117

A DRINK IN THE PASSAGE

ALAN P A T O N

IN the year i 9 6 0 the Union of South Africa celebrated its

Golden j u b i l e e , and t h e r e was a nation-wide sensation w h e n the
one-thousand-pound prize for the finest piece of sculpture was
w o n by a black man, Edward Simelane. His w o r k , AFRICAN
M O T H E R A N D CHILD, n o t only excited the admiration, b u t
t o u c h e d the conscience or heart or whatever it wras that
responded, of w h i t e South Africa, and seemed likely to make
him famous in o t h e r countries.
It was by an oversight that his w o r k was accepted, for it was
the policy of the G o v e r n m e n t that all the celebrations and
competitions should be strictly segregated. T h e c o m m i t t e e of
the sculpture section received a private r e p r i m a n d for having
been so careless as to o m i t the words " f o r whites o n l y " from
the conditions, but was told, by a very high personage it is
said, that if Simelane's w o r k " w a s indisputably the b e s t " , it
should receive the award. The c o m m i t t e e then decided that
this prize must b e given along with the others, at the public
ceremony which would bring this particular part of the
celebrations to a close.
For this decision it received a surprising a m o u n t of support
from the w h i t e p u b l i c ; but in certain powerful quarters, t h e r e
was an outcry against any d e p a r t u r e from the " t r a d i t i o n a l
p o l i c i e s " of the country, and a threat that many w h i t e prize-
winners would r e n o u n c e their prizes. However a crisis was
averted, because the sculptor was "unfortunately unable to
attend the c e r e m o n y " .
" I w a s n ' t feeling u p to i t , " Simelane said mischievously to
me. " M y parents, and my wife's parents, and our priest,
d e c i d e d that I w a s n ' t feeling up to it. And finally I decided so
t o o . Of course Majosi and Sola and the others wanted m e to
go and get my prize personally, b u t I said, 'boys, I'm a sculptor,
not a demonstrator'."
" T h i s cognac is w o n d e r f u l , " he said, "especially in these
big glasses. It's the first time I've had such a glass. It's also
the first t i m e I've drunk a brandy so slowly. In O r l a n d o you
develop a t h r o a t of iron, and you just p u t back your head and
p o u r it d o w n , in case t h e police should a r r i v e . "
He said to m e , " t h i s is the second cognac I've had in m y life.
118 A£ R 1 CA SG UTH

W o u l d you like to hear the story of how I had m y first?"

