Read The Other Side of Silence Online
Authors: André Brink
“By all means,” he agrees heartily, clearly determined to
restore the earlier
gemutlichkeit
. “But are you sure we
should not bring her inside?”
“We don’t want to risk moving her,” says Katja. “And she is well
looked after by our servants.” She sighs histrionically. “She is
very weak. We can only hope she will last the night.”
Without delay a soldier is sent out with a deep bowl of broth on
a tray.
Hanna knows they will never see him again.
Now there are seventeen men. And four of these, including the
captain, are beginning to show signs of severe discomfort. During
the night, Hanna knows, they will start suffering from stomach
cramps and bouts of vomiting. The men will not die, but with some
luck they should remain incapacitated for a good twenty-four hours.
By her calculations that should be enough.
T
hey find it
difficult to sleep that night. It is uncomfortable with the body of
the young man stabbed and throttled by Gisela and Nerina and who
now lies rolled in a blanket among bundles and packages under the
hood of the oxcart. Also, they are concerned about the next day.
Even if Kahapa’s group has taken care of the six soldiers sent out
to them, have they not been too ambitious in their calculations?
Will the garrison not become suspicious about the women’s purpose
in their midst? For Katja there are other irritations too: three
times in the night a young soldier steals out into the courtyard,
creeps like a shadow to the open hood of the cart and tries to
attract her attention. Twice it is the fond young man from the
dinner table, Werner; once someone else. On Hanna’s instructions
she feigns sleep. It is Gisela who rises to send the amorous youths
scuttling back to the barracks. In different circumstances it might
have been amusing; not now.
They also have to consult old Tookwi. Questioned by Katja on
Hanna’s behalf, he proudly presents a chameleon he has found on
their trek across the plains on their way down from the koppies.
The little creature looks half-paralysed, but according to Tookwi
it is as fine a specimen as he requires. “He is stronger than a
snake,” he assures them. “You just tell me when you want the
rain.”
After this they can have a few hours of restless sleep. But well
before sunrise they are awakened by a hurrying and scurrying of
soldiers inside the walls of the fort. The disappearance of the
young man who took Gisela her supper has been confirmed and an
intensive search is launched. No nook or corner is left unexplored.
Several soldiers are sent outside to scour the surroundings of the
fort. But there is no sign of the missing private. Gisela is also
questioned. Still feigning weakness, she assures them that he had
indeed brought her food – there is the plate, the mug, the cutlery
– but then left her alone.
“Desert sickness,” the captain comments angrily. He looks deadly
pale and can barely walk for the cramps. “It seems to be happening
to more and more of the men posted out here. But it is
unforgivable. Lack of self-discipline.” He doubles over in
agony.
Through Katja, Hanna expresses her sympathy and informs him that
she, too, has been suffering from contractions in the night. So, in
fact, has Gisela. Which suggests that there must have been
something wrong with the broth. She urges him to take to his bed.
Surely, however much she admires his fortitude, there is no need
for him to remain vigilant. There are enough able-bodied men about;
some time soon his commando will be back in the full flush of their
triumph.
Just then, at me moment of sunrise, the discussion is
interrupted by another crackling of gunfire in the distance. The
women count the reports in a low hum of half-whispered voices which
sounds like an orison. One – two – three – and a quick four-five.
It is a confirmation from Kahapa: he will be waiting for news or
orders from them.
But all around them there is great agitation. The most urgent
problem for the garrison to resolve is whether the gunshots spell
good or bad news, friendly fire or enemy retaliation. Should they
all wait here, standing by for action; or must another commando be
sent out in case the first group has met with unexpected resistance
or some mishap?
The captain, in the throes of severe convulsions, is not in a
fit state to issue instructions. While he is being escorted to the
barracks by two of the remaining soldiers, the second in command,
Sergeant Vogel, takes charge. He orders the heliograph to be
brought. One of the amorous youths of the night before – not the
stricken young Werner but the other, a corporal, whose name they
learn is Günther – starts sending an urgent message towards the
distant hills. There is no response. Once again the message is
flashed across the landscape which is gradually gaining definition
in the light. And yet again. Still no signal from the distance.
“We really cannot afford to wait,” says young Günther, clearly
in a state of serious agitation. “We
have
to do
something.”
“I shall be the judge of that.” Sergeant Vogel, blowing himself
up like a bull frog, brings him up short with a stare that would
wither a thorn tree. “Already our numbers are reduced. We cannot
leave the fort undermanned. Remember, there are only eighteen of
us.” He checks himself, looks round, frowns severely. “Or
seventeen, if the missing Carl does not turn up. And several of
them unwell. It is most vexing.”
Hanna pushes Katja forward, prompting her. The girl curtsys like
before. “Please, Sergeant,” she says, trying to exploit all the
drama in the situation. “The men out there may be in great danger.
Perhaps those Namas came back with reinforcements. Or perhaps they
found the women we left behind and now
they
are in
danger…”
“We shall take every possible precaution, Fraulein,” he says
irritably. “You may leave that to me. Thank you.”
I’m sure you will do the right thing
, Hanna responds
through Katja.
It is just that if I think of those poor women,
and here you are with seventeen – or eighteen – well-armed men all
safe in a redoubt like this…
Sergeant Vogel, who at the best of times has a flushed
appearance, is scarlet with the effort of trying to make up his
mind. Under a commander as strong and overbearing as Captain Weiss,
there has never been much need for the subalterns to take charge.
(Hanna, informed of this by the batmen along the way, shows no
surprise.) He makes a laborious calculation. “We shall send out six
men,” he announces, turning to the young Günther. “Corporal, you
will pick five volunteers and depart in ten minutes.” Turning
sharply on his heel he marches off at a pace rather too energetic,
for his short, corpulent figure.
