After breakfast, Jarvis returned to his host's study, and began to read his son's ma.n.u.script. He turned first to the last page of it, and read with pain the last unfinished paragraph. This was almost the last thing that his son had done. When this was done he had been alive. Then at this moment, at this very word that hung in the air, he had got up and gone down the stairs to his death. If one could have cried then, don't go down! If one could have cried, stop, there is danger! But there was no one to cry. No one knew then what so many knew now. But these thoughts were unprofitable; it was not his habit to dwell on what might have been but what could never be. There was no point in imagining that if one had been there, one could have prevented a thing that had happened only because it had not been prevented. It was the pain that did that, that compelled one to these unprofitable thoughts. He wanted to understand his son, not to desire what was no more accessible to desire. So he compelled himself to read the last paragraph slowly - with his head, not his heart, so that he could understand it.

The truth is that our Christian civilization is riddled through and through with dilemma. We believe in the brotherhood of man, but we do not want it in South Africa. We believe that G.o.d endows men with diverse gifts, and that human life depends for its fullness on their employment and enjoyment, but we are afraid to explore this belief too deeply. We believe in help for the underdog, but we want him to stay under. And we are therefore compelled, in order to preserve our belief that we are Christian, to ascribe to Almighty G.o.d, Creator of Heaven and Earth, our own human intentions, and to say that because He created white and black, He gives the Divine Approval to any human action that is designed to keep black men from advancement. We go so far as to credit Almighty G.o.d with having created black men to hew wood and draw water for white men. We go so far as to a.s.sume that He blesses any action that is designed to prevent black men from the full employment of the gifts He gave them. Alongside of these very arguments we use others totally inconsistent, so that the accusation of repression may be refuted. We say we withhold education because the black child has not the intelligence to profit by it; we withhold opportunity to develop gifts because black people have no gifts; we justify our action by saying that it took us thousands of years to achieve our own advancement, and it would be foolish to suppose that it will take the black man any lesser time, and that therefore there is no need for hurry. We shift our ground again when a black man does achieve something remarkable, and feel deep pity for a man who is condemned to the loneliness of being remarkable, and decide that it is a Christian kindness not to let black men become remarkable. Thus even our G.o.d becomes a confused and inconsistent creature, giving gifts and denying them employment. Is it strange then that our civilization is riddled through and through with dilemma? The truth is that our civilization is not Christian; it is a tragic compound of great ideal and fearful practice, of high a.s.surance and desperate anxiety, of loving charity and fearful clutching of possessions. Allow me a minute....

Jarvis sat, deeply moved. Whether because this was his son, whether because this was almost the last act of his son, he could not say. Whether because there was some quality in the words, that too he could not say, for he had given little time in his life to the savouring and judging of words. Whether because there was some quality in the ideas, that too he could not say, for he had given little time to the study of these particular matters. He rose and went up the stairs to his room, and was glad to find his wife not there, for here was a sequence not to be interrupted. He picked up the Abraham Lincoln and went down to the study again, and there opened the book at the Second Inaugural Address of the great president. He read it through, and felt with a sudden lifting of the spirit that here was a secret unfolding, a track picked up again. There was increasing knowledge of a stranger. He began to understand why the picture of this man was in the house of his son, and the mult.i.tude of books.

He picked up the page again, but for his son, not for the words or the ideas. He looked at the words.

Allow me a minute...

And nothing more. Those fingers would not write any more. Allow me a minute, I hear a sound in the kitchen. Allow me a minute, while I go to my death. Allow me a thousand minutes, I am not coming back any more.

Jarvis shook it off, and put another match to his pipe, and after he had read the paper through, sat in a reverie, smoking.

James.

He started. Yes, my dear, he said.

You shouldn't sit by yourself, she said.

He smiled at her. It's not my nature to brood, he said.

Then what have you been doing?

Thinking. Not brooding, thinking. And reading. This is what I have been reading.

She took it, looked at it, and held it against her breast.

Read it, he said quietly, it's worth reading.

So she sat down to read it, and he watching her, knew what she would do. She turned to the last page, to the last words. Allow me a minute, and sat looking at them. She looked at him, she was going to speak, he accepted that. Pain does not go away so quickly.

22.

AT THE HEAD of the Court is a high seat where the Judge sits. Down below it is a table for officers of the Court, and to the left and to the right of the table are other seats. Some of these seats form a block that is enclosed, and they are for the jury if there is a jury. In front of the table are other seats, arranged in arcs of circles, with curved tables in front of the seats, and it is there that the lawyers sit. And behind them is the dock, with a pa.s.sage leading to some place that is underground, and from this place that is underground will be brought the men that are to be judged. At the back of the Court there are seats rising in tiers, those on the right for Europeans, those on the left for non-Europeans, according to the custom.

