Cry, the Beloved Country

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 grass is rich and matted.

You cannot see the soil.

It is well-tended,

and not too many cattle feed upon it.

Keep it,

guard it, care for it,

for it keeps men,

guards men,

cares for men.

Destroy it,

and man is destroyed,

but the rich green hills break down.

They fall to the valley below,

and, falling, change their nature,

for they grow red and bare.

They cannot hold the rain and mist,

and the streams are dry in the kloofs.

Too many cattle feed upon the grass,

and too many fires have burnt it.

Down in the valleys, women scratch the soil that is left.

They are valleys of old men and old women,

of mothers and children.

The men are away.

The young men and the girls are away.

The soil cannot keep them anymore.

Where are you going?

I am taking this letter to the umfundisi.

- You will be late for school. - No, I am running.

Come in.

Come in, my child.

Umfundisi, I bring you a letter.

Where did you get it, my child?

From the store, umfundisi.

The white man asked me to bring it to you.

That was good of him.

Go well, small one.

Perhaps you might be hungry?

Not very hungry, umfundisi.

Perhaps a little hungry?

Just a little hungry, umfundisi.

Then go to the mother.

Perhaps she might have some food.

Do you know anything about a letter?

- No. - Look at it.

Reverend Steven Kumalo.

St. Mark's Church.

Ndotcheni, Natal.

- It is not from our son. - Perhaps it is from my brother, John.

It's not from John.

How we desire such a thing, and when it comes we fear to open it.

Who's afraid? Open it.

"My dear brother in Christ,

I have had the experience of meeting

a young woman here in Johannesburg."

"I understand she is the sister of the Reverend Steven Kumalo."

Gertrude!

"This young woman

is very sick,

and therefore I ask you to come

quickly to Johannesburg."

Johannesburg?

"Yours faithfully,

Theophilus Msimangu."

Have you eaten, my child?

Yes, umfundisi.

Thank you for bringing the letter.

Will you take my thanks to the white man at the store?

Yes, umfundisi.

Go well, small one.

- Stay well, umfundisi, stay well, mother. - Go well, my child.

Bring me the St. Chad's money.

This money was to send Absolom to the high school, to St. Chad's.

- Absolom will never go to St. Chad's. - How can you say such a thing!

I must say what is true.

When people go to Johannesburg, they do not come back.

Yes.

You're right.

When people go to Johannesburg, they do not come back.

They do not even write anymore.

They're lost, and no one hears from them at all.

- You're hurting yourself. - Hurting myself?

Hurting myself?

I do not hurt myself.

It is they who are hurting me.

My own son…

My own sister…

My own brother…

Go up and ask the white man at the store.

Perhaps there are letters.

Perhaps they fall under the counter or have been hidden amongst the food.

Look in the trees.

Perhaps they've been blown there by the wind!

You're hurting me also.

That, I may not do.

Umfundisi.

Yes, my friend?

I am in trouble.

What is your trouble?

You know, umfundisi…

It is our contract that each of my children must work so many months

for the white man Ujarvis,

and now, when it is time

for to make the contract,

my son has not returned.

Yes?

And Ujarvis says

we must leave his place.

- Yes. - And where shall we go, umfundisi?

My friend, what can I do?

I thought you could speak to Ujarvis.

I am going on a journey to Johannesburg.

Why do you not ask the teacher?

I asked him, umfundisi,

but he says he could not do such a thing.

Why do you think I could do it?

You are the umfundisi. I thought you could speak.

Jarvis does not even know who I am,

if I were not going on this journey…

Where shall we go, umfundisi?

Go well on your journey, umfundisi.

Perhaps if you should see my son

in Johannesburg…

I would do it, my friend.

Hello, James.

Hello, Frank!

You're an optimist.

Well, I'm trying.

James, you're wasting your time and just spoiling your tractor.

- How are Dick and Barbara? - Well, James, they're well.

- Do they like living in Springs? - Yes, they do. Dick's going strong.

- He got a rise last month. - Good.

- I see your son's going strong too. - Oh?

Dick sent me the Johannesburg paper.

Shaking hands, too. He's moving fast.

Yes.

I know they need native housing in Johannesburg,

this whole shanty town business is a damned disgrace,

but, damn it, James!

Oh, he and I don't see eye-to-eye on these matters, Frank.

I guess you don't.

No, keep it, Margaret might like to see it.

She would like to see it. He can't do wrong in his mother's eyes.

It's funny, you can't deny it.

We can't get labour because they all want to go to the cities.

When they get there, there aren't enough houses for them.

So Arthur tries to get them more houses, and you and I, James, get less labour.

Sometimes I think I'll chuck farming.

It is funny, you can't deny it.

Well, I'll be going.

Houses.

Well, I understand about the houses, but why does he have to shake hands?

I thought you weren't coming, so I started.

That's all right, dear.

Where's my paper?

What paper?

Jean telephoned and said Frank was bringing me a paper.

Well…

He brought it. I threw it down in the field.

You know, Frank… huh!

- By now he's told the whole countryside! - I'm proud of it.

But I'd like to have seen his picture.

Yes, yes, of course.

Arthur leads his own life, I don't mind that.

- But he might consider other people. - That's what he's doing.

You know quite well what I mean.

William's wife was here today. Is it true that they have to leave the farm?

- Now, my dear… - Yes, James, I know.

But old William's worked for us for years,

it's not his fault if his son goes away.

It's a matter of contract.

- Yes, I know, but... - I'm running a farm, not a charity.

Old William's all right.

Family a lot of good-for-nothing scoundrels.

All right, James.

What did the doctor say?

Oh, just what he said before.

I must be careful.

No sudden excitements.

I mustn't lift heavy weights, I mustn't worry…

So I suppose I mustn't worry about old William.

- Have you told me all the doctor said? - Don't fuss, James. I told you everything.

Well…

Look after yourself, dear.

You know…

This matter of William.

Yes, James?

You see, it's a matter of contract…

Umfundisi!

Yes, my friend?

- I have a favour to ask. - Ask it, then.

You know Sibeko?

Yes?

Umfundisi, Sibeko had a daughter.

She worked for the white man Usmith in Ixopo.

Now the daughter of Usmith married and went to live in Johannesburg,

and the daughter of Sibeko went to work for them.

The address is there, umfundisi,