Original subtitles

There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills.

These hills are grass-covered and rolling,

and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.

The road climbs 7 miles into them, to Carisbrooke;

And from there, if there is no mist,

you look down on one of the fairest valleys in Africa.

CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY

Umfundisi! (Reverend)

Umfundisi.

Umfundisi.

Come in!

Yes?

I bring a letter, Umfundisi.

A letter?

Thank you.

Go well, my child.

Are you hungry, small one?

A little hungry, umfundisi.

Go to the mother, then. Perhaps she has some food.

Thank you, umfundisi.

Stephen!

Has the child gone yet?

She is still eating.

Let her eat.

She brought a letter.

It is from Johannesburg.

It is not from Absalom, our son.

But perhaps it concerns him.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps it is from brother John.

We wanted a letter from Johannesburg,

but when it comes,

we are afraid to open it.

Who is afraid?

Open it!

Well?

Is from the Mission House.

"Sophiatown, Johannesburg."

26, September, 1946.

My dear brother in Christ...

I had the experience of meting a young woman

here in Johannesburg.

She is your sister,

Gertrude Kumalo.

She is very sick

"and I ask you to come quickly to Johannesburg."

This is a journey I have always feared.

When my people have gone,

never to return,

the young men have gone to the mines,

so the young women go to find them.

For who can enjoy the lovely land

and the sun that pours down on the earth

when white will note live equally with the black

a land where the white man has evething

and the black man nothing.

12.56 lbs.

Take it all, Stephen.

And the Post Office Book.

There is 10 pounds in it.

There mabe be doctors, hospitals,

other troubles.

Please take it.

You'll need it.

- They have blowed the last whistle, umfundisi. - Yes.

The train is near.

I want to ask a favor, umfundisi.

Ask the favor.

You know Sibeko?

Yes.

Well...

Sibeko's daughter worked for this white man, uSmith.

And when uSmith daughter married and moved to Johannesburg...

Sibeko's daughter went with them to work.

But Sibeko has heard no word from her this past 10, 12 months.

This is the address of uSmith's daughter.

Sibeko asks that you inquire.

Grandfather!

My boy!

Hello!

Lovely to see you both. You're looking marvelous.

And how is your husband?

Your son is in good health. Thank you.

Is it true...

that he opened a boy's club for blacks?

Yes.

The "Claremont African Boys Club".

What's he want to do that for?

I just don't understand Arthur.

I guess

I never will understand.

I wish he leave things as they are.

I wish he face the reality. He's a dreamer.

Blacks have their place, we have our place.

Blacks live their lives, we live our lives.

But, separately.

Do you know, Ian?

There is an old saying,

that "birds of a feather stick together".

Please!

We're here for a family holiday.

Well...

why isn't he here, with his family...

instead back there?

Tell me, my friend:

why did Sibeko not come to me himself?

He was afraid, umfundisi. He is not of our church.

Is he not of our people?

Can a man in trouble...

- go only to those of his church? - I shall tell him, umfundisi.

Tell Sibeko...

I shall inquire about his daughter. Stay well, my friend.

Go well, umfundisi.

Go well...

Hey, look!

The mines!

Wake up!

Is the mines!

Umfundisi...

the train does not stop here.

Is this got to Johannesburg?

No, no, no...

Umfundisi, Johannesburg still along way away.

Welcome to Johannesburg Station.

Passengers????? Name-checks in hand.

Johannesburg Station.

Now we are here, umfundisi: Johannesburg!

- Where will you going, father? - Sophiatown.

Aha, Sophiatown!

Come with me then I shall show you.

Thank you. Thank you.

You must stand in this line, umfundisi.

Shall I get the ticket for you, umfundisi?

- For you not lose your place in the line. - Ah, thank you. You're kindness.

Friend.

Friend.

Please, tell me, where is the ticket office?

- What ticket office, umfundisi? - For the ticket!

For the bus!

You get the ticket in the bus.

There is not ticket office here.

But... a young said...

I gave him money for a ticket.

You have been robbed, umfundisi.

Where are you going to...

Sophiatown?

Yes.

The mission house.

This way that the little our bus is coming...

and then I'll take you there.

It's been a very long?????, umfundisi.

And I tear it's only the beginning.

Good evening, Rev. Msimangu.

I bring a friend to you. The Reverend Kumalo, from Ndotsheni.

