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"I am with those who abuse sex
because individual doesn't count,
with those who get drunk against the abyss of the brain,
against the garden parties of pretense,
against the silence beating at the temples,
with those who, poor and old,
compete against death, the atom bomb of days.
With those numbed in institutions,
shocked with electric currents
through the cataracts of nerves.
With those colored africans dispossessed.
With those how kill
because every death confirms anew the lie of life.
And please forget...about justice... ...it doesn't exist...
...about Brotherhood...
...it's a fraud...
...about love...it has no right."
What have you got there?
Ingrid. Ingrid?
Grandma won't wake up.
Thank you.
- Where are your shoes? - We don't have.
What shall we call you?
Just call me "Pa."
BLACK BUTTERFLIES
CAPE TOWN, 1960.
Help. Help.
Help me!
Help.
You can't swim against the current.
You need to swim out of it.
Who do I thank?
Jack Cope. How do you do?
The writer?
- I've only written one novel. - I read "The fair house" five times.
- You liked it that much? - No.
I was at a guest farm in the Karoo,
and it was the only South African novel I could lay my hands on.
So you didn't like it.
What's so funny?
Just that I should be saved by a writer...
...of all people.
Don't worry, I liked it.
- Being saved by a writer? - No, you fool.
- Your novel. - Ingrid!
Ingrid, I've been looking all over for you.
Pa's here.
- Where? - He brought Pieter with him...
- ...back from Johannesburg. - He did what?
- Where's Simone? - She's with Pieter at the flat.
Oh, No!
I'm sorry about this.
- Ingrid, come on! - Write me a poem, Jack.
I'll write one for you.
Ingrid Jonker, the poet!
Why are you doing this, Pa?
He asked me for a lift.
How could I refuse him?
I can't keep going through this. It's driving me crazy!
- He's a good man, Ingrid. - Pa, we have nothing in common.
You married him.
-...one... - What are you doing here?
- Just visiting my daughter. - You're not staying here. That's for sure.
- Then where am I going to stay? - Anywhere but here.
Please Ingrid, I can't live without you.
And I can't live with you.
Anna Jonker, Hello.
- God, why do you make me so cruel? - Ingrid, it's for you.
Hi.
How did you get this number?
Yeah, I'd love to come.
Where do you live?
Hhm, see you there, then.
Ingrid, please. Just give me a second chance.
Jack.
You made it.
Great. Um...
This is my housemate and friend, Uys Krige.
- Uys, Ingrid Jonker. - Ah, The poet caught in the current.
Why are you so short?
What kind of a question is that?
Nkosi Skosana's outside on the beach.
He, um, needs a ride to the location.
Shit.
Excuse me.
I was...
quite absorbed by your little book poems.
And you're also a bit short.
I'm not short.
You are short of technical finesse.
But otherwise, not bad. Coming from me,
that is a big compliment.
Nkosi?
- Kunja ne, Jack. - I heard about your book. I'm really sorry.
Never mind they banned it.
Cops raided the printer's last night and confiscated the bloody original.
four Years' worth gone just like that.
I can't keep this up, Jack. I'm leaving.
- And where will you go? - London, New York. Who cares?
- No! Please leave me alone! - Come Back here. Come Back here.
Any chance of rescuing me again?
- Who is this? - My husband.
I've left him, but he hasn't fully grasped it yet.
I'll be back in minute.
- Do you trust her? - Hmm?
You know her father heads up the censorship board.
He's the one who banned my book.
Apparently, she and her father don't see eye to eye.
What's your favorite poem, Nkosi?
"The Lord shook his fist,
and the dice fell horribly wrong on us."
What's it called?
It's called Apartheid.
Oh, damn.
What's this kaffir doing in the back of your car?
I was driving him home.
Do you have permission to be in white area?
He's our garden boy.
We're taking him home because there were no more buses.
This time of night? Where's your pass?
I was working late, and my wife doesn't drive.
- Did you get him back safely? - Just.
Through here.
Um, I'm not sure if you know it, But I'm going through...
...a rather messy divorce at the moment.
- Do you have children? - Two boys.
- I'll leave you to it. - No, No, Stay here.
Come sit here.
Pass me my bag, Please?
It's your poem.
This is beautiful.
You must run towards the light, Jack, not away from it.
I...
can't believe you wrote a poem for me.
Well, you saved my life.
If there's a reason for learning afrikaans, marjorie,
It's this book,
Eugene Maritz's latest novel.
Isn't Maritz a newspaper man?
