Divide the night, p.12
Divide the Night, page 12
"Wynand, I need some information tonight. I want your help." Despite the choice of words it came across as an order and Wynand seemed almost to come to attention. Yudel thought he could hear him clicking his naked heels together.
"I'll get dressed, Colonel."
Wynand," Freek said, giving the young man the full force of his attention, while Wynand's whole bearing was saying, "Yes, Colonel."
"Wynand, you know how to get into Security's stuff, don't you?"
"I'm not supposed to know, Colonel."
"I want something out of one of Security's files."
"Will the Colonel come in while I get dressed?" Wynand asked.
"We'll wait here. Do it fast."
Freek was known to the security guards on both the ground floor and the floor that housed the data centre and scarcely needed to identify himself to get the three of them inside. Wynand, who was wearing his uniform now, led this time, taking them down an unlit passage and into a small room that housed only a computer terminal. The terminal was covered by plastic sheeting like a typewriter cover. Wynand lifted it off the machine, folded it and put it down in a corner of the room. Then he reached below the keyboard and switched on the power.
"Wynand, how is it you know how to get into Security's files?"
"The Colonel must excuse me, but there's nothing about the department’s computer that I don’t know."
"I suppose you find Security's files very interesting."
Wynand grinned and glanced quickly at Freek. "Very interesting, Colonel. They've even got how everyone likes it, all the members of parliament, everyone."
"Tell us a few."
"The Colonel must be joking. That's classified information."
Freek chuckled. "And don't you think what we're doing now is irregular?"
"Very irregular, Colonel."
"Then why are you helping me?"
Wynand turned away from the keyboard to face Freek. The earlier mischievousness was gone. His face was so young and his eyes so honest that no judge alive could have found him guilty of anything. "I believe that if the Colonel asks me to do it the Colonel must have a very good reason for asking."
“And would you do it for any colonel?"
"Very few, Colonel."
Freek grinned at him. "You'll go far in the service, Wynand."
"I don't think so, Colonel. I'm resigning at the end of the month. I think I'll do better in IBM. What does the Colonel want to know?"
"We want to know who Muntu Majola is."
Wynand's fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard, sorting his way through the protocols of the system in order to interrogate the security police files on Majola. At the first attempt the printer on the machine reacted chaotically, printing three lines of gibberish and then switching off. Wynand tried again. The result was the same. The printer fascinated Yudel. It printed while moving both left to right and from right to left across the page. "What's wrong?" Freek asked him.
“If the Colonel will just be patient a minute while I get it right. This is not something I do every day.”
“Should it type that way?" Yudel asked him.
“It can print that way because it has a memory," Wynand said. "It stores the information coming from the computer so it can print it both coming and going. In this case we're not getting into the computer so we're just reading a lot of errors." Wynand tried again, his fingers moving over the keys as quickly as before. For a moment the terminal was still, as if the computer was thinking it over before letting out the information, then the golf ball on the printer was shuttling back and forth across the page at a furious rate, hurriedly printing all that the security police had on file about Muntu Majola. Yudel and Freek leant forward to read it as it came out of the machine.
Muntu William Majola.
Born: 1935-04-01. Hammanskraal, Transvaal.
Education: Hammanskraal and Fort Hare.
Family: Father, Kaya George Majola, Anglican minister, accused in Treason Trial, 1951. Brother, Kwame Majola, guilty in Terrorism Trial, 1972, serving life sentence on Robben Island. Brother, Albert Majola, deceased while in custody, 1972-06-13.
Career: Employed De Beers as clerk, 1958. Resigned to work full time for Black Social Endeavours, 1967, until banning of organisation in 1972. Office bearer in African National Congress. 1952-1960. Suspect underground ANC activist 1960 to present.
Listed communists among associates: Muhammed Thaver, Saths Cooper, Johnston Nene, Steve Biko, Adam Mashabane, David Mdlalose, William Hendricks...
