Free Bloodlines by Neville Frankel

consequence.
    This was the first time I had come across Nelson Mandela, and although his courage surprised me, his strength and dignity did not. It was a quality I was used to in black men. Only later did I recognize the determination and character it must have taken to rise each day into indignity and slight and yet to maintain even a vestige of self-respect. Perhaps they had no choice—at least for some men, perhaps maintaining dignity was what allowed them to rise each day in the first place. For others, the appearance of dignity turned out to be simply a mask for rage that was inexpressible.
    Father Huddleston looked in our direction, smiled, and beckoned. We walked over and he gave your mother a brief hug.
    “This is Michaela Davidson,” he said proudly, introducing her to the men with him, “a fine young woman who volunteers at the Mission School. And you,” he said, “must be Leonard Green. Welcome.”
    I was still sweating uncomfortably from our encounter, but the two men who had been singled out stood by calmly, as if we were attending a garden party instead of a racially charged political meeting. I shook hands with them both, and we went into the theatre as if nothing had happened. The crowd welcomed Father Huddleston, who introduced Nelson Mandela as a young leader in the opposition movement. I don’t remember Mandela’s words, but I do recall the hush that came over the audience as he spoke, and like them I found his message inspiring. It was more about human dignity and freedom than it was about the politics of the impending forced removal from Sophiatown.
    For me, that day was filled with firsts. My first outing with your mother; my first visit to Sophiatown; my first and only meeting with Nelson Mandela. Back then, Mandela still believed that change without conflict was possible. It was several years before he recognized that dialogue and peaceful demonstrations alone would not be sufficient to bring apartheid to an end. I had no idea who he was, but I have carried with me since the impression of his profound gravitas and quiet power.

    I went to Sophiatown because of your mother, and she was right. Once I met the people, my theories took on human expression. But by then, I had fallen so deeply in love with her that I would have followed any example she set.
    Sad to say at the fading of my life, the truth is that your mother is the only woman I ever loved. I last laid eyes on her almost forty years ago, and they have been lonely years for me. You will see, Steven, as this story unfolds, that I bear full responsibility for depriving you of her presence, and of her love. Living without her has been punishment enough—both for the things I have done, and for the things I should have done, but didn’t.

    .
    three
    L ENNY

    Johannesburg, 1953-55
    I began spending time at Michaela’s home, and came to know her parents, Selma and Samuel. Michaela became very fond of my father, Papa Mischa. Within the year we became engaged, but there seemed no rush to marry, until Selma became ill and was finally convinced to see a specialist. They thought at first it was kidney failure, but additional tests revealed that kidney failure had been caused by the inoperable cancer filling her abdominal cavity. She was given several months to live.
    She wanted to dance at her daughter’s wedding, and Michaela wanted to give her that pleasure while she could still dance. We had a small, elegant wedding, and a month later, Selma died. Your grandfather Samuel took it hard, but he continued his dental practice, working long hours, and he continued to take as patients many who could only pay in kind. I always wondered how he made a living, but somehow he and your grandmother always had enough, and once she died, he didn’t need much. He continued to live in the house, and Dennis, who had been his gardener since your mother was a little girl, took care of him. Your grandfather was a warm, gentle man, and he and Papa Mischa became