja. For sure. And if I wasn’t injured, we’d have been the ones playing Province in the final, not the Bulls. And we’ve have beaten them too. I’m going to make sure we bring the Currie Cup home next year.’

  She raised her eyebrows and they both laughed quietly.

  ‘Seriously, Annamari, even kaffir kids shouldn’t have to be taught by a soldier in uniform. I can see it in their eyes. They don’t trust me and if kids can’t trust their teacher... Some of them are really bright, you know. There’s this one little laaitie, he’s sharp, hey. He asks lots of questions – sometimes I don’t know how to answer him.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like... like... Yesterday, he asked me why, if God created all people in His image, why kaffir kids couldn’t go to the same school as white kids.’

  Annamari gasped. ‘Because they can’t. Because it’s the law.’

  ‘But why is it the law?’

  ‘Because it is. Because, well because everyone knows that... that they’d fail in our schools.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. Like I said, some of those kids are really clever.’

  ‘But they are not like us. I mean, look at them.’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot. And I have to ask myself, why did John say “Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment”, and there in Galatians, Paul said: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free... for you are all one in Christ Jesus” and also John 7:24 says...’

  ‘Thys! Are you turning into a commie, or something?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s just I’ve ... since... I’ve never been with kaffirs like this... like ... like .... oh help - look at the time!’

  He kissed her gently on the lips, put on his beret and quietly closed the front door behind him. Arno didn’t stir. She still had an hour before she’d have to wake him for school. She made herself another cup of coffee and worried about what Thys had been saying. She hoped he wasn’t saying those things to anyone else. He’d get into trouble. But he’d always been like that – always protecting the smaller kids from the bullies at school, being best friends with Alan Silverman – the Jewboy – and then look what had happened...

  She forced herself to think of something else. Teaching. That’s what she would do. She’d become a teacher. She wondered whether she would have to have matric maths to do a teaching diploma – and if she’d pass without extra lessons.

  Chapter 3

  Ten months later: 1983

  The little Mazda 323 bumped over a pothole and, from the corner of her eye, Annamari saw Thys wince. She slowed down to 40 and steered the car almost onto the verge where the road was smoother. Perhaps they shouldn’t have come. Not yet. But she needed to get away from the cramped, crowded hustle and bustle of Bloemfontein. It had been months and months since they’d made the trip to Steynspruit. Since before the accident. She needed Steynspruit’s wide blue skies that blurred into the bleached wheat fields that seemed to stretch on forever to the dark horizon framed by the mountains. She craved the farm like an alcoholic craved his first dop of the day.

  Not too much farther now. She glanced in the rearview mirror. De Wet was fast asleep, snug in his carry cot. He was nearly five months old now. It was time he was introduced to his roots. Arno was gazing out at the pale fields that would soon be rolled up into huge bales of fodder.

  ‘Are we there yet?’ Arno asked again.

  ‘Nearly,’ Thys said.

  ‘You said that hours ago.’

  Thys fiddled with the radio as the crackle drowned the fading music. He switched it off and shifted in his too-small seat. Annamari looked at Arno in the rearview mirror and smiled at him.

  The road carried them into Driespruitfontein, along Kerk Street and past the church where Dominee van Zyl had presided for so many years. Thys’ ma said she was much happier in Kroonstad now – the house was much larger and smarter, the congregation so much bigger and her roses were absolutely assured of winning first prize at the agricultural show. A couple of kaffirs lazed on the stoep outside Silverman’s General Dealer. Annamari looked away. She drove past Potgieter Street – one day she’d take a left there and show Arno and De Wet their parents’ old school.

  Then Driespruitfontein was behind them, the dam glistening bravely in cracked, black banks. She glanced at Thys, wondering if he still remembered. He winked at her, reached out and touched her leg briefly, then glanced back at Arno and his smile broadened. She averted her eyes and stared ahead, blinking hard.

  She wound down her window and drank in the fresh, crisp Free State air.

