The covenant - James A. Michener [495]
We have erected a noble monument in remembrance of the Boer women and children who perished in the infamous concentration camps of our Second Freedom War. Since you were in a camp and lost a mother and two sisters, and since your teacher Mr. Krause has given us your name as an able scholar, we deem it proper for you to join us at the dedication of a monument that will stand forever as a reminder of your mother's heroism and the cruel deaths of your sisters.
The letter went on to say that he would be one of a group of twelve survivors of the camps, six girls, six boys, who would stand at attention as the monument was dedicated. He was eighteen that year; the others would be younger.
Bursting with pride, he showed the letter to Mr. Krause, who said, 'It is proper for the Volk to honor its past. This is a profound honor, and I trust you will conduct yourself appropriately.' He added that he would not have recommended Detlev had he not been sure of the boy's loyalty and patriotism. Detlev walked several inches taller when he carried the letter out to Vrymeer, where General de Groot explained that Detlev would be standing as surrogate for all the young heroes who died in the camps: 'You escaped the ground glass in the meal. They didn't.'
For the first time Detlev traveled on a train alone. He carried with him four books of South African history, which he read so assiduously that when he paused for a bite to eat, a young man traveling to Cape Town asked, 'What preoccupies you?'
'I am reading about the English settlement of Grahamstown. That's where my family lived in the old days.'
'That was a bad period,' the young man said in fluent Afrikaans. 'If we hadn't allowed those extra Englishmen ashore, they wouldn't have been able to steal our country from us.'
'One of the Englishmen, man named Saltwood . . .'
'One of the worst. Do you know anything about that infamous family? They rob this country blind. Offices in the cities, stealing Afrikaner money.'
'Mrs. Saltwood saved my life, I think.'
'She was all right. That I grant. But every family has to have one decent member. Her husband, you know. The big sportsman. Cricket and tennis. He was one of Cecil Rhodes' worst young men. Horrible spy, and all that.'
After a long and confused tirade, he asked Detlev where he was going, and when he learned about the dedication of the Vrouemonument his manner changed completely: 'Wonderlik, wonderlik! And you're to stand there representing us all! How ennobling! Oh, I do wish I could go with you!'
'Why?'
The young man, who had been so authoritative only a moment ago, could not reply. His eyes filled with tears, and when he tried to speak he choked. He blew his nose, looked out the window at the highveld, glowing in the sun, and tried again to speak. Finally he surrendered and wept for some moments. Then he muttered, 'My mother. My brother. All my sisters. They died at Standerton.'
When he recovered he told Detlev about the last days, when food was scarce: 'There was an English hospital nearby. Their troops wounded or knocked down by the enteric. I was sure they must have food, so I sneaked out of our camp and crept along to theirs, but they were dying too. It was a horrible war, Detlev.'
He spoke with such an unusual mix of deep feeling and wide knowledge that Detlev deemed him the appropriate person to answer a nagging question: 'You don't believe those stories about ground glass in the meal, do you?'
'Absolute rot. I just told you, the English died the same way we did.' Abruptly he asked, 'Detlev, what a curious name. What's it mean?'
'German. Along the Rhine. My mother was a very beautiful woman who had a German uncle or something.'
'Detlev! It's not a Dutch name, you know.'
'I said it was German.'
'Why do you keep it?'
'You keep the name God gave you. Look at General