After the Revolution
An Original Feature Script
By Cameron Luke Peters

University of Cape Town - FAM4001F 
Lesley Marx 

INT. COMPUTER SCREEN – NIGHT

The words ‘Anton Khumalo Last Speech’ are typed into the bright search bar.

Thousands of results pop up, some with full caps headings.

The ‘Videos’ filter is clicked.

A menu of clips appears, all showing the same man in the same moment from at least three different angles.

The least grainy and most striking one is picked.

From a slight, distant tilt we see ANTON KHUMALO – 31, with arresting eyes, wearing a red, yellow and green tracksuit. 

He’s addressing a great congregation in the afternoon light at eye-level. His microphone trails its wire like a snake winding its tail.

The tinny digits of his voice carry across three decades.

ANTON                                                                   For many years I have talked to you of paradise. For years I have promised you the future. I have promised you South Africa and everything in it. And I have promised that I would keep my promises. And today I can tell you that your waiting is nearly over. And that your patience will finally be rewarded.

INT. PRINTING HOUSE – DAY

The last frame of his speech becomes the central image on the front cover of a vermilion-tinted hardback book: ‘More Beautiful Times: The Life and Words of Anton Khumalo’. 

The copy we see rolls down an assembly line and gets gathered into a big cardboard box while dozens of clones are covered behind it. 

The box is taped up and carried away to a loading truck.

EXT. PUBLIC MURAL – DAY

A twenty-something ARTIST in tattered jeans stands atop a ladder in the middle of Cape Town.

She’s holding up the detached book cover as a reference for the grand portrait she’s completing of him on the flaking facade of an old municipal building.

She’s finishing his face in broad finesses of varying colours.

She stops to admire her work and light up a cigarette she’s kept behind her ear.

A passing eight-year-old GIRL in a blue uniform stops her MOTHER to point out and ask after the mural’s subject.   

She thinks for a moment then remembers Anton’s name, which she duly provides and explains for her daughter.

EXT. UNIVERSITY CAMPUS – DAY

The image now morphs into the stenciled symbol on a PROTEST LEADER’s black-and-white T-shirt.

HE’s leading a rolling chant at the head of a loose crowd of about 150 FALLISTS strolling their way onto the varsity’s central plaza.

A line of heavily armed and shielded PRIVATE SECURITY OFFICERS stand in a strategic net around them, each one gazing at the scene with vague concern and a trained tenseness, gripping their stun-guns close. 

LOCAL NEWS CAMERAS are stationed comfortably on overhanging views, turning their lenses in time with the procession.

As the crowd comes to a stop and the chant dies down, a student PHOTOGRAPHER rushes in front of the front line, kneels, pedantically lines up his shot, brushes away his long blond hair and finally captures the LEADERS holding their fists up to marshal the moment.

EXT. WATERFRONT RESTAURANT – DAY

This picture now appears on the upturned front page of the copy of the Cape Argus lying on one of the al fresco tables of the Quay Four restaurant between ROSA LAWRENSON and her father AARON. A brief sea-breeze breaks past them occasionally. 

ROSA is 24, slightly androgynous, with shortish dark hair, inconspicuous glasses, a sheer smile, a brightly striped t-shirt and a fully-charged presence. Her eyes make her head swivel with each peripheral sight they hook her gaze upon. She keeps her hands on the table, close to the paper, an orange notebook and her empty beer.

AARON is 55, dapper but tired. He’s in a tucked-out suit and wearing Ray-Bans to off-set his age in more ways than one. His tie stars Asterix and Obelix. He leans back and holds his hands over his thinning patch.    

ROSA                                                                So what do you think of the concept, Dad?

AARON                                                                   Do you want another beer, darling?

ROSA                                                                  Sure. And I want to know your opinion before we start.

Aaron signals to a waiter.

AARON                                                                   (To Rosa)                                                           Another Black Label, right?

Rosa nods. The WAITER arrives.

AARON                                                                     A fresh round, for both of us, thanks.

The waiter goes off. 

A pause while Rosa waits for her Dad to recall her question.

AARON (CONT’D)                                                         Well, Rosa, darling, it is just a Masters project?

ROSA                                                                     It is.

AARON                                                                   You don’t think you’re taking on too much?

ROSA                                                                      It’s just five interviews, Dad.

AARON                                                                     Do you have the others?

ROSA                                                                            Yes. All but one, yes.

AARON                                                                  It’s funny, I still remember you writing out his whole Wikipedia page when you were in Grade 8. In bright red pen. Even the references.

ROSA                                                                   That was for an English oral.

AARON                                                                    You even memorized it.

ROSA                                                                    Yes, but that was my process.

The waiter comes back with the beers, places them on the table and uncaps them simultaneously with bottle openers in each hand. 

Rosa and Aaron thank him simultaneously too. He leaves.

AARON                                                                       So why still Anton then? 

ROSA                                                             (Smiling)                                                                  Why not still Anton?

AARON                                                                             It’s an obsession- A fairly concerning obsession by now, don’t you think, darling?

ROSA                                                                        It’s not. I’m entirely clear-sighted about him, Dad.

AARON                                                                    And you haven’t seen enough yet?

ROSA                                                                      He was your man first. You knew him and helped him. Your whole generation idolized him.

AARON                                                                     Yes, but we managed to grow out of him. 

ROSA                                                          (Disappointed)                                                            So were you all just young and naive and misguided at the time?

AARON                                                                          No, but I just think you’re being a bit young and naive and misguided now, darling, if you think he still matters in the same way – in the way you want him to matter.

ROSA                                                                (Exasperated)                                                                     Dad, I know he doesn’t. I’ve never said that. But he isn’t dead to us.   

She turns the paper round so he can inspect the front page. 

While he reads she watches the rows of other diners, the sloshing harbour and Robben Island as a sliver in the distance.

He accepts the point.

AARON                                                                         Okay, I’ll say I appreciate your concept. I think an in-depth oral history will be very readable and vivid and all that, and your supervisor will like it. But you will just have to explain to me what’s the grander point you’re trying to prove. 

He hands her back the paper.

ROSA                                                                     I’m not proving anything, I’m trying to find something out.

She holds the paper on her lap, tearing and playing with the edges from unconscious habit.

AARON                                                                   What don’t you know already?

ROSA                                                                   Okay, for now, Dad, here’s the best way I have of putting it. Just listen, even if you see where it’s going: Imagine if we’d been terribly poor, and had been for as long as we could remember, but you were the most inspirational father possible.

Aaron stirs a little at the thought.

ROSA (CONT’D)                                                            And I was so confident and genuinely exhilarated for the future, because you’d promised me that if we worked together as a true family then it was entirely inevitable that we’d win control of our world. And even our rich bosses would accept it and join us. And you’d repeated that same speech for just about forever. And then, one day, just before the moment I grew up and all of it seemed to come true, you confessed to me that you were wrong. That the future would be no different. It would only look like a new beginning. But the rot would set in and our situation would stay. And then immediately you disappeared completely. And then 30 years passed, and suddenly I realize you were telling the truth.

AARON                                                            (Considering)                                                            When you say it in those terms it sounds too mythic.

ROSA                                                                      That’s how it happened. How else should I say it? 

AARON                                                                 Maybe just that Anton was a particularly good man who lived by chances. And finally he got caught out.

ROSA                                                                         But why that night? Why after that speech? Why the going-back?

AARON                                                                     So you’re going to try retrace his last steps?

ROSA                                                                          Yes, I believe – if I just know that day inside-out – I could figure out why he said what he said and how he knew to say it.

AARON                                                                            And if there’s no answer?

ROSA                                                                        Then I’ve spent a whole day in his company. 

She takes a swig of her beer for emphasis.

AARON                                                                 Okay, perhaps, maybe. If it’ll finally get you off his case. 

A tourist-trapping jazz trio passes by on the parallel boardwalk.

Aaron takes off his sunglasses and puts them down on the table.

AARON (CONT’D)                                                            Just be aware, darling, that you’ll be asking a few people to strain themselves and be very specific about memories they may not want to share or ever recover. 

He notices her impatience.

AARON (CONT’D)                                                        Just had to say it. Why did you want to talk to me and not your mother?

ROSA                                                                        I tried to ask her, but she said you’d recall that time more clearly.

AARON                                                                  She’s better at repression I suppose. Where would you want me to start?

She takes out her phone, presses the record button on the voice memos app then puts it down next to her notebook, which she picks up and readies on her lap.

ROSA                                                                    Just with that morning. Just what you saw of him. Did you … have to wake him up?

AARON                                                                      I was supposed to, I suppose, but I realized later on he might’ve been waiting for my signal.

INT. LAWRENSON KITCHEN – MORNING

‘Sunday, 17th December 1989‘ 

Six white eggs are boiling in a shining pot on the stove.

A few strips of bacon sizzle on a new pan beside it.

A younger AARON – 27, unshaven, light-haired, wearing a crumpled white shirt – looks into the water with a humming mind.

The clock behind him reads quarter to eight.

The toaster erupts.

Miles Davis’s Sketches of Spain album is playing in the background.

AARON grabs the toast, butters the pieces, cuts them into fingers, distributes them across three fine plates, festoons two of them with bacon, then serves out the eggs and pours glasses of orange juice for each one.

He carries two of the meals out the door.

INT. LAWRENSON DINING ROOM – CONTINUOUS   

And comes in to set them in adjacent places at the far corner of the dining table.

His wife HANNAH – 25, a natural redhead but otherwise her daughter’s prototype – moves the snowdrift of essays she’s busy marking to make way for her plate. She’s propping her head up on the table to stay focused and doesn’t acknowledge Aaron for the delivery.

He peeks at her scrawled comments before exiting again. 

INT. LAWRENSON KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS

The kitchen is bare and its contents mostly antique, except for one or two of the couple’s awkwardly new appliances.

AARON picks up the last plate and glass and takes them out the other door to the front garden.

EXT. LAWRENSON GARDEN – CONTINUOUS

A barrier of raw light is frying the emerald lawn like a beam from a magnifying glass.

AARON lingers at the doorway for a moment, looks across the driveway, peers through the gate at the indifferent street, then marches across to the side door of the garage.

INT. LAWRENSON GARAGE – CONTINUOUS

The space is dank and dark and just houses a cheap blue SAAB. 

Paint pots line the sides like a dwarf regiment.

AARON places the meal down and removes a musty rug from the floor in the corner to reveal a metal trapdoor.

On it he clangs out his initials in Morse Code – dot-dash dot-dash-dot-dot – twice.

He lingers for a moment again. 

Then gets up.

INT. LAWRENSON DINING ROOM – MORNING

AARON finally takes up his seat. 

HANNAH keeps one eye on the last paper beside her plate.

The room is a narrow spectrum of browns besides the lime-green curtains behind them and the two grandly framed Tretchikoffs on either of the walls parallel to the table.

Aaron cracks open his first egg gingerly with his knife.

Hannah taps the head of hers with her spoon until she can lever it off and scoop up the contents of the crown.

AARON                                                                      (Slightly disconcerted)                                                 Why don’t you use the knife?

HANNAH                                                                   Now I don’t have to wash it. Just the spoon.

AARON                                                                   It’s not the right way, dear, so try avoid the habit.

HANNAH                                                                   I’d have better manners if you washed the dishes.

AARON                                                                      I just made the meal, don’t get on my case.

HANNAH                                                       (Disconsolate)                                                           I’m not on your case. Don’t be so uptight about it. I’m only defending myself.

She dips one of her fingers of toast in the open egg and takes a bite.

HANNAH (CONT’D)                                                        Thank you for making it.

A short pause.

AARON                                                                             What’s the matter?

HANNAH                                                             Nothing.

AARON                                                                 You’re not telling me something.

HANNAH                                                                   No, I am.

AARON                                                                  What are you telling me then?

(Beat)

HANNAH                                                            (Pinching her nose)                                                    Aaron. When did he say he would leave? 

AARON                                                                       He didn’t specify when.

HANNAH                                                                     I … I just need to know… I mean I hope he’s not going to be here tomorrow. For his sake. For ours. I can’t stop being on edge about it and I need to stop.