You may not smoke in this Court, you may not whisper or speak or laugh. You must dress decently, and if you are a man, you may not wear your hat unless such is your religion. This is in honour of the Judge and in honour of the King whose officer he is; and in honour of the Law behind the Judge, and in honour of the People behind the Law. When the Judge enters you will stand, and you will not sit till he is seated. When the Judge leaves you will stand, and you will not move till he has left you. This is in honour of the Judge, and of the things behind the Judge.

For to the Judge is entrusted a great duty, to judge and to p.r.o.nounce sentence, even sentence of death. Because of their high office, Judges are called Honourable, and precede most other men on great occasions. And they are held in great honour by men both white and black. Because the land is a land of fear, a Judge must be without fear, so that justice may be done according to the Law; therefore a Judge must be incorruptible.

The Judge does not make the Law. It is the People that make the Law. Therefore if a Law is unjust, and if the Judge judges according to the Law, that is justice, even if it is not just.

It is the duty of a Judge to do justice, but it is only the People that can be just. Therefore if justice be not just, that is not to be laid at the door of the Judge, but at the door of the People, which means at the door of the White People, for it is the White People that make the Law.

In South Africa men are proud of their Judges, because they believe they are incorruptible. Even the black men have faith in them, though they do not always have faith in the Law. In a land of fear this incorruptibility is like a lamp set upon a stand, giving light to all that are in the house.

They call for silence in the Court, and the people stand. Even if there were one there greater than the Judge he would stand, for behind the Judge are things greater than any man. And the Judge enters with his two a.s.sessors, and they sit, and then the people sit also. The Court is begun.

From the place under the ground come the three that are to be judged, and all the people look at them. Some people think that they look like murderers, they even whisper it, though it is dangerous to whisper. Some people think they do not look like murderers, and some think this one looks like a murderer, but that one does not.

A white man stands up and says that these three are accused of the murder of Arthur Trevelyan Jarvis, in his house at Plantation Road, Parkwold, Johannesburg, on Tuesday the eighth day of October, 1946, in the early afternoon. The first is Absalom k.u.malo, the second is Matthew k.u.malo, the third is Johannes Pafuri. They are called upon to plead guilty or not guilty, and the first says, I plead guilty to killing, but I did not mean to kill. The second says I am not guilty, and the third likewise. Everything is said in English and in Zulu, so that these three may understand. For though Pafuri is not a Zulu, he understands it well, he says.

The lawyer, the white man who is taking the case for G.o.d, says that Absalom k.u.malo will plead guilty to culpable homicide, but not to murder, for he had no intention to kill. But the prosecutor says there is no charge of culpable homicide; for it is murder, and nothing less than murder, with which he is charged. So Absalom k.u.malo pleads, like the two others, not guilty.

Then the prosecutor speaks for a long time, and tells the Court the whole story of the crime. And Absalom k.u.malo is still and silent, but the other two look grieved and shocked to think such things are said.

Then after this plan was made you decided on this day, the eighth day of October?

That is so.

Why did you choose this day?

Because Johannes said that no one would be in the house.

This same Johannes Pafuri?

This same Johannes Pafuri who is charged with me now.

And you chose this time of half-past-one?

That is so.

Was it not a bad time to choose? White people come home to eat at this time.

But the accused makes no answer.

Why did you choose this time?

It was Johannes who chose this time. He said it was told to him by a voice.

What voice?

No, that I do not know.

An evil voice?

And again there is no answer.

Then you three went to the back door of the house?

That is so.

You and these two who are charged with you?

I and these very two.

And then?

Then we tied the handkerchiefs over our mouths.

And then?

Then we went into the kitchen.

Who was there?

The servant of the house was there.

Richard Mpiring?

No, I do not know his name.

Is this the man here?

Yes, that is the man.

And then? Tell the Court what happened.

This man was afraid. He saw my revolver. He stood back against the sink where he was working. He said, what do you want? Johannes said, we want money and clothes. This man said, you cannot do such a thing. Johannes said, do you want to die? This man was afraid and did not speak. Johannes said, when I speak, people must tremble. Then he said again, do you want to die? The man said nothing, but he suddenly called out, master, master. Then Johannes struck him over the head with the iron bar that he had behind his back.

How many times did he strike him?

Once.

Did he call out again?

He made no sound.

What did you do?

No, we were silent. Johannes said we must be silent.

What did you do? Did you listen?

We listened.

Did you hear anything?

We heard nothing.

Where was your revolver?

In my hand.

And then?

Then a white man came into the pa.s.sage.

And then?

I was frightened. I fired the revolver.

And then?

The accused looked down at the floor. The white man fell, he said.

And then?

Johannes said quickly, we must go. So we all went quickly.

To the back gate?

Yes.

And then over the road into the plantation?

Yes.

Did you stay together?

No, I went alone.

And when did you see these two again?

At the house of Baby Mkize.

But the Judge interrupts. You may proceed shortly with your examination, Mr. Prosecutor. But I have one or two questions to ask the first accused.

As your lordship pleases.

Why did you carry this revolver?

It was to frighten the servant of the house.

But why do you carry any revolver?

The boy is silent.

You must answer my question.

They told me to carry it.

Who told you?