Countdown to Corruption. Glenn Edward Kirk

within the Industrial Division. I was initially shocked and then fascinated. I mentioned it to Hetherington.

      “Yes, he is a gem isn’t he,” he said. I said nothing.

      Jackson and I slowly developed a reasonable friendship within the framework of apartheid South Africa. He started to confide in me, we became “office buddies.” I soon saw in him a certain envy of my position as a personal assistant to an Executive Director, a position I guessed he aspired to. Unfortunately the apartheid barrier prevented him ever achieving this. He disguised his anger but there were a few occasions when he let slip and I was sharply reminded of a deeper emotion within. I did not at first understand but later saw the root of the problem. It was my “white” security in an unjust society, a society that afforded me privileges built on vile prejudice and enforced by a fanatical government , a government that manipulated Christian beliefs to suit their ultimate aim of total oppression of all who were not Caucasian.

      “Hello darling,” I casually said. “ I have told you about Jackson at the office. There is something intriguing about him and I would like us to have him for dinner one evening, something very casual.”

      “Do not be ridiculous. You will only embarrass him .”

      “Rachel, there is a deep hurt within him which I cannot fathom. I want to know what motivates him and genuinely believe he will open up in a comfortable atmosphere and besides, you are a professional at making people feel relaxed in our home. He is good company and can add another dimension to our rather cloistered and privileged life in Africa.”

      “Absolutely not!” came the determined and rapid reply.

      “Very well. I will invite him out for drinks and take it from there.”

      Looking back I now realise this was the start of our mutual disinterest in each other, an initial motivating factor which was to propel our marriage into a vacant sphere of distant neutrality.

      Drinks with Jackson was pleasant but I could not dispel a feeling of uncertainty about the wisdom of this get-together. There was a lack of satisfaction and enjoyment that should have generated interesting and fun levels of interaction. He held back and displayed little enthusiasm. This was possibly due to the uncharacteristic situation of black and white not openly socialising in public. We could not simply walk into a bar and order drinks which resulted in Jackson suggesting we meet at a snooker club near our office. He was a member and the patio area would be tolerant of white visitors. Fortunately it was empty and I felt comfortable. It would not have been my venue of choice.

      On parting Jackson said, “that was really good Charlie. We must do it again, thanks.” We left in different directions.

      Little did I realise how this Wednesday socialising would impact on my life.

      It was around this time that I began to notice a developing neurosis in Rachel. Her social life was paramount. Her sister Mary and husband David had moved to South Africa, a move that was essentially a business transfer. David, an old Harrovian, had joined the Guards after leaving school but, shortly before his marriage to Mary, changed careers and accepted a position in an investment company operating out of London. The official reason for the African transfer was “ to see how the Johannesburg branch operated within a much smaller market structure.” It was obvious to me it was purely a manipulation on behalf of Sir Frederick to have his daughter near her parents. David was not an entrepreneur and it was blatantly obvious the career choice was wrong. He had little to say in the matter.

      It soon became a reality to me that a deep jealousy existed within Rachel towards her sister. I was an only child and had never witnessed or experienced sibling rivalry. I tried to help but all reasoning fell on deaf ears. Finally it reached a climax. Mary was to host a party for her sisters’ birthday and naturally the guest list included most of our friends. Rachel went into total decline.

      “She wants to take over my friends,” she cried.

      “Come on Rachel, friends that become cool towards us are not worthy of our loyalty and friendship. You are being ridiculous. Friendship spreads and you will enjoy Mary in your social circle.”

      “NEVER!”

      We went to the party and it was a huge success. Rachel was extraordinarily charming and full of fun. We got home around 1.30 am. Within an hour she was having convulsions. I called our family doctor, Dr. Lawrence who fortunately was on call. He arrived within 20 minutes. I explained what had happened and the family dynamics. His examination was thorough, his diagnosis simple: Extreme stress and emotional trauma resulting from severe anxiety and jealousy regarding her sister. The social competitiveness in Johannesburg was appallingly destructive. A tranquilizer injected into her backside quickly sorted her out. The next day it was as if nothing had happened. It was an evening I would long remember.

      I originally thought I had married a fascinatingly attractive woman filled with laughter and amusement. I had in fact married a vacuous girl living in a cocoon of little consequence and total foolishness. Rachel’s grasp of reality was non- existent. Her reading intellect extended only to Barbara Cartland novels which precluded any intellectual opinion and discussion on most subjects. She typified the silly female whose life revolved around ladies afternoon bridge and tennis parties, general gossip plus the desire to be seen at so called society gatherings. When some such invitation was not extended to her I had to deal with nervous neurotic episodes and uncontrolled bouts of depression. Not a home environment conducive to romance or any form of domestic fulfilment. I had originally presumed she could be influenced towards a more intellectual and fulfilling life….. foolish me! I was also aware of an innate stubborn intolerance coupled with an indestructible selfish approach to all matters involving her lifestyle. Her one redeeming feature was her astonishingly accurate interpretation of what being a really good mother entailed.

      My office workload continued to be heavy but very interesting. Jackson was always on hand whenever his duties allowed him to be in the office. I appreciated his assistance and warmed towards him.

      “Charlie, if I can help you in any way, all you have to do is call.”

      “Mr. Jackson, thanks,” I laughed. He really was a nice guy.

      “My cousin works as a general assistant in a division of Gold Developments Incorporated. Let us join him and a couple of his friends for a drink after work today.” A delay in going home sounded good.

      “That will be perfect. Let me know when and where.”

      Marlon, Jackson’s cousin was a tall good-looking man with a touch of white ethnicity in his blood. In South Africa people of mixed ethnic origins are called coloureds. He looked Latin to me. There was one disconcerting feature that troubled me. In place of the brown eyes normally associated with Latin and Coloured features, his were extraordinary and penetratingly green, eyes that displayed a total lack of warmth and emotion. His colleague Sandile greeted us.

      “Nice to meet you Charlie. How things on the Industrial side?”

      “Hello Sandile, Marlon, good to meet you both…..drinks time!”

      It was a fun early evening drink but after two beers it was time for me to leave. I did not want to push my luck with my wife!

      The Wednesday evening drink became a ritual and the group soon increased to ten. We were employed by different companies, companies that were for the most part listed on the Johannesburg Stock Exchange. For me it was an opportunity to interact with representatives from across racial barriers and at the same time get to know a little about the competitive business sectors in which each member worked. In addition it gave me a window through which I could examine and begin to understand the extent of the social divide created by the existing abhorrent apartheid laws. We talked sport, business, world news and politics. Politics was a topic only briefly discussed. We were a mixed bunch from very divergent backgrounds and I was certainly not going to encourage in depth, potentially explosive political debate. However, it was not always my call to decide which way the conversation moved so discussions periodically became heated. We lived and worked in a political environment forced upon us by the fanatical and unjust views of the white South African Nationalist Government of the day.