AARON                                                                (Moving closer to her)                                                  Hey, hey, we are not under surveillance. We are not under suspicion. 

HANNAH                                                                   How do you know that?

AARON                                                                   Why would they wait?

HANNAH                                                                 Why wouldn’t they? They’d want us to feel some false security.

AARON                                                                 You’re being irrational.

HANNAH                                                                      No, I’m being awake.

AARON                                                                (More hushed)                                                            We pledged to support him. We are doing something invaluable by having him. Even if they came in, they wouldn’t find him. He should be able to stay as long as he needs to.

HANNAH                                                                   I know. I’m just saying I want him to go. To somewhere that feels safer for everyone. I’m not being selfish about this. 

AARON                                                                   I’ll ask his plans later. Just finish breakfast.

HANNAH                                                                       Okay. But also ask him-

Halfway through lifting her glass to her lips someone starts a soft repeated knock on the door to the kitchen. The door is already slightly ajar. 

The knock is also in Morse code: dot-dash dash-dot-dash.

Hannah’s eyes widen at the thought of having been overheard.

Aaron gets up to quickly close the curtains.

AARON                                                                               Come in, Anton.

She puts the glass back down on the table but holds her grip.  

ANTON KHUMALO steps into the room and turns on the light.

There’s little sense of his stature, just a casual grace in the clear deliberation of his words and movements. 

His hair is closely cut and his face closely shaved. His eyes are grey-green, sympathetic. He’s wearing blue workman’s trousers, old sandals and a faded yellow UDF t-shirt. He bears his breakfast before him untouched.

ANTON                                                                 Sawubona. Would either of you mind if I joined you for a meal? 

AARON                                                                    No, you’re quite welcome, Anton.

ANTON                                                                     Do you mind, Mrs Lawrenson?

HANNAH                                                                  No, I don’t mind, Anton.

ANTON                                                                 Thank you.

Anton sits himself opposite her, just beneath one of the Tretchikoff portraits.

HANNAH                                                                  You should call me Hannah, if you want to, Anton. You’re more than a guest here.

ANTON                                                                       I appreciate it, Hannah.

He cracks open the head of his first egg with his spoon.

Hannah peeks at Aaron’s reaction. He doesn’t give anything away.

AARON                                                                     Anton, may I ask you a kind of technical question?

ANTON                                                                      You may.

AARON                                                                    How far in advance do you prepare your … eulogies?

ANTON                                                                     I try not to prepare them.

AARON                                                                    No, that can’t be true.

ANTON                                                                       Why not? 

He takes a sip of his juice. Hannah’s stopped eating. 

AARON                                                                      I just find it unbelievable.

ANTON                                                                       I repeat myself often. It’s not difficult to rephrase what I say each time.

AARON                                                                     I know you think so, Anton, but you really shouldn’t sell yourself short.

ANTON                                                                   Can I change the record?

Sketches of Spain is spinning to its close in the lounge.

AARON                                                                   Uh ja, go ahead.

Anton gets up and leaves out the other door.

While he’s gone Hannah looks at Aaron for reassurance, trying to sign the question of whether he thinks Anton eavesdropped on them earlier.

This confuses him at first.

Then he mouths ‘Don’t worry’ and points to her barely-touched first egg.

She sighs, unsatisfied, and restarts her meal.

Anton’s changed the music to a Miriam Makeba album.

They listen to the spoken intro to ‘The Click Song’ as he returns to his place.

HANNAH                                                                    One of my favorites, thank you. 

ANTON                                                                 Pleasure.

He finishes one of his soldiers.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                                            May I ask, just out of interest, what did you two know about Nelson Mandela when you were growing up? What did your parents tell you about him?

Aaron checks with Hannah.

AARON                                                                    Oh, he was literally my bogeyman. My mother convinced me he’d murder me in my sleep if I ever bunked a day of school or smoked dagga or any other such crime. 

ANTON                                                                   And you, Hannah?

HANNAH                                                                     I don’t think I even knew his name until I got to varsity. My family just pretended he didn’t exist. They ignored politics completely.

Anton smiles.

ANTON                                                                     Maybe I should thank you again for your hospitality.

He cracks open his second egg. 

INT. LAWRENSON KITCHEN – MORNING

HANNAH stands at the sink scrubbing one of the plates too closely.

After a beat, she passes it to ANTON who dries it and stacks it.

While cleaning the next one, she turns her eyes to him as if about to say something but doesn’t.

He kneads his drying cloth, seemingly remaining oblivious.

INT. LAWRENSON HALLWAY – MORNING

AARON stands waiting beside a doorway, his hands crossed behind his back.

The covered windows and closed doors throughout the house have made the corridor seem more like a tunnel. 

Numerous small artworks line both sides of the entire passage.

A cavern of light materializes as ANTON opens the door.

He steps out towards Aaron wearing a black tracksuit, sunglasses, fake sideburns and a dreadlocked wig.

He presents himself.

ANTON                                                                     Too much or not enough?

AARON                                                            Goldilocks. 

Anton accepts this and turns back inside.

AARON                                                                (CONT’D)                                                            Perhaps trim the sideburns. Or lose them. Actually, I’ll get you a cap…

INT. LAWRENSON GARAGE – MORNING

AARON drops down the SAAB’s front seat and pushes it forward to make space for a white-capped ANTON to climb in the back.

HANNAH’s standing by to see them both off.

She hesitates as Anton turns to say goodbye to her.

HANNAH                                                                  You’re always welcome here, Anton. Take good care of yourself today.

ANTON                                                                      I shall, thank you. However, I will take my leave of you tomorrow morning. Much to my regret. But it is the best next step, for your sake and for mine. 

He embraces her. 

Then he steps back to the car.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                                              I’ll come visit again when I have my own home back.

Hannah smiles and nods, relieved.

Anton puts his shades on and clambers into the back of the SAAB, fitting himself into the footspace.

Aaron kisses Hannah on the cheek before jumping in the driver’s seat.

The garage door opens.  

INT. AARON’S SAAB – MORNING

The forms of southern suburb houses spin in the windows like a dull zoetrope.

The cream-toned interior is uncaringly scratched, scarred and unnoticed for the most part.

There’s a chink in the rearview mirror.

In it, AARON’s eyes are concerned and wrinkled before their time.

ANTON’s found a slightly twisted slinky on the floor he’s busying himself trying to fix.

AARON                                                                      All alright?

ANTON                                                                   Can’t complain.

AARON                                                                        I can move forward a bit?

ANTON                                                                       You could do that.

He does that.

AARON                                                                You’re used to this, I suppose? 

ANTON                                                                    You don’t get used to it, but it becomes harder and harder to forget to be cautious.

AARON                                                                      Have you ever forgotten?

ANTON                                                                   I’m still here, and if I had I’m sure I wouldn’t be. 

AARON                                                                             Do you usually meet them at the Common? 

ANTON                                                                          No, I wish I saw them enough to have a usual place.

He’s somehow fixed the slinky and as the car stops at a robot he stretches out the coils.

INT. DANIEL’S VOLVO – AFTERNOON

At a Waterfront pick-up point, ROSA jumps in the front seat and slams the door behind her.

She kisses her boyfriend, DANIEL, hello and performs a relieved sigh. 

Daniel’s 23, with curly dark hair, soft features and wearing a crumpled second-hand black jacket despite the bright heat. 

ROSA                                                                     Thank fuck you’re nothing like my Dad.

DANIEL                                                                What’s wrong with being like your Dad?

Rosa doesn’t reply. She watches passersby out her window.

Daniel pulls off.

INT. ROSA’S BEDROOM – LATE AFTERNOON

ROSA sits propping her head up with one arm, gazing out her window at Devil’s Peak in the distance. 

Her digs seems like an attic-room, with a partially sloped ceiling, wood paneling, two full bookshelves, a few favourite classic photographs stuck up on the walls and a bed in the corner, on which DANIEL’s lying whilst working at a picture on a sketchpad. 

Rosa has just enough space for two desks, set against opposite sides: the one facing a mirror, bearing her paraphernalia, and the other facing the window, weighed down with all her Anton-related material – library books, notes, pamphlets, print-outs, pictures etc. 

She sits up at the latter.

ROSA                                                                      He wouldn’t’ve improvised the speech. How could he have…? Why would…? He was too prepared. He would’ve started planning it earlier. I mean, right?

DANIEL                                                              (Focused on his sketch)                                                   So you don’t believe your Dad?

ROSA                                                                     No, I don’t believe Anton. But I don’t know why he would’ve lied about it.

She gets up and does a slow pace around the room, unconsciously tapping on the tops of her books, looking over her wardrobe and chewing her thumbnail in between her replies.

DANIEL                                                                         He was talking about his usual routine. You’re interested in the day he broke from it.

ROSA                                                                    So what?

DANIEL

So don’t overanalyze it. You’re overthinking again.

ROSA                                                                    I’m trying to overthink it, Dan. 

DANIEL

Well if you know that don’t get anxious. Just do the thing. Listen to all your people. Put the whole day together like a puzzle. Jump to all the assumptions later.

ROSA                                                            (Dispirited but calmer)                                                  But it’s so… tangible. 

She sits on the bed beside him, beneath a print of one of Degas’ ballet classes.

DANIEL                                                                   Hey no, just keep pacing.

ROSA                                                                     So now I should stay anxious?

DANIEL                                                                          No, I’m trying something.  

She gets up and paces in a loop again, begrudgingly. He quickens his sketching.

ROSA                                                                  It’s just so important to know if he was working on it the whole day or knew exactly what he was going to say from the beginning.

DANIEL                                                                   You’ll never find that out though.

ROSA                                                                      Ah, thanks for the encouragement.

DANIEL                                                                Sorry, I’m just saying, without talking to him how would you know?

ROSA                                                                         I don’t know, but there should be a giveaway at some point. He was reachable. He was a person.

DANIEL                                                                   When’s the next witness lined up for?

ROSA                                                                    Oh, tomorrow, at the book launch thing.

DANIEL                                                                I’ll come with you, so we can share the overthinking.

ROSA                                                             (Tentatively happy)                                                      What about the Wizoo gig?

DANIEL                                                                That’s only at 9.

ROSA                                                                     Are you sure?

DANIEL                                                                    This is gonna be your life for a while, Rosie, I probably shouldn’t miss out.

She smiles, understatedly grateful.

She signals for him to make space for her then lies down beside him. He hides the sketch from her sight.

ROSA                                                                     Can you see how it’s a big deal?

DANIEL                                                                  Not really, but that’s probably my fault.

ROSA                                                                    What were you trying?

She grabs the sketch from his other side.

It’s still rough but you can see the blue-inked sketch is meant to imitate a long-exposure camera effect, with one caricatured figure of Rosa sitting at her desk and five abstract forms of her making a continuous movement around her room.

She appreciates it skeptically, then covers his face with the paper. 

INT. THE BOOK LOUNGE – EVENING

It’s the launch event for More Beautiful Times.

DANIEL leans against one of the back-shelves reading Jeremy Cronin’s Inside and Out collection, idly finishing a plate of the shop’s complementary nibbles.

A long assembly-line of book-bearers leads out, under green-tinted light, from just in front of him to the author’s platform by the main window.

ZENZI KHUMALO – 36, wearing hooped earrings, a bright head-wrap and black lipstick – sits signing each copy, dispensing equally uniform chatter.

When ROSA arrives at the head of the line, Zenzi writes her dedication then looks up in quick recognition.

ZENZI                                                                      That’s not Rosa Lawrenson?

ROSA                                                                                       It is, yes.

ZENZI                                                                    Oh crap, I’m so sorry about not replying. It’s been so hectic recently with all this. So hectic.

ROSA                                                                       No, don’t worry.

ZENZI                                                                                      I can fit you in I swear. Just give me a moment.

She whips out her phone and runs through her calendar. 

She looks increasingly disconcerted.

Eventually she gives up.

ZENZI                                                                   Tell you what, can you wait till I’ve got through everyone here. Then we can go get a drink and chat maybe?

ROSA                                                                              Oh yes, sure.

