a good height, the others come down again and complain bitterly.
Mark Behr
When they hover around our heads and in front of our faces, it looks as if they're paddling with their wings, and their legs and little webbed feet move to and fro like little oars. We can't help laughing at them, because they push their heads forward as if they're begging and they want us to see how hungry they are. Dad feels sorry for them sometimes, and then I fetch some Herzoggies from one of the tins in the kitchen, so that we can spoil them a little. While I'm in the kitchen getting the biscuits, they wait out there, still squawking and hovering around Dad. They trust him because they know him.
On the Simonstown side of my room, against the window-pane, there's a photograph of Dad with boxing gloves. With his gloves facing forward, he's looking at the camera with his head cocked to one side. He's still very young.
We sometimes go to the boxing in the Good Hope Centre, or at other times we listen to the matches on the radio. When Arnold Taylor knocked out Romeo Anaya of Mexico and became the world champion, it was an almighty big day for the Republic. We listened to the fight on the radio, and when they played 'Die Stem', Dad had tears in his eyes.
Just before the General came, we also listened when Pierre Fourie fought against Bob Foster in Johannesburg. It was the first time in the Republic that a non-white fought against a white. The referee let Foster win because he's black, even though Pierre should have won the match. But overseas they're bringing politics into sports, and they discriminate against us white South Africans.
The other big hero for Dad and me is Gary Player. Dad always says that Springboks may come and go, but the one Springbok that will always wear the green and gold is Gary Player.
The Smell of Apples
Next to Dad with the boxing gloves is another photograph of him with Uncle PW Botha. It was taken when Uncle PW became the Minister of Defence. Dad says his money is on Uncle PW to pull the wagon through the drift. He says the politicians are making a mess of things, and it's time the defence force showed them how things ought to be done. Our hope for the future rests on men like Uncle PW.
In another frame there's a photograph of Mum singing. Use says it was taken when Mum was Dido in the opera. She's wearing a long nightdress that falls in folds around her feet. In the bottom corner there's an inscription in white ink: To Leonore - lest you ever forget to use your voice, Mario. I think Mario was the guy who sang in the opera with Mum.
Sometimes, when Dad isn't home, you can hear Mum singing at the piano in the lounge, or in the bathroom. She sings all kinds of stuff from the operas and I think she might be missing the concerts and the overseas trips. Whenever she sings in the bath it's as if the whole house goes quiet to listen. Late one afternoon, when I went downstairs while she was singing, I found Doreen standing quietly in the passage, holding her rag and bucket in one hand, just listening to Mum's voice fill the house. When Doreen saw me, she quickly bent forward, and made as if she was wiping something from the floor. Then she quietly walked into the kitchen. I think she was ashamed for being caught out, because when she left for the train a while later she didn't even say goodbye.
Dad and Mum don't want Use and me to travel to school by train. In one week two white women were raped by Coloureds at Salt River Station. It's the most dreadful of dreadful disgraces if a woman gets raped. Mum says it's even dangerous these days for young boys on the train,
Mark Behr
because you get exposed to all kinds of bad influences.
So Mum drives us around in her green Volkswagen Beetle. When she's parked outside the school gates between all the other Beetles we can spot her a mile away because hers has a little black roof. There are always so many Beetles parked in front of Jan Van Riebeeck that we could easily walk to
Mark Behr
When they hover around our heads and in front of our faces, it looks as if they're paddling with their wings, and their legs and little webbed feet move to and fro like little oars. We can't help laughing at them, because they push their heads forward as if they're begging and they want us to see how hungry they are. Dad feels sorry for them sometimes, and then I fetch some Herzoggies from one of the tins in the kitchen, so that we can spoil them a little. While I'm in the kitchen getting the biscuits, they wait out there, still squawking and hovering around Dad. They trust him because they know him.
On the Simonstown side of my room, against the window-pane, there's a photograph of Dad with boxing gloves. With his gloves facing forward, he's looking at the camera with his head cocked to one side. He's still very young.
We sometimes go to the boxing in the Good Hope Centre, or at other times we listen to the matches on the radio. When Arnold Taylor knocked out Romeo Anaya of Mexico and became the world champion, it was an almighty big day for the Republic. We listened to the fight on the radio, and when they played 'Die Stem', Dad had tears in his eyes.
Just before the General came, we also listened when Pierre Fourie fought against Bob Foster in Johannesburg. It was the first time in the Republic that a non-white fought against a white. The referee let Foster win because he's black, even though Pierre should have won the match. But overseas they're bringing politics into sports, and they discriminate against us white South Africans.
The other big hero for Dad and me is Gary Player. Dad always says that Springboks may come and go, but the one Springbok that will always wear the green and gold is Gary Player.
The Smell of Apples
Next to Dad with the boxing gloves is another photograph of him with Uncle PW Botha. It was taken when Uncle PW became the Minister of Defence. Dad says his money is on Uncle PW to pull the wagon through the drift. He says the politicians are making a mess of things, and it's time the defence force showed them how things ought to be done. Our hope for the future rests on men like Uncle PW.
In another frame there's a photograph of Mum singing. Use says it was taken when Mum was Dido in the opera. She's wearing a long nightdress that falls in folds around her feet. In the bottom corner there's an inscription in white ink: To Leonore - lest you ever forget to use your voice, Mario. I think Mario was the guy who sang in the opera with Mum.
Sometimes, when Dad isn't home, you can hear Mum singing at the piano in the lounge, or in the bathroom. She sings all kinds of stuff from the operas and I think she might be missing the concerts and the overseas trips. Whenever she sings in the bath it's as if the whole house goes quiet to listen. Late one afternoon, when I went downstairs while she was singing, I found Doreen standing quietly in the passage, holding her rag and bucket in one hand, just listening to Mum's voice fill the house. When Doreen saw me, she quickly bent forward, and made as if she was wiping something from the floor. Then she quietly walked into the kitchen. I think she was ashamed for being caught out, because when she left for the train a while later she didn't even say goodbye.
Dad and Mum don't want Use and me to travel to school by train. In one week two white women were raped by Coloureds at Salt River Station. It's the most dreadful of dreadful disgraces if a woman gets raped. Mum says it's even dangerous these days for young boys on the train,
Mark Behr
because you get exposed to all kinds of bad influences.
So Mum drives us around in her green Volkswagen Beetle. When she's parked outside the school gates between all the other Beetles we can spot her a mile away because hers has a little black roof. There are always so many Beetles parked in front of Jan Van Riebeeck that we could easily walk to
Similar Books
