The Forgiven Page #7

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"Well...

that's that.

It's over."

I have fully,

fully investigated your case.

And?

And...

amnesty for your crimes

is highly unlikely.

You showed your victims

no mercy,

and besides the...

extreme brutality,

your crimes reveal

no political context.

No political context?

My context,

as you call it,

stretches back some 300 years.

When my ancestors

were farming this land

and building its cities,

yours were creeping out

of the bush,

trying to murder them.

That's context.

My people were murdered

by yours.

In Zimbabwe.

Yes, I know.

Zimbabwe, South Africa?

Same difference.

Is it?

Is it the same?

I don't know.

You're the expert on context.

You tell me.

Your people

Believed in this...

this little subversive book.

It's a beautiful little book.

It's my favorite,

which teaches us,

"Proclaim liberty

to the captive,

sight to the blind

and to set

the oppressed free."

That's in Luke 4:18.

Your people...

felt they were being oppressed

by the British,

they fought back

and they became free.

So you need to learn

from your own history

that when a people

decide to be free,

my dear friend, nothing,

absolutely nothing

is gonna stop them

from becoming free.

Yes. Very good.

Very high-minded of you.

But there's something

you just don't get, kaffir.

Something you just do not get.

Killing someone

is never political,

no matter what anyone says.

Killing someone is personal.

It's always, always personal.

It's simple.

You like to read, eh?

Study on this,

"Unconquerable will,

study of revenge,

immortal hate,

courage to never submit

or yield,

what else is not to be overcome?

Better to reign in Hell

than to serve in Heaven."

Lucifer.

You quoted that poem

in your letter.

So papa was a teacher,

so I'm assuming he knows

it's "Paradise Lost."

And if you don't,

you're just one more

half-educated mzee

in my eyes.

You're a dreamer, my old Hotnot.

I grant you that.

A f***ing dreamer.

Dreamer?

Yes.

I, for 40 years,

I dreamed of voting...

freely in a free country

in the land of my birth.

For 40 years,

I've been in the wilderness.

Now, it's finally come to pass.

There was this one

neutralization

and I was standing there

on this stoep

covered in kaffir brain,

and blood, and sh*t.

My old head was throbbing

like babelaas...

and after the killings,

we set a fire.

And I could hear this voice

inside my head

as clear as you're

hearing me now,

telling me I had no dreams,

no passion, no hope.

"What is life without

them things?" it asked me.

"I have passion, I have dreams."

I remember shouting back.

And all the boys were there,

Francois, Hansie,

all the Hacksaw boys,

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