‘
No, this was before he met your mother. He was a medical student, like all of us, except he’d been ostracised by his family for going to an English-speaking university and therefore had to find a part-time job. He was sharing a small apartment with his girlfriend, Lucia, when he got a job with the South African eye bank foundation. That entailed being on call. When there was a homicide—and you have to remember that the Cape Town greater area at the time had one of the highest homicide rates in the world—he would get a call on his pager to go and harvest eyes.’
‘
So, he would take out eyes from dead bodies and remove the corneas?’
‘
That’s exactly what he did, and then the corneas would be flown somewhere in Africa to be transplanted into a patient’s eye, usually a white person, making this quite an ironical situation, given that most of the corneas were taken from black or coloured homicide victims.’
‘
I remember one night we were eating at Joe’s pizza house in Rondebosch when your father’s pager went off. We had two visiting German medical students with us, and when Jannie said that he was going to remove the eyes from a dead body, one of the students asked if he could go and observe. In the end, we all went along to the police mortuary. It was surrounded by a high brick wall, and when we rang the bell there was no reply. Apparently, that was not unusual, as the person who was in charge was often drunk. Therefore, we all climbed over the wall and found the mortuary attendant semi comatose in his chair. It was a strict rule not to have visitors, but no one was there to complain and so Jannie led us into a room that was like a small hall.’
‘
So my father didn’t mind bending the odd rule?’
‘
Exactly, and the German students had never seen anything like it. About fifty bodies lay next to each other covering the entire floor. At that point, I think the German students would have left, but Jannie had work to do. He needed six corneas for the weekend, which, at twenty rand each, would financially get him through the next week. He was quite experienced by this stage, and, snipping the six attaching muscles, took about five minutes. He then put a special inlay in the eyes, padded them and stitched the eyelids closed so that the relatives never knew that the eyes had been removed. As he finished the second or third eye, one of the students obviously was not feeling well and asked Jannie which way was out. He pointed to a large door, and the student walked inside the fridge where all the old really deteriorating unidentified bodies were kept. To this day, I can remember the shout of horror from the student and the terrified look on his face, which went about as green as some of the bodies in the fridge. He then hightailed it out through the office and over the wall almost in one movement.’
‘
I’m sure the student must have had nightmares for ages after that,’ said Christian, laughing aloud.
‘
Well, we certainly talked about it for ages; over many beers that story was retold. But the really funny time was when Jannie had an eye left over when he arrived at his apartment.’
‘
Mike, that’s an awful story. I’ve heard that one before and I’m not sure that Christian wants to hear it straight after breakfast,’ warned Sian.
‘
No, it’s OK, thanks, Sian, I’m sure I’ll cope. I love hearing this part about him.’
Mike searched Sian’s face to make certain that it was OK to proceed. She shrugged her shoulders, which he interpreted as approval, although he could sense that she was reluctant for him to go ahead.
‘Your father wasn’t meant to take anything extra, just the number of eyes for the pre-ordered corneas. But he seemed to have miscalculated and was left with an extra one,’ said Mike. ‘At the apartment that he shared with Lucia, he decided that the only thing to do was to flush it down the loo, and thought he had successfully done so.’
‘
I think I know where this story is going,’ Christian interjected nervously.
Mike smiled at him before continuing
. ‘Lucia came home and the next thing there was a terrifying scream from the bathroom. Just as she had sat down to have a wee; she saw this eye looking back at her, bobbing up and down in the toilet bowl. Lucia was apparently in near hysterics when she came out of the bathroom, but your father came to the rescue. According to his version of events, he pacified Lucia and then tried to flush the eye again. Such was its buoyancy it took almost a roll of toilet paper to disappear. I’m not sure that Lucia has forgiven him for that to this day.’
‘
He sounds like he was a funny man, Mike, and that you had plenty of amusement as medical students, but how was he with people of different colour?’
‘
I think it would be fair to say that he was a work in progress. Given his Afrikaner background, he had a lot to overcome to even consider that people of colour could and should have equal human rights and be treated the same as each other. However, many things suggested this process was taking place. In addition, I think he was on the right track before he became involved with the liver transplant unit and all the associated politics. Being in an English-speaking liberal university hospital system meant non-preferential treatment when it came to setting up a unit and research, which had potential kudos for all those involved. The preference clearly was towards Afrikaner institutions, and therefore compromises were necessary if one was going to compete. That’s when it all started to become very difficult for your father. He understood that in order to gain any support he had to move back closer to his Afrikaner beliefs and roots and ultimately that may have cost him his life.’
