One
Chapter One: The Land of Hope And Glory
As always, the views expressed by characters seen here are not mine.
"There's room for expansion," Otto said over breakfast, reading the newspaper that the organic people sent out to the farms. He tapped an article with his thick finger, and she noticed that his nail was colored black with nail polish, or a marker. Or maybe it was a blood blister.
"Well, we have to do something to make our label 'prettier,'" her brother said, squinting at the page. "Even if it looks like some five-year old scribbled over it with crayon and marker. People won't know the difference, anyway."
She sliced lemons into the stove, poking at the pan with a chopstick. She'd changed into a sweater dress and her legs were rashy. Ever since she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd drunk hot lemon water, because it corrected your pH levels. She'd used the hot water to wash down all her prenatal vitamins, big dun-colored pills that smelled like fish food, vitamins that promised to soak the baby in minerals and proteins. It was strange for her to imagine her baby's fingernails hardening inside her, it's muscles uncoiling. The tell-tale beat of its heart.
She pursed her lips sideways at her brother.
"That's kind of dumb, isn't it? I mean, why don't we just get certified, the real way?"
Otto scowled. "Got a few thousand lying around, Chrizanne? Or maybe we should hit that rich Rhodie boyfriend of yours, the one who knocked you up. He has money, maybe he'd spare his future wife a couple thousand for her livelihood, as a dowry. In any case, you're not contributing, you fat fuck."
"I am not fat!" she proclaimed.
"Right, you aren't. A skinny fuck, then."
Chrizanne crossed her arms over her breasts in simple indignation.
"In any case, I have to hire more people, and that costs rand, Chrizanne."
She had seen the new workers, a bearded man and his wife, who had moved into one of the trailers a few weeks ago. They were German, part of the roughly thirty-thousand who had immigrated to South Africa (particularly South-West Africa and the Cape Province) following the fall of the Soviet Union and the reunification of the many Germanies. Despite the fact that the German Confederation had grown to be the foremost economic power of Europe, many Germans had left their country to find their fortunes elsewhere.
"You know, the new people are Germans," she said, mutely, reflecting on this fact.
"So?" Otto grunted. "The more, the better."
"I know....but...they aren't of the Volk!"
Otto set down his newspaper and looked at her, his eyes incredulous. "Chrizanne....do you have a brain inside that head of yours?"
She was in her third year of university at Stellenbosch, so yes, she considered herself to have a brain.
"You know, Chrizanne, the Germans have the same word in their language. And if you remember, the Afrikaners are descended from the Dutch, and the Germans are the sister-people of the Dutch. So if you think about it, the Germans are practically Afrikaners. They'll assimilate easier than the Portugese, I'll tell you that."
She had a Portugese friend at Stellenbosch, whose family had once lived in Mozambique before the fall of the Salazar government in 1981, and now, along with roughly a million other Portugese, now lived in South Africa.
"Anyway, back to the issue of the farm-"
"We could ask Great-Uncle Frederik," she offered.
"Great-Uncle Frederik," Otto grunted, "is a fuckin'-"
Then he stopped, mid-oath.
"You know, Chrizanne, sometimes you are a genius. Let's go ask him for a loan....after I finish my breakfast," Otto said, pointing to his half-eaten eggs and bacon.
"Okay," she said.
"Sounds good," Otto echoed.
"What would you do," Otto said, "if the blacks invaded tomorrow?"
"Why, I'd run," Chrizanne replied. "I'd grab you, a few of our friends, Lilie (who was their dear cousin), and grab an airline ticket, and flee to Rhodesia."
"Rhodesia-Zimbabwe," Otto said, with visible sarcasm in his tone, "would not, in my opinion, want a refugee crisis on their hands. Specifically a white one."
"But...." Chrizanne was trying to respond, "they have a white president. They inaugurated one two years ago! It's their first white president since they reverted to black rule in....1984 I think?"
"Yeah," Otto said, "the Rhodies have elected their first white president. Alec Smith, good ol' Ian Smith's son. Ironic that the son of the man who ended Rhodesian rule over their own country would come back to lead the damned blacks."
"Indeed," Chrizanne agreed. "Hopefully he will lead Rhodesia into a better age, doing a better job than the black presidents of Rhodesia have done. At least they didn't demand the farmers give back land they rightfully purchased and own."
