Nadine Gordimer - No Time Like the Present

The relation, lover and comrade, to each other, is contesting, come alive. He trusts her suddenly come out in this aspect of herself, from her withdrawal that first day. A lawyer is for the victims, not one of them, no matter other, personal identification.

— How does anyone go about it? — The others turn to her, on her. It is recognition, something comrades learnt, had to, demand of one another’s qualities, chance of effectiveness, in the Struggle.

The eagerness to see action instead of settling for condemnation by disgust; she sees they have higher expectations of her familiarity with the process of justice than she can offer, straight off. Justice Centre elders will know how, by whom, what criminal charges should, can be made.

Jabu has long overcome what she had to admit, face that time when she went to her father after her day at the Zuma trial and found the poster image celebrating dismissal of the case at her Baba’s place, her home. If you live with someone through successive phases of your life together, you don’t, can’t know how he or she has come to terms with them, the disillusion and the pain, can only sense this has come about. She’s gone back on a visit to the village where the Elder of the Methodist Church, the school headmaster, decrees the way of an extended family’s life, his synthesis of what are known as traditional values and his rightful claim of whatever gained at such a price of centuries’ loss and indignity (you defy tradition and send your female child for education in the coloniser’s culture). He certainly supported Zuma for triumphant election, president of the ANC at Polokwane, as preliminary to becoming president of the country, giving the weight of his voice to electioneering among collaterals and the village. But does not expect, it seems, obedience from her. There was the customary welcome for this daughter and the grandson who successfully belongs both to the colonial-style city school and the country cousins on their soccer field. Offered to teach them to pick up the ball and run with it rugby-style.

So she’s tough, Jabu. Tougher than a Reed. Although together — they’ve grown through bush camps and detention as their initiation. No — not tough, this gentle woman of his, soft flesh on her hips and more on backside now, in confirmation of black women’s femininity. No other ideal adopted; not conditioned like his mother, dieting to stay young beyond successive stages. No, not tough, strong in the way he never could be, of course. A matter of another conditioning, her people, her Baba, all the generations behind them have survived those centuries of everything determined to demean and destroy them. His drop of Jew’s blood? If he’d been the survivor son of German Jews who were shoved into Nazi incinerators; if he were a Palestinian in Gaza, he would be tough in her way, maybe.

Now she has the resources she’s earned, she’s able after that initial retreat into victim as along with the cleaning women, to use all these advantages combined within her.

She keeps the two of them informed on the understanding that it will be a long process, there are many devices of the guilty for delaying the law: the Judicial Commission may have to be involved before there’s public demand for justice to be seen to be done before the Constitutional Court. Maybe he could get going movement at his university beyond its certainty that such horror could never have happened there.

How certain. Change, change, the past had to be overturned but what crawls out of the rubble can surface in some form anywhere, even in institutions undergoing real transformation: there are more black-of-all-shades in the Faculty of Science this year than last. Remind himself; some reassurance against disgust.

There is between them the realisation that he had not discarded, ruled out consideration. Did this mean she is convinced it would not, could not come to pass, but she must grant him the freedom to research what he knows he is putting before her, and what he is putting before their daughter and son. He receives some further information he applied for by email from the immigration department of the government of Australia.

Yes yes conditions apply. A positive response, a sign. He takes it to his lawyer — wife, comrade, for interpretation beyond his: interpretation for them all, Steve, Jabu, Sindiswa, Gary Elias, applying to them all, if it comes to that; comes about.

September, spring, season of burgeoning.

The African National Congress Youth League has a new spokesman, he says of the call to ‘Kill for Zuma’ the League won’t use the word again but ‘will stop at nothing to see Zuma elected as the country’s next president’.

Peter Mkize is promoted general manager of a group of communication enterprises, mobiles, data modems.

Blessing has now her own catering firm in partnership with Gloria Mbanjwa who used to be a waitress at the coffee shop Isa frequents; a BEE opportunity.

Isa has opened a gallery selling indigenous art, with one of the artists himself.

Jake is in insurance, with good prospects, a company where one of the ministers of the present government (may not be around next year after the elections) sits on the board and has investment.

Jabu’s place among comrade ex-combatants, in her career both prestigious, likely to become prosperous, while devoted to justice against the past and for justice in the present, has been the first to see something like the Black Economic Empowerment policy in evidence even if only within the class of the Suburb.

When the Suburb gets together each in this trusted company can unburden frustrations, unforeseen situations, unexpected successes of their piece of the jigsaw, argue where it will fit in to make the map of the new life. Not everyone sees the same cartography, anyway. These are the mountains to sweat your way up — no, these are the cesspits still to be drained of the shit of the past, no, they’re the green fields in the dew.

— What d’you do with leftovers when you make all that fancy food for government people, what happens to it I wonder? Do your helpers eat what they like? Takeaways? — Isa tick-tocking a finger at Blessing.

— It goes to any orphanage or old age home, school — you know, that’s near, we’ve got our fridge van.—

— Caviare for the kids. — Jake makes affectionate fun of Blessing.

Peter joins in. — You’re not jealous she brings things home for me. I’ll call you next time she has a bottle of wine under her apron.—

There’s also development of another nature, would seem entirely personal if it were not that all their situations out of their pasts are personal to the ex-combatants’ comradeship of the Suburb. Marc was now often not among the Dolphins when the Reeds brought their young over for a Sunday swim. He was missing in the lively adult playfulness around the church pool; assumed with his growing success that he was busy staging his new play in some festival, another part of the country. He walked in one night late when Steve and Jabu were about to go to bed and told them he had fallen in love with a woman. He was going to live with her: his first time, ever. He wanted to talk. Never been bisexual. This was a decisive discovery — they would understand. He who’d become their comrade was no longer a Dolphin.

Summer and he’s in court again, Jacob Zuma: the charges of corruption against the President of the African National Congress are withdrawn in a High Court judgment. The statement later that this order was made while it was the judge’s belief that there had existed political interference in the defendant’s case was not the reason why he held that charges against Zuma were unlawful, his belief was merely a response to the State’s desire to have the allegations struck off…it was ‘an adjunct to issues of law’: the national Department of Prosecution had not, he said, given Zuma a chance to make representations before deciding to charge him.