Inheritance

TWO

There was once a great man that wrote: only two things are certain. Death and taxes, he said.

In the life of a La Ponte there was one more: the need to be ordinary. Or so I saw in their lives now.

I had a good family, with a very long history of bravery, I'm told.

My Father used to tell of how Gerard La Ponte had landed in South Africa. How, persecuted for his faith, he made a decision to flee the country with the love of his life, his first wife, and when he landed here, he had made himself a success in a place where that was pretty much impossible.

He took a little piece of land and made it a beautiful winery, and even though he had his own trials he kept working and kept landing back on that same old strength.

I read once that he had "hottentots" who basically came and stole some of his cattle, repeatedly.

For most people in those days that would have been a setback. Not for a La Ponte.

I always believed that the reason a lot of the boer people had this stubborn way of doing things was because of the Voortrekkers, what they passed onto their children after Blood River.

But, really, it went back farther than that. Our ancestors were different. They were heroes, really.

And everything about them seemed almost unattainable for those of us who sit where we are now, in the time we're in now.

It seemed as if everything they had been, had floated away with time.

I remember a story my father had told me once about a daughter of one of his great-grandfather's brothers. Her name was Lizzie. She had been in the Concentration camps and lost her sister from severe sickness.

She had died when my father was still a child. Apparently my father had known her when he was younger, and she was a marvellous woman, he said.

She had fallen in love with an English soldier after the war ended. And man, was she brave, standing up against everything we, as Afrikaners, get taught about the ones who oppressed us. She was brave to go against the grain of the pain she had, and instead of giving in to her hatred, she gave in to healing, to love.

That was more than bravery.

And it was more than anything I had ever shown in my life.

And as I was standing here, in front of the Huguenot Memorial Monument, looking at my family's name ingrained onto the stone, I wish I could be more like them all.

That I wasn't missing home, or my parents. That I wasn't thinking of giving up it all and going back.

I still haven't answered their calls. They've left several messages. I didn't have the energy to look at them, so the notifications just sat there.

The only person I've had the energy to call was my sister, and she took the news the way I thought she would: loudly.

"How could you leave like that? Mum and dad are beside themselves. Not to mention how unsafe it is for you to drive all alone across the country. I mean really, Sophie?! Franschhoek? Have you completely lost your mind?"

Needless to say, I haven't spoken with her since. I trusted that she told my parents because the calls have gotten significantly less urgent.

I started work tomorrow anyway. I couldn't back out now.

But man, did I want to sometimes.

It was so beautiful here, but I couldn't bring myself to enjoy it. Not with this somewhat hollow feeling in my chest, like I broke every rule there ever was for being a good daughter.

And I so desperately wanted to hear my mother saying it will all be okay, her red hair up in a hair clip she never left the house without, with her red glasses sitting on her nose.

My phone itched in my pocket. And I felt my hand sneaking into my jacket.

Before I knew it, I was holding it to my ear, hearing the ringing of her phone.

"Hallo? Sophie?"

For a moment the breath left my lungs and I forgot everything I wanted to say to her.

"Soph? Are you there?" she asked, her voice a bit strained.

"Hi mamma." I choked out the words.

"Ai my kind. Are you okay? Estelle told me where you are."

"I'm okay." I answered her, knowing that just saying that wasn't enough.

"Do you have a place to stay?"

"I rented a place, actually. I moved in when I got here. The moving company helped."

"Okay. Good." Her voice faltered for a moment. Silence engulfed the other side of the line. The only thing both of us are able to hear is our breaths.

"I'm sorry for leaving the way I did, ma. I just knew that you would try to stop me, and I knew what I had to do..."

"Sophie, you know that we only want what would make you happy. If this was it, don't you think you could've just told us instead of just disappearing into the night?"

"You might've been fine with it, but dad definitely wouldn't have been. You know that."

She sighed.

"Alright." she said, her voice sounding resigned.

"I love you, mamma." I said, my voice breaking on the last word.

"I love you too."

Silence.

"I'm at the Huguenot Memorial Monument." I said, hoping this would help break the tension.

"Oh?"

"It's so beautiful here. I'll send you the photos when I get home. I'm actually looking at the La Ponte name right now on the memorial stone."

"I'm glad you got to see it. I know it's a dream of yours."

"Yeah it was."

"Are you going to come back?" she asked when the silence threatened to slink in again.

"No mom. I'm not."

For a moment, she was quiet. Then, one sentence.

"I'll tell your father."

And the pain in her voice almost made me crack right then and there.

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