Glittering Gallows

Chapter 15

105 C Chapter 15 oagi Makgunda sat behind his desk in his thirteenth floor office in the East Wing of the Gauteng Provincial Government Building in Marshalltown, Johannesburg. A cup of coffee and a cutting from France’s L’Express were before him. In French, the cutting talked about a police raid at the Château Richelieu and a fire that gutted it later. He was looking at full-length photographs of Heidi Gaynor. She was young and beautiful. It astounded him that André Giovanni Puccini, the Sicilian, had found her in a brothel. But in the back of his mind he worried about the tornado closing in on him. The attempted bestial attacks on Eula and Eurydice were omens. Years ago he had been warned not to wait for the signs. Now they had come, vivid and forceful. He just had to do something, or he would lose face. January was coming to an end. He expected the British girl in mid-February, when he couldn’t afford to wait even a few days. Would Heidi be able to make it in time? She was a missing rubber stopper. Had André understood why he wanted her in his mansion, and the urgency of the matter, he would’ve found a noninconveniencing trick to hoodwink her into believing there was employment for her in some capacity. However, had he told the Sicilian the truth, André could’ve thought him absurd and material for commitment into an asylum for the criminally insane. Though on the outside he appeared relaxed and on top of his world, turmoil ran deep in his mind and heart. How could he hurry André to send the girl to Pretoria? As he shuffled the photographs André passed to him at the Vatican, he hoped something would avail itself as a stop-gap measure while he waited for Heidi. One of three telephones on his desk rang. He picked the receiver. “Sir,” his personal assistant said on the line, “there’s Father Hendrik van Vuuren to see you. He’s no appointment and he says it’s urgent.” M 106 “I’m never too busy to see a man of God. Send him through, Mpho.” He stowed away the photographs and the copy of the L’Express and stood up to welcome the priest. Father Hendrik van Vuuren walked into the office carrying a wrapped baby in his arms. “The Lord be with you, Hon. Makgunda,” the priest said, greeting him. “It’s a very pleasant morning.” The premier went round his desk, mutely shook the priest’s hand and quickly relieved him of the child. “Please, sit down, Father. The Lord is using you mightily, I can see.” “I suppose so, my child. What would please a priest other than being a tool in the hand of his Master?” They sat facing each other in leather sofas in the lounging section of the spacious office. “You’re a busy man, Honourable; therefore I won’t consume much of your time. Somebody left the child in the atrium yester-night.” “Have doctors looked at him?” Moagi didn’t take his eyes from the baby. It’s strange, staring and playful eyes captivated him. The child, in a woollen hat and fleece attire, appeared to be appraising him. Suddenly it wailed and fell silent. “I took him to a private hospital yesterday. A paediatrician examined him. The doctor said the boy needed nutrition, warm clothing and a home. He certified him stable.” “We thank God, Father Van Vuuren.” “I’ve a letter from the Department of Social Welfare and a police permit authorising me to keep the child as a temporal guardian. Would you be obliged to accept the poor child into your orphanage?” “When we take care of orphans and widows we befriend God.” “At times I think you were called as a priest, my child. You speak with the conviction of a man of God.” “Thank you, Father. I wish I could bend myself more to the dictates of the scriptures.” “The child needs a name.” “He’s a special child,” Moagi said in reference to the child’s albinism. “He’ll need a corresponding special name. Would you christen him, Father?” He looked at the priest for the first time ever since he held the child. 107 “His name shall be Simon; the one who assisted our Lord by carrying the cross. As an...