‘But you’d still consider yourself an opponent of the Regime?’ Kipsel asked.
‘Greater opposer is there none,’ said Himmelfarber, directing his eyes heavenward. ‘My family has opposed this Regime and all its neolithic predecessors. Consolidated Holdings is in the forefront of the struggle to reform the labour laws, electrify the black townships, promote the inter-racial arts and encourage more black mothers to breastfeed. Yessir, we are opponents! But as opponents the question we must ask ourselves, if we are serious, is do we merely wish to condemn the Regime, or do we want to destroy it? Look, I work with the Government on certain ventures, but that doesn’t make me a Government man. I also make donations in an indirect fashion to the Azanian Liberation Front — but that doesn’t make me a guerrilla. It’s really just a question, as I say, of exploring all the options. This is now Government policy. And believe you me it’s going to sink the bastards! Already it has started. Yssel and Kuiker are gone. When you get people using a lot of money, travelling, living well, it’s perhaps not surprising that they begin to acquire expensive tastes. They start enjoying certain wines, they become fascinated with a house with a particular view. These things happen. As for President Bubé, I’ve no reason to doubt that he’s abroad because he’s ill and he’s seeking treatment, as the reports say. As to the rumours — well, I also know that when gold sales were switched from London to Zurich a number of Swiss dealers competed for President Bubé’s friendship and co-operation and made concrete signals of their gratitude when he was able to help them. But before you jump to conclusions let’s consider that in a way perhaps his motives might have been good. According to the rumours we hear, any money that President Bubé may have acquired has been set aside as a kind of insurance fund against the day when, possibly for military reasons, the Regime finds it cannot any longer operate safely from home base and they have to set up somewhere abroad. In other words, Bubé has set aside funds for the establishment of the Government in exile. Now why should this be a scandal? Surely it’s not an ignoble gesture. It might even be quite sensible. You see what forces in the end will destroy them? They will smash on their own logic.’
‘Yes,’ said Kipsel. There was a strange light in his eye. ‘I follow you now. What you’re saying is that if you are genuinely committed to exploring all options, then among the options you’re going to have to consider is the one that has you disappearing down the plug hole.’
‘You’ve got it,’ Himmelfarber beamed, clearly believing that in Kipsel he had found a recruit, ‘I appeal to you. Leave off this foolish travelling. Come back with me. Come back home and make the new changes work for us. The old consensus is smashed. The bastards are on the run. They say they’re being modern. In fact they’re merely terrified. They say they want to look ahead. In fact they daren’t open their eyes.’
‘Join them,’ said Kipsel, ‘join them and then destroy them — isn’t that it?’
‘Exactly.’ Himmelfarber was clearly exulted by the thought. ‘You understand.’
‘Indeed I do. I have friends who did the same thing once. To me,’ Kipsel said. He stood up. ‘Come Blanchie, it’s time we were on our way. I’m sorry but I suppose by rights I belong to the Old Guard. I will never be a New Man.’
And Blanchaille, his heart pounding with relief and gratitude, followed his friend through the french windows and down the drive before the astonished Himmelfarber could collect his wits.
‘Thank God!’ muttered Blanchaille. ‘For a few moments I thought he had you. You see what he does to people, don’t you? You see his own miners on the wall and how he’s destroyed them. You think of the bright-eyed idealists who go to work for Consolidated Holdings in its Art-Deco palace in the capital with their new suits and their dreams of multi-racial progress. Of how they will become personnel officers and drive their new BMWs proudly home to the townships at night to show that they have succeeded in a white man’s world because they work for kindly, liberal, rich, decent Curtis Christian Himmelfarber.’
‘Think of his nephew,’ said Kipsel.
Behind them C.C. Himmelfarber stood in the window screaming: ‘Preachers! Prudes! Sermonisers! My God, if there’s anyone worse than racists — it’s people like you!’
‘Of course we should never forget what Himmelfarber gets from this for dealing on behalf of the Regime,’ said Kipsel, unexpectedly revealing how sure his grasp of the complexities of the mine-owner’s position had been. ‘What he gets out of it is increased clout with the Regime and he gets business put his way. Perhaps most important of all, he gets a number of channels for exporting his own funds abroad, currency regulations hold no fear for him, if they ever did. Since he’s doing business abroad on behalf of the Regime, secret, valuable business, he can transfer as much capital abroad as he wishes. He can build up his interests in Europe and in America. Should he ever have to leave his native country he wouldn’t have to pack more than a travelling bag. It’s just another option, you see.’
‘You know,’ said Blanchaille as they neared the end of the drive, ‘it’s always the same with the Himmelfarbers. I suppose Julius, the founder of the whole firm, was all right. But C.C.’s great-grandfather, Julius Himmelfarber, kept on best terms with the Boers right throughout the war, kept supplying them with gold. And when the British marched into Johannesburg he was on best terms with them too. Now you have C.C. with his liberal politics and his Government contacts. He really does mean to destroy them. And if he does, he wins.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’ Kipsel asked.
‘He still wins.’
A grey Mercedes travelling at speed spat gravel at them as it raced up the drive. It carried Ernest Nokkles and Chris Dieweld, Emil Moolah and Koos Spahr.
‘For a moment back there I thought Himmelfarber was getting through to you,’ Blanchaille said.
‘I suppose it’s betrayal that sticks in my gullet. We’re old-fashioned, Blanchie. That’s why we’re finished. We never got the point of it all. As true as God sometimes I think we knew about as little as Mickey the Poet. It’s a joke, really.’
‘Yes, I think it is a bit of a joke,’ said Blanchaille sadly, recalling his lost love, remembering Miranda’s words. ‘I’m beginning to get it now. If it’s any consolation, you can say you were betrayed by your enemies. Now the New Men can expect to be betrayed by their friends.’
Kipsel gave him a strange, twisted look. Blanchaille did not know whether he meant to laugh or cry. ‘But, Blanchie, that’s just it! The joke. There are no New Men.’ Then he laughed. ‘O.K. now where?’
Blanchaille remembered Lynch’s last words,‘… to the left and above the town…’ but the beginning, as the girls at the Airport Palace had told him, was Clarens and the official Kruger house by the lakeside, preserved as a national monument by the Regime. ‘Where Uncle Paul finished seems as good as a place as any to begin.’
Kipsel continually turned back to stare behind them, though Blanchaille implored him not to do so. Himmelfarber was best forgotten. He was even then presumably pouring punch for his new guests.