I am glad to greet you.

- Please come in, come in. - Thank you.

Lord God, we thank you for the food that has given us.

We pray for those who are not afortunate,

and we pray for our brother, Stephen Kumalo, our visitor,

that he may do the hard work.

In Jesus Christ. Amen.

Amen.

I think our visitor is in need of his bed.

Reverendo Msimangu,

would you show our visitor to his room?

This will be your room, umfundisi.

Thank you, Ms. Lithebe.

The father will only to sleep in here.

He will take his meals with us in the mission.

If does anything, please, ask, umfundisi.

I thank you.

- Sleep well, umfundisi. - Sleep well, mother.

You will pardon me if I'm hasty, but

I am anxious to hear about my sister.

Oh yes, yes, I'm sure you're anxiously.

But... tell me first:

why did she come to Johannesburg?

To look for her husband.

He was recruited for the mines

but he did not write

and did not return.

She took her small child and came to look for him.

Is she very sick?

Yes, she is very sick.

But it is not that kind of sickness.

She is a...

prostitute.

I do not know if she ever found her husband,

but she has no husband now.

She is in Claremont.

It is the rubbish heap of the city.

I have two other great sorrows.

My son Absalom

he came here also to look for my sister.

- But... - We shall try to find him, my brother.

You are kind.

I'm not kind.

I'm a sinful and selfish man.

But God put his hands on me, that is all.

You said two great sorrows.

I have a brother also here at Johannesburg.

He too does not write anymore.

- John Kumalo - carpenter. - Ah! John Kumalo.

Oh, yes, oh, yes, I know him.

He is too busy to write.

He is one of our great politicians.

Has no use for for the church anymore.

He says that what God has not done for South Africa,

man must do.

This is a bitter journey.

We shall start tomorrow and try to sweeten it.

Sleep well.

Go well, my brother.

Come here you, bitch!

I told you not to come here again.

Just get out of here!

Unless you want to be?????, umfundisi.

Hey, where you think you're going to?

Come back, you bastards!

Hypocrites!

The lady in pink. Where is she? Have you seen her?

The lady in pink.

Where is she?

Have you seen her?

Where is she?

She is in here.

Go well, umfundisi. Do well.

When you are ready,

you will find me the next door house, number thirteen.

A man and a woman of our church live there. I'll wait.

My sister...

you've ashamed of us.

Why, Gertrude? Why?

I had to have money for the child.

Where is the child?

I will sent for him.

Where is your husband?

I have not found him, my brother.

I have come to take you back.

Do you wish to come back?

Do you wish with your heart

to come back?

I do not like Johannesburg.

I am a bad woman, my brother. I'm no woman to go back.

I've been in prision.

No. I'm a bad woman.

God forgives us!

You thieves. You're stealing my property.

She is mine property, Bitch!

You did want to leave me!

Come back here! Come back here!

And you, why are you standing here? Getting back! Come on, back!

My son Absalom!

Have you not heard of him?

I did heard of him.

He lived in Sophiatown.

Where, I'm not sure. But...

he was often together with the son of our brother John. He will know.

- All we ask for is justice! - Justice!

Justice!

Dignidade!

Dec�ncia!

Here in Johannesburg

it is the mines!

The mines!

Everything is the mines.

The mines!

Everything the white man has is built...

with the gold from the mines!

The mines!

The hospital...

for europeans...

the biggest hospital south

of the Ecuador...

is built

with the gold from the mines.

The mines!

But...

go...

go to our hospital...

and see our people...

lying on the floors.

They lie so close

you cannot step over them.

Everything is built

on our labour.

And we get poorer

and the white man gets richer.

So now...

they will put up...

our bus fares.

But we know how to answer them!

We will do what must be done!

Talk to your brothers and to your sisters.

Tell them what is decided.

Mbumba!

Go well.

Stay well.

Now the meeting is over, I'm locking up now.

Umfundisi!

I'm surprised to see men of the cloth here tonight.

Good evening my own brother.

Well, well!

What are you doing in Johannesburg?

- Do you know the Reverend Msimangu? - Of course.

Everybody knows the good Reverend.

You did not write to us my brother.

Why?

You people in Ndotsheni do not understand the way life

in Johannesburg.

I thought it better not to write.

Trouble, unnecessary trouble.

I want to ask you something, my brother.

I do not give money to the church.

