LITMIR.BIZ

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this.

      ‘No, I am not.’

      ‘You are lying to me! You are fucking lying to me!’ By now he was screaming.

      ‘No, I am not,’ I pleaded.

      ‘Then explain to me why you hired an apartment for him?’

      My heart sank. They knew about Ebrahim’s apartment. They must have spoken to the landlord from whom I’d rented the flat. I’d dealt with the same man when hiring my own apartment and other places. I suspected that he did not want trouble with the police. He would have told them about the other apartment as well, the one where I kept a printing press.

      I was confident that the place had been cleaned of our activities, but I was worried about my cousin who lived there. My arrangement with her was that I paid the rent and had exclusive use of one of the rooms. We only used this room when she was not there and kept the door locked. She knew nothing of our activities. I prayed that she had not been arrested as well.

      ‘You are in more trouble than you can imagine,’ said Lieutenant Botha, slowly and deliberately. ‘Your fingerprints were found in the apartment that you hired for Ebrahim, a known terrorist. You were seen in the Amsterdam area. You were seen at the Ermelo Holiday Inn. In both these places you were with Ebrahim. Please don’t tell me that you are not involved with him. You are. You are an accomplice to anything that he has done or is going to do. I think it is time you tell us about your involvement with Ebrahim and the ANC. This game is over. You have two choices. You either tell us your involvement and we get this over as quickly as possible. Or you stay here and rot under Section 29. I can detain you for six months and after that I can apply to keep you further detained. Section 29 will break you. I will break you. You will not come out of here the same. The choice is yours.’

      My exhausted mind heard every word. For a while I stared beyond Lieutenant Botha into the fading light of the second day. I gathered my thoughts and said in a quiet monotone, ‘Lieutenant, you look like a reasonable man. I need a bath and a change of clothes.’ I paused. ‘After that we can talk.’

      This was the bait I offered. I was bargaining my cooperation for a bath and a little more time. Lieutenant Botha kept silent. I could see that he was processing my request, evaluating whether he should take the risk of letting me refresh or not. I bowed my head and lowered my gaze deliberately giving the impression that I was at the end of my resistance. My heart was pumping with anxiety. I feared that I was at risk of not being able to hold on any longer.

      ‘Okay,’ said Botha. ‘I will arrange for you to have a shower. Your mother sent some clothes for you. We will talk later. I want to know everything!’

      I thanked him.

      ‘Why are you thanking me?’ he asked.

      ‘For not assaulting me.’

      ‘There is no need to,’ he replied, ‘you Indians are easy to handle.’

      I smiled at him. It was time to re-enter the game.

      Lieutenant Botha called for someone to take me back to my cell.

      5

      Luck favoured me. It was the ‘Bathroom Officer’ who took me down to the cells. I waited until we were at the door to cell 26 before I asked why I was being detained.

      ‘Because they believe you are part of an ANC military unit linked to Ebrahim and the foreigners detained in Johannesburg,’ he said.

      ‘But I am not.’

      ‘They think you are.’

      I was eager to start up a conversation but his use of the word ‘they’ struck a chord in me. I paused. He was clearly dissociating himself from the rest of the Security Branch officers. I was unsure of his intention, but I desperately needed more information.

      ‘Who else is detained?’

      ‘In addition to Shirish, your cousin has also been detained.’

      ‘My cousin?’ I was unable to control my disappointment.

      ‘Yes, Myreen, she was in one of your flats.’

      ‘Did they find anything in the flat?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Is Shirish okay?’

      ‘He is very upset with you. He says that you used him.’

      So far so good, I thought. The legend was holding, this was exactly what Shirish and I had agreed that he should say.

      There was one more piece of information, but I waited until he’d opened the metal door before asking, my voice a whisper, ‘Do they have Ebrahim?’

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re still looking for him.’

      I nodded, smiled. He smiled back. For a fleeting moment I wondered if he was setting me up but I put aside my doubts and accepted his authenticity. He felt honest.

      ‘You’d better refresh,’ he said. ‘They will come back for you soon. Be careful of Lieutenant Botha. He is a hard man.’

      I shook his hand and entered my cell.

      I was concerned about my cousin Myreen. In 1977 a relative of ours, Dr Hoosen Haffejee, had been killed in detention. He’d been tortured and died of the brutality. His death devastated our families, especially hers. I knew that Myreen’s parents would be frantic with worry. I had to find a way to get her out.

      In the courtyard I had a warm-water shower. It felt refreshing although I wished that the water was a little hotter. I changed into the clothes my mother had sent and rinsed my urine-stained trousers. I had to wash away the traces of my shame. On the concrete block I found food in a steel plate beside a mug of cold tea. I gulped down the food. It was only then that I realised how hungry I was.

      Afterwards, lying on the bed, I rehearsed my ‘story’. From the interrogation and what the Bathroom Officer had told me, I could tie up loose ends. Soon I fell into a deep sleep.

      The clanging of keys startled me. I struggled to wake until the hard slaps on my face made me sit up abruptly. Even then I was disoriented, confused, unable to understand where I was.

      ‘Get up! Get up! It’s time to talk,’ Lieutenant Botha shouted at me, his face alive with expectation.

      I used the long walk to the interrogation room to focus mind and body. I asked to use the bathrooms where I washed my face with hot water and did my mirror-fear check routine. I was ready to enter the game. I knew what I had to do. The third day was dawning. I needed to extend this for a few more hours.

      Seated across the table from Lieutenant Botha I made my move.

      ‘I am a supporter of the ANC,’ I said.

      ‘Who recruited you?’

      ‘Ivan.’

      ‘Who is Ivan?’

      ‘I know him only as Ivan. He is an Indian guy.’

      Lieutenant Botha opened a photo album and pushed it towards me. ‘Point him out?’

      I slowly studied the photographs in the album. On seeing Ivan’s picture and without hesitation I said, ‘This is Ivan.’

      Lieutenant Botha smiled. His eyes lighting up in anticipation.

      ‘You mean Ivan Pillay?’

      ‘I don’t know his surname.’

      ‘When did you meet him?’

      ‘Two years ago.’

      ‘In 1983?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘At university.’

      ‘This cannot be, Ivan was in exile then!’

      ‘I met him at the

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