Banda looked at her and thought, Where can I begin? How could he explain to her the trekboers who pushed the Bantus from their ancestral land? Had it started with them? Or had it started with the giant Oom Paul Kruger, President of the Transvaal, who said in a speech to the South African Parliament, “We must be the lords over the blacks and let them be a subject race…” Or had it begun with the great empire-builder Cecil Rhodes, whose motto was, “Africa for the whites?” How could he sum up the history of his people in a sentence? He thought of a way. “The police murdered my son,” Banda said.
The story came pouring out. Banda’s older son, Ntombenthle, was attending a political rally when the police charged in to break it up. Some shots were fired, and a riot began. Ntombenthle was arrested, and the next morning he was found hanged in his cell. “They said it was suicide,” Banda told Kate. “But I know my son. It was murder.”
“My God, he was so young,” Kate breathed. She thought of all the times they had played together, laughed together. Ntombenthle had been such a handsome boy. “I’m sorry, Banda. I’m so sorry. But why are they after you?”
“After they killed him I began to rally the blacks. I had to fight back, Kate. I couldn’t just sit and do nothing. The police called me an enemy of the state. They arrested me for a robbery I did not commit and sentenced me to prison for twenty years. Four of us made a break. A guard was shot and killed, and they’re blaming me. I’ve never carried a gun in my life.”
“I believe you,” Kate said. “The first thing we have to do is get you somewhere where you’ll be safe.”
“I’m sorry to involve you in all this.”
“You didn’t involve me in anything. You’re my friend.”
He smiled. “You know the first white man I ever heard call me friend? Your daddy.” He sighed. “How do you think you’re going to sneak me off the train at Cape Town?”
“We’re not going to Cape Town.”
“But you said—”
“I’m a woman. I have a right to change my mind.”
In the middle of the night when the train stopped at the station at Worcester, Kate arranged to have her private railroad car disconnected and shunted to a siding. When Kate woke up in the morning, she went over to Banda’s cot. It was empty. Banda was gone. He had refused to compromise her any further. Kate was sorry, but she was sure he would be safe. He had many friends to take care of him. David will be proud of me, Kate thought.
“I can’t believe you could be so stupid!” David roared, when Kate returned to Johannesburg and told him the news. “You not only jeopardized your own safety, but you put the company in danger. If the police had found Banda here, do you know what they would have done?”
Kate said defiantly, “Yes. They would have killed him.”
David rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Don’t you understand anything?”
“You’re bloody right, I do! I understand that you’re cold and unfeeling.” Her eyes were ablaze with fury.
“You’re still a child.”
She raised her hand to strike him, and David grabbed her arms. “Kate, you’ve got to control your temper.”
The words reverberated in Kate’s head. Kate, you’ve got to learn to control your temper…
It was so long ago. She was four years old, in the middle of a fistfight with a boy who had dared tease her. When David appeared, the boy ran away. Kate started to chase him, and David grabbed her. “Hold it, Kate. You’ve got to learn to control your temper. Young ladies don’t get into fistfights.”
“I’m not a young lady,” Kate snapped. “Let go of me.” David released her.
The pink frock she was wearing was muddied and torn, and her cheek was bruised.
“We’d better get you cleaned up before your mother sees you,” David told her.
Kate looked after the retreating boy with regret. “I could have licked him if you had left me alone.”