- Reverend Msimangu knows that. - No, no. It is not about the money.

Where is my son?

Well...

you have heard, no doubt, that he was friendly with my son.

I have heard that, yes.

Oh, then you know how these young men are.

I do not blame them all together.

He wanted to live near his work.

She had good work. So, I did not stop him.

And your son went with him.

And where, my brother?

I have a letter from him here somewhere. Yes.

Yes, here it is.

Yes, with the address.

My worded date is over a year ago.

I really must write to him.

Will we go.

My hands are yours, my friend.

- Sawabona. - Thank you.

My brother... is greately changed.

But he has some truth on his side.

Truth?

But how can he have truth on his side and not God?

But at least he is got something.

Look around you.

What do you see?

Poverty, pain, suffering?

Sometimes it's hard, even for me, to keep faith.

Perhaps God is on his side.

Only your brother does not want to know it anymore.

Here, hold this.

Well, captain...

have you brought us some rain today?

I don't see any Mr. Jarvis.

Well, no.

No...

neither do I.

Mr. Jarvis...

Tobias? Try the carburetor.

Yes.

I have some bad news for you, sir.

Is it my son?

Yes, Mr. Jarvis.

Is he dead?

I'm afraid so, sir.

Dead?

Yes, sir.

Sir!

I'm all right.

I'm all right.

I'm all right.

- He was shot dead late in today in Johannesburg, sir. - Shot?

Shot?

Shot? Dead?

Yes, sir.

They suspect a native gang, sir.

A native gang?

Yes, sir.

Did you know his wife is away, sir?

His wife...

Ah, yes, yes. She is...

She is here. She is here with us.

With her son... My...

My, my... my grandson.

I'm sorry, Mr. Jarvis.

I really I'm sorry to bring this new, sir.

Is very kind of you.

Is very kind of you.

I'm instructed to offer you every assistances, Mr. Jarvis.

Is there someone around I can use the telephone?

Shot dead?

Yes, sir.

Have you catch this...

gang of natives?

Not yet, sir.

Oh, God...

shot dead!

Hello grand-daddy.

- He was our only child, do you know? - I know that, Mr. Jarvis.

The telephone is in the hall.

- Is a party line. - Thank you, sir.

Everything alright, dear?

Yeah, I...

Ian... my study...

my tobacco pouch...

would you?

He is a good lad.

There's been...

There's been an accident.

No!

Mom!

Ah, yes, Captain Collins.

This is a terrible thing whas happened.

Arthur Jarvis was a courageous young man,

and he was a great fighter for justice.

It is indeed a terrible thing.

He was president of the African Boys' Club.

Here in Claremont, in Gladiolus Street.

We are talking about the murder.

Everyone is talking about the murder.

I expected you knew this man, Arthur Jarvis.

- Jarvis? - He came from your part the country.

It says here... Mr. Arthur Jarvis

the only son os Mr. and Mrs. James Jarvis,

Carlsbrooke, the town.

I know the father.

I know him by sight and by name.

We've never spoken.

His farm is in the hills above Ndotsheni.

Sometimes he rode past my church.

I did not known the son.

Yet...

I remember...

a small bright boy.

He too sometimes rode on his horse past the church.

Excuse me, umfundisi. Sorry.

Umfundisi...

are going to Alexandra?

Yes.

He are here to stop you.

You see, if you take this bus...

you are weakening the cause of the black people.

Our business is very urgent.

This boycott is also very urgent..

Is it that long way to walk?

It is the long way, umfundisi. Perhaps 11 miles.

That is a very long way for an old man.

Men as old as you are doing it every day, umfundisi.

And women.

And some are sick and some are crippled. And children.

They start at four in the morning, and they turn at eight at night.

I cannot stop you for taking this bus, but...

this is a cause we are fighting for.

- Very well. We shall not use the bus. - Thank you, umfundisi.

Go well.

Sawubona (Hello), Ms. Mkize.

What do you want?

We are here about Absalom Kumalo.

When did he go?

A year it must be.

- And had he a friend? - Sim.

The son of his father's brother. But they left together.

And did you no know where they went?

No, they talked of many places.

And how did he behave himself, this Absalom Kumalo?

- I saw nothing wrong. - But you guess that was something...

There was nothing wrong.

- Then why are you afraid. - I'm not afraid.

- Why do you tremble? - Because I'm cold.

There is something wrong.