Rosa moves on and turns back to catch Dan’s eye.

He sees her and closes his book.

EXT. KIMBERLEY HOTEL – EVENING

ROSA, DANIEL and ZENZI are sitting in balmy light and air at one of the old establishment’s life-worn outside tables. Rosa’s phone is beside her on the bench, recording.

Occasionally cars flash by and cheers and chatter swell up from the bar inside.

Zenzi’s finishing a series of Instagram stories based on various selfies expressing her responses to the book’s belated release: exhaustion, joy, relief, and then pride as she holds the book up beside her face.

Finished, she puts her phone down and lights up a cigarette. 

ZENZI                                                                    Sorry about that, guys. They told me I wouldn’t make any money if I didn’t do half the marketing myself. And it just never ever ends of course. 

ROSA                                                                      Did they think Anton wasn’t popular?

ZENZI                                                                     They didn’t think reading was popular. Great outlook to have if you’re a publisher. 

She notices Daniel’s eyes following her cigarette.

She offers him the pack.

ZENZI                                                                   Feel free.

DANIEL                                                               Thank you.

He takes one and uses her lighter.

ZENZI                                                              Pleasure. Be honest, what did you think of it? 

She indicates her copy.

ROSA                                                                    Oh, I only just looked through it now at the launch, sorry.

ZENZI                                                                      Ah no! I thought it would answer a lot of your questions! Please let me know when you finish. 

ROSA                                                                      I did see- I mean I did want to ask… I saw the Paradise speech isn’t included.

ZENZI                                                                 Which one was that?

ROSA                                                                              His very last one.

ZENZI                                                                    Oh yes. Well I think the editor thought it just wasn’t of a piece with the others. He thought it disrupted the flow. I wanted to put it in but I must’ve eventually caved.

Daniel’s inconspicuously started writing observations in Rosa’s orange notebook.

ROSA                                                                         Isn’t it his most famous?

ZENZI                                                                    Ah that’s just thanks to the Fallists I think. Is it a big part of your thesis? 

Daniel smiles.

DANIEL                                                                   (To Rosa, half-mockingly)                                               It’s the only part of it.

ROSA                                                               (Annoyed)                                                              It’s meant to be a kind of experiment. 

ZENZI                                                                    Oh, sounds interesting. 

ROSA                                                                      I want to recreate that day to see if that makes sense of it.

ZENZI                                                                       I see, so that’s what you need me for?

ROSA                                                                     Yes, I’m just interested in whatever you remember from when you saw him.

Zenzi takes a drag and looks away for a moment.

ZENZI                                                                     I think I tried to write about it, but…

Another beat. A note of real solemnity dips into her voice.

ZENZI (CONT’D)                                                                  Ah, my father was always such a stranger. All the times I ever actually saw him seem to bleed into one when I think about it. So I’m really not sure.

After a moment, Rosa and Daniel both look as if they’re about to make suggestions.

But Zenzi gets an idea first.

She opens her copy of the book to the picture inserts.

ZENZI                                                               (Preoccupied)                                                       Maybe… What I do have… 

Browsing through them she finally finds the one she’s remembered.

She turns it around to show them a Kodachrome image of a man standing at a distance in a scrubby field. His face and upper body are disguised by a distorted object speeding straight towards the camera.

ZENZI                                                                     Not bad, right?

EXT. RONDEBOSCH COMMON – MORNING

An eight-year-old ZENZI stands with her mother, BRENDA, at the rim of the great field, studying each of the passing cars.

She’s wearing a floral dress with scuffed school shoes and a sunflower-yellow Kodak strapped around her neck.

Her mother is 29, small but elegant, in trousers, a red head-wrap and a dark purple shirt, a craft bag at her feet and already with slight wear around her eyes.

Zenzi grabs her mother’s hands, pulls them out behind her then plays with them like puppets, making them fight each other, then reconcile, then hold each other, then rock together until they ‘fall asleep’, eventually gifting them back.

The waves of tufts of grass behind them flow out in sunny crests with each flush of wind.

Then Brenda’s eye catches on one car.

This is AARON’s SAAB as it pulls up by the National Park Service Information Board.

AARON jumps out, notices them and briskly waves.

Then he pulls up the front seat, allowing ANTON to clamber up and jump out. 

They shake hands, then quickly, mannishly embrace, before AARON resets the seat, jumps in and pulls off again.

Anton sees him off.

Then he checks about himself.

Then he strolls over to Brenda and Zenzi.

Zenzi stands closer to her mother’s side, holding her hand more tightly.

Anton arrives in front of them.

He takes his sunglasses off for the moment.

Brenda lets go of her daughter’s hand, reaches to hold Anton’s face, and then kisses him.

They embrace each other.

Then she looks back into his eyes with a slightly more judgmental aspect.

Zenzi presses on her father’s shoes until he bends down to her.

As he does so she lifts her camera to her face.

He poses for her with a faux-iconic acute-angled glance.

She snaps it then puts down the camera and hugs him.

The conversation between the three of them takes place in isiZulu.

ZENZI                                                                 Thanks Daddy.

ANTON                                                                   How are you, my darling?

ZENZI                                                                   Very good but very bored. But not anymore.

ANTON                                                                          You’re not good anymore or you’re not bored anymore?

ZENZI                                                                Both. But now I’m happy and everything matters. I wanted to show you all my pictures I’ve taken but Mum says I need to save up to make them but I just want to take more of them and everything costs money.

ANTON                                                              (Looking up at Brenda)                                                 I’m sorry, darling. You’ll see all of them eventually.

Brenda’s head is eclipsing the sun.

BRENDA                                                                   Can we move over there maybe?

She indicates a slightly sloped spot on the edge of the field partly shaded by trees.

Anton puts his sunglasses back on.

ANTON                                                                   Sure.

They move off towards it.

ZENZI now holds her father’s hand.

ZENZI                                                                   Why are we here this time, Daddy?

ANTON 

I don’t know, darling, what does it remind you of?

ZENZI                                                                      I think it’s a park for lions and rhinos and flamingos and all the others but maybe they’re all really tiny and we could step on them with every step and crush them so they’re really afraid of us instead of us being afraid of them.

ANTON                                                                  Have you spotted any scurrying from your feet?

ZENZI                                                                     Not yet. I saw a big fat mole over there but I think they’re normally small.

ANTON                                                                 Maybe that was a giant one and you couldn’t tell?

ZENZI                                                                  Moles can’t be big, Daddy, they have to fit into little holes and dig and sniffle.

ANTON                                                                Zenzi, do you know that in Algeria there are moles as vast as swimming pools? And earthworms as long as this field? And seagulls the size of statues? Do you know why that could be?

ZENZI                                                                     Is Algeria the desert place?

ANTON                                                                   It is. And it’s beside a very beautiful sea.

ZENZI                                                                     Is that really true?

ANTON                                                                      I haven’t been there but I’m sure it is. 

ZENZI                                                                 Maybe it’s because it’s easier for them to dig in the sand and everything grows really big and lives underground to escape the seagulls who run everything so they can have all the water to themselves and squawk all the time and poop where they want to?

ANTON                                                              Something like that. It’s also just a very mad place for all creatures to stay. Everything burns on the surface. 

BRENDA                                                                   You see she has your talent for talking?

ANTON                                                                     I’ll take no responsibility for that. Her imagination’s her own completely.

By now they’re settled beneath the trees. 

ZENZI                                                                            You didn’t say it though, daddy, why are we here?

ANTON                                                                                 Okay, because you insist. Look out across…

He sweeps his fingers across the vacant plateau.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                                           What people do you think would come here?

ZENZI                                                                   People who wouldn’t stay. People on their way from Cape Town.

ANTON                                                                  Yes, why would they be leaving?

ZENZI                                                                   Because they have an adventure.

ANTON                                                                    What kind of adventures?

Brenda looks at her daughter with curious, half-engaged eyes.

ZENZI                                                                   Explorer stories. Lonely people. And circuses…

ANTON                                                                         And armies.

ZENZI                                                                Armies? Who was fighting?

ANTON                                                               Everyone was fighting everyone.

ZENZI                                                                      At the same time?

ANTON                                                                     Not quite, but just about here, once, and then over and over and over again, black armies waited in the night to meet black armies, to play and win the scariest game you can play. And then white armies came and set up their tents and made fires and told jokes and set out to find black armies to play with. And when they found them and beat them they waited here to fight each other. And when they finished with each other they found small ways to make the game a part of every little day for everyone. And so today no-one needs to come here anymore. Everyone is already here. Everyone is in their own tent, still on their way to somewhere else. And so they call this the Common.

ZENZI                                                                    Why play though? Why if it’s scary?

ANTON                                                               Because it is the scariest. It didn’t need to be made up. Can you imagine the greatest feeling you’ve ever had?

ZENZI                                                                      I don’t think so. I’ve had a lot of feelings.

She’s playing with the hem of her dress but hanging on every word her father says.

ANTON                                                                     Can you remember your first day at Creche? You told me you tried to run away.

ZENZI                                                                      I did, I nearly did.

ANTON                                                                     Well think about that day now. And think about what it would be to have to fight half the other kids there if you ever wanted to go home. 

ZENZI                                                                  Why would I have to? That’s dumb.

ANTON                                                                        But how much more would you love your home? How much happier would you be to hug your mother this time, at the end of that day?

ZENZI                                                                       I love her, Daddy. I do love her.

ANTON                                                             (Glancing up at Brenda)                                                    As much as you could?

ZENZI                                                                      Yes, as much as I can. 

ANTON                                                                      I know you do. But that’s why you’re the luckiest girl. You’re luckier than anyone.

Brenda stops herself from saying something.

Another car passes by just beyond them and Anton turns his head a little further away from it.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                                             Now tell me about your pictures.

ZENZI                                                                      I can’t, I told you they’re not real yet.

ANTON                                                                 What did you take them of?

ZENZI                                                                       My room, and my bed, and my books, and Auntie Ginnie, and one of every cloud that looked like something. I only have five left.

Brenda starts unloading her bag, bringing out an apple, a packed sandwich and a small juice for her daughter, a secular book for herself and an orange ring-frisbee which she holds in her hands for a moment.

Then she hovers it over Anton’s head for a second before dropping it round his neck.

Anton turns his glance back, bemused.

BRENDA                                                                   She has an idea for one that she needs you for.

EXT. RONDEBOSCH COMMON – LATER

Closer to the center of the field, ANTON and ZENZI stand a few meters apart in a small clearing.

BRENDA stands by as a kind of referee, her bag still at her feet.

ANTON casually flips the frisbee up just above his head and catches it a few times.

ANTON                                                                Okay, have it ready?

ZENZI fiddles further with her camera.

ZENZI                                                               (Finally)                                                              Yes, ready!

Anton shadow-throws twice, then lightly glides it to her.

But the wind blows it sideways and she clicks the stopper just as it leaves the frame.

Anton tries again, but this time it comes in too fast and Zenzi presses as she ducks.

Anton tries a third time and now his throw is a little wide.

As Brenda throws it back to him, Zenzi looks flustered and disappointed.

Brenda studies the set-up, thinking up possible advice.

ANTON                                                                Fourth time lucky.

And he glides it over to his daughter again and the wind co-operates and Zenzi clicks as it passes their median and the frisbee carries on coolly hovering past her head.

Anton holds his fist up in quiet triumph.

ANTON                                                                    And it is so.

He comes in to tussle her hair and pick up the frisbee again.

BRENDA                                                                   You don’t want to try it again?

ANTON                                                                   She should save the last one for something special.

BRENDA                                                             Alright.

He passes the frisbee to Zenzi then takes a step back.

She tosses it back to him.

ANTON                                                                         Now we each take a step back every time until we drop it.

He throws it to Brenda and takes another step back.

She gives it to Zenzi and steps back.

Zenzi chucks it to Anton, who has to reach out to catch it but does.

Zenzi steps back.

This continues, each throw getting more tentative until they’re standing at the points of a sizable triangle.

Then Brenda catches it, and considers for a moment.

Then she throws it back to Anton.

It goes off to his side.

He nearly grasps it.