"It's because, despite the fact that the blacks managed to add Zimbabwe to the name and put blacks in the electorate, the whites still retain significant influence there. Plus, whites form nearly twenty percent of the population, a number that increases daily. Rhodesia will be fine, Chrizanne. Anyway, onto the subject at hand. Why run, when you could fight?"
"What do you mean?"
"When Pretoria granted Ovambo and the rest of the Southwestern bantustans independence in '80, that effectively shaved off most of South-West Africa's black population, making whites actually the majority group there."
Chrizanne's eyes widened. "Really? You mean-"
"Yep. Whites are the largest group up there."
"No way! Cool!" Chrizanne said, before she stopped herself. She sounded a bit too much childish, even at this actually amazing fact.
"I mean, if you added up the remaining bantustans at the time, they'd match the whites, but the main thing is that whites are the largest group in South West Africa. And in the event of a war, which is unlikely because our army is just that good, the Cape Province would also be held, because the Cape Coloureds also speak Afrikaans, and consider themselves Afrikaners. They'd declare for us."
"Would they, though?" she asked, somewhat unsure of this. History wasn't her strong spot. "Aren't they, you know...coloured for a reason? Wouldn't they stand with the blacks?"
"Chrizanne," Otto said, a bit exasperated from the sound of his voice, "they speak Afrikaans. They do Afrikaner things. They're basically black Afrikaners, which makes them Afrikaners."
"But...they're not white."
"They may look black, but the Coloureds don't speak Xhosa, or Zulu. They'd rather go with us than the fucking blacks. Plus, we would get the Indians and the Chinese on our side, too. However, it would be accepted that they would probably take Transvaal, the Orange Free State, and Natal. South Africa would be divided- between the black state dominated by the Xhosa, a kingdom dominated by the Zulu, and most likely a remnant government consisting of the Cape and South West Africa, a predominantly Afrikaans state."
"It's interesting, but....our grandparents live in the Free State! They'd be killed! Plus, I have quite a few Anglo friends who live there, and they'd all be lynched!"
"Chrizanne," Otto said serenely, "war is like a thunderstorm. It cannot be turned aside, not even if the beautiful, the virtuous, and the powerful stand in its path. I think an American general said that, but I think I screwed up some of the last parts of his quote."
"Americans!" Chrizanne exclaimed in disgust, "What do they know of the blood and sweat that the Afrikaner people shed to carve out their home in a beautiful but harsh land?"
"They know a lot," Otto muttered. "There's a reason why America is the most powerful country in the world, and South Africa isn't."
"Why?"
"Because they know the value of diversity."
"Diversity is stupid," Chrizanne muttered. "It's better if people stuck to their own kind."
"I don't see you complaining about getting knocked up by that Rhodie boyfriend of yours."
"Well," Chrizanne sputtered, blushing, "Ian is white!"
"Yeah, but he's no Afrikaner."
"Humph," Chrizanne conceded. "It's better if whites and blacks stuck to their own."
"Stuck to their own, indeed. And the South African Customs Union is completely free and fair to all those involved. "
"But the African Republics are doing well!"
"Okay, they are functioning, and actually somewhat prospering. But their foreign policy is entirely dependent on Pretoria's will and whim. Tell me they aren't puppet states."
"Fine, but I still say that blacks should be kept separate from whites, for both our sakes."
"Now that I can agree with, Chrizanne dear sister."
"Be a darling, and find out who's gonna make the website." he said. "Make it flashy, with lights and video and everything. Maybe make a picture of us, too. Me, you, hell, even the Rhodie, with his hand on your stomach. It's better, because then people will see who they're doing business with.
"That's a good idea," Chrizanne remarked.
"Yeah, it's good. Makes people feel safe...to see a face. Especially one as famous as ours."
Yes, Chrizanne mused, buying food from a farm that had the honorable name of de Klerk plastered to it would make most buyers think twice before passing us over.
Such was how things went.
_______________________________________
1.
Chrizanne de Klerk
Otto de Klerk
I think we all know what Great Uncle Frederik de Klerk looks like....
As always, the views expressed by characters seen here are not mine.
"There's room for expansion," Otto said over breakfast, reading the newspaper that the organic people sent out to the farms. He tapped an article with his thick finger, and she noticed that his nail was colored black with nail polish, or a marker. Or maybe it was a blood blister.