My friend, two of us are on too many.

Turn left that a big street. There is a place of refreshment. Wait for me there.

Mrs. Mkize!

Mrs. Mkize!

- Mrs. Mkize! - What do you want?

That old man was with me is the father of Absalom Kumalo.

He is suffering because cannot find his son.

- That is a bad thing. - Yes it is a bad thing.

- Tell me what you would not tell to him. - I have nothing to tell.

No doubt and if it is necessary I shall go to the police

because there will be no other place to go.

It is hard for a woman who is alone.

It is hard for an old man looking for his son.

No, I'm afraid.

I swear to you on this "Book"...

that no trouble will come to you of this.

For we seek only a boy.

So help me God!

What sort of a life did they lead?

They brought many things here, umfundisi.

What things?

Clothes, watches, money...

food in bottles and tins and many other things.

And why did they leave?

I think they were been near to being discovered, umfundisi.

And they left when?

About a year, since.

Indeed as I told you.

But I do not know where they have gone.

Thank you.

Umfundisi!

They were friend with a taxi driver, Hiabeni.

You'll find him at the bus stop. Everyone knows him.

Thank you, Ms. Mkize.

- Mr. Hiabeni... - How did you know my name?

A little black bird told me.

She also told me you can help us find a young man,

Absalom Kumalo.

I'm not here to make troubles for you.

But may companion is the father of the young man.

Nice to meet you, umfundisi.

He has come from Natal to find him.

Can you help us?

- I knew this young man, umfundisi. - And where is he now?

I heard he was gone to Orlando.

But, Orlando is big place.

Where the squatters are. It is not so big.

Nurse.

Mr. Msimangu!

- Sawubona (I see you). - Yebo (yes, I see you too).

You know everyone in this... godforsaken place.

We are looking for a young man...

the son of my brother, here.

The boy's name is Absalom Kumalo.

Did you ever know him?

- Yes. - And where does he live?

I'm sorry, umfundisi...

this time he is not here.

They took him away.

The magistrate sent him to the reformatory.

- Derick! - Present!

- Tumi! - Present!

- Dembiso! - Present!

- David! - Present!

Strange!

Absalom tol us

he had no people.

He was, no doubt, ashamed.

Your son did very well with us, umfundisi.

He became one of our senior boys and I have great hope for his future.

You mean, sir, that he is gone?

Yes.

But only a month ago.

We released him early.

Partly because of his age and partly because of his good behaviour.

But mainly because there was a girl who is pregnant by him.

And is he now married, sir?

No, umfundisi, he is not married.

But that not must to worry you.

The real question is

whether he will care for them, and lead a decent life.

We arrange housing for them at Pimville.

So If you waited until I finish my work, I can take you to see them .

We have come to inquire after Absalom.

This umfundisi is his father.

He went on Saturday to Springs. Has not yet returned.

But this is Tuesday.

Have you heard nothing from him?

Nothing.

When will he return?

I do not know.

What will you do?

I do not know.

You can do nothing here. Let us go.

- Hey... - I tell you...

you can do nothing.

Have you not troubles enough of your own?

There are thousands like her in Johannesburg.

You do not understand.

- That child will you be my grandchild. - Great!

Even that you do not know.

Thank you.

Do not give up hope, umfundisi.

And I will not give up the search.

He is a good man.

Come, let us walk.

What is it my friend?

I am ashamed to walk with you.

I ask you forgiveness my ugly words.

You mean about the girl?

You are quick to understand.

I'm old.

Have learned something.

You are forgiven.

I am sorry.

What can I say?

Mary.

I'm sorry, Mary.

I...

taken the liberty to you of canceling your hotel booking on.

I thought will might personal with us.

Very good of you, Glyn.

This two officers want to hear a word of you.

Why don't you go to the car? Be with you in a minute.

Come on, Mary. I am so sorry.

Please, accept our deep sympathy, Mr. Jarvis.

I'm sorry to have to do this to you the moment you arrived

but you need formululize the identification of the body.

Mr. Henderson near offer to do it,

but it needs to be next of kin.

- In fact needs to be... - No! I'll do it.

I will be with Mary.

- Have you caught the killers? - Not yet.

My son was that champion, you know?

Bloody kaffers.

Whoever did this...

find them...

hang them!

Bastards!

Bloody bastards!

Pastures green he leadeth me

the quiet waters...