But it bursts from the tips of his fingers and scuttles away.

Anton goes after it.

ZENZI                                                              (Annoyed)                                                                    Oh no.

Anton comes back with it and draws them back to the center.

ANTON                                                                     So we just start it again.

As he passes it to Brenda, a WHITE COUPLE dressed in hiking gear stumble by on a parallel path.

They acknowledge the family with cursory nods then return to their conversation.

As they walk away, the Khumalos unfreeze and carry on their game.

EXT. RONDEBOSCH COMMON – NOON

A faded VW BEETLE chugs along the road parallel to the field and stops by the National Parks sign.

ZENZI’s wandering around in the grass just in front of the shade, keeping her eye stuck to the viewfinder as she looks around for her last shot.

ANTON and BRENDA are lying together under the shade again.

She sits up, stroking the side of his face unthinkingly. 

He breathes deeply, hands by his side.

Then he checks his wristwatch.

BRENDA                                                                   That must be Marlon then.

ANTON

I wish he was lazier sometimes.

In the distance, MARLON – a young coloured man – gets out and waits by one of the sign’s poles.

Anton gets up laboriously.

Now he’s standing with Brenda and Zenzi at the mid-point between the sign and the shade.

He kisses his wife and embraces her a final time.

Then he kneels down and hugs his daughter.

He takes off his cap and glasses and looks her in the eyes.

ANTON                                                               Zenzi. Am I handsome to you?

ZENZI 

Yes, without this.

She touches one of his sideburns.

ANTON                                                                   Well I won’t have to wear anything extra next time. 

He kisses her cheek.

Then he gets up and kisses his wife’s cheek.

Then he walks away.

And Brenda and Zenzi walk back to the shade.

They wave back quickly at Marlon as Anton gets in the passenger seat.

The car drives off and Brenda moves forward a little.

Zenzi moves back and frames her final shot as her mother holds her gaze away.

The frame’s just of her mother standing with folded arms as her head begins to bow.

She turns back just as Zenzi clicks.

Zenzi puts the camera down to meet her mother looking at her with a half-vexed glare.

EXT. KIMBERLEY HOTEL – EVENING

ZENZI’s eyes are understatedly teary. She seems more perplexed than saddened by the memory but nonetheless her whole bearing’s now noticeably more serious.

DANIEL                                                                          How did you know it was safe to meet him?

ZENZI 

I don’t know. But that was the procedure for three years or so. We kept hiding in the open.

DANIEL                                                                   Were you ever scared he was exposing himself to see you?

ROSA looks at him, surprised at his new curiosity.

ZENZI                                                           (Lightening a little)                                                      I really didn’t know who he was at all. The first time I heard one of his speeches I was 15. 

ROSA                                                                       At the TRC hearing?

ZENZI                                                                              Yes, right.

She lights up another cigarette. 

ZENZI (CONT’D)                                                              I should tell you guys my father made that same promise every time I saw him – that he wouldn’t be disguised again next time. So that day’s only special to me now because it was the last.

ROSA                                                              (Slightly disappointed)                                                   Why do you think he made the speech though? 

ZENZI                                                                   It’s not a mystery. He worked out what was happening behind the scenes. He didn’t want to lie to his people. I’m sorry if you need more for your thesis but I just see it as very simple.

Daniel gauges Rosa’s reaction.

ROSA                                                                   What did your mother tell you about who he was?

ZENZI                                                                   Fuck they’re taking forever- Let me just go get us drinks. What’ll you guys have?

ROSA                                                                   Uh, a Black Label quart.

DANIEL                                                                    Single Jameson’s on the rocks.

ZENZI leaves and flits into the bar.

DANIEL                                                                  Did she think they had waiters here?

INT. ROSA’S BEDROOM – LATE EVENING

ROSA’s at her desk again, wearing earphones and red pajamas, transcribing the preceding conversation onto her laptop from her phone’s playback.

ROSA                                                                (Muffled recording)                                                    Maybe, or she’s getting tired of me.

DANIEL                                                              (Likewise)                                                            She’s not, just loosen up the questions-

She pauses the recording.

DANIEL’s lying on his front on the bed watching The Murder of Fred Hampton on his own laptop.

She grabs a marker and writes on a post-it note – ‘How to support any of this?’ – then sticks it up in the middle of a large Venn diagram/wall-chart beside her window. 

The diagram consists of a big central circle labelled ‘Anton’ with five small, slightly overlapping ones – ‘Dad’, ‘Zenzi’, ‘Marlon’, ‘Ancha’, ‘Brenda’ – surrounding it. Nearly half the space’s already fully covered.

ROSA                                                                  D’you still have my notebook?

DANIEL                                                               Yeah, here ya go.

He picks the orange notebook out of the bag beside the bed and throws it lightly to her reaching hand.

ROSA                                                                        Thank you.

She opens it up to the most recent pages.

Daniel glances back for her reaction.

Instead of quotes or observations there’s a single, very long word taking up a few pages, cascading down from line to line in looping letters, composed of stray pieces of the evening’s dialogue compacted into a mulch.

At the bottom of it there’s a normal note that reads – Just wanted to look busy and serious. Don’t get annoyed, hope it’s helpful anyway xx.

He goes back to watching the movie.

She closes the book and wields it as if about to chuck it back at his head.

But then she desists, rolls her eyes in a sigh and places it on one of her research stacks.

She puts her earphones back in.

INT. DANIEL’S VOLVO – AFTERNOON

ROSA’s finishing a call while the craggy coast snakes by in the window.

ROSA                                                                      Sorry to insist about it but this is just the third time I’ve called her office and both other times I was given a better time to call so I just want to know this will be the real better time this time.

(Brief Response)

Hopefully she will. Yes, hopefully. Okay, I’ll remember. Thank you for your help. Bye-bye, thank you.

She puts the phone down and sighs.

ROSA                                           ‘Don’t keep calling us, we’ll call you eventually’, basically.

DANIEL’s driving, still wearing his black coat and a short neck-scarf. The car’s exactly as messy as he wants it. A slow Sophiatown-style jazz ballad plays away on the sound system.

DANIEL                                               It’s a government office I guess.     

ROSA                                            They could still be more polite about it. I mean, still…

She notices the music.

ROSA (CONT’D)                                         Is this from Saturday?

DANIEL                                             Yeah, the last thing we did in the session.

ROSA                                                           I was wondering how you feel when you listen to yourself. 

DANIEL                                                 I don’t know, sometimes it’s kind of like looking at yourself in the mirror when you haven’t really woken up yet. But most of the time I don’t really think about it.

Rosa lowers her window a bit to peek at the first houses of Fish Hoek.  

ROSA                                                 Anton said he couldn’t do it. He said listening to one of his own speeches always made him sick, like he’d met his own ghost.

DANIEL                                               So now I’m nothing like Anton or your Dad.

ROSA                                              (Quietly)                                                     You don’t have to be. But why- why don’t you take this seriously? You were asking questions last time. So why do you fuck around and look annoyed when I let you in on what I care about?

DANIEL                                                   Hey, I’m helping you right now. I’m here, I’m interested enough. It’s just all you talk about, it’s all you care about.

ROSA                                                   I guess I was wrong.

DANIEL                                                        How so?

ROSA                                                You are like my Dad.

DANIEL                                            Your Dad loves you, he worries about you and he wants you to live in the 21st Century. So you’re right. 

Rosa folds into herself, weary of having to explain her insight.

ROSA                                                Dan, I grew up with Anton. I felt famous in school because I told my friends how close I came to knowing him. He was my entire idea of what it meant to be a valuable, sympathetic person. And now I have the chance to understand him. And I thought you’d understand that.

DAN                                                  I think I do. But I don’t want you to feel disappointed.

ROSA                                               If you start focusing today, I won’t be. 

EXT. FISH HOEK COTTAGE – AFTERNOON

They park by the gate to a small, aging cottage just off a dusty road halfway up the hillside.

The rich sea billows out in the distance, its surface stroked by the clouds’ shadows.

ROSA and DANIEL get out, staying quiet to each other.

They notice the place’s lack of security – the short fence, the lack of burglar guards – then search for a doorbell, and can’t find one.

ROSA                                           Hello! Anyone home?! 

Just the wind, and nothing at the window.

ROSA (CONT’D)                                   Hello! Marlon Hendricks! Hello!

Still nothing.

Without warning, Daniel quickly scales the fence and drops into the untamed garden.

ROSA (CONT’D)                                                Dan, don’t be stupid.

He knocks on the door, to no response.

Then he looks in at the window.

He walks back, jumps the fence again and shrugs.

ROSA                                          (CONT’D)                                         What if he was home?

DANIEL                                             Worth the try anyway.

ROSA                                             This is the right address, and he said 3 o’clock, and we’re already late for 3. 

DANIEL                                          Let’s just wait for a while, do a stakeout.

ROSA                                                   Much better idea.

They walk back to the car, but as they’re about to open their doors a voice from the road stops them.

MAN (O.S.)                                        You looking for Mr Hendricks?

They look back towards him.

He’s an OLD COLOURED MAN trudging up towards them bearing an angling rod and a carry-case of baits and equipment. He’s trussed up against the wind and spray, his face covered by a balaclava. 

ROSA                                              Yes we are. Do you know him?

MAN                                                (Thickly accented)                                    I do. Why d’you want his company?

ROSA                                              I’m doing research. He agreed to talk to me about an old friend of his I’m writing about.

MAN                                                          Oh, Marlon will love that. He’s a sentimental ou bastard if ever I met one. Thinks he was a big hero back in Apartheid times and all that. 

DANIEL                                              Do you know when he’ll be back?

MAN                                               Soon soon I’m sure, but if you take my advice you’ll not even get him started. Unless you want to be sitting there for the whole entire story of the Struggle. Just meet him somewhere else.

ROSA                                         Whatever he says will be helpful. We’ll stay for now.  

MAN                                                You sure-sure?

Rosa nods. Daniel looks skeptical.

MAN                                            (Accent dropping)                                Okay. In that case I’ll make you introduced.

The man pulls off his balaclava, takes out a pair of keys from his pocket and carries on to the gate.

Daniel and Rosa are taken aback.

MARLON is 62, limber and unburdened. His face is kind and only lightly lined but nonetheless sharply alert.

He ushers them into his cottage.

MARLON                                           After you guys.

INT. MARLON’S LOUNGE – AFTERNOON

MARLON places three cups of tea down on the only free spots on the cracked glass table.

The room is just awash in pictures, old posters, ornaments, lamps, books, magazines, cats, records, unwashed mugs, boxes and broken pieces of homemade furniture. There’s even a buddha in the corner propped next to a fake porcelain bust of Lenin. 

The recent photos on the wall show grown-up children but no sign of their mothers.

Daniel and Rosa are perched on the edge of the couch’s cushions to avoid sinking into it. He’s sketching the surrounding mess in Rosa’s notebook out of admiration while she stops the nearest cat from drinking her tea.

Then she presses the record button on her phone again.

MARLON                                                Sorry about the little performance, Ms. Lawrenson. Just old habits from the old days. But of course I have no reason not to trust you.

ROSA                                                  We were just surprised. Did you live here back then? 

MARLON                                               No no, I stayed in the townships, much closer to the movement. This was my parents’ retirement palace. Saved up all their lives keeping their shop, putting coins in the mattress every Friday for so many years. And now it’s mine for free. Anton would make so much fun of me now.

ROSA                                                  Why?

MARLON                                             (Smiling)                                        Because we never believed in property, Miss Lawrenson, why else? I was actually the one who first got him to pledge to the Party. And now I’ve got more than enough stuff to go around. 

Dan smirks in agreement whilst finishing his sketch.

ROSA                                          (Ignoring him)                                                When did you meet him?

MARLON                                                         Oh just a month after he came to Cape Town actually. I was his senior in the UDF. Then so quickly he was mine. Can I show you something?

Without needing a reply he gets up, shoos a ginger cat from a pile by the side of the room and digs out a blue shoebox which he brings back to the table.

He opens it up, takes out a thick wad of fraying postcards and starts laying them out on the flat parts of the table’s contents like a Tarot deck.

