The Wreck of Christian van Riebeeck Jeff Glazier
Š Jeff Glazier 2013
First published in 2013 by BK Press
ISBN 978-1-920584-20-7 Cover production and typeset by Ginny Porter. Photos by Ruth Ellis. All characters in this work are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, translated or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
By the same author:
Tales From Three Chameleons. (Short stories) Regret. (Young Adult Novella) Not Everything Is Quite As It Seems. (Novel) Seeming Isn’t Believing. (Novel)
The Wreck of Christian van Riebeeck
Chapter One
C
obus Riebeeck was listening carefully, (and at the same time trying not to be distracted) to his colleague, Heidi Evans, in the staff room of their school. Apart from them the room was empty, as was the rest of the school. The bell had sounded half an hour ago; children and staff had left as quickly as possible, leaving an empty silence. Heidi was tactfully and tentatively trying to explain the strange behaviour of Cobus’s son. What she had to say would explain it, if he believed her, but then he had no reason not to. Heidi was a knowledgeable historian and a very competent teacher. She was overqualified by far to teach in a Model C school situated in a sprawling settlement on the edge of Cape Town, but she saw that her purpose in life was to help those who needed her the most. She had been teaching at the school about eight months; Cobus had been at the school for around five years, ever since he graduated. He taught languages – English, Afrikaans, and Xhosa. Naturally, they met regularly in the staff room and it was only through casual conversation that he had discussed his son’s unusual behaviour. Recently they had also met at the gym. Cobus had joined the gym a few years ago, he could see the way many of his other colleagues and family were going and was determined to avoid looking like them. He took gym seriously and had
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entered the Two Oceans Marathon, which was in four months’ time. Heidi had always kept fit, which was obvious by her lithe shape; she was also a runner, and a member of a local athletics club. The often inclement weather of Cape Town had driven her to the gym. She came from the Free State, where, apart from being a little cold in the winter, it was dry and sunny, so rarely had the weather stopped her running. This also accounted for her tanned skin. Heidi was convinced that Cobus’s son’s rather compulsive behaviour came from his ancestry, and told him a while ago that she would delve deeply into it, after all, the past was her job. But what she had learned had surprised even her. Heidi was referring to a pile of notes on the table, some typed, some neatly hand-written. “Where did you get all this information from?” Cobus was impressed. “Some from the internet, the library, and some from the archives of the maritime museum. I was allowed access, being a teacher needing to research a topic. I doubt you know this, even though it’s your field, but I also read about the most likely source of the original Afrikaans language.” Cobus really only knew that the language had evolved largely from when European settlers arrived at the Cape. “Well, it’s by the way really, but interesting, it comes in a little later. Now, what I’ve definitely found out is the
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cause of your son’s fixation for ships, it’s in his genes. I know that sounds rather obvious.” She put down the paper in her hand and fixed her gaze on him. Her dark brown oval doe-eyes contained warmth, a warmth that Cobus was happy to absorb. “You see there was a period when at university that I took a real interest in genes, DNA, that sort of thing . . . actually it was my boyfriend really, he was studying philosophy. Have you ever thought about what makes you you?” “Haven’t given it much thought really, I know what I like, or don’t like.” Cobus hoped that his smile didn’t give too much away. “Perhaps you may be confusing instinct now.” Maybe he had given too much away. “We are all products of many generations which, because of their experiences, have added to the memory bank, or ability bank, in a future person.” “Or disability . . .” “Of course, and other faults that are passed on. They are often referred to as corruptions, not in the corrupt government sense, but corruption from the original blueprint. We readily accept that we should have identifiable traits of our parents, looks as well obviously, but there can be something lying dormant, a latent gene that is triggered and emerges from the soup of material that collectively becomes you.” “What happened to him?” Heidi looked puzzled. “The boyfriend.”
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“Oh, actually he had a bit of a violent streak, he liked to exercise his physical strength, it used to go further than that, he frightened me.” She became silent for a moment. “Sorry to have dragged up the memory.” She smiled and composed herself. “You weren’t to know, now where were we?” “I’m a collected soup of material.” The truth was that Cobus was feeling uncomfortable, he was wondering what was within his genes that triggered his senses– it couldn’t just be instinct. “Let’s say refined slime from the swamp, shall we?” She smiled mischievously. “Let’s get back to Christian. As you say, his passion for ships was unheard-of in your family as far back as you know it?” Cobus nodded. “I followed your family tree, it was remarkably straight forward. I was able to trace back to the crucial point – the mid 1600s. There was a cloudy bit in the middle but I’m pretty sure that I’ve got it right. It helps when well-known people are involved and their life was significant enough to be documented.” Heidi tucked some of her stray frizzy hair escaping from her band, behind her ears. “Now, actually, you probably won’t like this bit.” Heidi gently touched the back of his hand preparing him for a shock, as if building up the anticipation. It was meant to be a humorous action but her touch sent an impulse through him and set his heart
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racing. Her hand stayed a little longer than was meant and she met his gaze. She slowly took her hand away, then quickly resumed her composure. “What am I not going to like?” “I’m sure that your ancestry can be traced back to the lineage of Krotoa, or Eva as she was later known, a princess from a Kohekohe tribe in the mid 1600s.” “Nothing shocking about that, I’m coloured after all.” “I’ve not finished . . . , your ancestors came from her illegitimate child reputedly fathered by a ship’s captain, a certain Captain Christian van Riebeeck. He was the black sheep of his family, but a fearless sailor. His brother was the fine upstanding Jan van Riebeeck, the founder of the Cape Colony, some would say of South Africa as well.” “That’s fascinating, he hasn’t appeared in history books though, has he? What happened to him?” “Well, fathering illegitimate children wasn’t something the van Riebeeck family were particularly proud of so there was a cover-up. This information comes from maritime logs, by the way. He was a good sailor, and quite a character in many ways, mostly immoral. He was as fond of drink as he was of women.” “Did he sing as well?” “Probably, and he was partial to a bar brawl.” “All this explains quite a bit about my family,” Cobus added with a sigh.
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“What did I say about genes? But I’m sure there are exceptions?” Heidi’s eyes suggested her colleague might be one. She sat back in her chair quite relaxed. “The problem with genes is the mix. To put it simply, how it joins up and then fits in with the rest of them. And what if the gene is alien to the recipient? – And this could have been a perfect example. A captain of a four-masted square-rigger implants genes into a woman who may never have even been on a boat, let alone sailed the seven oceans. Just think how much material had been collected and stored by the captain’s DNA. Information perhaps added to from the pool gained from his previous relations as well. So suddenly a child is born with information way outside the tribe’s understanding or experiences. It can’t be used so maybe it’s just buried somewhere, or rejected like a transplanted organ, or it mutates somehow and takes over to completely alter the character of the individual. It could even lie dormant until it finds a friendly receptacle to grow and develop in.” “Sounds scary. I’ve got an image of some psycho doing something dreadful.” “Well, it’s not uncommon for people to behave ‘out of character’, is it? That could be a mutation of the corruption. But have you ever thought where déjà vu comes from?” “Just a feeling, I suppose,”
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