Yudel stopped reading. The name, William Hendricks, halted the information-gathering process instantly. Yudel had only seen him intermittently since they had been friends at university. The last time he had seen Hendricks he had been running a small heavily subsidised literary journal that printed only the protest work of black writers. In the evenings he had been running a night school for domestic servants. Yudel had his own ideas about the personal motives for such an altruistic life. They had everything to do with Hendricks' personality and nothing to do with his politics.
Even at university Hendricks had been almost totally bald. When Yudel had last seen him his head had looked like a large pink egg, the face seeming to be set unnaturally low down in it. "How I admire all your hair, Yudel," he had said.
Yudel remembered involuntarily pressing his own tangled mass of hair down with both hands. "You wouldn't if you had it," he said. "Your style is much simpler."
Yudel drew himself away from his memories and went back to reading the printout. The list of names of Majola's associates was a long one and none of the others meant anything to him. Further down the page a passage drew his attention.
... Currently sought for the killing of Lieutenant Walter Bradfield, 1972-08-21, and Warrant Officer Willem Lessing, 1972-09-04, in their homes. Officers Bradfield and Lessing were members of the team interrogating Albert Majola at the time of his death. Also sought in connection with bomb blast, Germiston Post Office, 1973-01-21, in which Mrs May Turnbull, 74, was killed and bomb blast in Roodepoort office of West Rand Administration Board, 1973-03-09, injuring two female clerks and causing damage to building...
The rest of the file had nothing of interest to Yudel. There was not a word that could possibly have tied Majola to Johnny Weizmann whose political involvement would have been at quite the opposite extreme of what was a very wide political spectrum. At the end of it Freek turned to Wynand. "They didn't say how he likes it?"
"They must have slipped, Colonel."
To Yudel, Freek said, "I don't see the connection. But they obviously want him badly. That's why they leant on you that way."
"I know Hendricks," Yudel told him.
Yudel got up carefully so as not to wake Rosa. He had stayed in bed until he could see that she was sleeping deeply. The sleeping pills he had given her had taken effect quickly and even the jerky little movements of her body were subsiding now. He put on his dressing gown and went into the study. Something at the edges of his awareness was bothering him. He was not sure whether it was as he remembered it. He found the Cissy Abrahamse file in his brief-case and took out of it the statement for which he was looking. The first time Yudel had gone through it he had read it quickly, skimming over the contents, and there had not seemed to be anything of importance in it. Now he read it again, stopping to read very carefully at a particular section. "My daughter was staying with me and I went onto the balcony to fetch some baby napkins that had been drying there. I noticed a Bantu man on the pavement on the other side of the road. Then I heard three shots being fired. I saw the Bantu man run away up the pavement and I went straight inside to tell my daughter..."
Three points stood out clearly. Yudel was disgusted that he had missed them the first time. There had been a man on the pavement outside the store. And there had been three shots. Cissy had had two wounds and the shots had been fired at almost point-blank range. Yudel remembered Freek's words "...He hardly ever uses more than one bullet..." Could he have missed at such close range? The third point was less certain. The person who had made the statement had witnessed the scene from the building where Yudel had looked down on Weizmann's flat earlier that day. Yudel knew that there was little you could see of the pavement outside Weizmann' s shop from there. The trees limited your view to small fragments, especially at night. And Cissy Abrahamse had died at night. And yet the person who had made the statement had been able to say with apparent certainty that the person on the pavement had been a "Bantu man". On that same pavement Weizmann's Alsatian had been no more than a shadow to Yudel.
The name at the top of the statement was Mrs J. Sinclair. Yudel knew that he would have to talk to Mrs Sinclair.
NINE
The masseuse was a pretty teenage girl. The way Yudel was lying down on his stomach he could not see her face, but he remembered it well, associating it in his mind with the strong gentle little fingers that were kneading at the muscles of his neck and shoulders, helping them to relax, slowly smoothing away his tensions.