Oh. He's the chief editor of the Herald in Bloemfontein.
I wonder where he finds the time to write a novel.
Perhaps he didn't waste time having picnic on the beach with his friends.
That's because there are no beaches in Bloemfontein.
But there are mountains, and he is climbing them.
Mark my words,
Eugene Maritz will be one of the saviors of africa's literature.
- Hell of a statement, Uys. - Read the book,
and you might be in a position to doubt me.
I think I will.
I'm completely in love with you.
I've had bad luck with men.
Why did you marry Pieter?
- Truth? - Hmm.
To get out of my father's house.
Well, I want you to move in with me,
you and Simone, into the Bungalow.
You think it's bad idea?
Love's not an idea.
Am I too old for you?
I see you as young, Jack.
"I repeat you, without beginning or end,
repeat your body.
The day has a thin shadow, the night yellow crosses.
The landscape has no distinction
and the people a row of candles
While I repeat you
with my breasts, which imitate the hollows of your hands."
Hello.
Hello, Ingrid.
I recognize you from the newspapers. Uys Kriger.
And you must be Jack Cope, the writer.
How do you do?
Oh, come in. Come in.
Your father's on the phone.
My goodness, but Simone has gotten big.
Even on sundays, they bother him now.
He barely has time to write his novels anymore.
Pa writes books, Lulu, not novels.
I heard that.
Sorry to keep you all.
Uys Kriger, I'm an admirer of your plays.
- You're quite prolific. - Pleased to meet you, Dr. Jonker.
- Jack Cope. - how do you do?
For some reason, I thought you'd be younger.
Pa!
-Where's Anna? - She has a migraine,
- But she sends her love. - All right.
Come this way.
Please.
Maria, you're spoiling us.
When I heard you was coming, I put in extra roast potatoes,
just the way you like them.
Ah, and this little peach,
she's looking more and more like her grandmother.
That's all, Maria. Thank you.
Mr. Cope, I just read your story, the one called "Power."
- Hhm - It's good, don't you think, Pa?
I thought it was quite manipulative,
a black man coming to the rescue of a white boy.
Well, he comes to the rescue of the bird, not just the boy.
The beauty in the story is the allegory of the bird.
It represents freedom.
- What kind of freedom? - Political freedom.
Fortunately for us,
blacks can't grasp allegorical writing.
Shall we pray?
Lord, we thank you for what we are about to receive.
In Jesus' name, amen.
- Amen. - Smells good.
It's Rooibok. Abraham shot it himself.
Dr. Jonker, you don't honestly believe that black people are stupid, do you?
Intellectually inferior.
So by implication, you regard the afrikaners as a superior race.
We were chosen by god to lead this country.
Blood river proved that.
The nazis paid dearly for their presumption of being a superior race.
If you think you can compare the afrikaner to the nazis,
you're way off the mark, Mr Cope.
Can we not just eat with our differences?
Oh, Pieter called yesterday.
He wanted me to get a ticket for you and Simone back to Johannesburg.
This is not the time, Pa.
I think you should go, give it another try.
So, uh, Uys.
You working on something interesting right now?
I'm doing an afrikaans translation of king lear.
He had a terrible time with his daughters too, that man.
Excuse me.
She is in her old room, boss.
I didn't mean to upset you.
You take pleasure in upsetting me.
It's mutual, wouldn't you say?
I dedicated my book to you, and you didn't even tell me what you thought of it.
I'm not even sure you read it.
It's me in those words, Pa.
Don't you want to know who I am?
I know who you are.
You are your mother.
Is that why you hate me?
Ingrid.
We need to find peace between us.
You all right?
These yours?
When my oma died, our father put us here.
This is where he put us...
In the servant's quarters.
Why here?
Because we didn't have shoes.
Ingrid. You're beautiful.
Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise.
Anybody?
I'll have a glass.
- Can I read while you write? - Hm, be my guest.
Dinner has arrived.
Oh, that is beautiful.
Ingrid, the flesh is in the tail.
You have not lived if you haven't sucked the juice from a crayfish head.
Jan, you're a true afrikaner. You'll try some head, won't you?
Good head.
Will you pass me the wine, please? There's a desert in my soul.
Maurice says there's a new nightclub called Darryl's.
Why don't we all go tonight?
- That's for delinquents, Ingrid - Oh, I thought that's what we were.
A letter arrived yesterday from Nkosi in Paris.
How did he manage to get out?
Mike hid him in the boot of his car, took him to the Botswana border.