"Well, we have to do something to make our label 'prettier,'" her brother said, squinting at the page. "Even if it looks like some five-year old scribbled over it with crayon and marker. People won't know the difference, anyway."
She sliced lemons into the stove, poking at the pan with a chopstick. She'd changed into a sweater dress and her legs were rashy. Ever since she'd found out she was pregnant, she'd drunk hot lemon water, because it corrected your pH levels. She'd used the hot water to wash down all her prenatal vitamins, big dun-colored pills that smelled like fish food, vitamins that promised to soak the baby in minerals and proteins. It was strange for her to imagine her baby's fingernails hardening inside her, it's muscles uncoiling. The tell-tale beat of its heart.
She pursed her lips sideways at her brother.
"That's kind of dumb, isn't it? I mean, why don't we just get certified, the real way?"
Otto scowled. "Got a few thousand lying around, Chrizanne? Or maybe we should hit that rich Rhodie boyfriend of yours, the one who knocked you up. He has money, maybe he'd spare his future wife a couple thousand for her livelihood, as a dowry. In any case, you're not contributing, you fat fuck."
"I am not fat!" she proclaimed.
"Right, you aren't. A skinny fuck, then."
Chrizanne crossed her arms over her breasts in simple indignation.
"In any case, I have to hire more people, and that costs rand, Chrizanne."
She had seen the new workers, a bearded man and his wife, who had moved into one of the trailers a few weeks ago. They were German, part of the roughly thirty-thousand who had immigrated to South Africa (particularly South-West Africa and the Cape Province) following the fall of the Soviet Union and the reunification of the many Germanies. Despite the fact that the German Confederation had grown to be the foremost economic power of Europe, many Germans had left their country to find their fortunes elsewhere.
"You know, the new people are Germans," she said, mutely, reflecting on this fact.
"So?" Otto grunted. "The more, the better."
"I know....but...they aren't of the Volk!"
Otto set down his newspaper and looked at her, his eyes incredulous. "Chrizanne....do you have a brain inside that head of yours?"
She was in her third year of university at Stellenbosch, so yes, she considered herself to have a brain.
"You know, Chrizanne, the Germans have the same word in their language. And if you remember, the Afrikaners are descended from the Dutch, and the Germans are the sister-people of the Dutch. So if you think about it, the Germans are practically Afrikaners. They'll assimilate easier than the Portugese, I'll tell you that."
She had a Portugese friend at Stellenbosch, whose family had once lived in Mozambique before the fall of the Salazar government in 1981, and now, along with roughly a million other Portugese, now lived in South Africa.
"Anyway, back to the issue of the farm-"
"We could ask Great-Uncle Frederik," she offered.
"Great-Uncle Frederik," Otto grunted, "is a fuckin'-"
Then he stopped, mid-oath.
"You know, Chrizanne, sometimes you are a genius. Let's go ask him for a loan....after I finish my breakfast," Otto said, pointing to his half-eaten eggs and bacon.
"Okay," she said.
"Sounds good," Otto echoed.
XXXXX
Chrizanne and Otto spent the long ride from Upington to Cape Town discussing alternate history."What would you do," Otto said, "if the blacks invaded tomorrow?"
"Why, I'd run," Chrizanne replied. "I'd grab you, a few of our friends, Lilie (who was their dear cousin), and grab an airline ticket, and flee to Rhodesia."
"Rhodesia-Zimbabwe," Otto said, with visible sarcasm in his tone, "would not, in my opinion, want a refugee crisis on their hands. Specifically a white one."
"But...." Chrizanne was trying to respond, "they have a white president. They inaugurated one two years ago! It's their first white president since they reverted to black rule in....1984 I think?"
"Yeah," Otto said, "the Rhodies have elected their first white president. Alec Smith, good ol' Ian Smith's son. Ironic that the son of the man who ended Rhodesian rule over their own country would come back to lead the damned blacks."
"Indeed," Chrizanne agreed. "Hopefully he will lead Rhodesia into a better age, doing a better job than the black presidents of Rhodesia have done. At least they didn't demand the farmers give back land they rightfully purchased and own."
