Free Tandia by Bryce Courtenay

you! It's a fucking order, you hear!' He proffered his pen and moved Tandia's confession over to the edge of the table where the black man stood.
    The black policeman took the pen and slowly signed his name and returned the pen to the sergeant. 'I will get her things, sir. The umFazi has a basin. I will get the keys from the desk sergeant, sir?'
    'Ja, orright, also a police car, tell the sergeant I need a police car for only one hour.'
    The black man turned to go and then turned to Geldenhuis. 'It is very, very late, sir. I must ask the desk sergeant for a police pass if the umFazi is going to be released on the street tonight.'
    'Just get her things, you hear? She will not need a pass.' Geldenhuis folded Tandia's confession carefully. The black policeman looked hesitant. 'I'm telling you, man, she won't need a pass!'
    'Please, sir, I have signed the paper. You said you would let me go if I signed that paper,' Tandia begged.
    Geldenhuis stood with his hands on his hips. 'Where would you go? You have nowhere to go.' He glanced at his watch. 'It is one o'clock in the night, there are bad people out there.' He undid the button on the right breast pocket of his tunic and took out his wallet, then he carefully slipped the folded confession into it. 'I will keep this, you hear? I can use it any time I want, you understand? Any time. It is a legal document.' He spoke quietly with no threat in his voice, which, to Tandia, now seemed more threatening than had he shouted at her.
    Geldenhuis placed the wallet back in the pocket of his khaki tunic and fastened the polished button. 'Sit,' he commanded, indicating the bigger chair once again. 'Sit, I want to have a nice little talk with you.'
    Tandia did as she was told. She was filled with despair. She'd signed his paper and now he wasn't going to let her go. Or was he? He'd asked Matembu to get her things but he wouldn't authorise a late-night pass. Geldenhuis again sat sideways on the table, one elbow resting on the typewriter. He was relaxed, even friendly. 'You know something, Tandia?' It was the first time he had used her name in conversation. 'You are what in the police we call a swart slimmetjie, a clever black. And your kind, the swart slimmetjie, your kind we hate the most. You got a bit of education, you too smart for your own bladdy good. If I let you just walk out the station tonight, I'm telling you, jong, you'll be back in no time flat.'
    'No, sir, I won't be back. I do not ever want to see this place ever again!'
    Geldenhuis sighed, as though he was trying to explain something to a backward child. 'Ag, ja, man, you can try, but I'm telling you, it will be no good. No matter how hard you try, we will bring you back. We keep our eye on all the clever ones. You see, sooner or later they join the ANC. I'm telling you, jong, a black kaffir with an education is a dangerous person in the hands of the ANC.'
    Tandia looked down into her lap, afraid to meet his eyes, the blue eyes that saw everything.
    Geldenhuis tapped the wallet in his breast pocket. 'Now you know why I got this piece of paper. That's one reason.' He paused and then said, 'Look at me.' Tandia lifted her frightened gaze to his face. 'I want to help you. You want to know why because?' Tandia did not reply and once again lowered her eyes. 'Look at me, dammit,' Geldenhuis rapped. Then, as suddenly he smiled again. 'Natkin Patel showed me a lot of things that made me a better boxer.' He paused and brought one leg up so that his heel rested on the edge of the table, his hands capping his knee. 'Do you know about boxing?'
    'Only a little bit,' Tandia sniffed. Geldenhuis nodded and continued, 'Next month I fight a Zulu boxer called Mandoma. He fights in the Transvaal and he's very good. Patel trained me for this fight which is for the South African professional welterweight title. He has seen Mandoma fight lots of times and he thinks I can beat him. I think so also.' Geldenhuis stopped talking and seemed to be lost in his