The Saviour(Jeff Glazier) The Saviour By Jeff Glazier


On any fine day – the best time being in the early morning when the sun’s not quite risen – or late evening just as it sets, the outline of the Swartberg mountain is highlighted. On the very top of this range lay sleeping giants. Huge men, kilometres long, resting on their humpbacks, mouths open, rugged noses sniffing the cool air and wide eyes staring at the never ending sky.
The Karoo town of Kerriburg lies still and sheltered at the foot of this gigantic range. It is now a forsaken town, urbanisation having taken its toll. That and catastrophe on the farms. Avian flu had breezed in silently and devastatingly through the ostrich flocks, and two years running the onion seed crops had failed to pollinate. The farmers are on their knees, and for some time now praying hasn’t been doing any good. Until, that is, the Giant came into town.

Willem De Toit, fifth generation farmer, was the first to hear about the lifeline. The thin strand of hope was dangled over him in the middle of the worst drought on record, late one August Friday afternoon. “I don’t want to get you too excited Willem, but I think I’ve found you a buyer.” Willem wasn’t going to get too excited, he had little time for Daan Bosman, who had been trying to find a buyer for his farm for two years now, in between his drinking bouts that was. Daan’s own farm was repossessed a year ago and absorbed into some government scheme that was doomed to failure. His long suffering wife was a part time estate agent, and when she left him for a sober alternative, he attempted to keep the agency going. This he ran from a small house that somehow he’d managed to retain. His young secretary, Patti, inept in her work, but pleasant enough to look at, assisted him. Daan was sober, at least during his call. “He’ll be coming down at the weekend, he’s viewing quite a few properties – he’s looking to expand his portfolio, he’s in the mining business.” There was unusual enthusiasm in Daan’s voice –Willem’s hopes had been raised before, but this made sense – what with the strikes and Marikana, the mining business had lost it’s attractiveness. But hadn’t he heard about the looming threat of farm repossessions? If he hadn’t best not let on.

“But who is he?” Willem queried.
“Albert van der Walt, CEO of Down to Earth Holdings. Oh, and he asked for discretion, doesn’t want to create any hysteria. He’s got a great plan, wants to fulfil a lifelong ambition – create the biggest game park in the country.” Now that made more sense. Willem pondered, a vast tract of the mountain had just been included in a nature conservancy scheme. The whole area was particularly suited to game, and malaria free. Willem was wondering which other farms were going to be considered. He would discretely find out. Albert van Der Walt was pretty sure that if he asked for discretion it would be the last thing he would get – and that was just what he wanted.

Willem was growing in enthusiasm as he passed on the good news to Anika, his wife. She had drifted into depression during the last few months. She could no longer hide their plight. It was common knowledge now that the bank had sent the bailiffs round to repossess two tractors. She was fully aware that they couldn’t hang on much longer and feared the next knock on the door. “Daan said we can learn about him on his website.” Anika went to her laptop. She read out loud. “Albert van der Walt: CEO of the second largest privately owned gold mine in South Africa’s Witwatersrand. His firm – Down to Earth Holdings - also owns and manages two coalmines and an iron ore mine in the Highveld. He has expanded the company founded by his late father who passed away last year. Albert is known as a man of strong old fashioned morals. He married his childhood sweetheart, adores his three children, he funds several private centres throughout the country that specialise in raising awareness and treatment of alcohol and substance abuse. A man of philanthropic nature and an elder in the church. He openly admits that he doesn’t feel comfortable underground, he enjoys the wide open spaces and is currently heavily involved in preventing rhino poaching . . .”
“Hence the interest in this whole area being a game park. You see Daan has told me in strictest confidence that he negotiated the sale of two mines to the government, the time has come he reckons, and now he’s free to follow another dream and create the biggest private game park in the country. Anyhow we’ll soon find out, he’s flying down at the weekend.”

Daan waited at the airport clutching the sign made by Patti with some colourful crayons – at the second attempt. She misspelt Albert the first time. Daan had picked him out as he waited at the carousel for his case. Tall, strong build, clean shaven, well groomed, thick dark hair greying slightly at the temples. He approached, his pale blue eyes catching the sign. Eyes with warmth in them – you could see that there was benevolence in the man. And he was impeccably polite – introduced himself, even though it was obvious who he was – showed great humility Daan thought. Then he was thanking Daan profusely for the time and trouble.