‘
Yes, I can remember that Mum said he had many characteristics that seemed to be quite strange and inexplicable.’
‘
Well, I think you need to put it into context; while your father was personally ambitious and this may have compromised him, there was a side to him that was dedicated to helping people. He was passionate about saving the deprived such as Sibokwe, the young African boy who he organised a liver transplant for and who became a successful lawyer; he’s someone that you can talk to.’
‘
He lives in Cape Town now?’
‘
Yes. He also lectures at the University of Western Cape and is a delegate to the United Nations where he advises developing countries on human rights. He lived with us for a long time after the transplant and is very keen to meet you. But there’s also one other amusing story that I can remember about your father that will give you an indication of how he cared for people.’
Christian waited in anticipation.
‘We were sitting in his upstairs apartment when there was a knock at the door. Lucia’s Golden Retriever would get very excited and bark loudly when he heard someone coming. Jannie went down to see who it was but had to restrain the dog before he opened the door. There he found an African woman with a baby on her back. She explained in Afrikaans that she was hungry and was looking for food for herself and her child. To demonstrate that the only food that the child had was breast milk, she exposed her breast and squirted the milk against the front of the door. This obviously impressed the dog, which went crazy trying to lick all the milk off the front door while trying to break away from your father’s control. He recovered from the rather unusual demonstration and then invited the woman inside where we ate his cooked breakfast. He then he gave her clothes and food before she left.’
‘
That doesn’t sound like the same person I’ve read about in the newspaper following the shooting,’ said Christian.
‘
I think by that time he was severely compromised by what he was trying to achieve with the government for the liver transplant unit. He was also severely traumatised from the shooting and near death. I’d like to think that that wasn’t the true Jannie; it was a non-representative hybrid brought about by stress and didn’t truly represent the Jannie that I knew and that was evolving.’
‘
Do you two need any more coffee?’ Sian asked.
‘
No, not for me,’ said Christian. ‘That first cup was really strong and I can feel that I’m more awake than normal.’
‘
Well, you’ll need to be to deal with our young friend Isabella today,’ said Mike wryly.
‘
I thought we’d change the plans a little to give you a chance to adjust before we took you to the old Wynberg house. And you can have a look around Groote Schuur,’ said Sian. ‘I hope that’s alright with you?’
‘
I’d love to see where he worked. And maybe you can show me the mortuary, Mike, where you had so much fun with the German students.’
Christian was impressed by the sheer size of Groote Schuur. It was spread over three acres, the old hospital sitting majestically on the hillside almost beside the motorway, supervising the new larger hospital situated below it from its loftier position. Mike parked the car before pointing out the old theatre block to Christian, where he knew his father had begun performing liver transplants. At the front of the old building, he could see the plaque dedicated to Christian Barnard’s first heart transplant in 1967. He stood for a second looking at the entrance to the operating theatre where his father must have spent many hours working. He was trying to picture him in theatre scrubs when Mike interrupted his dreaming.
‘That’s enough nostalgia; you can always come back here by yourself. Come on, I’ll take you to the new hospital where there are some people who want to meet you.’
Main Street was the main thoroughfare in the new hospital. Christian thought it was aptly named; he had never seen a hospital corridor so long or so wide. Small alcoves veered to the left and the right with cafes, and gift and flower shops, giving the appearance of even greater width. As Christian stood taking in the atmosphere, Mike’s pager beeped.
‘That was Nadine, your father’s operating theatre nurse,’ he said. ‘She can’t meet us for lunch, but she’s in her office now and would love to meet you.’
‘
Well, let’s go,’ said Christian.
‘
The old man’s spirit has infected you already,’ Mike said, laughing.
Nadine’s office was on the second floor. All the office staff greeted Mike as he walked in, and Christian could feel himself being unusually vetted. Word must have got around about Jannie’s son arriving, he thought. As they walked into Nadine’s office Christian was amazed by how beautiful she was. Mike had not said much about her, other than that she was a valued member of his father’s team. He watched as she greeted Mike with a hug. It was her poise and grace that first struck him; she moved as though she was gliding. Her beautiful shiny black hair was pulled back into a French bun, and her eyes, round and gorgeous, smiled at him over Mike’s shoulder.
‘That’s enough, Mike; you’ll have Christian thinking all kinds of things.’
She withdrew from his embrace and stood in front of Christian. For a minute she said nothing, just looked him up and down.
‘Without a doubt,’ she said, ‘you’re the son of Jannie de Villiers—no DNA test required.’