He swam the river,
dodged a few crocodiles, and flew from Gaborone.
He enjoy Paris? The women there love black men.
Is there garlic in this mayonnaise, Uys?
Uys puts garlic in everything, darling.
Kiss me.
Why did you do that?
- We're not married, Jack. - We're living together.
So because I share your bed, I'm not allowed to have feeling for other man? Is that it?
Sexual feelings?
I can't help my feelings.
What, are you telling me you want to sleep with Jan? Is that what you saying?
All I want is a home, Jack.
That's all I've ever wanted,
just a place to feel safe.
I can't remember when last I had that.
Jesus christ.
You're nothing. You're less than nothing.
- I'm leaving in the morning - I don't want you to go.
- Then marry me! - Marry you?
There's a thousand reasons why I can't marry you.
- Name me one! - My divorce isn't finalized.
That's a technicality. Give me another reason, a real reason!
It's a reasonable question, considering you're fucking me!
Don't turn your back on me!
- Do you mind? Irma's trying sleep. - Fuck Irma!
You've woken up Simone, you idiots.
Perhaps she's just trying to explain the theater of the absurd to us, Jack.
Go back to bed, Uys.
- You need to calm down. - Don't tell me what to do!
You're not my father!
Thank god.
We'll all be off in the morning.
- I don't want you to leave. - You do!
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, Run away.
Remember the poem, Jack?
Remember the running man on the beach?
Yeah, Run away, You pathetic little man!
"Grain, little grain of sand,
pebble rolled in my hand,
pebble thrust in my pocket,
A keepsake for a locket.
Baby that screams from the womb.
Nothing is big in this tomb.
Quietly laugh now and speak.
Silence in dead-end street.
Little world round, Earth blue,
a granule I make out of you.
House with a door and two slits,
a garden where everything fits.
Small arrow feathered into space.
Love fades away from its place.
Carpenter seals a coffin that's bought.
I ready myself for the naught.
Small grain of sand is my word, my breath.
Small grain of naught is my death."
Hello, Pa.
- Where's your sister? - Ingrid?
You read this.
Most of it is exaggerated, Pa.
- You know what reporters are like. - Why do you openly disagree...
- ...with my political views? - Because I do.
But you don't say that to a reporter from the Sunday times.
Are you mad?
Ingrid.
Come sit and listen to me nicely.
Anna, go to your room please.
Have you no respect for me?
I respect you very much, Pa.
Then why do you do these things?
These people are only interested in you because of me.
Do you realize that?
Why do you always try and make me feel worthless?
Ingrid.
Grow up.
You can't do this to me.
It'll only be for a few months.
A few months is a lifetime.
I'll come with you to Natal.
I'll bring Simone. I'd love to meet Helen.
- The boys wouldn't understand. - You think children don't know...
...what's going on? They're children; They know everything.
Ingrid. Take it easy.
Waitress. More wine.
The bus is full. You must take the next one.
Please, I'm going to be late.
- Get off. - But there are so many seats open.
- Let him have a seat. - Whites only.
- Idiot! - Get off my bus, you stupid communist bitch.
Get your hands off her.
Bastard!
It's me you want to leave, isn't it?
These last months have been extraordinary, wonderful.
And I haven't been able to work.
You drain me, Ingrid.
Your timing is all messed up.
How do you mean?
You will come back, won't you?
I love you.
Jack.
Aren't you supposed to be at work?
I resigned.
- What? - So I could see you off.
Please don't go. Please don't go.
I have to.
You can't do this to us.
I'll call.
Hey, go.
Hi, darling.
Come here.
Come.
Hi, my darling.
Christ, Ingrid, you look like death.
I think I'm coming down with some flu.
Ingrid!
Don't be a stranger. Come on up.
Jack's been trying to get hold of you.
Our phone's still disconnected.
Still no job?
I'm doing some proofreading for human & Rousseau.
It's freelance, But it pays the rent.
Sorry I'm late. I picked up a puncture outside Colesburg.
- You have company. - Eugene Maritz, Ingrid Jonker.
It's an honor. I know your work intimately.
"Intimately"?
I mean, I know your work well.
Is that your manuscript? Is that your latest novel?
Yes. Sorry.
I'll leave the two of you to resurrect afrikaans literature.
I'd love to speak with you more sometime.
Well, when the iceman is done with you, I'll be down on the beach.
Don't even think about it.
Ingrid! Jack's on the phone!
- Jack. - Uys tells me you've been scarce.
When are you coming back?
Another month, at least.
