Christian looked at her and smiled.
‘What?’ she said. ‘Say something.’
‘
So smart and so beautiful.’
The coffee, he knew, was just a way of delaying reading his father’s letter. What if he experienced more of the nausea he had with the first letter? As the last of the coffee was poured, Isabella came and sat beside him.
‘Let’s do it,’ she said.
Christian took the letter out of his pocket and unfolded the pages attempting to straighten them out. It was a typed letter, not in his father’s handwriting, but Christian could feel the closeness of his father.
My Dear Christian,
That you’re now reading this means you’re a man. You’ll be curious about the person who was your father. I’m sure you’ll need whatever information I can give you to allow you to understand me and develop your own life. In this letter, there will be many disappointments for you.
Let me start with something that every father needs to say, and which I now realise will be my only opportunity. Your mother had always tried to encourage me to communicate, and what I couldn’t say, I could often write. So, as I sit on the beach here looking back at Table Mountain, let me say to you things that I hoped one day that I may.
Your mother and I thought we would never have children, as we both had our careers. Your arrival was a surprise and the greatest thing that ever happened to us. From the time you arrived you stimulated a love in me that I didn’t know was possible.
I remember the excuse that it provided for me to act like a child again, to get down on the floor and crawl along with you. How your first words were Dadda. How proud I was of you when you pulled yourself up and staggered towards me, and fell into my arms bursting into laughter at having overcome such a huge challenge.
I know in doing what I’ve done that I’ve deprived you of a father and all the things that I had thought about doing with you like fishing at Cape Point and diving at Langebaan for crayfish. I’m sorry that we will not share those experiences together. The decisions I made were made in isolation before I knew the love that a son could awaken in a father. Knowing the love that I have for you, how I love seeing you smile at me, and hearing you say ‘Dadda’ would have changed the way I decided things. To have had the chance to be with you each day and watch you grow up, I would have given all this up. Some day when you also have a son, you will understand the power of this feeling. In depriving myself, I also deprived you of a great deal more. Not only that but, as you will probably have experienced, I was a sell-out, selfish, arrogant, misguided, to name but a few. I will try to explain to you, not to excuse, my actions so that this part of your life may be complete and that you can make your contribution to this world, as I know you will.
I had a vision for a better South Africa, a place where there would be greater equality, and I hoped to achieve this partly through medicine and surgery. I was also ambitious for my own personal success. Unfortunately, in trying to achieve one, I fatally compromised the other. I became involved with the Bureau for State Security (BOSS) through the persuasive efforts of one man, Andre van der Walt. I wanted to believe that we both shared a common vision, but my insight into that vision was, as I said, clouded by my ambition. At first, the tasks were minor and the rewards significant. The transplant programme blossomed; we were able to obtain all kinds of equipment and medication. Finance was no obstacle. Eventually, the demands became more aggressive, culminating in an incident that will forever remain my greatest shame, and which was to be a watershed in my life and death.
South Africa, Israel and Taiwan had developed nuclear weapons. This was with the covert co-operation of the United States, who had even announced to the world that a nuclear explosion had been detected in the Kalahari Desert by one of their spy satellites. That was no slip on the part of the Americans; it was designed to let the opposing players (Mainland China, Cuba, Iraq and Nigeria in particular) know that the three pariah states had nuclear weapons. What we didn’t have was the ability to deliver them. What had been stated as being a deterrent political tool (nuclear weapons) then became an industry that had significant export potential.
One of the weaknesses of the nuclear programme was that the early devices did not extrude sufficient radiation to kill people in armoured vehicles. The upgrading of the programme to fusion devices, and then to a neutron weapon, meant there was a need also to have a delivery system, for these weapons required the importation of red mercury. This substance was an accelerant used to boost the range of the missiles and enhance the primary explosion. Emphasis then shifted to chemical, biological and genetic weapons. I found myself advising on biological weapons that could be directed against people of colour all of which was contrary to my medical training and Hippocratic Oath.
My research had been into liver proteins and trying to mask foreign proteins to prevent transplanted livers being rejected. I discovered a DNA sequence which could identify coloured people. The coupling of antibodies to the manifested protein of this gene meant disease and death could be spread to a race group that displayed the gene. The important part of this research has been hidden, as it would not only have been of great importance to a white government in controlling a black population but also it would have been of interest to the Israelis and the Taiwanese.
Following the terrorist attack in Cape Town, part of this research was discovered. I had also been secretly given a folder detailing the nuclear programme and the involvement of the Israeli, Taiwanese and French governments. This was given to me by another scientist who I know was killed by BOSS. The threat of exposure of these documents is what has kept your mother and you safe.
I wonder if you will have my stubbornness. I trust you won’t ever be as blinded by ambition. My stubbornness was legendary, and I refused to be dictated to. If I was to speak out about what was going on, I needed to protect you and your mother. I sent letters to an overseas academic exile. He was instructed to reveal all information if anything happened to you and your mother. I then sent a letter to Van der Walt and wrote this letter to you.