"There is fear in the land..."

And fear in the hearts of all who live there.

And fear puts an end to understanding and the need to understand.

So how shall we fashion such a land when there is fear in the heart?

The white man will put more locks on his door...

and get a fine fierce dog...

but the beauty of the trees and of the stars...

these things we shall forego.

Cry, the beloved country...

for the unborn child...

that is the inheritor of our fear.

Let him not love the earth too deeply.

Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing...

nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley.

For fear will rob him of all if his gives too much.

Yes.,..

Cry...

cry...

"the beloved country."

The police way here, my child?

- Yes, umfundisi. - And what do they want?

- They wanted Absalom, umfundisi. - And why do they want him?

I do not know.

- And why did you not ask? - I was afraid.

Did no one asked?

The women were about. Maybe one of them asked.

This is exactly your son leaved, Mr. Jarvis.

Nothing is been touched.

Thank you.

I'll be in the car if there is anything else.

James, ????? So his papers for you, if you like.

No, no, no, no. Thank you, Glyn.

This is something I wish to do myself.

Well, this is ironic.

What is?

He must to be writing this, when...

when...

"It is not"

native crime...

"which is the problem, but white crime."

Arthur and I didn't always agree on the native question. He...

He was an idealist.

Yes, yes, yes.

I think he ought be hard on the natives, but also he...

he said the whatever crimes they committed

we more less our fault.

I don't really understand.

I don't mean that he wasn't sincere.

No, no, no. Of course not, of course not.

"What sort of memorial do we want?"

What?

I'm... I'm... I'm reading what...

he wrote...

just before I if...

"What sort of memorial"

do we deserve?

We call ourselves Christian people.

When posterity come to judge us

it will consign us

to this...

the sewers of history...

as tyrants...

oppressors...

"and criminals."

Sir...

I'm sorry for interrupting you, but...

I thought you would like to know.

We've caught them.

All three of them.

And we know which one pull the trigger.

I came as soon as I heard.

Thank you.

One of the other two is the son of your brother.

Absalom Kumalo?

In there.

Matthew Kumalo?

In there.

At last I have found you.

I have search in every place for you.

Why did you do this terrible thing?

Answer me, my child.

I do not know.

Why did you carry a revolver?

For safety, my father.

This Joanesburgo is a dangerous place.

A man never knows when he is going to be attacked.

But why take it to the house?

Have they got it, my child?

They have no doubt it was you?

I told them.

What did you tell them?

I told them I was frightened when the white man came. So I shot him.

I did not mean to kill him.

And your cousin and the other?

Yes.

I told them. They came with me,

but it was I who shot the white man.

Absalom...

Sir...

I shall do what I can for you.

He's got one minute!

My child...

do not write to your mother untill I see you again.

I must first write to her.

It's good, my father.

Come on, come on. We haven't got all day.

Stay well, my child.

Go well, my father.

We should go at once and see a lawyer.

What should we spend such money?

The story is plain...

there cannot be doubt about it.

What is the story?

They broke into that house,

they struck down the servant.

And my son, not yours,

shot the white man.

My son was afraid, he says...

And he told them this.

Why not, if that was the truth?

Perhaps you do not need a lawyer.

Will you have a lawyer then?

Perhaps.

But, you see my brother

there is no proof

that my son or this other young man

was there at all.

What do you mean?

My son says that was... Yes, yes, yes, yes...

But, who...

will believe your son?

CLAREMONT, BOYS CLUB FOR AFRICANS

Yeah, yeah, right, right.

Can I help you, sir?

My name is Robert Ndela.

I'm the secretary in here.

I'm a teacher.

I'm Arthur's father.

It's a friend. Carry on.

I'm sorry for your loss.

I'm afraid I...

I have no office, but...

we'll never be able to thank him in properly.

He bought us...

he bought us all this.

But these were small things, sir.

What your son truly gave to us...

was himself...

his time...

his heart.

His believe in a better future.

Yes.

I've read...

some of the things he said he believed in.

Sir...

to my knowledge

your son never said...

he believed in something...

unless he believed it.

I would like nothing better...

than to understand my boy.

He's the only man I've ever met...

black or white...

who saw me for what I am.

What I really am.

Yes.

He was on your side...

which makes what happened�.

He was on no one's side, sir.

Except, perhaps, sir...

yours and mine.

You must be proud of him.

