Free A Sailor's Honour by Chris Marnewick

pull faces behind his back and the boys would start laughing. When he was in a miserable mood or sulking in his study, she would sneak up behind him and put her hands over his eyes. ‘Guess who?’ she would say. ‘Look left, not right!’
    Yes, he could never get her to take him seriously, which was just as well, he now thought to himself. It kept his feet on the ground. It’s difficult to put on airs and graces when your wife and children make fun of you all the time.
    But it wasn’t only Weber’s family who didn’t take him seriously. When the Third Force had detailed their man in Durban to provide a report on Weber, the man had spoken to a number of the advocates and even one of the judges who had been a member of the Third Force in his younger days. The report had emboldened them, because it painted a picture of a man who was risk-averse and a stickler for formality and procedure. His cases were presented with meticulous care, but without fanfare. His name seldom appeared in the papers, and when it did, it was unaccompanied by any public statements or comments made by him. The only interesting thing the report disclosed was Weber’s passion for cars and, in particular, for his current project, a vintage Porsche Carrera. Otherwise he was a boring fellow, with no known vices or predilections. They concluded that he would present no appreciable risk to their operation.
    The subject of their investigation now sat staring out of the window of his chambers, apparently lost in thought, but in reality hard at work to find a solution. Johann Weber often worked like that; after reading the papers in a complex case, he would stare out of the window with unseeing eyes and allow his subconscious to work on the problem. For some reason he did not care to explore, his inner mind worked best when left alone. It was as if there was a second Weber in his subconscious, working away where no one could see him, until the job was done. His mind wandered to strange places and to men he had never met. But the job would be done on time.
    Johann Weber was oblivious to the fact that the container ship settling ever so slightly deeper in the water at the terminal outside his window was a German ship, with Hamburg as its home port and a master mariner called August Weber as its captain. His thoughts were wandering, and he thought of Bram Fischer, also a respected senior advocate at the time, and of what must have gone through Fischer’s mind when he had to make the decision to go underground and outside the law, to continue the struggle for justice from there. Fischer was an idealistic communist; one who believed that all men – and women – are born equal and are entitled to be treated equally, and that the system he advocated would provide for that. An advocate’s word is his bond, Weber knew, as Fischer must have. But there are higher laws than the law of the land. The state’s laws were ephemeral, and could be changed by politicians. Fischer must have thought that the time would come when the very laws against which he had been induced to struggle would eventually be repealed. They were, a mere twenty-five years later.
    Weber had returned all his current briefs for court appearances to the instructing attorneys, who were sympathetic to his plight, and promised to continue briefing him when he felt ready to return to practise again. Liesl Weber was more than a wife to Weber. She was his life partner, mother of his sons, a guiding light who kept his personal world in order and gave him purpose. His wife was part of his personality: she made him whole. In her absence, he felt broken apart and incapable of functioning.
    What would I do if they should harm her? he wondered. I’ll kill them, the answer came quickly. I’ll kill the lot of them. Like Bram Fischer, I’ll go outside the law. He looked down at his hands. They were the soft hands of a man of words and principles and legal