They’re all images of the Cape Peninsula’s mountain ranges, covered in various densities of cloud cover. 

MARLON (CONT’D)                                       This was how we communicated when he was a fugitive. We didn’t trust any telephones but we knew we could fool the postman. Can you guess the code we kept with the pictures?

Rosa tries, looking them over, but isn’t confident enough to answer.

Daniel takes a guess.

DANIEL                                                  The heavier the cloud…

MARLON                                             … the more shit was happening, the more careful we had to be. And this was the last one he sent.

The one he holds up and gives to Rosa shows Table Mountain with a full, thick tablecloth.

ROSA                                                So did he know what was about to happen?

MARLON                                                Yes. In general of course he did, that was the whole point of that speech. But he didn’t know they were going to crack down. He wasn’t even going to make the speech until I told him to.

ROSA                                         (Smelling blood)                                  You told him to make it?

MARLON                                             Not in so many words, of course. But I’m very sure I suggested it. He never planned. He was always making his mind up at the last minute and that day I really tried to win him over.

INT. MARLON’S BEETLE – DAY

ANTON stays low in the passenger seat while a younger MARLON – 34, with harder eyes, newer clothes and a small earring – drives them back through the Southern Suburbs.

The space is almost unbearably compact, so Anton leans himself towards his window.

ANTON                                            Lets take the long way round.

MARLON                                            How do you mean?

ANTON                                             The long way round via Hout Bay. 

MARLON                                               We have to join the procession by 3.

ANTON                                        Perfect timing.

MARLON                                               Sure, but why now?

ANTON                                            We’re free to do it and so we should.

MARLON                                            You can’t always use that one.

ANTON                                           It’s always true though.

MARLON                                          It’s unnecessary to hold yourself up to too pure a philosophy.

ANTON                                             I’m not. But I miss being overground, I miss this. It’s not too big a risk.

MARLON                                               It’ll just be a tight squeeze. You should have told me before.

ANTON                                              Now you’re being unrealistic.

Marlon smiles from the cheek of it and keeps scanning the road.

MARLON                                              Still a Zulu-boy tourist, huh?

Anton shrugs.

ANTON                                               The land rightfully belongs to the people. And we shouldn’t forget that we are men of the people. So we should try remember what belongs to us.

MARLON                                              Is that you practicing your speech?

ANTON                                             Not yet.

Marlon makes a left turn onto Main Road. Devil’s Peak glowers over them. 

EXT. M4 & M6 PENINSULA ROUTE – AFTERNOON 

The Beetle negotiates the light traffic and the ocean-view mountain passes zippily.

Studying out his window, ANTON views through his sunglasses:

– Ragged hitchhiker after ragged hitchhiker.

– The swelling beaches of Muizenberg.

– The pointillist crags of Kalk Bay.

– A series of identical roadside snack kiosks.

– The dense wood of the Mountain Park forest.

– The rolling greens of the Constantia wine farms.

– The well-stocked harbour of Hout Bay.

EXT. SNOEKIE’S FISH AND CHIPS KIOSK – AFTERNOON

MARLON, in his own makeshift disguise of a beanie and sunglasses, picks up his order from the vendor’s window.

Then he heads back round the corner to the secluded parked Beetle.

EXT. ROADSIDE PUBLIC PICNIC AREA – AFTERNOON 

ANTON and MARLON sit down at the unsegregated green table furthest from the road.

They’re both wearing their partial disguises, making them look a little like secret agents.

Marlon opens up their food parcel and distributes portions, cutlery and serviettes.

One side of them is bifurcated by the ruffling ocean.

The other is overhung by the fragile cliffs of Chapman’s Peak.

MARLON                                            We are still going to be late you know. 

ANTON                                             Not enjoying the change of scene?

MARLON                                            You are the headline act, comrade. You’re being anticipated.

ANTON                                                    If we make it, we make it. If we’re too late they’ll realize they don’t need me. So either way the Struggle is aided.

MARLON                                           It’s never simple like that.

ANTON                                            Marlon, look over there.

He points to the sea.

Marlon duly glances at it.  

ANTON (CONT’D)                                     Now look over there.

He points to the road.

Marlon grudgingly turns to it.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                      Now, finally, look up there.

He points to the sky.

Marlon looks up then down.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                         Now keep them in your mind for a minute and just think.

He gives him a bout of silence to do so.

He digs into his snoek in the meantime.

A seagull floats by above them.

An OLD HOMELESS MAN is approaching them, rounding the road in the distance.

MARLON                                              And your point would be?

ANTON                                               What did you think about each? 

MARLON                                               I thought ‘That’s the sea’, ‘That’s the road’ and ‘That’s the sky’. And they’re nearby each other.

ANTON                                           That’s all?

MARLON                                                I got the idea.

ANTON                                              What is the idea?

MARLON                                       (Quoting him)                                     That most things are simple. That we’re the ones who make them confusing and worrisome.

ANTON                                              If you can get that, why do you ignore it?

MARLON                                            You ignore the need for control.

ANTON                                               There is already control. The world holds together without us.

MARLON                                             But with us it’s inhospitable.

ANTON                                              So we try to be kind.

MARLON                                      Revolutions have never been won with kindness.

ANTON                                                     So ours can be the first.

He moves onto his chips.

MARLON                                                Ah, that’s always your paradise, Anton.

ANTON                                            It’s not just mine.

MARLON                                               I don’t know how you can go to so many children’s funerals and never want to kill their murderers. 

ANTON                                                  There are times when I do.

MARLON                                              If you wanted to be the leader you could be, you know that?

ANTON                                                 We don’t need a leader. We need a cause.

MARLON                                             How do you make a cause? How do you make the people join a cause?

ANTON                                              The people know what they want. When they need them, they create their leaders.

The HOMELESS MAN – frightened-eyed, frost-bearded, wearing two ragged coats and stained fingerless gloves – finally arrives at their table.

HOMELESS MAN                                     Excuse me gentlemen, sorry to be taking of your time, but you wouldn’t be so so very compassionate just to give a little chippie or some coins for an old gentleman please sirs.

They’re a little surprised to be snapped away from their debate, but both Marlon and Anton offer up their leftover chips. The man takes one chip from each tray then hesitates to try his luck for money.

Anton looks at Marlon with a thought in his eyes.

The man’s about to make his thanks and move on.

ANTON                                          What’s your name, brother?

HOMELESS MAN                                 Goodwill, Sir. Goodwill to all, Sir.

ANTON                                             Goodwill, you can have the rest of my meal, and R50 too for your trouble, if you’ll sit down with us for a few minutes. Would that be amenable to you?

GOODWILL                                               (Disbelieving)                                    Oh yes, Sir. That’d be so so kind of you.

ANTON                                          (Making a space)

You’re welcome.

Marlon’s intrigued.

Goodwill sits down and starts digging into Anton’s chips despite himself.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                      My comrade and I, Goodwill, have just been arguing about politics. 

GOODWILL                                          Yes, Sir?

ANTON                                             And we don’t know what we’re talking about. Now we need another voice.

GOODWILL                                            I don’t know, Sir, I don’t know if I’ll know.

ANTON                                            What do you want for the future, Goodwill?

GOODWILL                                          Oh, I don’t think about that, Sir. The future’s a very big thing. I just want to have a pillow again. Today I sleep where I can.

ANTON                                             But if you had a pillow and a bed and more than just these chips, what would you want?

GOODWILL                                          I’d want to go to the movies. I haven’t seen a movie in 22 years, Sir. 

Marlon appreciates the answer.

GOODWILL (CONT’D)                                   I had an idea one time. Maybe it’s what you want to hear. What if there was movie-places like libraries. You could go free to all the movies, you just need a card. And you just get a fine if you leave before the movie’s over. That would be a part of the future.

ANTON                                            Would everyone be allowed into it?

GOODWILL                                                   Yes, that’s the idea.

ANTON                                                How do you think this would come true, Goodwill?

GOODWILL                                             (A little hypnotized)                                     It’s just an idea, Sir, it won’t come true.

ANTON                                              And if the government changed? Would that help? 

GOODWILL                                         Does the government not like the movies, Sir?

ANTON                                        (Smiling)                                             No, they don’t.

MARLON                                            He’s asking if the white people didn’t have the power, would we make things better?

GOODWILL                                            I don’t know that. But I know it would make me feel better all the same. 

(Struck by a thought)

Are you… Are you gentlemen those revolutionary people?

Anton and Marlon don’t reply for a beat.

MARLON                                         (Looking at Anton)                                       Show him who you are, comrade.

Anton considers.

Then he takes off his cap and shades and turns to face Goodwill.

Goodwill looks at him and tries to place him.

GOODWILL                                            You’re the communist man. You’re the famous one, the outlaw. You’re… You’re Mr. Hani! You are Mr Christopher Hani, back from exile. 

Marlon laughs.

Anton smiles. Then he restores his disguise and shakes Goodwill’s hand.

ANTON                                            Glad to meet you, Sir.

INT. MARLON’S BEETLE – DAY

They’re winding back through a mountain pass, MARLON tarrying with the speed-limit.

ANTON takes out a sports bag from behind his seat and inspects the red, green and yellow tracksuit inside it that he’s saving for his speech.

MARLON                                            So what did you want to prove with that?

ANTON                                           Nothing. 

MARLON                                            Come on. 

ANTON                                        Sometimes its better to ask questions than to insist on an answer.

MARLON                                              If we had to listen to all the people like that then we’d forget to actually liberate them.

ANTON                                                We liberate them already just by listening to them. 

MARLON                                                That’s not freedom, Anton.

ANTON                                                 I liked his idea, didn’t you?

Marlon stays quiet for a beat.

MARLON                                          Whatever you say today, you can not put the movement on hold anymore. You can’t keep deferring to the future. You’ve got to start mobilizing them now.

ANTON                                                I don’t know what I’m going to say.

Another beat.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                            But you’re right, things do have to change.

The car drives over a last ridge and the Cape Flats splay out in the distant heat.

INT. MARLON’S LOUNGE – AFTERNOON                       ROSA’s leaning in to take Marlon up on the details. DANIEL’s sitting back, stroking one of the cats, enjoying her fascination.

ROSA                                               Why didn’t he tell you why?

MARLON                                              Why what?

ROSA                                                   Why things had to change. Why he thought the Struggle was ending.

MARLON                                              He didn’t want to disappoint me I think. He was the most articulate man I ever knew but he never laid out all his cards. Or maybe he was right and it was me who never listened well enough.

ROSA                                            Were you surprised at his speech?

MARLON                                                  Of course I was. But I knew he was right. Immediately I knew. I always saw him as a prophet, and that day he proved he was. But the problem with the true prophets, of course, is they always end up becoming the martyrs.

Marlon gets lost for a moment in his reverie. 

Daniel looks at Rosa.

MARLON (CONT’D)                                      Do you both want some more tea?

Rosa nods. Daniel demurs.

Marlon gets up and starts packing all the postcards back into the shoebox.

When he finishes he holds the box for a moment, considering.

Then he offers it to Rosa.

MARLON                                                        You know what. Keep this if it’ll help you with your history. Or if you just want some small bit of him for yourself. I need to start clearing this place up.

Taken aback, she accepts the box while Marlon turns away to the kitchen.

INT. DANIEL’S VOLVO – EVENING                                               They’re returning along the same coast road as earlier, just past dusk.

Rosa holds the box on her lap. Her eyes are growing tired but she’s still panning her head occasionally to follow each passing, flashing car.

DANIEL                                         Something doesn’t make sense to me.

ROSA                                              What doesn’t?

DANIEL                                         Everyone was so careful about the disguises, the security checks, about keeping Anton safe that day. But just so he could make the speech as himself.

ROSA                                                 What’s your point?

DANIEL                                             If he always came out of hiding to speak at the funerals, why didn’t they know where he’d be and catch him at the funerals?

ROSA                                                      No-one knew when he’d reappear.

DANIEL                                              But they could’ve still tracked him down sooner. 

ROSA                                               He was careful. The crowds always protected him.

DANIEL                                                      They must have finally followed him back.

