Rage - Smith Wilbur (книги читать бесплатно без регистрации .TXT) 📗
'Follow me,' he ordered, and led them across the bare dusty backyard, through the shadows to the corner of the road. There he stopped unexpectedly.
'What happens now?" Kitty asked in a whisper. 'Why are we waiting here?" 'Be patient,' Robert said. 'You will learn the reason soon." Suddenly Kitty was aware that they were not alone. There were others waiting like them in the shadows. She could hear them now, the murmur of voices, quiet but expectant. She could see them as her eyes adjusted to the night, many figures, in small groups, huddled beside the hedges or in the shelter of the buildings.
Dozens, no hundreds of people, men and women, and every
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moment their numbers increased as more came out of the night shadows, gathering round the cottage that contained Moses Gama, as though his presence was a beacon, a flame that, like moths, they could not resist.
'What is happening?" Kitty asked softly.
'You will see,' Robert replied. 'Have your camera ready." The people were beginning to leave the shadows, creeping closer to the cottage, and a voice called out 'Babo! Your children are here. Speak to us, Father." And another cried. 'Moses Gama, we are ready. Lead us!" And then they began to sing, softly at first, 'Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika - God save Africa!" and the voices joined and began to harmonize, those beautiful African voices, thrilling and wonderful.
Then there was another sound, distant at first, but swiftly growing closer, the sobbing undulating wall of police sirens.
'Have your camera ready,' said Robert again.
As soon as the American woman and her cameraman had left the cottage, Moses Gama began to rise from the table. 'It is done,' he said. 'Now we can leave." 'Not yet, my uncle,' Raleigh Tabaka stopped him. 'There is something else that we must do first." 'It is dangerous to delay,' Moses insisted. 'We have been in this place too long. The police have informers everywhere." 'Yes, my uncle. The police informers are everywhere." Raleigh put a peculiar emphasis on his agreement. 'But before you go on to the place where the police cannot touch you, we must talk." Raleigh came to stand at the front of the table facing his uncle.
'This was planned with great care. This afternoon the white monster Verwoerd was assassinated in the racist parliament." Moses started. 'You did not tell me this,' he protested, but Raleigh went on quietly.
'The plan was that in the confusion after Verwoerd's assassination you would emerge to lead a spontaneous rising of our people." 'Why was I not told of this?" Moses asked fiercely.
'Patience, my uncle. Hear me out. The men who planned this are from a cold bleak land in the north, they do not understand the African soul. They do not understand that our people will not rise until their mood is ready, until their rage is ripe. That time is not yet.
It will take many more years of patient work to bring their rage to full fruit. Only then can we gather the harvest. The white police are still too strong. They would crush us by raising their little finger and the world would stand by and watch us die as they watched the rebellion in Hungary die." 'I do not understand,' Moses said. 'Why have you gone this far if you did not intend to travel to the end of the road.9' 'The revolution needs martyrs as well as leaders. The mood and temper of the world must be roused, for without them we can never succeed. Martyrs and leaders, my uncle." 'I am the chosen leader of our people,' Moses Gama said simply.
'No, my uncle." Raleigh shook his head. 'You have proved unworthy. You have sold out your people. In exchange for your life, you delivered the revolution into the hands of the enemy. You gave Nelson Mandela and the heroes of Rivonia to the foe. Once I believed you were a god, but now I know that you are a traitor." Moses Gama stared at him silently.
'I am glad you do not deny this, my uncle. Your guilt is proven beyond any doubt. By your action you have forfeited any claim to the leadership. Nelson Mandela alone has the greatness for that role.
However, my uncle, the revolution needs martyrs." From the pocket of his jacket Raleigh Tabaka took something wrapped in a clean white cloth. He laid it on the table. Slowly he opened the bundle, taking care not to touch what it contained.
They both stared at the revolver.
'This pistol is police issue. Only hours ago it was stolen from a local police arsenal. The serial number is still on the police register.
It is loaded with police-issue ammunition." Raleigh folded the cloth around the grip of the pistol. 'It still has the fingerprints of the police officers upon it,' he said.
Carrying the pistol he went round the table to stand behind Moses Gama's chair and placed the muzzle of the pistol at the back of his neck.
From outside the cottage they heard the singing begin.
'God save Africa." Raleigh repeated the words. 'You are fortunate, my uncle. You have a chance to redeem yourself. You are going to a place where nobody can ever touch you again, and your name will live for ever, pure and unsullied. "The great martyr of Africa who died for his people."' Moses Gama did not move or speak, and Raleigh went on softly, 'The people have been told you are here. They are gathered outside in their hundreds. They will bear witness to your greatness. Your name will live for ever." Then above the singing they heard the police sirens coming closer, wailing and sobbing.
'The brutal fascist police have also been told that you are here,' Raleigh said softly.
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The sound of the sirens built up and then there were the roar of engines, the squeal of brakes, the slamming of Land-Rover doors, the shouted commands, the pounding footsteps, and the crash of the front door being smashed in with sledgehammers.
As Brigadier Lothar De La Rey led his men in through the front door of the cottage, Raleigh Tabaka said softly, 'Go in peace, my uncle,' and he shot Moses Gama in the back of the head.
The heavy bullet threw Moses forward, his shattered head slammed face down upon the table, the contents of his skull and chips of white bone splattered against the wall and over the kitchen floor.
Raleigh dropped the police pistol onto the table and slipped out into the dark yard. He joined the watching throng in the street outside, mingling with them, waiting with them until the covered body was carried out of the front door of the cottage on a stretcher. Then he shouted in a strong clear voice, 'The police have murdered our leader. They have killed Moses Gama." As the cry was taken up by a hundred other voices, and the women began the haunting ululation of mourning, Raleigh Tabaka turned and walked away into the darkness.
A servant opened the front door of Weltevreden to Manfred De La Rey.
'The master is expecting you,' he said respectfully. 'Please come with me." He led Manfred to the gun room and closed the double mahogany doors behind him.
Manfred stood on the threshold. There was a log fire burning in the hearth of the stone fireplace and Shasa Courtney stood before it.
He was wearing a dinner-jacket and black tie and a new black silk patch over his eye. He was tall and debonair with silver wings of hair at his temples, but his expression was merciless.
Centaine Courtney sat at the desk below the gun racks. She also wore evening dress, a brocaded Chinese silk in her favourite shade of yellow with a necklace of magnificent yellow diamonds from the H'am Mine. Her arms and shoulders were bare and in the muted light her skin seemed flawless and smooth as a young girl's.
'White Sword,' Shasa greeted him softly.
'Ja,' Manfred nodded. 'But that was long ago - in another war." 'You killed an innocent man. A noble old man." 'The bullet was intended for another - for a traitor, an Afrikaner who had delivered his people to the British yoke." 'You were a terrorist then, as Gama and Mandela are terrorists now. Why should your punishment be any different from theirs?" 'Our cause was just - and God was on our side,' Manfred replied.