"It's because, despite the fact that the blacks managed to add Zimbabwe to the name and put blacks in the electorate, the whites still retain significant influence there. Plus, whites form nearly twenty percent of the population, a number that increases daily. Rhodesia will be fine, Chrizanne. Anyway, onto the subject at hand. Why run, when you could fight?"
"What do you mean?"
"When Pretoria granted Ovambo and the rest of the Southwestern bantustans independence in '80, that effectively shaved off most of South-West Africa's black population, making whites actually the majority group there."
Chrizanne's eyes widened. "Really? You mean-"
"Yep. Whites are the largest group up there."
"No way! Cool!" Chrizanne said, before she stopped herself. She sounded a bit too much childish, even at this actually amazing fact.
"I mean, if you added up the remaining bantustans at the time, they'd match the whites, but the main thing is that whites are the largest group in South West Africa. And in the event of a war, which is unlikely because our army is just that good, the Cape Province would also be held, because the Cape Coloureds also speak Afrikaans, and consider themselves Afrikaners. They'd declare for us."
"Would they, though?" she asked, somewhat unsure of this. History wasn't her strong spot. "Aren't they, you know...coloured for a reason? Wouldn't they stand with the blacks?"
"Chrizanne," Otto said, a bit exasperated from the sound of his voice, "they speak Afrikaans. They do Afrikaner things. They're basically black Afrikaners, which makes them Afrikaners."
"But...they're not white."
"They may look black, but the Coloureds don't speak Xhosa, or Zulu. They'd rather go with us than the fucking blacks. Plus, we would get the Indians and the Chinese on our side, too. However, it would be accepted that they would probably take Transvaal, the Orange Free State, and Natal. South Africa would be divided- between the black state dominated by the Xhosa, a kingdom dominated by the Zulu, and most likely a remnant government consisting of the Cape and South West Africa, a predominantly Afrikaans state."
"It's interesting, but....our grandparents live in the Free State! They'd be killed! Plus, I have quite a few Anglo friends who live there, and they'd all be lynched!"
"Chrizanne," Otto said serenely, "war is like a thunderstorm. It cannot be turned aside, not even if the beautiful, the virtuous, and the powerful stand in its path. I think an American general said that, but I think I screwed up some of the last parts of his quote."
"Americans!" Chrizanne exclaimed in disgust, "What do they know of the blood and sweat that the Afrikaner people shed to carve out their home in a beautiful but harsh land?"
"They know a lot," Otto muttered. "There's a reason why America is the most powerful country in the world, and South Africa isn't."
"Why?"
"Because they know the value of diversity."
"Diversity is stupid," Chrizanne muttered. "It's better if people stuck to their own kind."
"I don't see you complaining about getting knocked up by that Rhodie boyfriend of yours."
"Well," Chrizanne sputtered, blushing, "Ian is white!"
"Yeah, but he's no Afrikaner."
"Humph," Chrizanne conceded. "It's better if whites and blacks stuck to their own."
"Stuck to their own, indeed. And the South African Customs Union is completely free and fair to all those involved. "
"But the African Republics are doing well!"
"Okay, they are functioning, and actually somewhat prospering. But their foreign policy is entirely dependent on Pretoria's will and whim. Tell me they aren't puppet states."
"Fine, but I still say that blacks should be kept separate from whites, for both our sakes."
"Now that I can agree with, Chrizanne dear sister."
XXXXXXXX
Once they'd gotten back, Otto and Chrizanne spent the rest of the day- or night, as Chrizanne would have liked to call it- in the office. Otto had Chrizanne handle the phone calls to their accounts. "You sound nicer," was her brother's curt explanation. After Chrizanne finished a call with a co-op in Groblershoop, Otto jabbed a pen in her direction.
"Be a darling, and find out who's gonna make the website." he said. "Make it flashy, with lights and video and everything. Maybe make a picture of us, too. Me, you, hell, even the Rhodie, with his hand on your stomach. It's better, because then people will see who they're doing business with.
"That's a good idea," Chrizanne remarked.
"Yeah, it's good. Makes people feel safe...to see a face. Especially one as famous as ours."
Yes, Chrizanne mused, buying food from a farm that had the honorable name of de Klerk plastered to it would make most buyers think twice before passing us over.
Such was how things went.
_______________________________________
1.
Chrizanne de Klerk
Otto de Klerk
I think we all know what Great Uncle Frederik de Klerk looks like....
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