He ended superbly, looking with flashing eye at his listeners, as if to challenge each one personally: 'In the time of judgment, which is now, will Jesus Christ set our nation on His right hand among the sheep, or throw us on His left side, among the goats? For the nature of our society we must look to the Old Testament, which I shall do in my concluding lecture.'

That night the audience was ecstatic as it left the church, for listeners could be sure that the Afrikaner nation was saved, while the English and the Bantu were probably lost. More than a dozen families wanted Brongersma to come with them to share supper, but he elected to go with the Van Doorns, and it was then that he saw the dangerous waters into which his young friend Detleef from Vrymeer was heading. He said nothing that night, but he wondered what good could come from this country boy's falling so blindly in love with a young woman who obviously lived in a much different world, and thought in much different ways. Detleef had said nothing about his deep affection for Clara, nor did he need to.

In his last lecture, like a healing balm, the predikant soothed all spiritual strains by reverting to the marvelous texts of the Old Testament, reminding his Afrikaners of who they were and the special obligations they owed G.o.d. He started by a.s.suring them that in the Calvinistic sense they were among the elect, for G.o.d had specifically said so: 'Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people: for all the earth is mine.

'If you are a peculiar treasure, what follows?' he asked, and in the thundering pa.s.sage from Leviticus he provided the answer: 'But I have said unto you, Ye shall inherit their land, and I will give it unto you to possess it, a land that floweth with milk and honey: I am the Lord your G.o.d, which have separated you from other people.

'It is right that you should be separated, for you have special tasks to perform'and he elucidated them: 'To rule justly. To be fair to all men. To love your neighbor as yourself.' On and on he went, instructing the future rulers of the country as to how they must behave when they a.s.sumed power. 'I tell you these rules, young men,' he cried in his most powerful voice, grasping his lapels with two hands and leaning far forward, 'because G.o.d is most specific as to how he will punish you if you ignore his teaching,' and he set forth the unmistaken call for obedience: 'If ye forsake the Lord, and serve strange G.o.ds, then he will turn and do you hurt, and consume you, after that he hath done you good.'

He concluded this lecture and his series with a crisp twenty minutes of what this all meant to the governance of a church, and specifically the Dutch Reformed Church of South Africa. He dealt briskly with the most trying problems, brushing them away as if adherence to basic principles eliminated difficulties. When he came to the question as to whether it was proper for the white church to prevent blacks from worshipping side by side with them, he cried, 'Certainly it is proper. What does Deuteronomy say? "When the Most High divided to the nations their inheritance, when he separated the sons of Adam, he set the bounds of the people." Almost the last words of the Old Testament, the final verse of Zechariah, address this problem: "And in that day there shall be no more the Canaanite in the house of the Lord of hosts." We are separate. We are wonderful each in our way. G.o.d has a.s.signed us our proper places and our proper tasks. Let us live accordingly. But I would close with these words of Jesus Christ which launched these talks: "Thou shalt love the Lord thy G.o.d. Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets."'

In these four lectures, among the most important ever delivered at Stellenbosch, Brongersma spelled out the dilemma facing any theocracy: How does one organize a society so as to attain the order of the Old Testament and the freedom of the New? Detleef van Doorn, whose advanced education started with these lectures, heard only the first half of that question.

When the speculative and philosophical aspects of Detleef's education fell into place, thanks to that penetrating series of lectures by Barend Brongersma, and when his position at the university was securely established because of his excellence as a rugby playerat Stellenbosch that would always be determinativehe felt that it was time to start thinking seriously about a wife. He was twenty-three now, much older than the Voortrekkers when they married, and his thoughts turned to two young women.

He had not seen much of Maria Steyn, for she had remained on her family farm at Carolina. With her mother dead in the camp, and her father shot as a traitor, she had to a.s.sume heavy responsibilities and was able to travel little. She had never visited the university, and from the nature of Detleef's few letters she deduced that they were growing further and further apart; she pondered most carefully how best to reveal through the post her continued affection for him, but she found no womanly way to do this. She simply could not write: 'I love you deeply. Please come and rescue me from this prison of the spirit.' But that is what she felt, and as the years pa.s.sed and she realized that she would never want to marry anyone but him, she experienced all the anxieties an uncertain young woman of twenty could feel. Desperately she awaited his letters, weighing each phrase to detect hidden meanings, but she found little to console her. Morning after morning she awakened at the farm, dreading the possibility that on this day she would learn that he had married someone else.

