Read Online Does it Hurt to Die by Paul G Anderson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul G Anderson
Tags: australia, South Africa
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feelings about the blacks. I’ve heard your discourse on that many times. I know your background and I know the argument that the communists want our country. Let’s not argue. I’m just so relieved that you’re alive.’
‘ How’s Christian?’ he asked, changing tack, a subconscious talent he had developed in response to overtly emotional situations.
‘ He’s with Ouma. He doesn’t really understand. He thinks you’ve just hurt your arm. I’ll bring him to see you tomorrow. He says he loves you… Jannie…’
‘ Leave it, Renata,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve heard the plea from the three of you now. I’ll think about it, all right?’
She looked at him as the tears welled up in her eyes. She hugged him, wetting his cheek again and feeling the prickles of his beard.
‘You’ll need to shave if you’re going to be on television,’ she said, her mood now more up-beat.
‘ Renata, just leave me alone for a while. I need to think about what I’m going to say, and to compose a press release!’
As she stood up, she wondered whether this trauma had caused him to revert to his Afrikaner upbringing. There had been some positive signs in the last few years that he was overcoming his prejudices. She remembered that the night his father had died she found Jannie sitting in the study, sobbing uncontrollably. She had never seen him cry before, let alone with so much feeling and never had since. He had confessed to her that part of him had hated his father. She remembered sitting that night for over an hour, speaking to him occasionally, almost getting through the emotional barrier that he had created. As the tears flooded on to his dressing gown, she imagined them as rivers of emotion, dammed up through years of suppression. Up to his death, Jannie’s father had been a very dispassionate man who had never thanked anyone or told them that he loved them. There was no real reason for Jannie to care about him passing on. Yet here he was, grief stricken, not knowing how to deal with the death of someone who had never fully embraced him and in the end rejected him. She knew that he had never really dealt with the anger of the forced indoctrination, the beatings, humiliation and ultimately his father’s rejection of him. If he thought now that his father had been partly right about the blacks, the guilt at never having tried to reconcile with him might channel into an exaggerated response to the press.
Renata remembered when he had taken up the position at Groote Schuur Hospital how she had hoped that being in such a liberal institution might have affected his conservative, prejudiced values. Initially, his new friends seemed to have brought out a new side. She often overheard a debate that he and Mike McMahon had about apartheid and how it could be replaced with a democracy. However, it seemed that in the last few years, there had been some overriding influence, something beyond his upbringing, and he had regressed to a point where neither she nor his friends could help. Something or someone had taken hold of, and was controlling, his spirit. Now it seemed too much for him to overcome.
After Renata had gone, Jannie reflected on the events of the last twenty-four hours. The thoughts pressed in on how he had become immersed and embedded with the security services with a mind to preventing events like this. This is what they had promised him would never happen and why he had agreed to help BOSS by joining the scientific committee and answering only to the prime minister. When they had sought his cooperation, they had appealed to his Afrikaner background and upbringing as well as promising extra funding for his liver transplant programme.
As he thought about what to say to the press, he wondered whether his father had been right after all. Clearly, if blacks were capable of such an atrocity, they were incapable of rising above the tribal. He knew what his father would have said at a press conference like this; it would
‘ How’s Christian?’ he asked, changing tack, a subconscious talent he had developed in response to overtly emotional situations.
‘ He’s with Ouma. He doesn’t really understand. He thinks you’ve just hurt your arm. I’ll bring him to see you tomorrow. He says he loves you… Jannie…’
‘ Leave it, Renata,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve heard the plea from the three of you now. I’ll think about it, all right?’
She looked at him as the tears welled up in her eyes. She hugged him, wetting his cheek again and feeling the prickles of his beard.
‘You’ll need to shave if you’re going to be on television,’ she said, her mood now more up-beat.
‘ Renata, just leave me alone for a while. I need to think about what I’m going to say, and to compose a press release!’
As she stood up, she wondered whether this trauma had caused him to revert to his Afrikaner upbringing. There had been some positive signs in the last few years that he was overcoming his prejudices. She remembered that the night his father had died she found Jannie sitting in the study, sobbing uncontrollably. She had never seen him cry before, let alone with so much feeling and never had since. He had confessed to her that part of him had hated his father. She remembered sitting that night for over an hour, speaking to him occasionally, almost getting through the emotional barrier that he had created. As the tears flooded on to his dressing gown, she imagined them as rivers of emotion, dammed up through years of suppression. Up to his death, Jannie’s father had been a very dispassionate man who had never thanked anyone or told them that he loved them. There was no real reason for Jannie to care about him passing on. Yet here he was, grief stricken, not knowing how to deal with the death of someone who had never fully embraced him and in the end rejected him. She knew that he had never really dealt with the anger of the forced indoctrination, the beatings, humiliation and ultimately his father’s rejection of him. If he thought now that his father had been partly right about the blacks, the guilt at never having tried to reconcile with him might channel into an exaggerated response to the press.
Renata remembered when he had taken up the position at Groote Schuur Hospital how she had hoped that being in such a liberal institution might have affected his conservative, prejudiced values. Initially, his new friends seemed to have brought out a new side. She often overheard a debate that he and Mike McMahon had about apartheid and how it could be replaced with a democracy. However, it seemed that in the last few years, there had been some overriding influence, something beyond his upbringing, and he had regressed to a point where neither she nor his friends could help. Something or someone had taken hold of, and was controlling, his spirit. Now it seemed too much for him to overcome.
After Renata had gone, Jannie reflected on the events of the last twenty-four hours. The thoughts pressed in on how he had become immersed and embedded with the security services with a mind to preventing events like this. This is what they had promised him would never happen and why he had agreed to help BOSS by joining the scientific committee and answering only to the prime minister. When they had sought his cooperation, they had appealed to his Afrikaner background and upbringing as well as promising extra funding for his liver transplant programme.
As he thought about what to say to the press, he wondered whether his father had been right after all. Clearly, if blacks were capable of such an atrocity, they were incapable of rising above the tribal. He knew what his father would have said at a press conference like this; it would
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