In the blurb for Naka Pillman’s An African Cameo we find this arresting sentence: ” A nationally renowned Japanese artist falls in love with an uncouth South African businessman. He promised her the world and flew her to Johannesburg, only to lock her up as a sex slave and to work as a servant in the flat of his mistress.”
The book is a fictionalised account of events that actually happened and, as Jane Rosenthal pointed out in her review, it “throws up the effect of apartheid and the racist mentality it ‘normalised’”.
The author, who lives in George, is ninety years old, and spins her tale with the grace of a calligrapher. Here is a small taste:
* * * * * * * *
Johannesburg, 1975
The figure on the bed moves slightly. It is a tiny Japanese woman. She groans as the light from the naked bulb overhead pierces her eyes.
She is immediately aware of two things: her body is aching all over and she is naked.
She turns her head slightly and sees the man she loves sitting at a table with a group of black men.
‘You’re awake, baby,’ the man says. ‘What fun you had. But now we have to go home.’
He walks closer to her and forces a mug with a foul brew to her lips.
The other men at the table chuckle as Bill Bosch throws a blanket over her, before picking her up effortlessly in his arms.
As he walks into the cold night air, Yoriko, with pain shooting up between her legs, loses consciousness for the third time that day.
*
Tokyo, 1973
We are tourists in Tokyo, discovering the East for the first time. Tony and I are work colleagues: I am an art researcher and Tony an accomplished photographer.
‘Look!’ he exclaims in delight, focusing my attention on an exquisitely dressed infant girl. She is walking along the street holding the hand of a beautifully dressed woman. They both look like walking dolls, the child a miniature of the mother.
We smile at them and they smile back at us.
‘May I take a picture?’ Tony asks, holding the camera, ready for action. The woman stands still, all the while smiling politely while Tony adjusts the lens of his camera. Both of us are very happy to at long last be in this wonderful country so far away from our homeland, South Africa. We have been eager to make contact with this ancient civilisation of highly cultured people who live in a land of photogenic scenery contrasted with overcrowded cities.
There are priceless works of art everywhere, almost carelessly displayed, as though everybody is conversant with their own ancient and exquisite heritage and accepts these priceless creations as a natural way of life.
Tony points to a sign with the words Art Centre. We wander up the short flight of stairs, stopping often to look at the delicately woven tapestries and wall hangings on display on the side wall next to the stairs.
In the far corner of the showroom we notice a girl in a traditional kimono hovering protectively over a rose quartz vase. She is like an exotic butterfly reflected in the glossy surface of the showcase next to her. When we reach her, she smiles, placing the palms of her small hands together, and
bows in the traditional manner of the followers of Buddha.
‘I wonder if she can understand English?’ Tony muses.
In response the girl smiles, ‘Excuse please. I’m sorry no English,’ and she waves her hand in the air above her head. A young man nods at her from across the room, and walks purposefully towards us.
‘May I be of service?’ he asks very politely.
‘We are just browsing,’ I answer. ‘This centre is very beautiful.’
‘Thank you very much. You are very welcome. We have a fine collection of the very best works of art. Our resident artist is in charge of this department.’
He gestures towards the young girl who is still smiling.
‘This is our artist. She has her own government seal. Our government gives this seal only to qualified and registered artists. She may use this seal on all her paintings so that people will know they are paintings of quality! She knows all our famous masters, and if there is anything you wish to ask she will explain it all. I will translate, of course.’ He smiles proudly after his introduction, puts his hands together and bows his head to the girl.
* * * * * * * *
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