Free A Dry White Season by André Brink Page A

Stanley’s example? – “I’m sure he would have learnt to resign himself to it in the end.”
“You mean he wasn’t resigned in the beginning? What was he, Mr Du Toit? Angry? Rebellious?”
“Colonel, if one of your children were to die so unexpectedly” – you indicate, with your head, the photograph on the table – “and if no one was prepared to tell you how it happened, wouldn’t you be upset too?”
A sudden change of approach: “What attracted you to Gordon in the first place, Mr Du Toit?”
“Nothing in particular, I’m sure.” Are you once again suppressing something of which you’re not even conscious? “We exchanged a few remarks from time to time. When he was short of money I sometimes lent him a rand or two.”
“And you paid for Jonathan’s education?”
“Yes. He was a promising pupil. I thought it would be better for him to go to school than to loiter on the streets.”
“Not that it made much difference in the end, did it?”
“No, I suppose not.”
There is something very sincere and confidential in theofficer’s attitude as he shakes his head and says: “That’s what I fail to understand. Look at everything the Government’s doing for them – and all they can think of in return is to burn down and destroy whatever they can lay their hands on. In the end they’re the ones who suffer for it.”
Half-heartedly, dejectedly, you shrug your shoulders.
“No white child would behave like that,” he persists. “Don’t you agree, Mr Du Toit?”
“I don’t know. It all depends, I suppose.” Another surge of resentment, stronger than before. “But if you were given the choice, Colonel: wouldn’t you rather be a white child in this country than a black one?”
Is there the shadow of a movement behind your back? Once again you cannot resist the urge to turn your head to see Captain Stolz still watching you, immobile except for his slow and studied juggling act with the orange; as if he hasn’t even blinked in the interval. And when you turn back, there is an engaging smile on the face of the brawny young man with the Scope on his lap.
“I think that more or less covers it,” says Colonel Viljoen, putting his pen down on the ruled page covered with meticulous doodles. “Thank you very much for your co-operation, Mr Du Toit.”
You get up, frustrated and foolish, but hopeful in spite of everything. “May I take it, then, that Gordon will be released soon?”
“As soon as we’re satisfied he’s innocent.” He rises to his feet and offers his hand, smiling. “I assure you we know what we’re doing, Mr Du Toit – and it’s for your own good too. To make sure you and your family can sleep peacefully at night.”
He accompanies you to the door. Lieutenant Venter raises his hand in a cordial greeting; Captain Stolz nods, unsmiling.
“May I ask you one last favour, Colonel?”
“By all means.”
“Gordon’s wife and children are very worried about him. It would make things easier for them if they could be allowed to bring him food and a change of clothing while he’s still here.”
“He’s certainly fed well enough. But if they feel they’d like to bring him some clothes from time to time – ” He draws up hisbroad shoulders. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“Thank you, Colonel. I’ll rely on you then.”
“Will you find your way out?”
“I think so. Thanks. Good bye.”

6
Minor ripples of Ben’s preoccupation with Gordon were beginning to affect the members of his family, almost imperceptibly in the beginning.
The two little blond girls of years ago had both grown up and left home by then. Suzette, always “her mother’s child", an effortless and charming achiever in music and ballet and the hundred and one other activities Susan had chosen for them, must have been about twenty-five or twenty-six at the time, married to an up-and-coming young Pretoria architect who was beginning to win major contracts from the Transvaal Provincial Administration for some of