Far in the back of his mind, Detleef sensed that this must be the situation, and he sometimes admitted that in a proper world he would long since have been married to this stalwart girl he had liked so much that spring in Bloemfontein; whenever he mailed her a letter he visualized her as a married woman in church, or attending her duties, or caring for children. He never thought of her as beautiful, which she was not, but as some fine, solid human being for whom he had a steady affection.

But with Clara! That was different. For one thing, she was here in Stellenbosch, not in some distant Transvaal country town. She was alive with information, awake to changes occurring in the countryside. Her family had a new car, imported from America, and in it she loved to tour over the mountains to Fransch Hoek, where the Huguenots had cl.u.s.tered, or down to Somerset West, where the fine houses were. She was one of the first to learn that the war had ended in Europe, not with a German victory, as many had supposed, but with a smashing Allied triumph. For her own reasons, this gave her considerable satisfaction, but she did not annoy her father or her brothers by expressing this preference.

During the victory celebrations, in which the English settlers around the Cape were downright obnoxious, Detleef confided to her his disappointment: 'It would have been much better had the Germans won. They would have brought order to Europe.'

'And here, too, I suppose?' When he realized that she was goading him, he said no more, but when church services were held at the university to give thanks for the cessation of battle, he stayed away.

He began his serious courtship of Clara at Christmas time, 1918, spending most of his pocket money on a present for her. After considerable reflection he decided upon a small, fine leatherbound Bible published in Amsterdam, in which he wrote, facing the page on which their marriage and their children would be recorded: To Clara, the best of the Van Doorns. To Clara, the best of the Van Doorns.

She was embarra.s.sed by the gift and wanted to return it, deeming it most inappropriate, but her father would not permit this: 'He gave it to you as a sincere expression. Accept it on that basis.'

'If I do,' she said, 'it can only mislead him.'

'That's the risk we all take when we give or accept things,' he said, and that night at supper he said to Detleef, 'I cannot imagine a finer gift.' As the year drew to an end, Detleef became quite tense, rehearsing how he could best make his declaration to this exciting girl: I surely have the money to support a wife. Even Piet Krause, who doesn't farm very well, is showing a profit at Vrymeer. I have an education, so I can talk with her. I'm accorded a certain respect because of rugby. And I'm a good Christian.

But then he would in honesty list his deficiencies, and they seemed to weigh down the balances, but nevertheless, he decided to plunge ahead. However, there was to be no New Year's celebration, at least not with the Trianon Van Doorns, for they all drove in to Cape Town to greet a troopship that arrived on the last day of the year. It brought back to South Africa those gallant men who had volunteered to fight for king and country, and among them were some forty soldiers who had fought at Delville Wood.

As they came down the ramps, led by Timothy Saltwood, V.C., there was a curious silence. Most men and women in the crowd, English and Afrikaner alike, were overcome with emotion; but a few Afrikaners were, like Detleef, silent because of perplexity. These men were heroes, unquestionably, but they had fought on the wrong side. Then a wave of sentiment swept over the crowd as the men actually landed on home soil, and cheers deafened the Van Doorns as they applauded the men.

When the party returned to Trianon, with the tidy buildings appearing more secure than ever, there were celebrations, to which Detleef was not invited, but on the third of January, 1919, he bicycled out to the vineyards, prepared to make his formal proposal: I'll speak to Coenraad first, and then Clara's mother, and when I have their permission, I'll go to Clara herself. But as he pedaled his way down the long lane, he saw at the end of the little houses on the left a young woman who looked much like Clara kissing rather ardently a young man in military uniform. In great confusion he rode on, staring ahead, but from the corner of his eye he saw the woman break away when she noticed him, then move quickly back for another kiss.

'It's you!' Coenraad cried happily from the stoep. 'Come in, Detleef. It's a real celebration. Timothy Saltwood's home, covered with medals.'

'Is he in uniform?'

'Of course.'

When Clara and young Saltwood came into the hallway, Detleef felt weak, for the officer was a handsome fellow, lean, bemedaled, eager. 'This is Timothy Saltwood, of De Kraal,' Clara said. 'He tells me your family used to own his farm.'

'Long ago,' Detleef mumbled, and as soon as he could manage it, he whispered to Clara, 'Can I speak with you?'

