The covenant - James A. Michener [526]
'What is Java?'
'It used to control South Africa.'
'Why should he read about that?'
'Because you never know, Mr. Nxumalo, what will ignite a boy's mind.' And he handed over a Dutch novel, Max Havelaar, by a man who had been a civil servant in Java in the 1800s; he wrote under the name of Multatuli, Latin for Many Sorrows, and although he spoke only of conditions in Java, everything he said applied to South Africa.
The five scholarly books Micah brought back to Vrymeer were helpful, but Max Havelaar sharpened the mind of Moses Nxumalo. He was in his twenties when he read it, bewildered by the flood of ideas that had been coming at him from his own observations, the canny wisdom of his father and the lessons from the serious books; the novel tied these scattered concepts together in a way that was almost magical. It was poorly written, really, forcing upon the reader more instruction about plantation life in Java than he needed, but in the end it left a residue of emotion and moral commitment that would otherwise have been unobtainable. After an absence of two hundred years, the power of Java had returned to South Africa.
When he finished the six books, Moses told his father, 'I want to try it in Johannesburg.'
'You should,' his father said. 'And I suppose you know that the chances are good that you'll be dead before the end of the year.'
'I've heard.' In Max Havelaar a young Javanese much like Moses had gone to his Johannesburg and died with a belly full of bullets. As in the past, Java was instructing South Africa.
So in the mid 1930s Moses Nxumalo of Vrymeer went quietly away from the farm and into the city, a journey of ninety-nine miles in physical distance, an incalculable distance spiritually.
He sought out his cousin, Jefferson Magubane, somewhat older than he was, and found him living in Sophiatown, and on the first night he was there, police came hammering on the rickety door, demanding to see all documents. By a miracle of timing, Jefferson managed to slip Moses into an alley leading to the communal privy, and there he hid while the others presented their papers for inspection. Although his sheltered life at Vrymeer had not prepared him for this indignity, his experiences with Max Havelaar had, and he thought how strange it was that he, whose ancestors had lived on this land for a thousand years, should be restricted by incomers as to where and how he could travel.
Next morning Jefferson, who had not been distressed by the police visit, for that was a common occurrence, said brightly, 'Moses, I think we can get you the proper passes.' And he took his cousin some miles out toward the country to a large suburban house called New Sarum. There, deferentially, he went to the back door and informed the black maid who tended it that he had brought her a first-class houseboy. With nudges and winks he instructed Moses in making proper responses, with the result that a black man was summoned, who led the applicant through the kitchen to a kind of office where a white husband and wife waited. They introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Noel Saltwood, whereupon Mrs. Saltwood, a tall, fine-looking English woman, asked him a series of questions, using English, Afrikaans and Zulu interchangeably.
'Can you read and write?' she asked. When he nodded, she asked him where he lived; he panicked, not knowing what to say, but she perceived this and said quickly, 'I know you have no papers. Jefferson told us. We'll arrange for your passbook.' She spoke as if she were a conspirator.
'I'm from Vrymeer.'
'I don't know that. Is it a small place?'
'It's near Venloo.'
'Ah, yes. The Venloo Commando. Who doesn't know about that!' She looked at her husband approvingly, and Moses wondered