ROSA                                                   I don’t know. It never came out. They burned his file, with all the others.

DANIEL                                             That doesn’t make sense either. What would they have to hide about him?

ROSA                                                  I don’t know. I don’t know anything yet. I don’t know anything at all.

They both fall silent. 

She takes a deep breath and leans her head on his shoulder.

EXT. UNIVERSITY CAMPUS – DAY

ROSA’s walking along the varsity’s main avenue, wearing another striped shirt and a leather bag over her shoulder, her focus caught by the source of a general din on the main plaza.

She slows down to study the sight, allowing a stream of other STUDENTS to pass her and join the swelling crowd.

A great ring of ONLOOKERS surrounds a short line of FALLIST SPEAKERS gathered at a mic-stand near the center of the square.

The presiding chatter dies down as the first speaker comes forward to introduce the occasion.

His words are rendered as unclear rumbles by the untested amps but his rousing tone and wheeling gestures come through well enough to compensate.

Rosa spots her supervisor, ANCHA – 45, professionally-dressed, wearing earrings and a concerned expression – standing by the entrance to the African Studies Library across the way.

She gets her attention and they meet around the side of the crowd.

ANCHA                                              Let’s talk somewhere more quiet, don’t you think?

INT. SALISBURY’S CAFE – DAY

ROSA and ANCHA are perched on chairs at the long table set against the marquee window.

The cafe’s cozily populated, with Muzak in the background and overcast light spreading out the shadows.

Rosa’s got her notebook open on the table while Ancha sips her coffee and consults her own pocket-book beside it.

ANCHA                                                So you don’t have it set?

ROSA                                                 I called her office this morning for the 7th time and got her voicemail, which felt like a step backward. 

ANCHA                                                I did tell you at the start you were counting on too much to go your way to make it work.

ROSA                                             Well I thought if I had my Dad and I had you confirmed it would be easy to get the other three. I’m sure I can still get through to her.

ANCHA                                           It’s just tricky because it does all rest on her now. What you’ve sent me so far is interesting, Rosa, but it’s not revealing enough for what you want. What I mean by that is, you’ve got these good little portraits of him – as a fugitive, as a father, as a radical, so on – but you’re not actually answering your question yet.

ROSA                                                  I’ve asked it to everyone. 

ANCHA                                             And they all agree?

ROSA                                             Yes.

ANCHA                                                  So maybe it’s the wrong question.

ROSA                                                But I know it’s not.

ANCHA                                             Why are you sure?

ROSA                                               Because I feel like I know Anton better than they did. 

ANCHA                                            Well it’s imperative for you to prove that. Otherwise I have to say your project falls apart.

Rosa turns back to her notebook to think for a moment.  

ANCHA (CONT’D)                                           I remember on that day it wasn’t easy to believe either. That it was really Anton speaking. So I can understand why you don’t want to accept the facts.

Rosa still doesn’t respond.

ANCHA                                                   I can’t give you a better answer than the others, but if you want to you can ask whatever questions you have for me.

Rosa considers for a moment.

ROSA                                               Had you ever met him before then?

ANCHA                                                No, I hadn’t. I’d always been too young before. But, as you know, my brother was Walter Dlamini, and he was in the thick of the movement and they were comrades. My brother had asked him years before to speak at his funeral if it ever came to that. He almost boasted about it. My mother thought it would curse our family. But we never believed he would be caught.     

EXT. TOWNSHIP STREET – AFTERNOON

A 17-year-old ANCHA leans in slanted sunlight against the rough red walls of a GENERAL STORE on the edge of the settlement. She’s wearing a ‘Free Nelson Mandela’ t-shirt and a green head-scarf. Her eyes are wounded and downcast. Her right leg jitters as she studies each of the passing people on the unpaved road.

Eventually MARLON’s BEETLE comes round the corner in the distance, trundles along the intervening bumps and turns into the alley beside her to park in the shade.

She walks over to the corner to peek down it as ANTON disembarks. 

He swaps his black tracksuit jacket for his red, green and yellow one, throws the former through the window, claps and shakes MARLON’s hand in goodbye and watches as he reverses out and back into the road again.

Marlon waves at Ancha as he drives off. Ancha tentatively waves back.

Anton walks to her out of the shade, still in his disguise.

ANTON                                            You must be Ancha.

ANCHA                                                   And you’re Anton Khumalo.

ANTON                                                   I’m sorry I couldn’t be here under any other circumstances. 

EXT. TOWNSHIP MAIN STREET – AFTERNOON

ANCHA and ANTON walk together at the very back of an indefinitely large funeral procession.

As they talk they pass around rows of people wielding UDF banners, clusters of old women in mourning clothes, groups of union men in blue and red uniforms, daisy-chains of schoolchildren holding hands, photographers walking backwards whilst sizing up shots and song-leaders pacing ahead, holding their raised fists as they chant the choruses.

Residents of the surrounding shacks and houses keep expanding the scene by feeding into it from the sides.

No-one recognizes Anton for the time being.

ANTON                                              Are you proud of your brother?

ANCHA                                                 I have to be.

ANTON                                                         What do you feel?

ANCHA                                                No, I am proud of him. But there’s a part of this that seems … that feels ridiculous now.

ANTON                                              What part of it?

ANCHA                                                 He was sure he was going to see the end. He was always telling me about your speeches and how we were going to live in a better country. Always in a month or two we would live in a better country.

ANTON                                                 He knew what he was doing, Ancha. You have to trust he understood what he’d committed himself to. 

ANCHA                                             But he didn’t.

ANTON                                           What makes you think that?

ANCHA                                              He was an idiot. He was my idiot brother who always made Mum smack him and then he made her cry.

ANTON                                              You can be both an idiot and a hero. You almost have to be. 

ANCHA                                          Everyone here is here for you, Anton. Don’t lie about it. They’re all here to listen to you.

ANTON                                                    And I’m here for your brother. 

She falls quiet and looks around to distract herself with observing the other mourners.

Anton looks at her for a moment.

Then he puts his arm around her shoulders in a fatherly manner.

She starts to cry and leans into his shoulder.

Then she pulls away, dries her tears and moves a little ahead. 

EXT. COMMUNITY SPORTS FIELD – AFTERNOON

The PROCESSION feeds onto the scrubby field, the songs building to a climax.

A makeshift wooden stand is set up on the opposite end, dense with ORGANIZERS repositioning chairs, setting up the mics and sounding out the amps.

A gigantic black and yellow banner behind them proclaims ‘LONG LIVE THE PEOPLE’S STRUGGLE!’, ‘VIVA UDF!’, ‘VIVA NELSON MANDELA!’ ‘VIVA ANTON KHUMALO!’, along with the UDF logo.

Walter’s coffin leads the line, garlanded with roses and a flag of ANC colours, borne by six of his FORMER SCHOOLMATES and surrounded by his FAMILY.

ANCHA and ANTON trail together a little further behind it.

EXT. FUNERAL PLATFORM – LATER

The coffin lies in the middle of the de facto stage, three rows of mourners seated alongside it.

ANTON and ANCHA are seated together in the back. He pulls his cap down to maintain a lower profile.

The few-thousand-strong crowd is spread out before them, sitting on the turf for the PREACHER’s address.

A few of them are muttering among themselves, scanning the stage for famous faces.

A few CAMERAMEN are still adjusting their equipment along the edges.

The PREACHER stands at the mic-stand looking down at his cradled bible in the absence of a proper lectern. He’s a diminutive old man in black and purple robes, constantly adjusting his glasses.

His voice reverberates like a quick boomerang.

PREACHER 

The Bible explicitly warns us, again and again, against the worshipping of false images – against putting our faith in any gods but God. Yet the Creator himself appears to us only in the forms of signs and wonders. He has his emissaries, his mediums, his miracles, and it is folly to ignore them. But men, of course, are fools, utter fools. And we can never be sure of the evidence of our eyes and ears. That is why we need to trust to our greatest sense, our keenest instrument – our feeling for the Lord’s justice. There is still Good and Evil on this earth and we must learn to judge accordingly. The man about to speak to you – the man I have the honour to introduce – has been the best of all our judges. He has been a rock against the evils of our country. Against the spirits of hate and division that haunt all our waking dreams. He has lived in danger for years to speak the truth. He has given us a vision of the future that may save us all. I call Anton Khumalo to the stage.

Anton finally takes off his disguise and gets up from his seat. 

Ancha pats him on the shoulder as he goes.

He walks up to the mic to face a rapturous reception.

The crowd stands up for him, applauding then restarting their chants.

Anton accepts all of it, thanks the Preacher then begins unhooking the mic from the stand.

Detaching it, he walks down the stairs off the platform and circles back to stand by the front row.

He waits for the cheers to die down.

Then he addresses them all at eye-level.

ANTON                                         AMANDLA!

CROWD                                          AWETHU!

ANTON                                          (Deeply focused)                              Comrades, I thank you all for being here today. I thank you all for giving me the voice I use to address you. And I thank you most of all for having the constant kindness to believe me. For many years I have talked to you of paradise. For years I have promised you the future. I have promised you South Africa and everything in it. And I have promised that I would keep my promises. And today I can tell you that your waiting is nearly over. And that your patience will finally be rewarded.

The crowd bellows its approval.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                   Would anyone here recognize Mr. Nelson Mandela? As he would appear to us today? Can anyone imagine before their eyes a new picture of his face? I don’t think any one of us here could. By now he must be an ancient man.  His hair must be as white as ice. His face must be cracking apart. He went into his cell 25 years ago and in that instant his image was frozen. When we have screamed  and rallied the world for his release we have imagined that same man walking free. We have foreseen a young revolutionary returning to finish what he started. But on the day he does return what we will see instead is a triumphant old man. We will see our prodigal father walking toward our doorstep. In one moment, we will see our past and our future become our present. And I can tell you now – I can be the very first to inform you – that day is just months, if not weeks away. The government is negotiating with him as we speak. They know their time is up. They know Apartheid is dying. I can tell you our Struggle is drawing to its end.

A rumble of surprised cries and impulsive cheering emanates from the crowd.

Ancha’s face typifies the shock felt by the mourners.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                    Trust me. I know the truth of this. And I know we must celebrate this moment. We must make it endure. But this is not the message I have come here to bring you all. Instead what I have come to share  with you is my fear. Comrades, I am still afraid, because with Nelson Mandela’s release we will have peace and we will have our freedom and we will be able to face the world without shame, but it will be at the price of a compromise. We will be asked to buy into our paradise. We will be asked to forget and forgive our oppression. We will be told to replace love and hate with mere tolerance towards each other. And I think we will accept it. And this terrifies me. This terrifies me because through our acceptance we will lose our cause. We will lose the energy that rebuilds a country, that reimagines a society, that creates an entirely new vision of our ordinary lives. In a word, we will become complacent. And again we will start waiting for our freedom. And only the surface will change.

The crowd is completely quiet.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                       I do not want you to revolt. I hope you can see our situation clearly. In this moment, we have too much to lose to bring on bloodshed. But I wish for you to see beyond these choices. I want you to hold the future to account. I want you to remember Walter and the thousands like him who have died for an ideal beyond corruption. I want you all to survive our victory with your souls intact. And I want you to truly believe in your own power. I have never been anything but your symbol. You must decide for yourselves the change you are willing to accept. Viva Walter Dlamini Viva! Viva United Democratic Front Viva! Long live the Struggle, Long Live!

The crowd responds but the atmosphere is relatively muted and uncertain. 

Anton returns the mic to its stand and walks back to his seat. All the mourners’ eyes follow him. 

Ancha studies the side of his face as he folds his hands and bends his head in a near-prayer.

INT. SALISBURY’S CAFE – AFTERNOON

Ancha’s finished her coffee. Her right leg jitters as she looks out the window in the middle-distance.

Rosa’s finishing a note in the margin of one of her notebook’s pages.

ANCHA                                             And afterwards he kept quiet. The ceremony finished up and the crowd went out and then he must’ve slipped away. I do remember thinking it was amazing how he could be so loved and talked about and then he could just become completely invisible. But I was taken up with my brother after he left. So that was just my vantage-point. I really didn’t meet him properly.