# # # #
You k n o w the Alabaster Bookshop in von Brandis Street?
W e l l , after the c o m p e t i t i o n they asked m e if they could exhibit
my AFRICAN M O T H E R A N D C H I L D . They gave a whole
w i n d o w to it, w i t h a w h i t e velvet backdrop, if t h e r e is any-
thing called w h i t e velvet, and some complimentary w o r d s .
W e l l s o m e h o w I could never go and look in that w i n d o w .
O n my way from the station to the HERALD office, I sometimes
went past t h e r e , and I felt good w h e n I saw all t h e people
standing t h e r e ; but i would only squint at it o u t of the c o r n e r of
my eye.
T h e n one night I was working late at the HERALD, and w h e n
I came out t h e r e was hardly anyone in the streets, so I t h o u g h t
I'd go and see the w i n d o w , and indulge certain pleasurable
human feelings. I must have got a little lost in the contemplation
of my o w n genius, because suddenly there was a young white
man standing n e x t to m e .
He said to m e , " w h a t do you think of that, m a t e ? " And
you k n o w , o n e d o e s n ' t get called " m a t e " every day.
" I ' m looking at i t " , I said.
4
T live near h e r e , " he said, " a n d I c o m e and look at it nearly
every nigjht. You know it's by one of your o w n boys, d o n ' t
you? See, Edward S i m e l a n e . "
"Yes, I k n o w . "
" I t ' s beautiful," he said. " L o o k at that m o t h e r ' s head.
She's loving that child, but she's somehow watching t o o .
Do you see that? Like someone guarding. She knows it
w o n ' t be an easy l i f e . "
He cocked his head on one side, to see the thing b e t t e r .
" H e got a thousand pounds for i t , " he said. " T h a t ' s a lot
of money for one of your boys. But good luck to him. You
d o n ' t get m u c h luck, do y o u ? "
Then he said confidentially, " m a t e , would you like a d r i n k ? "
Well honestly I d i d n ' t feel like a drink at that t i m e of night,
with a white stranger and all, and a train still to catch to
Orlando.
" Y o u k n o w we black people must be o u t of the city by
e l e v e n , " I said.
" I t w o n ' t take long. My Hat's just round the c o r n e r . Do
you speak Afrikaans?"
A DRINK IN THE PASSAGE 119
" S i n c e 1 was a c h i l d , " I said in Afrikaans.
" W e ' l l speak Afrikaans then, My English isn't too wonder-
ful. I'm van Rensburg. And y o u ? "
I c o u l d n ' t have told him my name. I said 1 was Vakalisa,
living in O r l a n d o .
"Vakalisa, eh? I haven't heard that name before/ 1 '
By this t i m e he had started off, and 1 was following, but not
willingly. T h a t ' s my trouble, as you'll soon see. 1 c a n ' t
break off an e n c o u n t e r . W e d i d n ' t exactly walk abreast, but he
d i d n ' t exactly walk in front of m e . He d i d n ' t look constrained.
He w a s n ' t looking r o u n d to see if anyone might be watching.
He said to m e , " d o you k n o w what I wanted to d o ? "
" N o , " I said.
" I wanted a b o o k s h o p , like that one t h e r e . I always wanted
that, ever since I can r e m e m b e r . W h e n I was small, I had a
little shop of m y o w n . " H e laughed at himself. " S o m e w e r e
real b o o k s , of course, but some of t h e m I w r o t e myself. But
I had bad luck. My parents died before I could finish s c h o o l . "
T h e n he said to m e , " a r e you e d u c a t e d ? "
I said unwillingly, " y e s . " Then I thought to myself, how
stupid, for leaving t h e question open.
And sure enough h e asked, " f a r ? "
And again unwillingly, I said, " f a r . "
H e took a big leap. " D e g r e e ? "
"Yes."
"Literature?"
Yes.
H e expelled his breath, and gave a long " a h " . W e had
reached his building, Majorca Mansions, n o t one of those
luxurious places. I was glad to see that the entrance lobby was
deserted. I w a s n ' t at my ease. I d o n ' t feel at my ease in such
places, n o t unless I am p r o t e c t e d by friends, and this man was a
stranger. T h e lift was at ground level, marked " W h i t e s Only.
Slegs vir B l a n k e s . " Van Rensburg opened the door and waved
m e in. Was h e constrained? To this day I d o n ' t k n o w .
W h i l e I was waiting for him to press the b u t t o n , so that we could
get moving and away from that ground floor, he stood w i t h his
ringer suspended over it, and looked at m e w i t h a kind of honest,
unselfish envy.
" Y o u w e r e l u c k y , " he said. " L i t e r a t u r e , that's what I
w a n t e d to d o . "
H e shook his head and pressed the b u t t o n , and he d i d n ' t
 120 AFRICA SOUTH

