World War Z_ An Oral History of the Zombie War ( PDFDrive )

He had been sitting against the back wall; now he stood, hunched over by age, and supported by
canes, but with a spirit as strong and vital as it had ever been. The elder statesman, the father of
our new democracy, the man whose birth name had been Rolihlahla, which some have translated
simply into “Troublemaker.” As he stood, all others sat, all others except Paul Redeker. The old
man locked eyes on him, smiled with that warm squint so famous the world over, and said, “Molo,
mhlobo wam.” “Greetings, person of my region.” He walked slowly over to Paul, turned to the
governing body of South Africa, then lifted the pages from the Afrikaner’s hand and said in a
suddenly loud and youthful voice, “This plan will save our people.” Then, gesturing to Paul, he said,
“This man will save our people.” And then came that moment, the one that historians will probably
debate until the subject fades from memory. He embraced the white Afrikaner. To anyone else this
was simply his signature bear hug, but to Paul Redeker…I know that the majority of
psychobiographers continue to paint this man without a soul. That is the generally accepted notion.
Paul Redeker: no feelings, no compassion, no heart. However, one of our most revered authors,
Biko’s old friend and biographer, postulates that Redeker was actually a deeply sensitive man, too
sensitive, in fact, for life in apartheid South Africa. He insists that Redeker’s lifelong jihad against
emotion was the only way to protect his sanity from the hatred and brutality he witnessed on a
daily basis. Not much is known about Redeker’s childhood, whether he even had parents, or was
raised by the state, whether he had friends or was ever loved in any way. Those who knew him
from work were hard-pressed to remember witnessing any social interaction or even any physical
act of warmth. The embrace by our nation’s father, this genuine emotion piercing his impenetrable
shell…
[Azania smiles sheepishly.]
Perhaps this is all too sentimental. For all we know he was a heartless monster, and the old
man’s embrace had absolutely no impact. But I can tell you that that was the last day anyone ever
saw Paul Redeker. Even now, no one knows what really happened to him. That is when I stepped in,
in those chaotic weeks when the Redeker Plan was implemented throughout the country. It took
some convincing to say the least, but once I’d convinced them that I’d worked for many years with
Paul Redeker, and, more importantly, I understood his way of thinking better than anyone left alive
in South Africa, how could they refuse? I worked on the retreat, then afterward, during the
consolidation months, and right up until the end of the war. At least they were appreciative of my
services, why else would they grant me such luxurious accommodations? [Smiles.] Paul Redeker,
an angel and a devil. Some hate him, some worship him. Me, I just pity him. If he still exists,
somewhere out there, I sincerely hope he’s found his peace.
[After a parting embrace from my guest, I am driven back to my ferry for the
mainland. Security is tight as I sign out my entrance badge. The tall Afrikaner
guard photographs me again. “Can’t be too careful, man,” he says, handing me
the pen. “Lot of people out there want to send him to hell.” I sign next to my
name, under the heading of Robben Island Psychiatric Institution. NAME OF
PATIENT YOU ARE VISITING: PAUL REDEKER.]