'Of course! What?' She must have guessed what he was about to ask, but she gave him no help, standing firm in the middle of the room.

'I mean, can we talk . . . alone?'

'Of course,' she said brightly, leading him into her father's office. 'Clara,' he said. 'I gave you the Bible ... I mean . . .'

'What is it?' she asked. 'I want to marry you.'

She placed her fingers on his lips: 'Don't, Detleef.'

'To ask you to marry me,' he muttered. 'Detleef, I'm so sorry. I'm going to marry Timothy.'

He gasped. 'But he's an Englishman!'

'He's a very brave young man.' When Detleef tried to speak, she placed her hand over his mouth and said firmly, 'If you do care for me, come out now and behave like a gentleman.'

'I am not a gentleman,' he said harshly, pushing her hand down. 'I'm not some fancy Englishman.' He looked at her in anger, and said accusingly, 'You knew this all the time. You let me make a fool of myself He fumbled for words and said a most stupid thing: 'You let me give you that Bible.'

'I think,' she said with asperity, 'that you had better take your d.a.m.ned Bible back,' and she hurried from the room.

He was aghast that a young woman he loved should use such a word in such a connection, and when she flounced back into the office, thrusting the Bible into his hands, he dumbly accepted it, then watched as she recovered it, opened it, and ripped out the page on which he had written his dedication. 'Give it to someone else,' she said sternly, and with that she left him.

For some minutes he stood there, holding the maimed book. He did not know what to do. He heard voices in the house, people talking gaily as if nothing embarra.s.sing had happened, and then he made up his mind. Stalking from the room, looking at no one, he went out the front door for the last time in his life, and marched to his bicycle. Holding the Bible first in his right hand, then in his left, he pedaled down the long driveway, then jammed the book under his belt and went back to Stellenbosch.

Two days later Coenraad van Doorn came to see him, and said quietly, 'Detleef, things like this happen to everyone. My wife and I want you to attend the wedding. Clara wants it, for she considers you her good friend.'

With a hatred that burned his throat, Detleef said, 'All you English-lovers will be driven from power.'

Coenraad was a man who had worked hard to keep his vineyards solvent through war and peace, and to him such talk was shameful, for Afrikaners could prosper best if they cooperated with the English who had made South Africa their home, and he for one was pleased that his daughter was forming an alliance with one of the strongest English-speaking South African families. He wanted such conciliation to be repeated across the country, and since it was imperative that young Afrikaner men appreciate this, he swallowed the rebuke and begged Detleef to reconsider: 'Lad, don't you see that sometimes a gap can be too wide for ordinary measures to bridge? You saw Christoffel Steyn shot because he sided with Germany. The Saltwoods saw their men slain at Delville Wood because they sided with England. Such wounds can only be healed by men of good willlike you and me.'

'I hope England perishes.'

Coenraad would accept no more. With contempt he snapped, 'Detleef, you're a tight-minded fool. Get out and see the world. I'll have no more of you.'

As Detleef might have guessed, the Van Doorn-Saltwood wedding did not take place in Stellenbosch. It was performed with high ceremony and lavish celebration in the English cathedral in Cape Town.

Like many a young man before him, Detleef found vengeance in sports. He played rugby with a fury that astounded older men, throwing himself about with special abandon when pitted against teams like Somerset West, which had a more than average proportion of English players. Against the Ikeys he played like a wild man, for he suspected that somehow the Jews were involved in his loss of Clara. In fact, he played so magnificently that several newspapers predicted that when South African rugby teams resumed touring England and France, he would have to be included: 'Pound for pound, he may be the best forward playing today.'

At the same time he did well in his studies, and there was renewed interest in having him transfer to divinity school. Indeed, Reverend Brongersma himself came down to Stellenbosch to talk with him, but not on that subject. In fact, for the first half-hour of their conversation Detleef could not fathom what the visit was about.

'Your brother-in-law Piet is no farmer, Detleef. You must come back and take over, because he wants to find other employment.'

'He's not paying much attention to the farm?'

'You're not to worry.' He coughed, then said in an entirely different voice, 'What you should worry about, Detleef, is finding yourself a wife.' Before the bewildered young man could respond, Brongersma said hurriedly, 'Detleef, I have great affection for you. No boy from Vrymeer has ever shown more promise. I've heard about you and Clara van Doorn. I could see it happening when I gave my lectures. You've behaved miserably, Detleef. Like a d.a.m.ned fool, if you'll forgive me that word. But you have been a d.a.m.ned fool, and I'm ashamed of you.'