ROSA                                              Marlon said he was quiet on the drive back too. He tried to ask him about the speech but he wouldn’t talk.

ANCHA                                                 Well that doesn’t help you.

ROSA                                                 It doesn’t, no. But it shows he was still keeping something back. 

ANCHA                                               What do you think that would be?

ROSA                                                 Just a source of some kind. Or a bigger reasoning for it. There was no warning for it and then he didn’t give any explanation either. 

ANCHA                                                   So you still think he could have given one to Brenda?

ROSA                                                I don’t know. But if he did she’d remember it.

ANCHA                                                  Rosa, whatever you find, really don’t kill yourself about this. You can keep trying to get hold of her, but just work through what you have in the meantime. I promise I’m sympathetic.

ROSA                                                 I just want it to be complete. I thought by now it would be easier to see him. 

ANCHA                                           Relax. It’s history. Distance helps more than anything.

INT. JAZZ BAR – EVENING

ROSA’s sitting at the purple-tinted, overlit bar going through her three-quarters-full notebook like she’s trying to watch a flip-through animation.

She sips her beer while the tables gradually full out behind her and the BAND warms up casually on the stage.

DANIEL wanders over from his seat at the keyboard to the empty stool beside her.

She doesn’t acknowledge him for a moment.  

He watches her do another flip-through.

ROSA                                             You ready?

DANIEL                                               Nah, that wouldn’t be cool at all.

ROSA                                                It’s not cool to fuck up either.

DANIEL                                               Not true. The coolest people are always the biggest fuck-ups. They just know to fail with style.

Rosa laughs and thinks about the idea.

ROSA                                                 I think I keep forgetting that part.

DANIEL 

You’re the opposite of a fuck-up, Rosie.

Rosa smiles and starts putting her book away.

DANIEL (CONT’D)                                         You feeling okay?

He looks at her with sincere concern for a moment.

ROSA   

Ja, I’m fine. I’m alright, Dan.

She looks back, appreciative but tired.

One of Daniel’s bandmates signals him back to his place.

Rosa kisses him good luck.

He duly returns to the stage but has a word with SHEENA, the vocalist, before he sits back at the keys.

Rosa settles in to watch their first song.

SHEENA                                     (Addressing the crowd)                          Welcome, welcome, welcome, everyone. Thank you for coming. Dan’s just insisted we do our Mama Afrika number first. And we started rehearsing it on Tuesday, so please blame him, over there, not me, if it’s in any way shit. Anyway, he told me to say this one is for the memory of Anton Khumalo.

The crowd cheers. 

Rosa looks on with new energy.

Dan does the intro riff and Sheena starts singing Qongqothwane (The Click Song) with a piercing wail.

Her performance is not in any way shit.

Some of the crowd starts singing along almost immediately.

Dan just focuses on keeping in time.

Rosa’s clapping, playing his metronome.

Then her phone rings in her pocket.

She checks it and sees it’s an unknown number.

She gets up and leaves out a side-door.

EXT. JAZZ BAR PATIO – CONTINUOUS

She moves away from the chattering smokers at the outside tables and answers her phone.

ROSA                                              Hello.

BRENDA (O.S.)                                                    This is Rosa Lawrenson?

ROSA                                          (Controlling herself)                                     Yes it is.

BRENDA (O.S.)                                        I’m sorry for the late call, I believe you’ve been trying to reach me. I’ve been told you’re busy writing about Anton.

ROSA                                                 I am. I’m sorry for being a pain about it-

BRENDA (O.S.)                                      You haven’t. I should confess, I should confess for your forgiveness – I wish I could say I was busy but I waited hoping you would stop.

ROSA                                              You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. I’m not a journalist, I’m really not important.

BRENDA (O.S.)                                     But you’re Aaron Lawrenson’s daughter?

ROSA                                                  Yes I am.

BRENDA (O.S.)                                      And Zenzi told me you came to her?

ROSA                                                 I did.

BRENDA (O.S.)                                      And you’ve talked to Marlon?

ROSA                                              Yes, and my supervisor is the sister of Walter Dlamini.

BRENDA (O.S.)                                  Alright. Alright then. Yes, we should talk. You’ve been to Kloof Street House before?

ROSA                                                   Yes.

BRENDA (O.S.)                                         Can you meet me there tomorrow evening at 7 o’clock?

INT. JAZZ BAR – EVENING

ROSA walks back in through the side-door as the crowd claps the end of the first song.

She sees that a THIRTY-SOMETHING GUY in a denim jacket has stolen her barstool in her absence despite her unfinished beer beside him and her leather bag at his feet.

She goes up to him, grabs her bottle and motions him off.

He sees she isn’t fucking around and does duly leave.

She gets back on her seat, takes a substantial swig and joins the applause as DANIEL starts the intro again for the next song – a version of Hugh Masekela’s The Big Apple.

EXT. KLOOF STREET – EVENING

ROSA strolls down the pavement under the pink-blue tint of sundown, her fists stowed in the pockets of Dan’s black jacket, her eyes more easily distracted than ever.

She takes her notebook and pen out of her bag already and starts clicking the latter. 

INT. KLOOF STREET HOUSE – CONTINUOUS 

ROSA walks in through the Victorian gate and flits up the stairs to be met by a HOSTESS.

HOSTESS                                              Table for one?

ROSA                                              I’m meeting someone.

The hostess remembers something and quickly re-appraises her.

HOSTESS                                         You’re meeting Mrs. Khumalo?

ROSA                                              Yes.

HOSTESS                                                   Okay, follow me this way. She’s been waiting a while.

Rosa checks a clock on the wall that reads five minutes to seven.

The Hostess leads her through the plush restaurant to a more secluded lounge section at the back. 

There’re a few library shelves half-full with real books, a fireplace, lithographs on the walls and sofas with intricate floral motifs. But only the one stately wooden chair is occupied.

And here’s BRENDA KHUMALO again – 57, drinking tea, wearing green, purple and black, a little more tired in her bearing but far more confident in her gaze.

HOSTESS                                           (Before leaving)                                    I’ll bring your waiter in a minute.

Brenda gets up to shake Rosa’s hand and usher her to the couch opposite her chair.

BRENDA                                                Ah hello Rosa. Come make yourself comfortable.

ROSA                                                      Did I get the time wrong?

BRENDA                                             No no, I was wrongly early, dear. Just a bad habit of mine. Come sit.

ROSA                                        (Eventually sitting)                                            I should first thank you immediately for agreeing to this.

BRENDA                                              You mustn’t. I should’ve realized who you were much sooner. Want Rooibos? 

She offers her the table’s unused second cup.

ROSA                                                Yes please, thank you.

She pours.

Rosa takes out her phone.

BRENDA                                          I’ve always wished I could have meetings in here, such a nice spot to be productive. 

ROSA                                             Yes, it is lovely.

BRENDA                                              I should say I’m surprised by you, I’m surprised by your efforts. I’m sure you’re a wonderful student.

Rosa takes her tea and listens closely. 

BRENDA (CONT’D)                                  Most times when people want to ask me about Anton they want to know his opinions. They want to know what he would say about the students or about today’s ANC or about whatever else deserves opinions and I always think they miss the point of him. I tell them he already made his stance clear. I think you understand that. So may I ask why you are asking?

ROSA                                               I’m asking because… I’ve thought about it endlessly, but the only way I can put it is he’s always seemed to me like a kind of answer.

BRENDA                                                     To what question?

ROSA                                               To a lot of questions. To South Africa in general he seemed like an answer. And he seemed to be aware of that fact.

Brenda sips her tea and looks at her.

ROSA (CONT’D)                                     Did you feel that? Did you think- Do you feel he knew what he was doing?

BRENDA                                                   In what sense?

ROSA                                                  Did he want to become bigger than himself?

BRENDA                                             Yes, of course he did. 

ROSA                                                And was he always sincere?

BRENDA                                      (Considers)                                       Yes, he was.

ROSA                                                         Do you know how he knew Mandela would be released?

A WAITER finally arrives to address them.

WAITER                                              Any more drinks orders?

BRENDA                                          We’re fine, thank you.

Rosa nods. He leaves.

BRENDA (CONT’D)                                   Who will read your thesis when you’re done?

ROSA                                            Almost no-one. I think just Ancha and my parents.

Brenda thinks for a moment.

BRENDA                                              Do you really want to know who he was? Do you want to know how I knew him?

ROSA                                             Yes.

BRENDA                                             If I tell you will you promise not to write it?

ROSA                                                        What do you mean?

BRENDA                                                I’m saying I can tell you why he made that speech, but I have to trust that you’re not going to write it, that it won’t leave here.

ROSA                                                            I don’t know if I can do that.

BRENDA                                            Then I don’t know if I can tell you anything at all.

Rosa thinks for a long, hard moment.

BRENDA (CONT’D)                                      I can see you deserve to know. And I do want to tell you. So can I trust you?

ROSA                                          (Finally)                                         Yes, you can trust me.

EXT. LAWRENSON HOUSE – EVENING

MARLON’s Beetle comes up the darkening street and parks just before the Lawrensons’ driveway.

After a moment, ANTON gets out, waves as Marlon drives away, and darts to the gate to signal for his entrance.

The gate quickly opens, followed by the garage, and Anton walks straight through.

But then he stops, seeing the shadow of someone slipping in behind him just before the gate closes.

He turns around to see BRENDA come up to him.

He swallows his surprise and they look at each other for a beat.

BRENDA                                              I wanted to talk to you. So I asked Marlon where you’d be.

ANTON                                         Zenzi’s safe?

BRENDA                                          Yes.

He embraces her and takes her inside just as the garage starts closing in turn.

INT. LAWRENSON HOUSE BUNKER – EVENING

BRENDA treads carefully down the metal stairs as Anton closes the trapdoor above them. 

They’re in darkness for a few seconds until Anton finds and flips a light switch.

The space is a near-perfect box with one small ante-room in the corner for a shower and commode.

The contents of it are some wooden shelves fulled up with tinned food, a gas-stove and basin, piles of books and magazines beside the flat mattresses on the floor and eight framed pictures of South African pastoral scenes set around the peach-toned walls.

BRENDA                                             Did they build this?

ANTON                                           No, this was Hannah’s grandfather’s house. He built this.

Brenda looks at the pictures one by one. He takes off his jacket and disguise.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                    It’s not safe for you to be here. 

BRENDA                                             It seems safe to me.

ANTON                                             Why did you need to come?

BRENDA                                               I don’t need a reason to need to see you.

ANTON                                               You shouldn’t endanger yourself without a reason.

Brenda doesn’t reply.

She takes her jacket off.

Then she comes over to him, studies his face just as she’s looked at the pictures. And kisses him.

INT. LAWRENSON HOUSE BUNKER – LATER

They’re lying on the mattresses together under lower light.

He strokes and taps her shoulders unthinkingly.

She’s looking at the copy of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus he’s kept beside him.

She keeps his place and puts it down.

BRENDA                                            Do you still find the time to write?

ANTON                                               I don’t, I hardly do anything but read.

BRENDA                                              You should start again.

They breathe together for a moment.

BRENDA                                            When will you stop?

ANTON                                         That’s not for me to decide.

BRENDA                                             Don’t say that. You do what you want.

ANTON                                         What do you think I want?

BRENDA                                                I want you to want to be with us more.

Anton doesn’t reply.

BRENDA (CONT’D)                                    I know you do, but she’s growing up. You’re not there, you’re not seeing it.

ANTON                                             And I can’t do anything about that.

BRENDA                                         Yes you can. You can choose her. 

ANTON                                          That’s out of my hands.

BRENDA                                                 You don’t love us the way we love you. It’s not more than that.

ANTON                                                I love you and her more than you will ever understand.

She tears up. He’s sinking in his own thoughts.

BRENDA                                         You’ll have to make me understand. I need you to find a way for me to understand. 

They fall silent for a very long moment.

ANTON                                               Do you know what I said today?

BRENDA                                              I don’t want to know. I’m the only person who doesn’t care what you have to say.