He's a tribute to you.

There were something...

Arthur wrote...

that day that he...

He said:

that we told him were nothing.

What did he mean?

He meant that we told him...

nothing...

about the country in which we lived.

He said:

that we called ourselves christians...

but we are...

indifferent...

to the sufferings of christians.

He said:

that when we say we are Christians...

what we mean is...

that we are white.

Why?

Why, why, why?

Do we bring children

into this world?

Come...

come to bed.

Good morning, umfundisi.

- And... how are you, my child? - I am well, umfundisi.

Have you heard about Absalom?

I have not had, umfundisi.

What I have to say is heavy.

He is in prision.

- In prision? - Yes.

And for the most terrible deed that a man can do.

He has killed a man.

Child...

do you wish to marry my son?

It is as the umfundisi sees it.

I am asking you, my child.

I can be willing.

It is truth will you wish to marry him?

It is truly my wish, umfundisi.

I must be certain.

I do not wish to take you into my family

if you are unwilling.

I'm willing.

Mr. Carmichael...

does my son have any chance?

Well... it is a simple case in many ways.

Your son said that he fired because he was afraid.

That he, indeed, not meant to kill.

I shall take the case for you Mr. Kumalo.

I shall take it "pro deo", as we say.

And this my brother, John Kumalo,

engaged a lawyer also?

Oh, yes.

They all say that your son is lying...

and that the others two boys went there at all.

I don't believe your son is lying

and that's my job to persuade the court and he speaking the truth.

Is that clear, Mr. Kumalo?

Yes, sir.

My brother...

you should thank God for the lawyer.

He is a good lawyer...

and a good friend to our people.

How can I thank God for the lawyer...

and don't have money to pay him?

Did you not hear what he said?

That he will take the case "pro deo".

Which means that it will cost you nothing.

I wish I didn't cry so easily.

I cry too easily in this days.

Go well, umfundisi.

Sides in court:

white to the left, non-european to the right.

All rise!

Absalom Kumalo, Matthew Kumalo and Johannes Pafuri...

you are charged the murder of Arthur Trevelyan Jarvis

in his house at Plantation Road, Parkwold, Johannesburg...

on Tuesday, the eighth day of October, 1946.

Absalom Kumalo...

how do you plead: Guilty or not guilty?

I plead guilty to the killing.

But I did not meant to kill.

Matthew Kumalo, how do you plead: Guilty or not guilty?

I'm not guilty.

Johannes Pafuri, how do you plead: Guilty or not guilty?

I'm also not guilty, sir.

My lord...

my client, Absalom Kumalo, will plead guilty to culpable homicide,

for he had no intention to kill.

My lord, there is no charge of culpable homicide.

This is a case of murder and nothing less than murder.

And that is with murder that the accused,

Absalom Kumalo, is charged.

- In that case... - He will plead not guilty.

If it please the court...

the facts of this horrifying crime are simple

and straightforward.

Three men set out to rob.

One of them carried revolver.

And where was this?

In my hand.

And then what happended?

- The white man came into the passage. - Yes, yes. And then?

I was frightened.

I fired the revolver.

And then?

- The white man felt. - Thank you.

Yes, Mr. Carmichael.

Why did you carry this revolver?

It was to frighten the servant of the house.

But, why did you carry any revolver?

Because Johannesburg is dangerous.

So, was your only reason for carrying this revolver, to frighten people?

Yes, sir.

And when you fired that the white man

it was because you yourself was frightened?

Yes, sir.

Did you know...

that the revolver was loaded?

Yes, sir, I knew it.

And if this revolver is just to frighten people...

why must it be loaded?

Were you, perhaps, prepared to shoot it yourself?

No,

I would not have shot a decent person.

Out of shot only if someone that shoted at me.

Would you have shot at a policeman

if he had shot at you in the execution of his duty?

No...

not at a policeman.

And the white man you did shot...

was he, perhaps, not a decent person?

I will repeat the question.

The white man you shoted...

was he, perhaps, not a decent person?

I was afraid.

I did no to meant to shoot him.

This case is adjourned until monday in the morning.

All rise!

MISSUS SMITH 24 KILKENNY ROAD - SPRINGS

What do you want?

Umfundisi!

Good morning.

Are you ill?

Thank you, umnumzana (sir).

Are you sure you're not ill, umfundisi?