- Is Helen still with you? - Uh, so are the boys.
She's the one you married; I'm just the one you sleep with. Is that it?
- I love you, Ingrid. - If you loved me, you'd be with me, you prick.
- Thought you wanted to talk to me? - Uh, yes.
Give me a lift home. We can talk in the car.
When's the last time you had sex with a woman?
- I'm married. - Marriage and sex don't go together.
Or is your wife your mistress?
Whose are these?
I don't know.
Uys, I've been away for three months.
I come home and find a strange pair of shoes in my cupboard.
Surely you should know who they belong to.
Perhaps they belong to Eugene Maritz.
Jack!
When did you come back?
Is there anything else I should know about?
I love you, Jack.
You are a liar, Ingrid.
- There's something you should know. - What?
You going tell me you fucked Uys as well?
- You've cut my heart, Jack. - You don't have a heart.
"All that breaks falls or dies away,
like the ejaculation of seed,
has no other significance than betrayal,
because everything shaped, completed, or begun,
like life begotten in the womb,
has no other fulfillment than the tomb."
- How's work, Pa? - Busy.
I see the government has banned the mixed-race audiences to...
...all sports meetings, concerts, theaters...
We haven't banned anything.
They just have to obtain a permit beforehand.
Uys Kriger has applied for a mixed-race permit for his production...
...of king lear, and it was turned down.
- By you, Pa. - Yah
because his translation gave the play a political slant.
What isn't political in this country?
I would hope having dinner isn't political.
Oh.
You didn't pay the bill.
looks like you had more important things to spend your money on.
Come on, honey. Mommy's going to pick you up for a proper meal.
- Give her to me. - No. No.
- Give her to me. - No.
Oh, god.
Ingrid, you cut yourself.
Enough, okay?
You have to get out of here, okay?
Tonight. You have to go.
I can't take it anymore, Ingrid. I'm sorry, but i can't.
You think I don't understand?
I can barely live with myself.
"My days seek out after the carriage of your body.
My days seek the lineaments of your name.
always before me in the paths of my eyes.
My only fear is an awareness that will change your blood into water,
that will change your name into a number,
...and deny your eyes a like...like...
...memory."
Anna.
Hi, Simone.
Nkosi says he's written to you twice but you haven't replied.
He thinks the security police are intercepting you mail.
He sent me this letter, and he wants me to deliver it to his brother.
Do you know where he lives?
Nyanga.
Would you take me there?
Excuse me. We're looking for someone.
You're sure this is the place?
Thank you.
Hello, we're looking for Siyabonga.
We're friends of Nkosi.
Police were here two days ago and take him away.
I'm sorry to hear that.
What's going on?
It's a passport protest.
We have a child sick I'm taking her to hospital!
Get back.
The child is not dead.
- The iceman. - I want to speak to Jack.
Please don't deny me.
Yes?
Jack, I can't get that child out of my head.
Every time I look at Simone, I see him.
I'm going crazy, Jack. I know it. I'm going crazy. Please come over.
- Ingrid, I'm busy right now. sorry. - But I need to talk to you.
Jack.
- Number, please. - Bloemfontein 24107, please.
Maritz residence.
Hello, is Eugene there?
Eugene? For you.
Hello?
If you leave now, you'd be in Cape Town for breakfast.
I don't think it would be wise to run that article.
The censorship board might ban it.
I bet your wife doesn't fuck you half as good as I do.
- Do you mind? - No, of course not.
Thank you.
There are no black children here.
What's that you say?
I've only just noticed that there's no black children here.
Oh, no, no, no, no. They keep them locked up in location
They don't have a pass, you see.
Location.
- I can't open my door. - That's because I changed the lock.
You can't keep living here for free.
Let's go.
Yes, ma'am.
We need a place, just for the night.
Please.
Where are we going, mum?
We put an extra bed in the guest room for Simone.
I'd rather stay in my old room, Pa.
We'll be fine there.
Yeah, Ingrid, you must do what you have to do.
"Screams the smell of freedom and heather,
the march of the generations who scream, 'AFRICA.'
Streets of his armed pride.
Without a pass."
Police station at Philippi. Present at all meetings and legislation.
Nor at Nyanga nor at Orlando.
Yeah.
Can I come in?
- I'm in middle of something. - Please,
will you read my new poem, Pa?
It would really mean a lot to me if I could hear you read it.
All right.
"The child is not dead.
The child raises his fists against his mother,
who screams 'AFRICA.'
Go on.