ANTON                                          (Calmly)                                           I said Nelson Mandela will be released soon and that the Struggle is over.

BRENDA                                          Why did you lie to them?

ANTON                                               I wasn’t lying.

BRENDA                                            But you don’t know that.

ANTON                                                   I do.

She sits up to look at him.

He sits up to talk to her directly.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                      I know it because I was told so three years ago. 

She tries to work this out.

ANTON                                                I was told that the National Party wanted to negotiate with Mandela. I was told they were preparing for the end of Apartheid. 

BRENDA                                           Who told you?

ANTON                                            They did.

INT. SPECIAL BRANCH INTERROGATION ROOM – DAY

ANTON sits handcuffed at a long, bare wooden table across from a SENIOR POLICE OFFICIAL perusing a file.

Two GUARD OFFICERS stand by the door. A clock and a portrait of P.W. Botha stand on one wall, a long two-way mirror takes up most of its opposite.

ANTON (O.S.)                                   (Shakily but determinedly)                        They arrested me, and I thought they were taking me to be tortured, but they only wanted to address me. They told me I was a thorn in their side but what frightened them most, by far, was anarchy. They said they would have black rule before they would have disorder. And they were afraid the State of Emergency was only leading to everyone’s catastrophe. They needed more time to arrange the transition. So they gave me a proposition. 

The Official starts making his proposition.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                         They would ban me. But if I helped them to keep order, if I could tell the people to be patient, they would let me go. I would be a fugitive and I would be loved for it. The people would  calm themselves to wait for my words. And if I accepted then they wouldn’t touch me and they wouldn’t crack down on the movement and they would never touch you or Zenzi.

The Official waits for Anton to respond. 

INT. LAWRENSON HOUSE BUNKER – CONTINUOUS

ANTON                                             And I accepted it.

BRENDA looks at him.

Her reality is falling apart.

INT. KLOOF STREET HOUSE – EVENING

ROSA looks at BRENDA.

Her reality is falling apart.

Brenda looks down into her tea.

INT. SPECIAL BRANCH INTERROGATION ROOM – DAY

ANTON’s handcuffs are unlocked.

INT. LAWRENSON HOUSE BUNKER – EVENING

BRENDA                                              No. No. Why are you telling me this? No! No! No! No! What are you saying to me? Anton! What the fuck are you saying to me? 

She gets up and finds herself bombarded by her thoughts.

She starts to weep.

She holds herself.

She eventually sits on the stairs.

She can’t focus on anything in particular so she just begins to wail.

Anton gets up to sit with her and put his arms around her.

She cries into his shoulder.

He cries soundlessly.

She calms down very gradually.

He kisses the top of her head. 

BRENDA                                            Why did you tell them today?

ANTON                                               I received a thank you message from F.W. De Klerk a few days ago. That means they’re close to a final arrangement. 

BRENDA                                             But why did you tell them?

ANTON                                                 It felt like my last opportunity.

INT. KLOOF STREET HOUSE – EVENING

ROSA’s crying lightly in shock.

ROSA                                               So when did they…

BRENDA                                           Very soon afterwards.

INT. LAWRENSON HOUSE BUNKER – EVENING

ANTON and BRENDA are sitting together on the mattresses. 

She’s still recovering.

He plays with a braid of her hair.

Suddenly a commotion can be heard from upstairs.

Doors are being slammed. 

Men’s voices are traveling. 

Boots can be heard tramping on the garden path.

Then they can be heard in the garage itself.

Brenda quivers but stays quiet.

Anton holds her and his breath.

He thinks hard for a moment.

Then he gets up.

He impels her to stay quiet.

She gets up, aggrieved.

He embraces her and whispers in her hear.

ANTON                                           Brenda. Listen. They know I’m here. They made me tell them I’m here. If I go you can hide. So let me go. I love you.

He kisses her.

They hold each other tightly.

He pulls away.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                   Now hide.

She retreats to the corner.

He climbs up the stairs.

He takes a breath and opens the trapdoor with his hands up.

Police lights dart into the room.

Anton climbs out, directed by a few loud, indistinct voices.

The trapdoor is closed behind him.

Brenda sits and takes heavy breaths.

INT. LAWRENSON GARAGE – CONTINUOUS

ANTON is being restrained and handcuffed by two SPECIAL BRANCH OFFICERS.

A THIRD is standing by the door with the distraught HANNAH and AARON, his gun trained on Anton’s torso.

Anton is lead away without a struggle out the garage door.

Then the trapdoor opens again.

BRENDA climbs out.

She holds her hands up too but walks over to Anton first.

She kisses him and looks him in the eyes before the third officer rushes in to restrain her.

INT. POLICE HOLDING VAN – LATER

BRENDA and ANTON are handcuffed and seated facing each other.

An OFFICER rides with them to supervise.

Lights from two other cars flash by in the window.

BRENDA                                           I’m sorry.

ANTON                                          Don’t be.

OFFICER                                           Don’t talk.

They look again into each other’s faces.

INT. KLOOF STREET HOUSE – EVENING

ROSA’s completely still.

She’s dried her eyes and sits leaning forwards.

BRENDA’s finished her tea. She’s waiting for another question.

ROSA                                              Do you know what really happened to him?

BRENDA                                          No. But for as long as I knew Anton I don’t think he even once considered the possibility of suicide. So he was the last of the lost. 

ROSA                                              What were they afraid of?

BRENDA                                            He’d broken their control. I suppose they thought he could ruin everything if he wanted to. And I think they just wanted to punish him.

ROSA                                               Why haven’t you told anyone?

BRENDA                                         Zenzi knows. A few people know. But I trust them. And now I trust you.

ROSA                                             But why didn’t you make it public?

BRENDA                                          Rosa, what good do you think that would serve? What would you have done?

Rosa doesn’t have an answer.

BRENDA (CONT’D)                                   On that day Anton made an impossible decision. He doesn’t need to be forgiven for it. More and more I feel like it only adds to who he was.

She looks away, into her memories, for a moment.

Then the WAITER arrives again.

Brenda smiles at him.

Rosa sits back.

INT. ROSA’S BEDROOM – MORNING

DANIEL is sitting against Rosa’s bed, arranging the torn fragments of her Venn Diagram back into order on the sun-stained floor.

A pile of her notes and research books lies in a mess beside her desk.

ROSA sits opposite him, leaning against her second desk, profoundly downcast.

All the photographs have been torn off the walls.

DANIEL finishes the reconstruction.

DANIEL                                            If you could tell me then you have to write it.

ROSA                                                 I promised her I wouldn’t.

DANIEL                                             No Rosa, you have to. You really have to.

ROSA                                                 I don’t. She could deny it. She could invalidate the whole thing.

DANIEL                                            Your whole project was based on a hunch that you just proved true. You just found what you wanted.

ROSA                                             This was not what I wanted.

DANIEL                                            What did you think it would be?

ROSA                                                  I don’t know. I tried not to think ahead of myself. But I thought he was better. 

She falls silent. 

Daniel looks around him.

He moves to start cleaning up one of the floor’s piles.

ROSA                                              No. I’ll get to it. Just sit down.

Hesitantly, he sits back down.

DANIEL                                             I don’t think you realize what you’ve found out.

ROSA                                               Of course I fucking realize.

DANIEL                                                  If Anton Khumalo collaborated, that makes him a human being.

Rosa doesn’t reply.

DANIEL                                (Deliberately)                                   And people should think of him as a human being. You should think of him as a human being. You have to – it’s almost your duty – to share that with everyone.

ROSA                                           (Under her breath)                               Dan, please fuck off.

Daniel stays seated.

ROSA                                              (A little louder)                                Dan, leave me alone and please fuck off.

Daniel still doesn’t go.

Rosa starts to cry and turns away from him.

He can’t stand to see her like this.

So eventually he gets up and goes to the door.

DANIEL                                             I love you, but wake up.

INT. ROSA’S BEDROOM – LATER

ROSA gets up, dries her eyes and surveys her room.

She arranges her books back on the desk.

She picks up the torn photographs.

She makes her bed.

She cleans the floor completely.

She puts her Venn Diagram back up on the wall with the assistance of sticky-tape and a dozen bits of Prestik.

INT. ROSA’S BEDROOM – EVENING

ROSA sits at her mirrored desk, her head propped up, deliberating.

Then she takes her laptop out of her bag.  

Then she starts writing again.

INT. COMPUTER SCREEN – DAY

The film reverses all the way to the six white eggs boiling in Aaron’s pot. 

Now we see the entirety of Anton’s scenes played out again in a kind of fast-motion with the soundtrack muted.

The light of the day shifts. 

The perspective changes.

We see Anton in all his guises.

Then we linger on his face again in the back of the holding van.

INT. UNIVERSITY PRINTING ROOM – DAY

ROSA leans over the ancient copier while it coughs out her thesis one page at a time.

She looks apologetically at the bored STUDENTS milling about behind her under flourescent lights.

INT. UNIVERSITY PRINTING ROOM – LATER

ROSA waits at a counter while an OFFICE WORKER finishes binding her finished project in a plastic file.

He passes it to her without ceremony. 

ROSA                                             Thank you.

EXT. UNIVERSITY CAMPUS – DAY

ROSA walks along the quiet main avenue, bearing her thesis in one arm and her bag over her shoulder as always.

She listens out for the chirps and drones of the birds at the tops of the trees.

INT. SOCIAL SCIENCES BUILDING – DAY

With a decent thunk, ROSA drops her thesis into Ancha’s labelled cubby-hole collection box. 

Rosa holds her hands away like she’s just performed a magic trick.

She lingers for a moment.

Then she walks away rubbing her hands.

EXT. RHODES MEMORIAL PATHWAY – DAY

ROSA climbs the stepladder over the university’s perimeter fence and starts hiking the uneven incline.

As she treads up she lightly whistles the tune to David Bowie’s ‘Life on Mars?’, stopping each time she’s passed by a descending stranger.

EXT. RHODES MEMORIAL – DAY

ROSA climbs the inhuman staircase one big step at a time.

Finally at the top she turns, drops herself down against a pillar, takes off her bag and sets it beside her. 

The view is predictably pretty good.

Most of the Suburbs – Southern and Northern – flow out beyond her like an endless Mini-town in the pink-toned light.

She takes a few deep breaths.

Then ANTON comes and sits beside her.

He lights himself a cigarette, still looking every bit the South African Che Guevara.

He offers it to her but she declines.

ANTON                                              So what did you decide to say?

ROSA                                              I… I told the truth. And I caved to Dan. But I don’t think it’ll make any difference.

ANTON                                         That’s still brave of you. 

ROSA                                             It’s not.

ANTON                                              It is. The truth is usually a kind of disappointment. You’re brave if you can accept that.

ROSA                                                I guess I always thought you were the opposite. You never accepted that. You were never part of the bullshit.

ANTON                                             I’m sorry I disappointed you.

He drags on his cigarette again.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                    You know about Cecil? 

He looks up to Rhodes’s half-statue behind them.

Rosa looks back at him with a furrowed brow.

Anton smiles.

ANTON (CONT’D)                                        Well you’ll know he was exactly as bad as they say. And he died getting away with it. But for a while we can think about the fact that he was also very ordinary. For the moment we can thank him for this view. And then we can leave him behind us.

ROSA                                              It doesn’t change the facts of it.

ANTON                                                      No, but it changes the future, which is far better.

They sit together until he finishes his cigarette.

ROSA                                             Did you still believe everything you said in your speeches?

ANTON                                                       What do you think?

He stubs out the cigarette.

EXT. PUBLIC MURAL – DAY

ROSA walks on the pavement beneath the giant portrait, studying the contours of Anton’s frozen face above her.

She sees on the wall a little beyond it that people have taken to writing their names in different coloured chalks on a large expanse of white space at chest-level.

She sees a YOUNG GIRL pick up a chalk from a tray on the ground and write her name in looping letters.

When she finishes, Rosa walks over to read the names.

She sees ‘Daniel Matterson’ written in red tucked in the corner.

She smiles.

She picks up a chalk and writes her own name above his.

Then she walks away, taking her phone out of her pocket.