Featherstream Ian / Sutherland / STHIAN001 A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the award of the degree of Master of Arts Creative Writing Supervisor: Professor Etienne van Heerden Faculty of the Humanities University of Cape Town 2016 COMPULSORY DECLARATION This work has not been previously submitted in whole, or in part, for the award of any degree. It is my own work. Each significant contribution to, and quotation in, this dissertation from the work, or works, of other peopleUniversity has been attributed, and ofhas been Cape cited and referenced.Town Signature: Date: The copyright of this thesis vests in the author. No quotation from it or information derived from it is to be published without full acknowledgement of the source. The thesis is to be used for private study or non- commercial research purposes only. Published by the University of Cape Town (UCT) in terms of the non-exclusive license granted to UCT by the author. University of Cape Town Abstract Featherstream is a romantic suspense novel set at the southernmost tip of Africa during the Second World War. Returning to her father’s farm at Cape Agulhas for the university holidays, Anna van der Vliet stumbles on a clandestine operation to provision enemy U-boats. Her dilemma of whether to betray family or country is further complicated when she falls in love with German naval commander Thomas von Eisenheim. Anna goes on to uncover a plot by Nazi Germany and the right-wing Ossewabrandwag organisation to blow up the Union’s parliament buildings and install a pro-German Afrikaner government. The novel’s landscape ranges from the remote fynbos plains of Agulhas in the Southern Cape, through the Moravian hamlet of Elim to Cape Town. Based on extensive historical research, it explores the deep ideological tensions in South Africa between supporters of the pro- war government of General Jan Smuts and Doctor Daniel Malan’s Purified National Party, which were mirrored in communities and families across South Africa. The driving force of the story is a young woman’s struggle to reconcile divided loyalties and emerge from the emotional stranglehold of her overbearing father. Chapter 1 February 5, 1942. The last layer of Anna van der Vliet’s stress had long since fallen by the wayside as the bakkie rattled south-east along the jeep track to the foot of Africa. It was five hours since they’d left the ivy walls of her residence in Cape Town to cross Sir Lowry’s Pass and the Overberg’s sea of wheat hills; two since the lights of Napier faded behind the Akkedisberg. But the moment they passed the first signpost to Rietvlei she tensed. “You’re doing well,” she said, turning to the driver when they crossed the first fire break that ran from the slopes of the Soetanysberg, across the field of fynbos, and ended at the coast. “We’re almost there.” “Ja.” Kleinjan shifted his attention from the penumbra of the bakkie’s headlights and faced her. His left hand rested on the steering wheel and his right elbow stuck out of the window. His face, barely higher than the dashboard, cracked into a smile. “I can smell Aasfontein’s kelp from here.” “Watch out!” Anna saw two marble eyes shining from the edge of the headlights’ range. Kleinjan swirled to face forward. A fraction later he stamped the brake pedal. The bakkie lurched left, straightened, and veered right. There was a thud on the undercarriage and they shuddered to a standstill in a drift of sand. “Siestog.” Anna dropped to her haunches beside a crumple of fur and limbs that a minute earlier had borne the spirit of a Marsh Hare. She stroked the animal’s head several times, muttering a prayer. Then she looked up. “You must drive more carefully, man.” “Sorry Miss Anna…” The driver took off his hat, dropped his chin to his chest and stood silent. “Don’t worry,” she said. “It was my fault. I distracted you.” Kleinjan bent down, grabbed the hare’s legs and dragged it off the track. He scraped a depression in the sand, then reached for the body. “No. It’s dead, anyway. Keep it.” Kleinjan looked up through the yellow of his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “Hannah will like that.” He chucked the hare onto the back of the bakkie. “You know: she makes a lekker rabbit bredie.” “I’ve heard.” Anna bent down to pick a head of ericas and climbed back into the bakkie. “It would be nice to try it some time.” She waited for him to start the engine. “Just keep this story between