It was a blast Detleef had not expected. On the rugby field he had been knocked about by the biggestmouth cut, eyes blackenedbut the dom-inee's words were blows to his pride, and he gasped.

'There's a fine young woman in Carolina who is wasting her life for love of you. Maria Steyn, daughter of heroes, a heroine herself. For G.o.d's sake, Detleef, open your eyes. It was never intended that you marry Clara van Doorn. It would have been wrong. It would have ruined your life to have beat your head against that wall. And all the time you had a sweet, good woman waiting for you, and you were too blind to see.'

After a long silence Detleef asked weakly, 'Did she send you?'

'I heard about her, and I came on my own, as your friend.' When Detleef made no comment, the predikant asked in a low voice, 'Detleef, shall we pray?' And on his knees beside the young man for whom he had such high hopes, he talked with G.o.d about the extreme difficulty men face when they want to lead a Christian life.

The wedding was to be held in the Dutch Reformed church at Carolina, where numerous Steyns from the region gathered to honor Chris-toffel's memory. At the strong suggestion of Reverend Brongersma, Maria's predikant was asked to perform the ceremony, but on the evening before the wedding Detleef went to the church in Venloo and said, 'Reverend Brongersma, I wouldn't feel properly married unless you helped,' and when the pastor said that he would drive Detleef down to the wedding, the young man fumbled with a package and asked hesitantly, 'Dominee, tell me. I paid a lot of money for this Bible. Could I give it to Maria?'

Brongersma took the book, opened the cover, and saw that a page was missing; it required no cleverness to deduce what had happened. He thought for a moment, then asked gently, 'Don't you think that a bright girl like Maria might guess about Clara?'

'Yes, I suppose she would,' he said dejectedly.

'I'll tell you what we'll do, Detleef. I've always wanted a leatherbound Bible. I'll trade this for a new one of mine.' And next day Brongersma printed in firm clear letters on the page reserved for family records: detleef van doorn-maria steyn Kinders van ons helde. Getroud 14 Maart igig (Children of our heroes. Married 14 March 1919) (Children of our heroes. Married 14 March 1919) And then Detleef was thrown out into the world, just as the Trianon Van Doorns had advised; the committee that selected rugby players for a team which would tour New Zealand chose him to be one of the princ.i.p.al forwards, and Venloo expanded with more pride than it would have done had he been elected general of the armies. For a small town to provide a Springbok was a glory that rarely came.

A Springbok was any athlete of world cla.s.s who wore the green blazer with its golden springbok emblem while representing South Africa against another nation. A cricketer could be a Springbok, so could an Olympic runner, and as such they were ent.i.tled to full honors; but it was generally understood that only a rugby Springbok was a true immortal. This was especially true in 1921, because the New Zealand All-Blacks, so called because of their ominous uniforms, were regarded as the finest team that had ever played the game, and it was agreed that the winner of the forthcoming matches would be world champions.

Detleef was twenty-six that year, the father of a boy, the master of a growing farm. When his picture appeared in the city papers, it showed a stocky farmer, feet wide apart, rope around his ample stomach as a belt, and with absolutely no neck. The line from the bottom of his ear to the break of his shoulder was straight and unbroken, and when he posed next to his heaviest pair of oxen, he resembled them.

The problem of who would tend the farm while he was absent was conveniently solved: when Piet Krause left Venloo he had expected to find work quickly in Johannesburg, but these were hard times, and at one industry after another he was rebuffed. Chastened, he was glad to accept Detleef's offer of a free home and meals for himself and Johanna: 'But only during the rugby tour. I know I can find work in Johannesburg. This nation needs men like me.'

When Detleef, accompanied by five of the horrible Morkels, stepped ash.o.r.e at Auckland, he was like some gape-eyed child, for the people of New Zealand were immersed in frenzy over this championship series. The South Africans were allowed to warm up, of course, against regional teams, and in the first match Detleef discovered what he was going to be up against. When he hooked arms in the scrum, he looked into the face of a gigantic New Zealander with the sloping shoulders and quick moves of a true athlete; he was Tom Heeney, soon to fight Gene Tunney for the boxing championship of the world, and when he slammed into Detleef, the latter felt his knees jump backward. In the afternoons to come, he would face Heeney often.