speak again until w e stopped high u p . But before w e got o u t

he said suddenly, " i f I had had a bookshop, I'd have given that
boy a w i n d o w t o o . "
W e got o u t and walked along one of those polished c o n c r e t e
passageways, I suppose you could call it a s t o e p if it w e r e n ' t so
high u p , let's call it a passage. O n the o n e side was a wall, and
plenty of fresh air, and far d o w n below von Brandis Street.
O n the o t h e r side w e r e the d o o r s , impersonal d o o r s ; you could
hear radios and people talking, but t h e r e w a s n ' t a soul in sight.
I w o u l d n ' t like living so h i g h ; w e Africans like being close to the
earth. Van Rensburg stopped at one of t h e doors, and said to
m e , " I w o n ' t be a m i n u t e . " T h e n he w e n t in, leaving the d o o r
open, and inside I could hear voices. I thought to myself,
he's telling t h e m w h o ' s h e r e . T h e n after a m i n u t e or so, he
came back to the d o o r , holding t w o glasses of red w i n e . He
was w a r m and smilin»
o
" S o r r y t h e r e ' s no b r a n d y , " he said. " O n l y w i n e . Here's
happiness."
N o w I certainly had n o t expected that I would have my drink
in the passage. I w a s n ' t only feeling what you may be thinking,
I was thinking that one of the impersonal doors might open at
any m o m e n t , and someone might see m e in a " w h i t e " building,
and see m e and van Rensburg breaking the liquor laws of the
country. Anger could have saved m e from the whole embar-
rassing situation, but you know I c a n ' t easily be angry. Even if
I could have b e e n , 1 might have found it hard to be angry w i t h
this particular man. But I wanted to get away from t h e r e , and
1 c o u l d n ' t . My m o t h e r used to say to m e , when I had said
something anti-white, " s o n , d o n ' t talk like that, talk as you
a r e . " She w o u l d have u n d e r s t o o d at once w h y I took a drink
from a m a n w h o gave it to m e in the passage.
Van Rensburg said to m e , " d o n ' t you k n o w this fellow
Simelane?"
" I ' v e heard of h i m , " I said.
" I ' d like to m e e t h i m , " he said. " I ' d like to talk to h i m . "
He added in explanation, ' 'you k n o w , talk o u t m y h e a r t to h i m . ' '
A w o m a n of about fifty years of age came from t h e r o o m
beyond, bringing a plate of biscuits. She smiled and b o w e d to
m e . I t o o k o n e of t h e biscuits, b u t n o t for all the m o n e y in
the w o r l d could I have said to h e r ildankieJ my nooi," o r that
disgusting "dankie, missus," n o r did I want to speak to h e r in
English because h e r language was Afrikaans, so I took the risk of
A DRINK IN THE PASSAGE 121
ii ,
it and used the w o r d mevrou \ for the politeness of which some
Afrikaners would knock a black man d o w n , and I said, in high
Afrikaans, with a smile and a b o w t o o , liEk is u dankbaar,
Mevrou.1
But nobody knocked m e d o w n . T h e w o m a n smiled and
bowed, and van Rensburg, in a strained voice that suddenly
came out of n o w h e r e , said, " o u r land is beautiful. But it
breaks my h e a r t . "
T h e woman put her hand on his arm, and said, " J a n n i e ,
Jannie."
Then another woman and a man, all about the same age,
came up and stood behind van Rensburg.
" H e ' s a B . A . , " van Rensburg told t h e m . " W h a t do you
think of t h a t ? "
The first w o m a n smiled and bowed to me again, and van
Rensburg said, as though it w e r e a m a t t e r for grief, " I w a n t e d
to give him brandy, but t h e r e ' s only w i n e . "
The second Avoman said, " I r e m e m b e r , Jannie. Come with m e . ' '
She w e n t back into the r o o m , and he followed her. The
first w o m a n said to m e , " J a n n i e ' s a good man. Strange, but
good."
And 1 thought the whole tiling was mad, and getting beyond
me, with m e a black stranger being shown a testimonial for the
son of the house, w i t h these w h i t e strangers standing and looking
at m e in the passage, as though they wanted for God's sake to
touch me s o m e w h e r e and d i d n ' t know r how, but I saw the
earnestness of the w o m a n w h o had smiled and bowed to m e , and
I said to her, " I can see that, Mevrou."
" H e goes d o w n every night to look at the s t a t u e , " she said.
" H e says only God could make something so beautiful, therefore
God m u s t b e in the m a n w h o made it, and he wants to m e e t
him and talk o u t his heart to h i m . "
She looked back at the r o o m , and then she d r o p p e d h e r voice
a little, and said to m e , " c a n ' t you see, it's s o m e h o w because
it's a black w o m a n and a black c h i l d ? "
And I said to her, " I can see that, Mevrou."
She t u r n e d to the man and said of m e , " h e ' s a good b o y . "
T h e n the o t h e r w o m a n r e t u r n e d w i t h van Rensburg, and van
Rensburg had a b o t t l e of brandy. H e was smiling and pleased,
and he said to m e , " t h i s i s n ' t ordinary brandy, it's F r e n c h . "
H e showed m e the b o t t l e , and I, wanting to get t h e hell o u t
of that place, looked at it and saw it was cognac. He t u r n e d to
122 A. F R I C A S O U T Fi