us. We don’t want Papa to think you’re a poacher, like Dries Roux.” “Ja…Did you hear he shot another leopard? Adult male. Said it took six lambs in a week.” Kleinjan paused. “Sorry, Miss Anna... I shouldn’t have told you.” “No. That’s what I like about you and me, Kleinjan. We don’t keep secrets.” Something caught her eye. “What’s that light?” She pointed across his chest toward the ocean. The water beyond the breaking waves was smooth and lumpy and shimmered in the light of an almost moon. The truck coasted to a halt in a patch of grass to the side of the track. Kleinjan leaned over the steering wheel and shifted the gear lever into park. “A ship, maybe?” “With lights?” she said. “Not likely. There are blackouts in place, remember. Also at sea.” 1 “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. We don’t think about the war much here on the vlaktes.” Kleinjan switched the ignition key back on. “Come, Miss Anna. Baas Stefan will be angry if we arrive after midnight.” “You worry too much about Papa,” she said. “He’s not the monster you think he is.” Kleinjan let go of the key and stared at the sea. “Anyway,” she said, “He doesn’t even know we’re coming tonight, remember.” “That’s the problem,” said Kleinjan. “Baas Stefan always wants to know what’s going on. He’ll blame me. He’ll…” “Relax. The surprise was my idea. I’ll handle him.” “It isn’t that simple. You know what happens…” Anna pulled her shoulders back, causing her breasts to press against her blouse. She ran her hair through her hands. It was dark as the shadows and longer than she’d ever worn it. “I’ve changed this past year, you know. Got older for one thing. Twenty in March month: can you believe it?” “Jho. That’s still young.” “You think so?” She sighed. “Most women my age are married.” “It will happen. Don’t worry. Just…Be careful, is all I say. Your mother. She...” “What about her?” “Nothing.” Kleinjan fiddled the key. The starter motor whined but the engine wouldn’t take. He tried again with the same result. Then he waited. “Say what you have to,” Anna said. “Mama’s been dead ten years. I’m a big girl now.” On the third attempt, the engine took. Kleinjan floored the accelerator. All four wheels spun but the bakkie went nowhere. Leaving the engine idling, he hopped out, grabbed a spade from behind his seat and cleared sand from the front of each tire. Then he broke handfuls of thatch from the side of the road and wedged them in front of the wheels. Back in the truck, he rammed the gear lever into first and they wobbled out of the sand. The branch of a protea bush scraped against the side of the bakkie. It was like the sound of chalk dragged across a blackboard. After a minute of rumbling along in silence, Anna said, “You were going to say?” “My job, miss. He’ll…” “Jong. Please. You’ve worked at Rietvlei for twenty years. Hannah’s side for generations. Papa will never…” Kleinjan floored the accelerator. The bakkie lurched forward, bumped over a rock and sped up. Neither spoke for several minutes. “Sorry,” she said at last. “You’re thinking about Willem, aren’t you?” No response. “I miss him too.” “I know, Miss Anna, I know.” 2 “We just wanted to stay friends.” “Ja. You were always close, nè. Remember when you used to come play by our house after school. Before…” “I tried to change Papa’s mind, but you know what he’s like.” The bakkie thudded into a trough causing the wheels to spin. It waved from side to side, found traction and accelerated. “I got a letter from him last week,” Anna said. “Tells me our boys up North are holding the Gazala Line. A place called Sollum.” “That’s right. He wrote me too.” “You must be so proud.” “Yes. But he’s only driving a truck.” He turned to face her. It was like a ghost had run over his grave. Fear had the effect of softening his crisscross of wrinkles. “You know if anyone hears that you and Willem are writing to each other, I’ll have more to lose than my job. The Brandwag people, they’ll….” “There you go again: worrying about nothing. They’re just bullies.” “That’s not what I heard after church last week. Did you know the predikant has his own wireless? Says that way he gets both sides of the story.” “You mean, Radio Zeesen? Surely you people don’t…” “We’re Moravian, remember. Did you know we still have a German with us? A missionary.” “Is that right?” she said. “I’m surprised the government hasn’t locked him up.” “I don’t think anyone in Pretoria cares what goes on in Elim,” he said.