When the regional warm-ups were finished, the two nations played a series of three games, the first on the southern island at Dunedin, the last two on the northern island, at Auckland and Wellington. Detleef would never forget that opening game: 'When we lined up for the photographers to take pictures, I was like a little boy. I had to go to the bathroom. So I went and was almost late for the whistle. I remember nothing about the first half, except that I kept b.u.mping into some very strong men. We ended the half ahead by five-to-nothing.' Whenever he spoke to audiences about that game he stopped at this point, laughed and said, 'But I certainly remember the second half. New Zealanders kept running up and down my spine. The crowd kept roaring. The ball kept slipping away, and at the end of the game New Zealand won thirteen-to-five.'

But he was blooded. Like an animal that has gone up against a lion and escaped with its life, he knew what fear was; he understood the meaning of pressure and became indifferent to the roar of the crowd. Before the opening of the second game he gathered the five Morkels on his team and said, 'We show them no mercy.' It was an epic struggle, tied at five-all until the gang of Morkels made superhuman plays to eke out a 9-5 victory. 'That night,' Detleef often said in later years, 'was the high point of my life. Nothing could ever excel that victory over New Zealand.'

The third and deciding game should never have taken place, for the field was so water-soaked and the rain so incessant that play resembled swimming more than rugby. The score was a frustrating 0-0, but the last seconds were a kind of majestic triumph for Detleef; a huge New Zealander broke away for what seemed the game-winning score, except that Van Doorn made a diving tackle that slowed him down. Boy Morkel rushed up to help hold him, whereupon six New Zealanders piled on. In the tangle and mud, Detleef's leg twisted, then broke. His rugby days were ended, but as he was carried off the field, refusing to surrender to the pain, he was able to tell Tom Heeney, 'Well, you didn't beat us,' and the Hard Rock from Down Under laughed and said, 'We nearly did.'

In the ensuing years Detleef was remembered wherever he went as 'the man who saved the day in New Zealand.' He treasured his green jacket with the emblazoned antelope and kept it on a special hanger in his wardrobe, taking it out occasionally for some sporting event. It became a sacred object, replacing the ceramic crock in which the men of his family had long made their bread puddings.

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When Detleef limped home on crutches in 1921 and saw how ineptly Piet Krause had managed Vrymeer during the rugby matches in New Zealand, he was tempted to show his disgust, but Maria calmed him by pointing out: 'Piet kept worrying about Johannesburg. Don't blame him for what he overlooked here.' Detleef limped home on crutches in 1921 and saw how ineptly Piet Krause had managed Vrymeer during the rugby matches in New Zealand, he was tempted to show his disgust, but Maria calmed him by pointing out: 'Piet kept worrying about Johannesburg. Don't blame him for what he overlooked here.'

Krause had foundor more accurately, Johanna had found for him a minor job as labor advisor to the government. He specialized in gold-mine problems, and when he returned to Venloo for a visit, Detleef, seeing the excitement with which he attacked his new duties, forgave him: 'You were never meant to be a farmer, Piet. Tell me, why do we hear so many rumbles from your city?'

That was all Piet needed. In wild bursts of words, interrupted by Johanna with her own interpretations, he explained why the burgeoning city had become the focus of the country: 'It's there the real battles are being fought. Our excursions up north, where General de Groot died and you and I took part, they were nothing. Echoes of the nineteenth century. But in Johannesburg . . .'

'Who's fighting?'

'The Afrikaner. He's fighting for his soul.'

He insisted that Detleef come back with him to witness the struggle of the white Afrikaner workman against the English mine owner, the Hoggenheimer financier, and especially the Bantu worker, but Detleef said that until he could move without crutches that would be impossible. However, he did want to understand the gold mines and promised that he would read whatever Piet mailed him in preparation for his later visit.

Johanna made the selection, and what she sent was startling. One gang of workers wanted to establish a soviet in which laboring men would take control of the mines, overthrow the government, and establish a Communist dictatorship in harmony with Russia. One group of mine owners wanted to fire all white workers and use only Bantu to work the gold, but when Maria read the literature more carefully, she pointed out: That's not what the owners said, Detleef. That's what their enemies said they said.' But then he received other mailings which proved that many owners wanted to cut back the number of white workers and increase the number of black.