"Turn over, Mister Gordon." Her voice was a little bell, tinkling prettily in the silence of the room. He complied and she darted lightly to the foot of the bed. There she massaged his feet, doing something to the toes and soles until they were warm, glowing and relaxed. He felt the hands working their way up his calves, past his knees, to his thighs. Now she was close by, an arm's length away from him. To his surprise the little white suit, like a tennis outfit, had been discarded. Her hair and breasts were swaying in unison as she worked her way up his thighs.
"Do all clients get this treatment?" Yudel asked. He had difficulty speaking.
"Oh no, Mister Gordon, you are something special." She was sliding onto the bed next to him, gently wrapping her arms round his neck.
"Is this the way it's supposed to be?" he asked.
"Only for you. For no one else."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh yes, Mister Gordon. You are my special client. This is only for you."
She completed her work in the same perfect way that she had carried out the preliminaries. Yudel felt her slide off the bed and heard her slip back into her uniform. He closed his eyes, savouring the warm relaxation of his whole body.
He heard her coming back towards him, her bare feet padding softly across the floor. He opened his eyes and saw that she was carrying a huge rubber stamp in one hand. "What are you..." Yudel started to say. Before he could complete his sentence or move to stop her she had stamped him once on the stomach and once on the left thigh. Both places now had "Serviced by Lucy's" printed across them in large indelible letters. "What did you do that for?" Yudel yelled at her.
"It's an advertisement for the firm, Mister Gordon. We do it to all our customers. The others don’t mind."
"But my wife..."
"She'll understand, Mister Gordon. It's quite in order."
Yudel was in a bath and scrubbing desperately, but the letters on his stomach and thigh were unaffected. "Yudeldear, Yudel-dear." It was Rosa's voice and it was drawing nearer. "Yudel-dear." She was just outside the door and he could not possibly scrub in both places at the same time. "Yudeldear." The door was opening. "Yudel-dear..."
"Yudel-dear." Rosa was bending over him. He tried frantically to cover the places where the stamp had fallen. "No need to look so startled. I brought your coffee."
It was Sunday morning and the sun was shining directly in at the window, falling all around Yudel where he lay in bed. He watched Rosa put down the coffee on the table next to the bed. "Thanks," he said.
"You looked so startled, it must have been a bad dream."
"I don't remember."
"What have you on the programme today?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She was wearing a furry pink dressing gown and some of the previous evening's femininity had remained. Her face had a peaceful friendly expression.
"I'd like you to spend the day with Irena, if it's all right with you," Yudel told her. "I have to go back to Johannesburg again."
"But you were there all day yesterday."
"There was someone I missed that I should have visited and there was someone I didn't know about."
"The petrol's costing a lot." Even this was said in a peaceable way, as if it was a subject she would rather not mention and, in any event, it was not something to fight about.
"I know, but I simply must go. I have to clear this business up."
Rosa nodded slowly. That, at least, was something they agreed on completely.
Yudel knocked on the door of Mrs Sinclair's flat. It was on the first floor of the building from the roof of which Yudel had been able to see into Weizmann's place. In the centre of the door a peephole lens offered Mrs Sinclair a view of whoever was knocking. Yudel heard the sound of someone moving inside. The sound stopped and he could imagine Mrs Sinclair examining him through the peephole. Then the door opened a hand’s breadth, the safety chain rattling, and Mrs Sinclair's examination moved to its second phase. She was a small middle-aged woman, who looked as if she did not eat enough. The skin of her face hung in folds. She may have been wearing a skin that was two sizes too big for her. "Yes?" she asked.
"I'm Yudel Gordon," he told her. "I phoned about..."
"Oh yes." She examined him for a moment before closing the door to unhook the chain. Then she opened it wide. She was still wearing a faded blue towelling dressing gown and had curlers in her hair. "I was just getting up," she excused herself. The way it was said indicated that it was a shameful thing to be still in her dressing gown at that time of day. She closed the door behind him and replaced the chain. "I haven't cleaned up yet." Her voice was thin and uneven in tone. She retreated before Yudel into the small sitting room, walking backwards so as not to lose sight of him. "The place is a terrible mess, I'm afraid. I feel so embarrassed." There were clothing patterns, bits of crocheting, balls of wool and unfinished pieces of needlework everywhere. In some respects the room reminded him of his study. "I was busy yesterday," Mrs Sinclair explained. "Won't you sit down?" She picked up a book of patterns from a chair to make room for him.