Screams the smell of freedom and heather in the locations
of the heart under siege.
The child raises his fists against his father,
in the march of the generations who scream 'AFRICA,'
screams the smell of justice in blood on the streets of his armed pride.
The child is not...
...dead
neither at Langa nor Nyanga nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police station in Philippi, where he lies with a bullet in his head."
Please, Pa, go on. You're nearly there.
I can't finish this.
What do you think of it so far?
Don't worry, Pa.
I've got it all inside here.
The worms stir against my mother...
wind of the roses, wind of the mud...
echo gives no answer... follow my lonely fingers,
follow my absent image... I am the rector of no mind...
the lonesomest fingers in the world... the cornerstones of my heart
bring about nothing... whispering of a ghost...
she doesn't know I'm scared... don't let them chop down my tree.
Jack Cope.
It's me.
- Who is this? - Shh!
Not so loud, not so loud. Jack, listen to me.
I'm being held prisoner.
You have to come and get me. I'm at my father's.
Meet me at the Cape, please.
- Ingrid.... - He's poisoning me, Jack.
He's poisoning me and Simone.
This is the last time I'll ask you for anything, I swear.
Do this one thing for me, please.
Drive.
I don't have any money.
Sorry.
I'll pay you back.
Bye.
Thank you.
Ingrid was admitted to Valkenberg mental asylum last night.
That's where her mother died.
I'll call when I'm done.
I...I can't leave you alone with her.
They're like the police.
They count all the knives and forks after we eat.
They took my poems. All of them.
Don't worry;
I've got them all up here.
Like smoke and ochre.
I've been thinking about our baby, Jack.
Wondering if it was a girl or a boy.
I can't stop thinking about it.
What are you talking about?
Our blood child lying in the gutter...
Trembling.
I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't find the words.
And then you went away.
And I got rid of it.
I killed it.
Why didn't you tell me?
Because you would have married me for the wrong reason.
When I'm better, I'm going to leave here...
and go to Europe.
Been dreaming about it.
You, me, and Simone in Paris.
I love you, Jack.
I'm taking these.
You have to sign for them. Sir?
"I thought I should come upon my heart, where I kept the two...
...brown butterflies of your eyes."
Quite brilliant.
"Sewer, oh, sewer. I lie trembling, singing....
how else but trembling?...
...with my blood child under your water."
I think you should open with...
- "On all the faces of all people." - No, it should start with
"The child that was shot dead by soldiers in Nyanga."
I disagree. That poem is too politically pointed.
So?
Why start with that? start with something gentler, like
On all the faces of all people...
Look. Look.
Uys and I have a surprise for you.
Come on.
You may want to change a few things.
We could never agree on the order of the poems.
I've also edited some.
I hope you don't think I've butchered it too much.
Come. It's bedtime.
I'm going to pick you up and bring you to bed.
Jack.
They're going to publish smoke and ochre!
They've offered me an advance of 2,000 Rand. Look.
Brilliant.
Fabulous man!
Keep the wine flowing, please.
This is going to cost an ram and a leg.
Who cares?
If you win the APB prize, you must go to Europe.
- You know you're up against Eugene. - With what?
Because he doesn't have a new novel coming out.
It's being printed as we speak. I got a look at the manuscript.
What's it about?
It's called Lust.
Well, that's direct.
- Well, I hope you win, Ingrid. - Me too.
You must go to Paris and Amsterdam.
Spain. you write like Lorca.
You'll fit Barcelona like a glove.
I, uh...op. I want to make a toast.
I was going to wait for smoke and ochre to come out,
but I can't wait any longer.
I decided to dedicate the book to Uys and Jack,
without whom none of this would have ever happened.
So,
to my two oldest... and dearest friends.
Uys and Jack.
- Uys and Jack. - Uys and Jack.
Uys!
- reviews are out. - What's the verdict?
Glorious.
"Sensational New York of verse infused with powerful emotion.
- Rew, eruptive..." - To pass as the prose of a new generation."
"A leading light of die Sestigers, which include..."
- Even you're in here. - I should bloody well hope so.
- your father will see you now. - Thank you.
Thank you.
You didn't have to come here. You could have called.
Sorry. I'm sorry.
What is it?
I won the APB prize.
I heard.
They're flying me up to Johannesburg to receive the award,
and I was wondering maybe if you would...
if you would accompany me.
It'd be a great honor for me, Pa.
Ingrid.
I wanted to ban the book,
but my colleagues convinced me otherwise not because they believed
it had any artistic value,
but because of the scandal it would have caused, considering I'm your father.