She then hugged him in a way that felt as though she had reached out and pulled him inside herself. He tried to respond in kind, but felt that her emotion was on a different level to his. Sensing his discomfort, Nadine retreated, but not before kissing him on the cheek.
‘Just like your father,’ she said, with her dark eyes smiling mischievously at him. ‘Come, look at this,’ she continued, fragmenting the awkwardness.
Christian moved closer to the photograph she was pointing to, infatuated partly by what she wanted him to look at, and partly the delicious smell of perfume as she moved away. His father was in his theatre gown, with his arms around Nadine and Mike.
‘No denying this chip then, is it, Mike?’ However, while the question was directed at Mike, her eyes were holding his, and Christian sensed they both could feel his unease. He wondered whether this was some strange family induction rite, a family he was being welcomed into.
‘
Hi, Mum.’ The voice appeared from behind Mike’s shoulder, and caused Christian’s gaze to shift from Nadine to the direction of the voice.
‘
Christian, I’d like you to meet my irrepressible daughter, Isabella,’ Nadine said, laughing and gesturing towards the door.
Christian felt another wave of embarrassment coming on. Isabella was framed in the doorway, long black curls cascading to her shoulders, surrounding a face which threatened to be more beautiful than her mother’s. Her skin was lighter, olive, compared to her mother’s darker brown, but she had her mother’s sparkling eyes.
Christian was transfixed and he felt his mouth go dry, concerned that everyone could hear his heart racing.
‘
G’day, mate!’ said Isabella, taking off the Australian accent perfectly and breaking the threatening silence.
As they all laughed she moved closer to Christian, extending her hand. As he grasped it, he felt his heart race again.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he stammered, before Mike attempted to rescue the moment.
‘
Don’t worry, Christian; she has that effect on all the men she meets.’
Isabella turned towards him
. ‘Mike, you’re embarrassing Christian.’
‘
Hey, he’s his father’s son. I have great faith that he can deal with any situation.’ Mike’s pager interrupted any further conversation.
‘
Emergency in theatre, Christian. I’ll have to leave you with these two femme fatales. Isabella has a pager and I’ll contact you through her. I shouldn’t be longer than an hour.’
As he rushed out, Mike exchanged a knowing glance with Nadine, and Christian wondered whether Mike really had an emergency in theatre.
‘Isabella, why don’t you take Christian to lunch?’ interrupted Nadine. ‘I have a meeting with the medical superintendent.’
Isabella’s subsequent look at Christian said, follow me. As they walked out of Nadine’s office Christian hurried to catch up with Isabella, who, he noticed, periodically glanced over her shoulder to check that he was following. Christian was sure that she knew he was admiring her from behind and that she was enjoying the effect she was having on him. Having caught up with her, he joined her in the lift to go back down to Main Street. As he stood next to Isabella, he tried to gather his thoughts. While the effect that she was having on him made him feel uneasy, he was certain that unless he got control of it she was going to think he was some mutant from down-under.
‘How come you have a pager?’ he said, trying to regain control.
‘
I work for Mum during the vacation as part of a hospital programme to give medical students greater understanding of how hospitals work and to gain greater respect for the people who run them.’
Christian listened carefully, thinking how beautifully she enunciated each word and how there was just a hint of the guttural vowels of the Afrikaans he was adjusting to.
‘What’s the matter, Christian?’ she asked, turning and fixing him with her mother’s expressive eyes.
Christian shifted the weight on his feet, not wanting to break eye contact but uncertain how to deal with the overwhelming impact she had on him.
The lift doors suddenly opened, and Isabella turned to him and mischievously said, ‘Are you coming?’ before bounding out and leaving Christian to follow. He watched as she strode away from him.
‘
C’mon, mate, ya gotta talk to me,’ she said as they walked out from the main hospital entrance to the car park. And then, totally disarming him, she said, ‘Hey, I really like your Aussie accent.’
By this time, Christian had regained some of his Aussie sangfroid and decided to return the compliment with an attempt at Afrikaans
. ‘Waar is die bankie?’ he said.
Isabella stopped, turned, and burst into laughter.
Christian stood looking at her, wondering what he had said. ‘Doesn’t waar is die bankie mean where is the car?’
‘
No, no, bakkie means little truck in Afrikaans but bankie means bench. They told me you Aussies were forward, but I didn’t think you were that forward.’
As Christian got into the passenger seat he felt the awkwardness disappearing. Perhaps his faux pas had relieved the tension, or maybe some control was re-emerging from beyond the cerebral contusion caused by the visual impact of Isabella. As she drove toward the harbour, she pointed out District Six, where she had been brought up before the whites demolished it and moved all the coloureds out.
