Only then did the cold hit me, now that the fear and adrenaline had somewhat calmed down. I realised I was shaking uncontrollably. One of the men spoke and told Oom that he was cold, even though he was wearing heavy clothing. “Cold?” said Oom, “Are you colder than this verdomte hotnot here?” Another insult; Oom was of course referring to me as I only had a raincoat on over a pair of thin pyjamas.
The night fell silent again; the darkness swallowing up sound, except the clicking of the metal-covered ends of my shoes, the continuous creak of the crickets and a dog barking sharply nearby. Oom asked, “Are you cold, hotnot?” I did not answer, even though I was afraid, I could not bring myself to answer to these evil men. Another man asked if I were shivering with fear but again I did not answer. I also noticed, to my horror, that the men either side of me were carrying sjamboks, a deadly weapon which could easily kill a man.
The fact that I did not answer Oom’s question only enraged him further. “He is a slim hotnot, one of those educated Bushmen.” More insults. Oom was now in a rage, “When a baas speaks to you, you answer him.” Oom brought the shotgun up against the small of my back but I couldn’t resist as my hand were tied behind my back with a riem. “Answer me or I will shoot a hole through your spine.”
Again the night was silent, apart from the tiny metallic click of the hammer of Oom’s shotgun being pulled back and the now monotonous sound of the crickets. Despite the cold, I was now sweating. “For God’s sake, do not shoot him, we do not want to be involved in any murder.” It seemed that all the men except Oom were happy just to give me a beating, but Oom would have no problem going even further, “I will shoot whatever hotnot or Kaffir I desire.” This statement was followed by more insults, “I demand respect from these donders, do you hear, jong?” Another question, again I did not answer even though I knew I could be punished for it.
Suddenly a fist came out of the darkness and hit me in the cheek; it was the man who had spoken of my alleged fear. The whole time I had been with these men, they still asked the same question, “Listen you hotnot bastard, why do you not answer?” Finally, I knew I had to say something; I did not want to enrage Oom anymore than he was already, “Yes, Baas” I said. I would not let the gang strip me of all my dignity, so my answer was spoken with sarcasm, which, amazingly was missed by my captors.
The insults were taking their toll and I began to feel weary, “We do not want any educated Bushmen in our town.” The gang were obviously opposed to all black people; they did not even want black people to be educated.
The sudden silence came once more. The sharp bark of the dog which had been barking earlier could be heard again, this time it sounded further away and the tiny creak of the crickets was still just audible. “It’s that Jagter,” the man with the lantern said, “I would like to have a dog like that. I would take great care of such a dog.” I found this statement very ironic, as the men were taking me away to beat me; yet one man was talking about his love for a dog.
The pleasant aroma of the lemons in the orchard that we were still travelling through mixed with the soft sounds of the cold night, made this a beautiful setting, which, ironically, an evil deed was about to occur. The only proper light of the journey now shone, as the clouds uncovered the bright moon. “This is as good a place as any.” The time had come. I just prayed that the beauty and peace of the surroundings would somehow help ease the inevitable pain, as I closed my eyes and returned to the world of pitch-blackness.