I am recovered, umnumzana.

Well...

what is it that you are seeking?

I am sorry, umnumzana.

I am sorry to detain you, umnumzana.

It is no matter, umfundisi.

Oh yes, yes...

this is the place.

- There is a man named Sibeko of Ndotsheni. - Ndotsheni?

I know it.

I come from Ndotsheni.

Sibeko's daughter...

worked for a man...

a white man,

uSmith in Ixopo.

And...

and when his daughter married...

and came here to Springs...

Sibeko's daughter

came here also to work for them.

Sibeko has not heard from her these twelve months.

- I see. - And I promise to...

inquire about this girl.

I see.

Ah, yes!

Well...

I am...

I'm a visitor here.

I'm alone today.

It is the server rest day off...

and the daughter of... uSmith... is not here.

But she will soon be returning...

if...

you wish to wait for her.

Please, sit.

Sit.

There is something between...

you and me.

But I do not know what it is.

Umnumzana...

You need not...

be in fear of me, umfundisi.

It is true, umnumzana.

You do not know what it is.

But I desire to know.

It is the heaviest thing of all my years.

Then tell it.

It will lighten you.

I'm afraid, umnumzana.

I can see.

I can see that you are afraid.

But I tell you...

you need not to be in fear of me.

I shall not be angry.

This thing, that is the heaviest of all my years,

is the heaviest thing of all your years also.

That can only mean one thing.

But I...

I still do not understand.

It was my son... that killed your son.

Umfundisi...

I understand what I did not understand.

There is no anger in me.

Umnumzana!?!

James, we're back. Where are you?

I'm in the garden.

That is my wife.

The mistress of the house is with her -...

the daughter of uSmith.

Do you still wish to see her?

Are you recovered?

It is what I came to do, umnumzana.

Umfundisi...

how did you know me?

From the court.

And I've seen you riding past Ndotsheni,

past the church where I work.

Perhaps...

you also saw the boy.

He too

used to ride past the church.

I remember...

He had the brightness in him.

Yes.

He had the brightness in him.

There you are. We were wondered where...

- Yes? - Barbara...

the umfundisi

has come all the way from Ndotsheni.

He wishes to inquire about the Sibeko's daughter.

I had to get rid of her.

She drunk.

She is arrested and taken into jail for a month.

Of course I could not take her back.

You don't know where she is now?

No...

and I do not care.

I thank you.

Go well...

umfundisi.

Stay well, umnumzana.

And so...

under the law,

a man is held responsible for his actions.

It is not for a judge to decide how far human beings are in truth responsible...

but under the law

they are fully responsible.

You refer the learned counsel argued

that the system put in South Africa

contributes to the circumstances of this case.

"Have you, ironically, held about the murdered man?"

But

it's not for a judge to apportion blame

and a defective society

nor is it for a judge to show mercy.

After long and careful deliberation,

my assistants and I have decided...

that the guilt

of the second and third accused, in this case...

is not fully proved

and they are, therefore, discharged.

Silence!

Silence in the court!

Silence in this court room!

Absalom Kumalo...

the court finds you guilty of the murder

of Arthur Trevelyan Jarvis,

at his home in Parkwold,

on the eighth of October, 1946.

Have you anything to say

before sentences pronounced upon you?

I have only this to say:

I killed this man...

but I did not meant to kill him.

I was afraid.

I sentence you,

Absalom Kumalo...

to be returned to the custody

and to be hang by the neck until you are dead.

And may the Lord have mercy of your soul.

All rise!

Umfundisi...

It's time to go, umfundisi.

Come, come!

My son...

here is your wife that's to be.

Theirs in God has joined together, let no man put asunder.

Forasmuch as Absalom and Katherine have consented together in holy wedlock

and have witnessed the same before God and this company,

and there to have given and pledged their troth either to other

and have declared the same by giving and receiving a Ring,

and by joining hands;

I pronounce

that they are Man and Wife together.

In the Name of the Father, Son

and of the Holy Ghost.

Amen.

You may now kiss the bride.

I'm glad you've married, my son.

I also am glad, my father.

I shall care for your child, my son...

as if it were my own.

When does my father return to Ndotsheni?

Tomorrow.

And you will tell my mother that I remember.

Yes.

I'm afraid of the hanging.

- Be of courage, my son. - I'm afraid of the hanging!

I am afraid of the hanging!

