The October Killings by Wessel Ebersohn Page B

thought you came here to tell me something. But it looks like you came so that I can tell you something.”
    â€œPerhaps you do know more than we do,” Yudel said. Abigail was looking at him, wondering where he was trying to lead van Jaarsveld. “Perhaps you do know more. Perhaps you can help us. We’re not just talking about Lourens’s safety. There’s your own safety to consider.”
    â€œIf you want to do something for me, my little friend, let them give me my freedom on the big day. Broadcast the fact in ANC party circles that I am out of prison. Give them my address too. Then let them come for me. Give me the chance to kill a few more of them to add to my score.”
    Abigail had to ask. She hated wanting to know, but she could not stop herself. “How many have you killed?”
    â€œNot enough.” His smile was again directed at her. “Some of them were very special ones.” Now his eyebrows were raised, as if asking her a question.
    Yudel was aware that there was something here that he did not understand. Abigail recoiled as if van Jaarsveld had struck her. He looked at van Jaarsveld’s self-satisfied face and knew he had to do something to stop his gloating. “What makes you think you’re safe? You exercise with the other prisoners. Even criminals have political feelings.”
    â€œI hope one of them tries. I can look after myself. It’s a long time since I last killed one of them. In any event, I know who’s doing the killing.” He was again looking at Abigail. “And so do you, meidjie. And he’s not in C-Max. He’s not in any prison, even though he’s killed far more than me.”
    Abigail was staring at him, an antelope trapped in the headlights of a car. It was not that he had used the Afrikaans word for a housemaid when addressing her. Yudel could see that something far deeper than van Jaarsveld’s gratuitous insult had affected her. “He’s not in any prison,” the old extremist had said.
    Out of the corner of her eye Abigail could see Yudel turn to look at her. She had given him only the broadest outline of the story. Without looking at him, she could feel the question: Who is he talking about? “What is this?” Yudel’s question was directed at Abigail.
    â€œIt’s Ficksburg all over again, but on an even bigger scale.”
    Yudel also did not understand the reference to one of the South African towns close to the Lesotho border. “You mean Maseru?” he said.
    â€œFicksburg.” It was said heavily, as if from a deep sense of exasperation. “You know fuck-all, my little friend. Ask your black lady. She knows all about Ficksburg. She was there.”
    Abigail could feel Yudel looking at her. “Abigail?” His voice was a whisper.
    â€œShe’s not telling you everything, my Jewish friend. I’m the one who is telling you what you want to know. I can give you the name of every man and what year he died and I can give you the name of the man who killed them.” He laughed his humorless chuckle again. “But then, so can she.”

13
    Yudel drove quickly through Pretoria’s late-afternoon streets, using side roads to avoid the commuter traffic. He was silent, pointedly avoiding even looking at Abigail. She looked at his face only once, saw the disapproval there and fell silent herself.
    Only when they arrived at his home, where her car was still parked in the driveway, did he speak. “How do you expect me to help you, if you hide what you know from me?”
    Abigail was expecting something of the sort and was waiting for it. “I only asked you to get me in to see van Jaarsveld. You’ve done that and I’m thankful. I’ll be going now.”
    â€œWhere are you going from here?”
    â€œThat’s my business.” She already had a hand on the door handle.
    â€œWhat did happen in Maseru? Who were the very special people he