As an extra precaution there is one part of my research that’s the key to the rest
, but it’s in a code on the back of the photograph of all of us that your mother has. I’m sure that by the time you read this it’ll be of little relevance. I hope that white supremacists will be confined to history and you both will be safe.
I know that I was naïve and corrupted by naked ambition; hopefully part of my legacy may have included your freedom. I trust that you will one day read this with a heart that allows forgiveness of your father.
My son, I can only wish I was there to talk with you, but we all have to live with our decisions. I trust that you will grow into the young man I would love to have had for a son, and so finally bequeath to you a favourite poem of mine from The Wind in the Willows. I hope that one day you come to like this as much as I did.
‘The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the pool he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at last, he sat beneath the willow, while the pool still chattered on to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.’
All my love, my son
Your father
Christian stopped reading, wiping the tears from his eyes, not realising that Isabella had not yet finished. He was unaware, too, of how close she had moved to him. He could see her eyes scanning his father’s words and saw the tears that matched his. As he watched her he tried to think of his father sitting at Sea Point writing. Was it at one of the small cafes or was he sitting on the big rounded rock his mother used to tell him they often visited? He sensed that when Isabella finished reading he would not have time to reflect, knowing she would want to probe his feelings.
‘What did you feel?’ she ventured, wiping her tears.
‘
Mostly anger,’ said Christian, looking back at her, watching her digest his words.
Christian felt her eyes measuring him. Her expression alone was telling him that he could trust her and that his feelings would not be belittled. It was something he had not previously experienced.
‘Anger, but also grateful that I didn’t have to read it alone.’
Isabella moved closer still and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Just tell me one thing, Issy, that what you’re doing to me is unique.’
‘
Oh, men!’ she said, in mock anger. ‘Christian, don’t you know anything about women yet? That part of my soul that you see is reserved only for those…’ She hesitated and Christian looked at her.
She is about to continue but he cuts her short
. ‘Only for those you really care about?’ he said, raising his eyebrows to add the question mark.
‘
There you are,’ she said, the sparkle back in her eyes, ‘you do know something about women.’ Christian laughed and grabbed her roughly.
‘
Yes, and I know how to deal with the cheeky ones, too.’
‘
So now tell me about the anger.’
‘
Well, firstly there was the anger towards my father because although he was obviously intelligent, he couldn’t see the potential danger in being involved with BOSS. It was astonishingly naïve that he thought he could control his involvement and commitment. Then, as the letter went on, I started to see how he had realised that a sense of integrity could be corrupted by those with an amoral agenda and I was angry and sad that he didn’t survive that realisation.’
Isabella listened. One of the things that fascinated her about Christian was his ability to put thoughts into words.
‘Do you follow what I mean, Issy?’
‘
Christian,’ she started, putting her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m not sure that I know how to deal with what I’m feeling or more importantly what you’re experiencing and therefore whether I’m the best person to be trying to help you.’
Christian started to object, but she silenced his objection by placing her fingers on his lips
. ‘I’ll tell you what I think,’ she continued, ‘but it may not be correct. I don’t have much experience with situations like these.’ She paused, catching her breath quickly. ‘You haven’t yet dealt with your father’s dying and what that death robbed you of—a family, father, love, laughter, good and bad times. I think you’re angry at him for taking those things away from you and because he didn’t consider you before he made a decision that you think was, in hindsight, naïve. You have to remember that he became involved with BOSS before you were born and he didn’t know the love that would ensue through having a son. It seems to me that when he did, his love for you drove him to try and correct some of his past mistakes.’
Christian listened, wondering whether Isabella was trying to assuage the impact of the letter; but he was also taken by her emotional insight. He suddenly realised that he was too emotionally connected to consider rationally his father’s actions. Isabella was right: there were two distinct periods emerging of his father—one that he didn’t like and the other he didn’t yet quite believe or understand.
‘There’s no way your father could have anticipated the direction that politics would take in South Africa. No one would have thought that a so-called terrorist jailed on Robben Island for twenty-six years could become president. I know from what my mother has said about your father that he was respected for what he tried to do for people. It may be that he was ambitious and that ambition clouded his judgment, but that doesn’t take anything away from his inherent goodness. Your father was a good man, Christian. He wasn’t perfect, but neither are any of us.’
Christian looked at her wondering whether she really did feel that his father’s position was defendable.
‘Your father could not have predicted that the drive for identity in South Africa would be corrupted by racists and neo fascists. I think you need to stop feeling sorry for what you’ve missed out on and start trying to understand what happened, that your father was a good man who, when he realised his mistake, sacrificed his life for what he believed was right. He tried to put things right in a way that protected you and your mother.’
The silence that ensued was difficult for Christian. He could not find the appropriate words to break it. He moved towards Isabella and turned her face towards him and kissed the tears on her cheek before putting his arm around her and squeezing her to him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I had no right to say that.’
Christian took her face between his hands, kissed her lightly on the mouth and said
, ‘It told me how much you care and how much a part of me you’ve become. I love the fact that you care so much.’
‘
Come here,’ she said, and kissed him with an intensity that overwhelmed the emotion they were both feeling. Christian playfully pushed her away.