Minutes later the great gate is swung open and Günther rides out
with his small band of hand-picked men. Hanna nods at the other
women. She, Katja and Nerina each grabs one of the guns which have
been lying in readiness on the oxcart. Their three shots are fired
in rapid succession, followed by a pause, and then another series
of three.
New commando on its way
, they signal to the
distant Kahapa.
Sergeant Vogel comes running back from the barracks. “What the
hell was that?” he shouts breathlessly. “What do you think you’re
doing?”
“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” apologises Katja with her most seductive
smile. (From the background young Werner gapes at her in open
adoration.) “But we thought we ought to honour your brave men with
a few shots. Don’t you think they deserve it?” She inclines her
head. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I suppose when all is said and done,
we’re only women. We are not so used to controlling our emotions as
you are. Please forgive us. We owe so much to you.”
“Well…” he mumbles. “All right then. I appreciate your
sentiments. But I’d prefer you to leave all shooting to the men who
are trained to do it. We wouldn’t like an accident in our
midst.”
Together they stand looking after the departing soldiers who,
after a sudden halt upon hearing the shots behind them, have
resumed their brisk canter.
Auf Wiedersehen
, thinks Hanna.
With some luck this
will be the end of you
.
That leaves eleven soldiers in the fort, four of them
temporarily out of action. And the three grooms.
T
he next move is up
to Katja. It is one of the many things they have discussed
overnight. The girl has to persuade one of the soldiers to
accompany her outside, ostensibly to point out the route the women
will follow on their next lap to Windhoek. Once they are out of
sight – and by going down the rocky eastern slope of the koppie at
the back of the fort, this need not be very far at all – she will
dispose of him. No one will notice the weapons concealed under her
wide skirt.
She is free to choose anyone. But in the light of recent events
the obvious victim, Hanna now points out, should be young Werner.
Katja blanches visibly.
“But wouldn’t it be better to find someone else…?” she stammers.
“He is so very young, Hanna. What has he done?”
It is not what he has done, but what he is
.
“If only this wasn’t necessary.” Her breath catches in her
throat.
I wish the same. But you know what we have to do. And above
all, why
. She shakes her head.
I really don’t know what is
the matter with you lately. I realise just how hard it is. But he’s
playing right into your hands, Katja. There can be no better
choice
.
“Is it only killing and death you can think of now?” Katja asks
with a vehemence Hanna has not seen in her before. “Don’t you have
feelings any more?”
All I can still allow myself to feel is hate
. This word
she has to spell out letter by letter; she has no shorthand sign
for it as yet.
There isn’t room for anything else
.
“It will destroy you.”
On the contrary, it’s the only thing that keeps me
alive
.
“Hate is hideous.”
I wish you could understand how clear and bright it can
he
.
“You must be out of your mind to say a thing like that.”
You think this land has space for anything else?
“It must have space for me too. And I cannot hate the way you
do. I don’t
want
to.”
You may not realise it, but you’ve already begun
.
“I can still feel. I don’t ever want to stop feeling.”
We cannot, cannot allow ourselves to have feelings, Katja.
One day, perhaps. But not now
.
“But then we’re not human any more, Hanna!” Tears are running
down her cheeks now. “Then we’re as despicable as the men we are
fighting.”
The need to be violent – that, too, has been forced on
us
.
“No, we chose that. It wasn’t forced.”
What other way did they ever leave open to us, Katja? Either
we do something now to stop it, or we allow the world to go on like
before. And that we can no longer accept
.
“Whatever the cost?”
It depends on what we are fighting for
, answers Hanna,
struggling against her own emotion. In a quick, jerky movement she
tears the kappie from her head, her face turned up to the sun.
Have you forgotten what they have done to us? To you? That night
in Frauenstein…?
“Not all of them,” whispers Katja. “Not Werner.”
If that is true, then you’ll be saving him from becoming like
the others
.
“I can’t believe that you can be so cynical, Hanna. Not you, of
all people.”
Hanna places her hands on the girl’s shoulders, then pulls
Katja’s face against her own shoulder. The blonde hair brushes
against her burning cheeks.
It is myself I am condemning
,
she thinks.
Katja turns away abruptly and goes towards the barracks where
soldiers are cleaning and polishing and sweeping. Half an hour
later Hanna sees the girl, very tense and pale, going to the
stables with young Werner. When they come out again, both are on
horseback. Near the gate she sees them talking to the sentry. There
is a fair deal of discussion before the gate is drawn open. Slowly
the young couple ride out. Hanna goes up to the rear wall to watch.
They go down the rough hillside. They appear to be engaged in eager
discussion. From the bottom of the koppie they cover a few hundred
metres of open, even terrain. Then they move into a thicket. She
does not see them emerge again at the far side. No one else appears
to have noticed.
Hanna waits. It is taking longer than she expected. Could
anything have gone wrong? Anxiety is trembling in her guts. If
something were to happen to Katja she would be to blame, no one
else. (But is it really Katja she is anxious about – or the
possibility of one of her moves going wrong? The idea hits her like
a stab in the chest.)
Then at last there is further movement below. Katja comes
galloping back from the thicket. She is alone.
Hanna is at the front gate to greet her when it is opened. The
girl is in a state, her hair dishevelled, tangled, her clothes
crumpled. She has been crying; she is still crying.
Did you kill him?
Katja nods furiously, too emotional to speak. Soldiers are
approaching, attracted by the noise of her return. And to Hanna’s
vast relief, and her astonishment, Katja manages to play her role
to perfection in spite of the turbulence inside her. Unless that,
too, is part of it?
“Someone must come quickly,” the girl gasps to her audience. “A
snake. There was a snake. Werner was bitten on the leg. Please send
someone back with me or he’ll die.”
There are several volunteers, but the sergeant designates only
one of them.