The covenant - James A. Michener [477]
'Who's Hoggenheimer?' Detlev asked.
'The Jew who owns the mines,' and he produced a newspaper which had been circulated avidly from farm to farm. It contained two biting cartoons by a persuasive artist named Boonzaaier, showing a bloated Jew, fingers bejeweled, vest enclosing a gigantic belly, cigar at an angle, wearing a derby while gorging on the food for which starving Boers pleaded in vain. That was Hoggenheimer, and on him was thrown the blame for everything ill that was happening in the conquered republics.
'If you ever run away to Johannesburg,' the old man said, 'you'll meet Hoggenheimer.'
The old general came over to the Van Doorn farm quite often, riding his pony, wearing his frock coat and sometimes his top hat. He came not for food or companionship, but to supervise the education of young Detlev: 'You must remember that your great-grandfather, one of the finest men who ever lived, was dragged to an English court, where a Kaffir was allowed to bring testimony against him . . .' Night after night he reviewed with Detlev the vast wrongs done by the English at Slagter's Nek and at Chrissiesmeer, where they put ground glass in the meal. 'Never trust an Englishman,' De Groot reiterated. 'They've stolen your country.'
'But Mrs. Saltwood was English,' Detlev said. 'She brought the food that kept us alive.'
De Groot, remembering how he had confronted Mrs. Saltwood on the stoep at De Kraal, would concede only that 'some few English ladies, yes, they had hearts.' But having granted this, he would proceed with the litany: Slagter's Nek . . . Kitchener . . . glass in the meal.
The education was fiercely effective and achieved precisely what De Groot intended. 'Detlev, your father and I fought our battles, and we lost. You will fight other battles, and you will win.'
'I can shoot straight.'
'Every Boer boy can shoot straight,' and he would digress to tell the boy of how his men, always outnumbered, would hide behind rocks and pick off Englishmen one by one: 'Ten bullets, you ought to get at least eight Englishmen.'
'I could shoot an Englishman,' Detlev insisted, whereupon the old man clasped him tight and whispered, 'Pray God you never have to. You'll win your battles in more clever ways.'
'How?'
De Groot tapped the little boy on the forehead: 'By learning. By becoming clever.'
And that was to be the foundation of Detlev's formal education, which began one day when there rode up to the farm a remarkable man: tall, thin, with very big hands that he used awkwardly and knees that protruded from his heavy trousers. He had yellowish hair, not at all becoming a man of his size, and one of the kindest faces Detlev had ever seen. He told the Van Doorns, 'My name is Amberson, Jonathan Amberson, and I've been sent by the new government to open a school at Venloo. I should be most happy to see your son in my classes.'
'He can't ride into Venloo every day,' Jakob protested.
'Nor shall he. Mrs. Scheltema will be running a hostel'
'Are you English?' Johanna broke in.
'Of course. It's the new school, the new government.'
'We wouldn't want any English here,' she said bitterly.
'But'
'Out. Get out of this house and off this farm.' Detlev, watching everything, feared that she might strike the tall stranger, who bowed, backed down off the stoep, and departed.
When General de Groot heard of this some days later, he became quite agitated: 'No, no! Not that way at all.'
'He was English,' Johanna snapped. 'Do you think we want our boy to learn English ways'
'That's exactly what we want.' And for the first time young Detlev heard the strategy of his life spelled outand he comprehended every word.
'The problem is this,' the old man said, while Detlev sat on his knee. 'The English know how to run the world. They understand banks and newspapers and schools. They are very capable people... in everything but war. And do you know why, Detlev?'