The harbour was like a walled city with numerous shops, restaurants and cafés located around an old wharf. The gated entrances, with armed security guards, made it a safe and secure Mecca for tourists. Isabella had chosen a French restaurant, which looked out across the Bay towards Somerset.
‘
Mum says you’re trying to get in touch with your father and put parts of a jigsaw into place,’ said Isabella as they waited for the entrée to arrive.
‘
I can’t remember my father, but part of me needed to see where he worked, what kind of people he worked with, and what he was like.’
‘
What kind of father you missed out on,’ Isabella cut in.
‘
No, not really,’ Christian half stammered back, perturbed by Isabella’s honesty. ‘Do you always do that with someone you’ve just met?’
‘
Do what?’
‘
You know, look inside someone and see what they’re thinking after you’ve been talking to them for only a few minutes.’
‘
There is but one history, and that is the soul. That’s what Yeats said. If there are no walls around the soul you can see into it,’ said Isabella. ‘I can see that there is part of you missing, just a small part, but a part that you wish had never been taken away from you.’
Christian marvelled at her insight and how she could talk to somewhere deep inside him like that
. ‘Yes, just curiosity really,’ he said. ‘Just wanting to know so I can grow.’ He laughed, and looked at Isabella, wondering if she would be deceived by his defence or impressed with his attempted verse.
She laughed
. ‘Not bad for an Aussie. Hey, when you want to talk a bit more about that, we can.’
Christian felt both relieved and disappointed. Relieved that his inner feelings could withdraw to their inner depths somewhere inside until he was ready to deal with them, and disappointed because he knew that exploring them with Isabella would be a unique experience and he would now have to wait.
‘So, are you this intuitive with all the people you meet?’ he said, trying to initiate the conversation on a level that he might control.
Isabella caught his eyes, and holding his gaze said
, ‘There are some people you just know inside that you can communicate with, but that’s not everyone. Does that answer your question?’
‘
Actually, Isabella, it doesn’t,’ he said, trying to keep a straight face.
Isabella laughed again. She looked at her watch as she took her phone out of her bag
. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I’ve just remembered my two o’clock appointment. It’ll take me an hour to get there.’
After she spoke to Mike, she said
, ‘Mike will pick you up from here in twenty minutes. That means I can get to Hout Bay in time. If you stay here, Mike will find you. I really enjoyed lunch and chatting to you and Mike knows how to get hold of me if you want to talk again at any stage.’
With that, she stood up and offered to pay
for the lunch, which Christian refused. ‘Well, come on,’ she said, flicking her hair to one side, ‘it’s a tradition here to kiss someone on the cheek that you’ve just met if you want to meet them again.’
Then, without letting him think about it, she grabbed his shoulders and planted a small kiss on his cheek. Christian immediately sat down and felt he needed to compose himself before Mike arrived. He knew he had to look at the situation rationally: he was here to find out about his father, and Isabella’s mother had worked with his father and could possibly help in the search. On the other hand, she must have a number of guys pursuing her; so, what would make him any different?
I am here to sort out what happened to my father, not to be distracted by out of control feelings, he told himself sternly. Suddenly, he felt much better, more in control of the situation. Having solved the dilemma, he started to gather his words for the Inquisition that he knew would come from Mike, when he felt a pair of hands enclose his eyes. It was not their softness that was threatening but that feeling again of his heart racing!
‘
So, why don’t you take me to dinner?’
Isabella had sneaked back in and whispered in his ear. She then kissed him on the ear and ran off, black curls bouncing, glancing over her shoulder to see if the feeling had returned. Christian’s turmoil had returned, and he knew Mike was not far away. More coffee
; perhaps the caffeine rush would disguise everything else. Mike arrived after he had finished his second cup.
‘
Well, fallen in love yet?’ Mike asked.
‘
Does she do that to everyone?’
‘
No, only heterosexual males,’ said Mike, pulling up a chair. ‘Isabella is a beautiful person only partly because of her physical attributes, which I’m sure you’ve noticed.’
Christian smiled in tacit agreement.
‘There’s more to her than that, though. She has this great sense of integrity and loyalty, and she despises arrogance, pretence and dishonesty, and she is very selective about who she likes. Does that answer your question a little better?’
Christian laughed again
. ‘What is it with this family?’ he said. ‘Everyone seems to have this ability to read minds.’
‘
It developed out of the need to survive in the new society of ours. What people said and what they did were often diametrically opposed. Trust disappeared. The only basis for trust was if you could see what was in their hearts, and if you could develop that discernment, you could survive without being continually betrayed.’