They went straight to his office. Patti had spent the last two days making it look like one. Pains were taken to clear up any empty bottles and ashtrays were removed in deference to Albert’s charity work in his various alcohol and substance abuse centres. Patti also dressed down a bit given Albert’s standing in the church. They were soon at work, the seldom polished Blackwood table covered by a huge map of the mountain compiled from google earth photos. “This is to put you completely in the picture. It’s been my ambition to realise this venture for some time now. The problems that we’ve been having in the mines have made me realise that the time has come. My wife and family agree with me and we have been looking to find the right place to relocate. During the last six months I’ve been travelling to many places throughout the country. Just two months ago I hired a helicopter in Oudtshoorn and flew over this mountain. I instantly knew that this was the place.”
He traced the tract of land and mountain on the map ringed by a white line. “Further favourable reports from zoologists and agriculturalists confirmed that game would thrive here, apparently the first game known to man came not far from this area.”
“As well as the first man.” Daan contributed knowledgably. Daan quickly assessed the scale of the proposal. It ran for twenty kilometres east to west and the best part of forty north to south. Certain sites had been flagged: The Mountain Inn was central and would be the main accommodation area after extensive expansion. Dann was pleased that he’d booked Albert into the Inn for the three nights that he would be there. That was also close to bankruptcy due to the recession. There were two rest camps planned: one at the foot, the other at a highpoint of the mountain, close to the spectacular waterfall. On the lower ground lay the olive groves, adjacent to them the vineyard. (Both were loss making at the moment because of Greek imports of oil and the Cape awash with wine.) They would become integral to the venture and branded with the game park’s ‘artistic logo.’ Of course, he told him, the farm will be stocked with the big five, and the rest of the popular viewing animals, including wildebeest, zebra, and giraffe, his personal favourite. There will be close to one hundred rhinos relocated away from the poachers near the Mozambique borders. “And for the future I’ve got a cable car planned . . . here.” Albert slid his finger along the cables drawn from the midpoint to the very top of the mountain. “So,” he smiled benevolently, “shall we go and acquire some land?”

There were twenty-three farms to see, Daan had alerted each one. The town was buzzing with excitement when it was known that the giant money had arrived in town. The dominee was convinced that prayers had been answered.
The first stop was Willem’s fifth generation farm which all of a sudden had become one of the most valuable and productive in the area. And of course a family asset not to be sold lightly. The figure of twenty million was offered. Willem was momentarily lost for words, secretly he would have settled for half that. “It’s always been my policy that if a man wants something then he must be prepared to pay for it.” Albert wore the warmest of his benevolent smiles as he spoke. “I trust that this offer will go some way to placate your loss?”
“Ah . . . yes . . . and I wouldn’t like to stand in the way of a man with your vision . . . I will seriously consider your offer.”
“Good, I will leave Daan to draw up the contracts and we will reconvene in . . . let’s say a week?”
“Yes, that will be fine.” Anika had sat in silence, her heart was now in her mouth, she was too stunned to move. Willem showed them out.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a similar fashion, ten farms were visited, on each an offer was made that couldn’t be refused. Apparently Andries Barnard was struck dumb – couldn’t speak for a few minutes and Petra, who ran the free range chicken farm at a loss, fainted. Albert couldn’t help but notice one or two of the prematurely aging, but still attractive, wives fuss over him a bit. He was invited to stay for lunch at the Swanepoels and dinner with the rather glamorous Paula Kruger. Another night at the Pretorius’s, the next with the trying-to-be-too-friendly Candi Taute. She seemed the most desperate of all the house wives. Albert thanked them all and promised to continue with the intimate relationship that he had forged with each and every one of them. Mrs Taute indicated that she was especially keen to do that.

Little was said now between the farmers, and the price offered was a tight secret, only known to Albert and Daan Bosman – so it wasn’t long before everyone knew. By the end of the following day everyone had been seen. ‘It would be so good for the area’ was their main motive for selling, many of course didn’t want to, or had to even. Albert’s credentials had gone before him, he was everybody’s friend, and secret saviour. Marriages were rescued, suicides were reconsidered and soon a better life would be had by all. The name Albert van der Walt was on everyone’s thin, dry, drought cracked lips, none more so than Daan Bosman who frequently licked his at the thought of his negotiated 7% fee, on the strength of which he’d promised to take Patti for a weekend at Hartenbos, when the summer came.

