A few months, a few weeks ago even, such considerations would not have crossed Rutherford’s mind. He would have vented his anger without giving a damn as to how comprehensible it was, as long as it made his subordinate know and feel how subordinate he was. However, a few days ago, there had been a ceasefire, and, in preparation for the ceasefire and eventual independence, the government had, some months earlier, started putting together meetings, seminars and conferences, all designed to teach government officials and civil servants a new language and ethos that would ensure that the different races got along well together and would be able to build and realise a peaceable future country. In these meetings, seminars and conferences, Rutherford was informed that things were changing and that his attitudes to, his relations with, and his expectations of Africans would have to change as well.

An expert – who over the years, like Emil Coetzee, had garnered a reputation as a man who ‘knows the African’ – had been a guest-speaker at one such conference a few weeks prior, and he had stressed that words such as ‘kaffir’, ‘boy’, ‘madala’ and ‘bafana’ no longer had a place in the lexicon of the workplace. That conference had been what … two, three weeks ago, and Emil Coetzee had definitely been very much alive then. And now here was Rutherford, holding his Stetson in his hands. Under the severe savannah sun, it did not take long for a man divested of his hat to start singing songs his mother had taught him.

Without warning, Rutherford doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach in one far-spraying spew. Damn it all, he had just contaminated the scene, and spectacularly so, in front of a subordinate, Joseth Maraire, the man who wanted to take his place. When Rutherford stood upright, the air suddenly felt cooler and the sun actually felt like a salve on the skin.

Rutherford was just about to apologise, which was something he would have never thought of doing before the meetings, seminars and conferences. However, a young man with a Jewish last name, horn-rimmed glasses and the title ‘Dr’ before his name had, just the day before, given a lecture on the importance of apologies. He had stated that apologies were necessary to the sustenance of any relationship, and that being able to apologise was a sign not of weakness but of strength. Real men – real leaders – knew the power of an apology and how to use it effectively. Perhaps, knowing full well that many in his audience would not believe him, the young man had presented a collection of examples of leaders apologising at crucial moments in history. Rutherford suspected that the collection was not very robust, and that the two examples that had actually been shared were probably all that there were. He did not want to apologise because he felt that it would be a sign of strength; he wanted to apologise because he knew that this move would take Joseth by surprise and perhaps make him think less of Rutherford, which would then make Joseth reveal more of his exact intentions.