The covenant - James A. Michener [582]
Magubane expressed himself not in sports, for he was awkward, nor was he much good in debating, which required an adroit mind. What captured him, sweeping his soul, was music. He had a resonant bass voice, unusual in a high school student, and an innate sense of how to use it to advantage. He sang alone; he sang in the quartet; and best of all, he sang in the school chorus. Four times a year the South African Railways offered black high schools concessions so that soccer teams and choruses could travel to various parts of the republic for competition with other black schools, and these safaris awakened Matthew to the possibilities of his country. He saw the rich ranching lands of the north, the Indian character of Durban, the majesty of the Cape. While other boys roughhoused in the S.A.R. coach, he stayed at the window staring at the endlessness of the barren Karroo, taking its brutal quality to heart, and with this awareness of the land he had inherited, even though it was not now his, he began to appreciate what Daniel Nxumalo had told himthat to accomplish anything in South Africa, he had to learn. In his final year he won the English and history prizes.
Magubane and Nxumalo arrived at the University of Zululand the same April, the first as a stocky fellow with the kind of hairdo that infuriated whites, the second as a gracile young man with a three-piece suit and neat haircut. They maintained a cool distance until the first term had almost ended; then Nxumalo went to the younger man's quarters, missed him, and left a note: I would be pleased to see you in my room at five, Daniel Nxumalo.
When Magubane in his rough clothes reached there, he found two upperclassmen seated on the floor, accompanied by three girl students, all drinking sweetish tea and discussing Gunnar Myrdal. It was a disconcerting experience, with Magubane conspicuously out of place but appreciative of the fact that Professor Nxumalo still retained an interest in him.
He did not want to become like the polished young men sitting on the floor; he was more at home with radical students who met around back tables at the cafe, and it was through association with them that he fell afoul of BOSS. It had started on a train excursion to Durban when Matthew led a gang of noisy students in a selection of revolutionary songs:
'There's a sun in the east
Rising, rising.
There's a moon in the west
Falling, falling.
I follow the sun, no matter how bright.
There goes the moon, down into night.
Oh, glorious sun!'
Police officials went to the university following this exhibition, for there were always spies, and the administrators asked Professor Nxumalo to warn young Magubane of the dangerous path he was pursuing, singing songs like that and encouraging others to join him.
When they were alone Daniel turned to Matthew: 'You're heading for trouble. You must pause and take a deep breath.'
'There can be no more pausing,' Matthew said.
'What do you intend?' Nxumalo asked evenly, not wanting to hear the response.
I think many like me will have to go into exile. Into Mozambique.' 'No!' Daniel cried. 'That is not the way.'
'We'll go into Mozambique and get guns, the way the blacks in Mozambique went into Tanzania and got their guns.'
'South Africa will not be Mozambique. The Portuguese did not have the will to defend themselves. The Afrikaners do.'
'Then we will have to shoot the Afrikaners.'
'Believe me, they will shoot you down.'
'The first ten thousand, the second. But others will keep coming.' 'You expect to be in the first ten thousand?' 'I'd be ashamed not to be.'
They spoke in Zulu, and the phrases young Magubane used echoed the great periods of Zulu history; they were words from a past century applied to the one that was coming. He visualized himself as marching in an impi that dared not turn back,