And what of Howard? Howard concerned himself with his work. I could put it baldly and say he concerned himself with making money, but Howard wasn’t like that. He was a lawyer, and he supported us. He paid for everything we had. He deeply wished things were different in South Africa, and voted for the opposition party in our all-white elections. The opposition had one lone member of parliament, this had gone on for years. A small number of people like Howard and myself voted for them time and time again, and got nowhere. More than that Howard did not feel committed to do, and I agreed. Risking imprisonment or worse was not an option for us. We retained a faint hope that someday, someday, things would change. Howard also considered, over the years, doing the bar exam in New York, and moving us there. He thought — I thought — this was our last option, if no change came.

Why his colleague Jack Benator approached him seeking help with the fugitive lawyer, I cannot say. He probably respected Howard and trusted him; he also knew Howard had the resources and a home where he could help. Jack was not wrong. He, certainly, cannot be blamed.

ONCE, LONG AFTER, Stephen said to Howard, Dad, why, how did you do that, harbour that man, it was such a risky thing to do. Stephen was a lawyer himself then. I didn’t hear him ask Howard that, I only know because Howard told me afterwards. I think Stephen knew not to talk about that near me, he just knew. What did you tell him, Howard, I said. I just didn’t answer, Howard replied.

EMILY’S HUSBAND, Albert, came and stayed in her room occasionally. He lived in Alexandra township, reached by a long bus ride, where he looked after their three children. I could see the smoke from the coal fires of Alexandra sometimes, on the horizon, I thought I smelled them too. An acrid smell, but a familiar smell. I knew those coal fires, I used to see them along the sides of roads, when we drove to Villiers, my parents’ town. Black braziers, red coals glowering through holes, Black men with sticks alongside. Those were on winter days, the sharp, dry winter days when you’d see the yellow-brown veld stretching to the horizon and the sun was pale and distant. So, yes, I knew the smell of coal fires, I knew it.

I don’t know where Albert worked, or even if he had a job. Do I feel ashamed that I never knew such things, important things like this? I do feel ashamed. I feel shame, shame over it all. Why did I never ask Emily about her husband’s job, Emily who shared so many things with me? I have no answer. It is a failing, a failure, I have to see it now. Not as great a failure as what came after, but a failure nonetheless.

Once there was a loud, unusually loud and continuous barking of the dogs, car doors slamming, men shouting, it must have been three o’clock in the morning. I woke with a start, even Howard woke up, and he slept well. (Dreamless, he claimed, we argued about that once. No one’s sleep is dreamless, I said.)