  ‘Mama, it’s cold,’ Arno whined.

  She closed the window and focused on the road, determined to get Thys to Steynspruit as painlessly as possible. There. The sign to Steynspruit. She stopped the car.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said as Thys started to undo his seatbelt.

  She clambered out and opened the gate, then waited as a white bakkie roared up and a tall figure in army browns jumped out and strode over to them, R1 rifle slung casually over his shoulder.

  ‘Annamari...didn’t realise it was you.’

  ‘Hello Wynand. Long time, huh? What’s up?’ she said.

  ‘No. Ja. We had reports of some strange kaffirs in the area and last night there was a disturbance reported on Viljoenspruit. Nothing serious. But we’re just being extra careful. I was on patrol – I’m a captain now, in the Driespruitfontein Commando. I didn’t recognise your car so I just came to investigate.’

  ‘You guys are doing a great job. Thanks. I’m grateful.’

  He blushed. She suppressed her smile as he strode over to the car and shook hands with Thys through the window. He’d always had a bit of a crush on her at school but everyone knew she was Thys’ girl. Everyone except him. He’d known, but that hadn’t stopped him, them...

  She jerked her attention back to Wynand who was peering through the back window.

  ‘Those your laaities? Jeez, didn’t know you’d had another one. Also a boy? Look at him – pa se klein bulletjie that one. And you,’ he said to Arno, who had fixed his blue eyes on him curiously. Annamari held her breath. ‘You are just like your ma,’ Wynand said. She exhaled.

  ‘And my papa,’ Arno said. ‘My papa is Thys van Zyl, the rugby player.’

  Annamari swallowed the lump in her throat.

  ‘I know. I went to sc
hool with your pa – and your ma. Your pa nearly killed me once. Remember that tackle, Thys? I couldn’t walk for days,’ Wynand said.

  They all laughed and Arno beamed.

  ‘Hey, did you hear?’ Wynand said. ‘The Jewboy skipped the country, the fokking coward. I was with the MPs when they went to his parents’ house looking for him but he’d gone. Old man Silverman said they hadn’t seen or heard from him in months. Apparently he stole money from them – even from the old kaffir girl that worked for them. He just disappeared. Good fokking riddance. Cowards, the lot of them. Fokking commies.’

  She collapsed back into the driver’s seat, pain and relief washing over her. He was gone. Dankie Vader. Thank God.

  From a distance she heard Thys’ voice, soft, measured, as it always was when he was really angry. ‘David Silverman wasn’t a coward – he was killed on the border, remember? And whatever Alan’s reasons for leaving, it wasn’t because he was a coward. How he survived in Driespruitfontein for so long I have no idea. If I was him, I’d have left too. Now, if you will excuse us, we’d better get going. Annamari’s ma will be furious if we’re late and the boud dries out.’

  Wynand stepped back and she drove though the gate, knowing he would close it behind them.

  ‘I’d have hit him if I wasn’t such a bloody cripple,’ Thys muttered.

  ‘You’d never hit anyone. And you’re not a cripple!’

  But he nearly was. It had been close. So close. Another fraction of an inch, the doctor had said.

  She’d never forget the sound, the “oooooh” that swamped the Free State Stadium as two light blue tanks hammered into Thys, one from the left, the other from the right. She didn’t see the ball fly forward into touch. She didn’t hear the referee’s whistle. She heard the crack as his massive neck jerked first to the left, then to the right. She saw the three players collapse into a tangle of oak-like limbs and jerseys. She saw her husband’s foot right at the bottom of the heap. She knew it was his foot because of the white sock. It didn’t move. Not even after the pale blue jerseys had peeled themselves off him. He just lay there, a crumpled giant in a blur of orange, white and black. The stadium was eerily silent as they parted for her to waddle carefully down, down, down the stairs to the tunnel. There she waited, a kindly cop watching her anxiously while the medics finished with him and stretchered him off the field. They helped her up into the ambulance. Pa and Christo followed with a weeping Arno.