From a distance, the city seemed such a jungle of competing forces that Detleef was actually eager to get there, and as soon as his leg mended he informed Johanna that he was ready. She advised him that if he caught a train at Waterval-Boven they would meet him at the railway station in central Johannesburg, and when they did they led him into a miasma of urban horror.

His education up to that moment, except for Chrissiesmeer, had been romantic: old generals fighting lost battles, gallant young men on the playing fields of New Zealand, sentimental remembrances of the Vrouemonument, unrequited love. Now his realistic instruction was to begin; he experienced it first in the section of Johannesburg called Vrededorp, where thousands of rural Afrikaners, driven off their farms by rinderpest and drought, had collected. They stopped at a small house occupied by a family named Troxel: tall, gaunt husband who should have been back on the open veld; scrawny wife with flat, sagging b.r.e.a.s.t.s; unkempt children, their faces drawn with hunger. In that dwelling there was little hope.

'Will you take us to other homes?' Piet asked, and Troxel led them to much worse hovels, whose occupants were desolate. After talking with these forlorn people, Detleef felt sick at the stomach, not figuratively but actually, almost to the point of vomiting. 'We've got to do something, Piet. These people are starving.'

'Tomorrow we'll see what lies behind the starving,' Piet said, and on this day he took Detleef to a workers' hall, where there was much agitation about new rules which the Chamber of Mines had promulgated.

'They're cutting back the proportion of white workers,' an agitator explained. When Detleef asked what this signified, the man screamed, 'Extermination, that's what it means. Extermination of the white Afrikaner,' and he explained that tradition in the gold fields had been that for every eight Bantu diggers, there had to be one white man. 'Now they want to make it ten blacks to one white. We can't accept that. It would cost too many Afrikaners their jobs.'

A stronghold of the strikers was Fordsburg, a working-cla.s.s district near Vrededorp, and here Detleef was taken to an inconspicuous shed in which the future soviet was being planned. Here rabid Afrikaners met with Cornish miners imported to do the basic work down deep and three fiery Englishmen who were determined to take South Africa into the Communist orbit: 'There'll be blood this time! Are you with us?' When Detleef said he didn't work the mines, but was a farmer, four excited Afrikaners surrounded him, demanding to know why he did not bring food into the city to feed his starving compatriots.

That night he could not sleep, seeing the pinched faces bearing in upon him, for he knew what starvation was, and when on the third day Piet took him back to Vrededorp to talk quietly with Troxel and the other Afrikaner families, and he heard their pitiful tales of perished hopes on the farms, the doleful trek to the city, the cruel exploitation in the mines, and the endless struggle to maintain their rights against the pressure of the blacks, his earlier sickness returned, and abruptly he informed Piet and Johanna that he was going home. When they accused him of rejecting his own people, he a.s.sured them: 'I'll be back.'

And he was, with a convoy of three large wagons bringing all the spare food he had been able to collect in Venloo. He drove the lead wagon, Micah Nxumalo the second, and Micah's son, Moses, the third. They brought the food into the center of Vrededorp and started to distribute it, but they occasioned such a disturbance that a riot would surely have ensued had not the Communist workers swept in, taken charge, and told the hungry miners that this food came from their committee.

This second visit had one by-product neither Detleef nor Piet had intended; Micah, left in charge of the three empty wagons, drove them out to a different section of Johannesburg where his people cl.u.s.tered. It was called Sophiatown, and when Micah came back to tell Detleef where he had been, Van Doorn decided to go with him to see how urban blacks lived.

Sophiatown had come into existence some two decades earlier, planned as a suburb for whites but spurned by them when a sewage works was located nearby. It was only four and a half miles from the center of Johannesburg, and the owner of the land had to do something with it, so he started renting and selling land to the blacks who were pouring in from the countryside to fill jobs in the postwar industrial boom.

For Detleef it was a journey into h.e.l.l, for Sophiatown had no proper streets, few proper houses and no proper water supply. It was a melange of prost.i.tutes, tsotsis, and decent mothers trying to maintain a home against phenomenal odds while their husbands worked ten and twelve hours for a daily wage of twenty pennies.

When Detleef looked at Sophiatown he saw a festering sore, dark and malignant, threatening to spread over a clean white city. It reached dangerously toward Afrikaner communities, as if it intended to engulf them. He was shocked to learn that blacks could actually own land here, which meant that they could stay permanently. 'A hideous sore,' he muttered to himself. 'It must be removed.'