the man and said, ' ' U n c l e , you r e m e m b e r ? W h e n you w e r e

ill? The d o c t o r said you must have good brandy. And the
man at the bottle-store said this was the best brandy in the
world."
" I must g o , " I said, " I must catch, that t r a i n / 1
" I ' l l take vou to the s t a t i o n / 1 he said, " D o n ' t you w o r n
about t h a t . "
He poured me a drink and one for himself.
" U n c l e , " he said, " w h a t about one for yourself?"
T h e older man said, " I d o n ' t mind if I d o , " and he went inside
to get himself a glass.
Van Rensburg said, " H a p p i n e s s , " and lifted his glass to me.
It was a good brandy, t h e best I've ever tasted. But I wanted
to get the. hell o u t of t h e r e . I stood in the passage and drank
van Rensburg's brandy. Then Uncle came back with his glass,
and van Rensburg poured him a brandy, and Uncle raised his
glass to me t o o . All of us w e r e full of goodwill, b u t 1 was
waiting for the opening of one of those impersonal doors.
Perhaps they w e r e t o o , I d o n ' t k n o w . Perhaps when you want
so badly to touch someone, you d o n ' t care, f was drinking
my brandy almost as fast as I would have drunk it in O r l a n d o .
" I m u s t g o , " I said.
Van Rensburg said, " I ' l l take you to the s t a t i o n . " He
finished his brandy, and I finished mine t o o . W e handed the
glasses to Uncle, who said to m e , " g o o d - n i g h t my b o y . " The
first woman said, " m a y God bless y o u , " and the o t h e r woman
bowed and smiled. Then van Rensburg and I w e n t d o w n in the
lift to the basement, and got into his car.
" I told you I'd take you to the s t a t i o n , " he said, " I ' d take
you h o m e , but I ' m frightened of Orlando at n i g h t . "
W e drove up Eloff Street, and he said, " d i d you k n o w what
I m e a n t ? " I k n e w that he wanted an answer to something, and
I wanted to answer him, but I c o u l d n ' t , because I d i d n ' t k n o w
what that something was. He c o u l d n ' t be talking about being
frightened of Orlando at night, because what m o r e could one
mean than just that?
" B y w h a t ? " I asked.
" Y o u k n o w , " he said, " a b o u t o u r land being beautiful?"
Yes, I k n e w what h e m e a n t , and I k n e w that for God's sake
he wanted to touch m e too and he c o u l d n ' t ; for his eyes had
been blinded by years in the dark. xAnd I thought it was a pity,
for if men never touch each o t h e r , they'll hurt each o t h e r one
A DRINK IN THE P AS S AGE 123

day. And it was a pity he was blind, and c o u l d n ' t touch m e , for
black m e n d o n ' t touch w h i t e m e n any m o r e ; only by accident,
w h e n they make something like M O T H E R A N D C H I L D .
He said to m e , " w h a t are you t h i n k i n g ? "
[ said, " m a n y t h i n g s " , and my inarticulateness distressed
me, for I k n e w he wanted something from m e . I felt h i m fall
back, angry, h u r t , despairing, I d i d n ' t k n o w . H e stopped at
t h e main entrance to the station, but I d i d n ' t tell him I c o u l d n ' t
go in t h e r e . I got out and said to him, " t h a n k you for the
sociable e v e n i n g . "
" T h e y liked having y o u , " he said. " D i d you see t h a t ? "
I said, " y e s , 1 saw that.'*
H e sat slumped in his seat, like a man with a b u r d e n of
incomprehensible, insoluble grief. I wanted to touch h i m , but
1 was thinking about the train. He said " g o o d - n i g h t " and 1
said it t o o . W e each saluted the o t h e r . What he was thinking,
God k n o w s , but 1 was thinking he was like a man trying to r u n
a race in iron shoes, and n o t understanding why h e cannot m o v e .
W h e n I got back to O r l a n d o , I told my wife the story, and
she w e p t .

THE TOKOLOSH by Ronald Segal

Illustrated by David Marais

'Africa South' leads the fight against apartheid; the views of

its editor need no further description.
i4
. • • the white people make all the laws and own all the
farms and the factories and the mines and the shops, and
have houses with gardens in the front. And this is because
they are white. And the black people are not asked which
laws are good and which laws are bad, so that they may
choose those that are good. But they must do what the white
people say. And they are shabby and live many in one room
. . . they shiver in the sunlight with the hunger that is always
inside them. And this is because they are black."
This is how Mr. Segal in this novel simplv describes the
immoral situation out of which his story grows.

SHEED & WARD

33, Maiden Lane,
LONDON W.C2.