Old man, you must go now.

Come on! Come on, let's go.

Stay well, my son.

I shall care for your wife and your child.

Come!

Stay well, my son.

- Don't leave me! - Come on! Let's go! Come on.

No!

Umfundisi...

Yes, my child!

I am now your daughter.

A taxi will be here at seven to take you to the station.

Thank you, my brother.

It is good you are awake, for I wish to speak to you...

and we may have no further chance.

I have not told yoy this before,

but I...

forsaking the world and all possessions.

But...

why?

Why, my brother, are you doing this thing?

To pray.

To pray that my want great fear will not come to pass.

What great fear?

I have this great fear in my heart. But one day...

when the white man turn to loving,

he will find that we turned to hating.

I...

saved a little money.

I have no mother or father to depend on me,

I have the permission of the Church to give this to you, my friend.

To help you with all the money you spent in Johannesburg.

Do not Cry.

Do not spoil this pleasure for me.

For I have never had a pleasure like this one.

As for your son...

they may still decide that there will be mercy for him.

If there is no mercy...

I will go up to the mountain on that day.

Twice before I had done this.

Once when Absalom was pretty small and sick unto death;...

The second time...

was when I was solely tempted to commit adultery.

I have never confessed that before.

I wish to ask a kindness.

Ask all that I have, my friend.

I ask that you will pray for me in this new thing I am about to do.

I shall pray for you,

morning and evening,

all the days that are left, Msimangu, friend of friends.

Thank you.

What is it Ms. Lithebe?

I'm sorry, umfundisi...

but your sister, Gertrude, is gone.

She must have gone in the night.

He is, I think...

the only truly good man I have ever met.

Then why, I wonder...

this god not showing many mercy?

It is umfundisi!

Umfundisi!

What are these cries, James?

What are do they saying?

They're saying...

that he has come back.

Oh, Lord God!

We thank Thee for Thy unending mercy.

Oh, God!

Give us rain, we beseech Thee.

Give us rain, that we may plough and sow our seed.

And if there is no rain,

protect us against hunger and starvation, we pray Thee.

And also Lord God...

for my son, Absalom...

forgive him his trespasses.

Amen.

Amen.

Let me read back to you now.

"My dear mother and father..."

They told me this morning there will be no mercy.

So, I shall not see you or Ndotsheni again.

I'm dictating this to a priest.

A black priest from Pretoria.

"This is a good place."

I am locked in, and no one may come and talk to me.

But I may smoke

and the white men do not speak badly to me.

I think of you all at Ndotsheni,

and if I were back there

I should not leave it again.

"Your lovely son, Absalom. "

Umfundisi!

May I can shelter in your church?

Indeed!

Indeed, Umnumzana.

It will soon pass.

The roof leaks.

So I have noticed.

The roof leaks in many places.

I have noticed that also.

It is passing.

Your son...

have you heard...

is there...

mercy for your son?

When is it to be?

In fifteen days from now.

At dawn.

Within comes to the dawn of the fifteen day

I shall remember.

Stay well, umfundisi.

Tomorrow the thing will happen.

It is the fifteenth day.

I'm going up into the mountain.

Perhaps I could have food.

It is all that it made.

I thank you.

Is that you, Umfundisi?

Yes I, umnumzana.

There we are.

Well met.

But I knew...

that you would go up into the mountain...

on the fifteenth day.

Oh, yea...

I have here a letter...

for the people of your church.

The letter asks...

if you desire a new church.

Do you, umfundisi?

Do you desire a new church?

The plans will shortly come to you.

And you must say if they are what you desire.

I shall send them to the Bishop, umnumzana.

And you will know what to do!

Perhaps...

they could build a stone...

with the name... of my son...

who aren't brightness anymore.

It shall be done, umnumzana.

Go well, umfundisi.

Who knows for what we live and struggle and die?

Who knows what keeps us living and struggling...

while all things break about us?

Who knows why the warm flesh of a child is such comfort,

when one's own child

is lost and cannot be recovered?

Wise men write many books,

in words too hard to understand.

But this, the purpose of our lives,

the end of all our struggle,

is beyond all human wisdom.

Oh God, my God,

do not Thou forsake me.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I shall fear no evil,

if Thou art with me�.

What is it my daughter?

For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries,

never failing.

But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation,

from the fear of the bondage and the bondage of fear,

why, that is a secret.