This conclusion was intensified when he saw the home Nxumalo's relatives occupied. The Magubanes had a house with walls of real wood and a secure watertight roof made of paraffin tins. One of the Magubanes told him, 'Yes, when our people get the money they will make a lovely place of Sophiatown. Just like the homes of the rich people in Parktown.'

'Where do your people work?' Detleef asked.

'Offices, factories. And if the new rules come for the mines, thousands of our people back in the kraals will be eager for jobs. Fifty thousand, a hundred thousand if you need them.'

So Detleef left Sophiatown with the certain knowledge that the blacks would insist upon improving their lot, but he saw that this would be possible only at the expense of the white Afrikaners already trapped in poverty. He found that Troxel and the other white miners were willing to express themselves quite forcefully: 'We want this to be a white nation run by whites and not a black nation run by blacks.' Detleef could not imagine the huddled blacks of Sophiatown running anything; they would be lucky if they survived. His sympathies lay with the white miners, and when the callous owners announced even more stringent rules which might cost four thousand additional white men their jobs, he knew there would have to be a strike, although he himself did not want to support any moves which might turn this country into a soviet.

When the strike began, he knew he ought to hurry back to the safety of Vrymeer, but he was hypnotized by the intricacy of the struggle and curious to see how it turned out. So Piet Krause, whose job made it logical for him to stay on the scene in Vrededorp, asked the Troxels whether he and Detleef could board with them during the trouble, and the dest.i.tute Afrikaners were eager to have paying guests.

This was a battle much more fundamental than the pro-German rebellion of 1914. Miners were fighting for survival; owners were fighting for financial control; and the government, led by Jan Christian s.m.u.ts, was fighting for continuation of an orderly society. The hatred Krause and Van Doorn felt for s.m.u.ts clouded their vision of what was right, and they tended to cheer for whatever group opposed him.

It was real combat. Detleef turned a corner and saw sixteen civilians mowed down by machine-gun fire. A government building was dynamited and fourteen soldiers were killed. Police were gunned down, and on one awful day airplanes flew over the city, dropping bombs on concentrations of miners.

The death toll was fifty, then a hundred, then a hundred and fifty, with food running low and arson becoming common. There was talk of shutting off water, and children in the streets were slain by stray bullets.

'Why are Afrikaners fighting Afrikaners?' Detleef asked in anguish, and Troxel growled, 'Because we Afrikaners want to keep this nation white.' He was a brave man, and when General s.m.u.ts in total frustration warned that heavy artillery would sh.e.l.l the heart of Vrededorp at eleven the next morning, he refused to move his family. 'Sh.e.l.ls matter nothing,' he muttered, but when they began to fall, monstrous things intended for shattering forts, he quivered. Detleef, comforting the Troxel children, could not believe that his government was doing this, and as the dreadful concussions continued he thought: This is insanity. There must be a more sensible way.

In the midst of the barrage, Troxel left his shelter and ran directly across the open square where the sh.e.l.ls were falling. He was heading for strike headquarters, and when he returned through the smoldering debris he was weeping: 'They committed suicide!'

'Who?' Detleef asked.

'Our leaders. The Englishman, the other. Pistol shots through the head.'

The armed rebellion was over, with the compet.i.tion between the very poor Afrikaners in Vrededorp and the totally poor blacks in Sophiatown no closer to settlement than when the strike began. Only one poverty-stricken Afrikaner came out of the affair better than when he went in: after the fighting, when Nxumalo rea.s.sembled the three wagons for the trip back to Vrymeer, and Detleef saw them standing empty, he impulsively ran to the Troxel house and said, 'Come with me. This town is no place for an Afrikaner.' And on the spur of the moment he and Piet Krause threw into one wagon the pitiful collection of goods this family had acc.u.mulated after ten hard years in the city; it did not begin to fill it.

'They can use the De Groot place,' Detleef said as the bewildered cavalcade started eastward. He had seen Johannesburg and was appalled.

One Sunday, Detleef received the distinct impression in church that Reverend Brongersma was preaching directly to him, not in the long ordinary pa.s.sages of the sermon, but whenever something of special import had to be said. Then Brongersma would stare in his direction, sometimes looking at others in his vicinity but again and again coming back to Detleef to make his points.

He said nothing about this to Maria and even doubted if she had been aware of it, but when on two following Sundays the same thing happened, he asked casually on Monday night, 'Did you notice anything strange in church yesterday?'