The Miracle of Crocodile Flats by Jenny Hobbs

Author:Jenny Hobbs
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Miracle of Crocodile Flats
ISBN: 9781415204566
Publisher: Penguin Random House South Africa
Published: 2012-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

33

THE BIG GUNS

INVESTIGATORS OF CHURCH MATTERS SHOULD LOOK THE PART, Sid Barker believed. At the hotel he washed, shaved his five o’clock shadow, patted his cheeks with Eau Sauvage and grabbed his sunnies before heading out to the car. The glare was playing hell with his eyes. He’d start interrogating the cookie who claimed she’d seen the Madonna, and the old nun would follow after her bath.

His first impression of the Little Sisters’ former garage was not favourable. As the wheels of the Lancia drummed to a stop on the fractured concrete of what had once been a forecourt with petrol pumps, he commented, ‘Can’t the Church do better than this?’

‘There wasn’t much choice, I’m told.’ Father Alboreto switched off the engine and applied the hand brake. ‘When the sisters decided to come here, the village was already run down and the informal settlement was out of hand. It’s been classified as a black spot.’

‘I thought that term belonged to the old regime?’

‘Even earlier, actually: the Land Act of 1936. Now the official phrase is “apartheid slum” but everyone still talks of black spots.’ Father Alboreto spoke as he activated the retro-fitted gearlock. ‘The Ministry of Redevelopment seems to have overlooked Crocodile Flats in their first post-1994 survey of areas to be upgraded. It didn’t appear on the maps for some reason.’

‘There’s always a bloody reason.’ Sid understood bureaucracy.

Father Alboreto turned to face him. ‘A few months ago they picked it up and condemned the settlement, so the shack dwellers will be relocated closer to town. The amaPula are resisting the move because they legally own the land and collect rental income. I’m not sure what’s to happen to the village. A lot of elderly whites moved here because they couldn’t afford to buy in town, but they don’t qualify for sub-economic housing.’

‘Can of worms, then?’

‘Correct. And there’s more trouble brewing. Some of the Afrikaans farmers have declared a republic and fenced themselves off, kicking out all their labourers.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘I read a lot.’ Father Alboreto had learnt discretion in the Vatican when it came to sources.

‘Don’t bugger me about, mate. This is Church business. I want chapter and verse, right?’

‘To be precise, there was an article about the economics of slum clearance in Business Day last week.’

A smart-arse. Why had he left the splendours of Rome? Sid would give his back molars to be a fly on the wall in the papal secretariat where this South African son of an Italian ex-prisoner of war had served, all brown eyes under the black felt hat with its broad upturned brim. He had a careful elegance achieved by pointy Italian shoes and a slim-cut cassock with a row of faceted jet buttons down the front. What was the betting that the ambitious show pony was gunning for Monsignor? He’d have come back to his home country because he could stand out as Mr Know-It-All.

‘So what’s the buzz about these Little Sisters?’ Sid demanded.

‘They’re dedicated to working among the very poor, specialising in health and education.

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