Albert was going to Cape Town the next day, to check on his outreach projects, he would fly from George and return in six days’ time, by then all decisions would be made. It would give Daan the opportunity to draw up all the contracts. From what he’d seen of his and his secretary’s slack work they’d need all that time. He called him from The Mountain Inn. “Can you order a hire car for me?” Daan offered to drive him. “Well that’s kind of you, but it’s quite a way, then I need to be picked up again . . . or maybe I could just borrow your balky? After all I’ll be back in no time.” Do whatever he wants, Daan had been told by everyone, and he could always borrow Patti’s Hyundai i10, if need be.
“That’s fine, makes more sense, I’ll fill it up for you.”

Albert didn’t go to the airport, he drove to the City Lodge near the Mall. He stopped along the way to change into something more casual – jeans and a red checked shirt. He carefully attached his neat false moustache, and checked it in the mirror. Rather suited him he thought. He transferred some things into a rucksack then drove to the Lodge where he booked himself in as Seth Wright. Still more interesting than his own name – John Holme – a name he rarely used. He had done this many times before, change his identity that is. It was now part of his character. He was delusional, some might say, his wife certainly did. Delusions of grandeur she would say. It may be true but he acted the part so convincingly. He’d really enjoyed being Albert van der Walt, a respected, ambitious, important figure who people looked up to. Still needs must, now he had to become someone else. It amused him that you could give any ID to hotels, they didn’t have a data base to check it on – if it was home affairs or the airport then it would be different.

Seth called his wife that evening, assuring her that all was going well. She was sceptical about this plan, but then she always was. But not all had failed. Most of the pyramid schemes came crashing down, agreed, and there was only limited success with the ‘wealthy relative scam,’ but he’d convinced her that this one would work, he’d done his homework. The only cost would be the air fare, but they could little afford that. That’s why he had empathy for the farmers, he knew how desperate folk felt.

Seth enjoyed his time away, he spent some time at the ocean – long bracing walks on the beach.

It wasn’t so relaxing for Daan, he was inundated with farmers and small failing businesses just outside the white line pleading for inclusion. Albert had warned him about this, but the line was set in the stone of the mountain and would not be moved, he told them. Seth returned to the Lodge for the regular mealtimes. He racked up quite a bar bill as well – it was heart warming how trusting people could be.

Six days later Albert returned. They were already painting the church – he’d promised that he’d fund that – bit quick off the mark he thought. Albert reported to Daan how his abuse centres were going. And Daan’s bloodshot eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed, a certain amount of early celebration had been secretly going on. Albert insisted that he could manage on his own, after all the groundwork had been done so well, it was just a simple matter of a signature. That’s if it was still all right to still use his bakkie. Daan had had quite enough of squeezing into the i10 but agreed with a dismissive wave as if it was nothing.

Willem De Toit was first on the list – Albert was going round in the same order. He was delighted to learn that Willem, after much thought, had agreed to sell. The next question was when would things be finalised? Willem haltingly explained that there had been some unforeseen circumstances recently . . . Albert knew that this would be the most difficult part; he would have to be at his convincing best. “My attorneys will be given all the contracts and just work through them, one at a time. The first will be paid out within the next month, then . . . well the whole process could take say six months maximum. You see funds have to be released from holding companies . . .”

“How do you get first on the list?” Albert thought for a suitable length of time. “. . . well, naturally no one gets paid until sales go through but . . . look Willem, what sort of commission is Mr Bosman charging you?"
“7%”
“Well . . . you can induce my attorneys, everyone likes a little upfront . . . if your need is desperate, you could use a little of that commission?”
“Cash flow is the problem . . .”
“We could sell the big John Deere.” Anika jumped in and sounded the most desperate. “After all we will not need it any longer will we?”
“Well this is highly irregular,” Albert stressed, “but your farm is pivotal to the deal so I will agree, but on no account must you disclose this information to anyone else . . . what is the tractor worth? . . .” Willem got on the phone to the dealer.
Willem had agreed to deposit R120, 00 into the account of Sithole, Burger and Ramapose. Two strong African names were good enough for African Bank to open the fictitious attorney’s account.

During the next two days Albert treated every desperate farm in the same way. Incentives were found by selling machinery, stock and using emergency savings – anything they could. Amounts varied by the size of the deal. But it couldn’t be stressed more, not a soul must know about it – but they would be first on the list. Albert was invited back in a few instances by the more encouragingly willing of the wives while their men were selling stock, as an extra thank you. That was an unexpected bonus.

Albert left the town and returned home. During the next week he found twenty farmers had deposited a total of 980,000 rands into the account. All that was left to do was remove the website, close down the email address, then withdraw the cash from African Bank. Then they would move somewhere out of the city – a little hideaway in the mountains would suit him.

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