He accepted the invitation and she sat down on a small sofa, sweeping a few balls of wool aside as she did so. "I hope we won't wake Mister Sinclair," he said.
"There isn't a Mister Sinclair. There hasn't been one for eight years, four months and seven days. He walked out on me." It was said quickly with averted eyes as if this too might be shameful. "I wouldn't have him back if he asked though," she added hurriedly.
"You live alone then?"
"Quite alone."
"But last Wednesday night your daughter was here?"
"Yes. She was holidaying with me. She's gone back to Cape Town now."
That pretty well cancelled out the daughter, Yudel reckoned. He would have to get what he needed from Mrs Sinclair. "Two things about your statement to the police interest me, Mrs Sinclair. Firstly, you said you heard three shots. Are you sure about the number?"
"Oh definitely. There were three shots all right."
"But there were two wounds on the girl. One bullet seems to be missing."
"Mmmm. No." Mrs Sinclair frowned thoughtfully. It was clear that she enjoyed having him ask her these questions. Like Mrs Sammel, it was not often that she was the centre of any sort of attention. It was likely that she enjoyed living across the road from Weizmann. His presence gave much-needed stimulation to her life. "No. Definitely not. There were three shots. I remember it as if it was last night."
"All right," Yudel said. "What about the man on the pavement? You said there was a man on the pavement."
"There was a native on the pavement. I saw him run away after I heard the shots."
"How did you know they were shots?"
Mrs Sinclair smiled. It was a knowledgeable, superior expression. "If you live almost next door to Mister Weizmann you learn to know what gunshots sound like. I've lived here for nearly twenty years and I know very well what gunshots sound like. As soon as I heard them I told Leslie, my daughter, there's Mister Weizmann at it again."
"You have a chain on the door," Yudel said. "Have you had trouble?"
"Well, Mister Weizmann has lots of trouble."
"Of course. Do you know him well?"
"Very well. As I said I've lived here for twenty years. Very nice people, strict, but very nice."
"He had no trouble for the first ten years that you lived here."
“Oh, this neighbourhood is going to the dogs." She opened her eyes wide as she spoke, to emphasise what she was saying. "It's much worse now than it used to be. Since they took away this petty apartheid business everything has been going to the dogs. The parks, everywhere, are full... All the decent people from the old days are moving away. There's only myself and the Weizmanns and a few others from the old days. The rest have all moved away."
"Did you ever have any trouble yourself?"
"Not personally, but I know..."
"Yes," Yudel said, "I also know about Mister Weizmann's problems. Could I see your balcony?"
Mrs Sinclair rose quickly, smoothing the front of her gown with both hands. “I’ll show you the exact place where I was standing." She crossed the room and opened the door that led onto the balcony. Yudel followed. There was barely room on it for the two deck chairs that were presently occupying it. Yudel had to fold one of them to stand next to her. "I was standing right here. The chairs were not here. I had a small clotheshorse with my granddaughter's nappies hanging on it in this corner."
Yudel looked across at Weizmann's shop. It was almost invisible from the balcony; enough of the brown autumn leaves remaining to form a nearly impenetrable screen along either side of the road. He could see only tiny fragments of the shop's plate glass windows and nothing at all of the storeroom door. In places the pavement was visible below the branches. While he was looking a man in a brown overall passed along the pavement. All Yudel could see of him were his legs from the knees down. "Would you be good enough," Yudel asked, "to tell me again exactly what you saw last Wednesday night?"
"Well," Mrs Sinclair paused, apparently getting her facts straight, still obviously flattered by Yudel's interest. "As I said in my statement I was fetching some nappies when I noticed a native down on the pavement outside Mister Weizmann's store. Then I heard the shots..."