"My blood child lies in the gutter. "
That's disgusting.
"I am with those who abuse sex"?
You can say that again.
According to my sources, you are having sexual relations with
everyone and anyone:
Jan Rabie, Uys Kriger, Andre Brink, Jack Cope, Eugene Maritz.
- Stop it, Pa. - The list goes on and on.
I'm the laughingstock of parliament because of you.
You're a slut.
I never want to see you again.
Ingrid's on the phone.
She says her wrists are sore and damp.
- You'll come with me to Europe, won't you? - Well, you know them.
They refused to give me a passport.
You have to get me out of here.
Hello, Jack.
Eugene.
"My darling Jack,
you said Amsterdam would be filled with flowers,
but everything here is gray: my feelings,
the people, even Eugene.
Europe is nothing but a false promise.
Half of me is missing, Jack.
Write and tell me you love me."
I stopped over at Barnard's.
He's throwing a party for us tomorrow night.
Everyone's invited,
Pierre, Albie, Lionel, and Nkosi's coming up from paris.
A new poem.
It's not finished.
Don't be coy. Let me read it.
- No, it's not finished. - Let me see it.
- Let me read it. - It's not finished.
"Half of me is missing, Jack. Write and tell me you love me"?
Well, half is certainly missing now.
Hello, Ingrid.
Nkosi.
It's good to see you.
How's Paris?
Beware of Europe. For an african, it can never become home.
Are you writing?
No. I'm dried up,
waiting to become the child your poem,
waiting to raise the fist and shout, 'AFRICA.'
You're drinking too much.
I've decided...
I'm not coming with you to Paris.
- We leave tomorrow. - I have to finish my novel.
- I have to deliver it by the end of the month. - But with me, you're not getting it?
Frankly, you drain me.
What?
What's so funny?
Jack used those exact same words.
He said I drain him.
I'm pregnant.
You...you can't be.
What...what... what you doing?
I'm miscarrying.
- Or do you want our child? - you can't do this to me.
Dr. Jonker? This is Dr. Verraine from the Paris sanatorium.
- Did you receive my telegram? - Yes, I did.
Well, I cannot proceed with the electroshock therapy unless I have your permission.
You have my permission.
I missed you more than sunsets.
I missed you.
Come.
I called Pa. He's hunting in the southwest.
Of course.
Good to see you.
How are you all?
Well, well.
- Where's home this time? - At me.
Thank you.
You look well.
How are you?
I'm tired.
Everything will be fine.
You've been working on a new novel.
Mhmm. Like never before.
It's gushing out of me like a ripe well.
I want you to read it.
I can't write anymore.
Perhaps you should take off your shoes.
I want you and Simone to move back into the Bungalow with me.
- I don't think so, Jack. - Why not?
I'm not good for love anymore.
Higher.
Auntie, higher.
Push me higher.
"If I had a world of own, everything would be nonsense.
Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't.
And contrariwise, what it is, it wouldn't be,
and what it wouldn't be, it would."
Why does mummy never smile anymore?
I don't know, darling.
Mummy, I've got a secret to tell you.
What is it?
Nothing.
That's the secret to everything.
I have something for you.
Come off with your jacket.
It's your prize.
Open it.
Read this.
"To dear Jack, with all my deepest love, Ingrid. "
Yes, but read the poem.
It's 'WHITMAN.'
"If we go anywhere, we go together to meet what happens.
Maybe we'll be better off and blither and learn something.
Maybe it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs.
Who know?
Maybe it is you, the mortal knob, really undoing, turning.
So now, finally, good-bye and farewell, my love."
What are you doing?
Going home.
- Well,...Ingrid. - I'll be fine.
Ingrid.
Hello, miss. You all right?
In the dark days...
...when all seemed hopeless...
in our country,
when men refused
to hear her resonant voice,
she took her own life.
She was both an afrikaner and an african.
Her name is Ingrid Jonker.
She wrote, and I quote,
"The child is not dead.
The child lifts his fists against his mother,
who shouts, 'AFRICA.'
The child is not dead,
not at Langa nor at Nyanga
nor at Orlando nor at Sharpeville
nor at the police post at Philippi,
where he lies with a bullet through his brain.
The child who only wanted to play in the sun at Nyanga is everywhere.
The child, grown to a man, treks on through all africa.
The child, grown into a giant, journeys over the whole world
Without a pass."
Nelson Mandela, 1994. Opening speech at South africa's first democratically elected parliament.