Bloodlines Read Online Free PDF Page A

together for the same cause. I’m so sorry to hear about your father. I would have liked to see him again.”
    “You knew my mother?” I asked.
    “It is a complicated story,” he said, “Which I hope to one day share with you.” There was a long pause. “Yes, I knew her.”
    “I’m afraid my father never mentioned your name to me. How can I help you?”
    “I think it’s more about how I can help you.” He paused. “Tell me, Steven,” he said warmly, “how are you?” His voice was deep, and there was gentleness and knowing in his tone that put a lump in my throat. I was silent a long time, but he waited patiently.
    “I was very sad to hear of your father’s death. I had hoped to put the past behind us and to reconcile with Lenny, but he has preempted me.” He paused. “I will have to reconcile without him. But we South Africans have become used to asking forgiveness from—and forgiving—those who are no longer among us.”
    “Yes,” I said. I had no idea what he was talking about. “Did you and my father quarrel?”
    He didn’t answer my question, but after a moment he continued, his voice calm and even.
    “I have known of you always, Steven, while you have just discovered my existence. I have hoped for many years that we would have occasion to speak. We will meet soon, I am sure, and I have no doubt that we will have much to say to each other. I am eager to see you again.”
    He was a stranger, yet he spoke to me with warmth and even affection, as if we had some deep and meaningful connection. I didn’t understand it, but I felt as if we had known each other forever. I had no way of responding to his words, and I was silent.
    “Your father told you nothing about me,” he said. It was as much a question as it was a statement.
    “My father never spoke about his life before we left South Africa,” I said. “But I’ve discovered that at the end he apparently had a change of heart, and he spent the last months of his life writing a document for me to read.”
    “And has this document raised any issues that you might want to discuss?”
    “I’ve been too busy concluding his affairs to read it yet,” I said, “But what makes you think there would be issues I want to discuss with you?”
    In answer he chuckled deeply.
    “Please don’t take offense at my laughter,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for your questions for decades—but I’m laughing because they reveal so clearly that you have not yet read your father’s history. Some things will be resolved as you read, and when we meet, I will be happy to answer any that are not.”
    “I can’t imagine why you’re so sure that our paths will cross,” I said, “although I’d be happy to meet with you. Perhaps you can tell me about my mother—my father never spoke about her. And if you have any insights into him, I’d be interested in those, too.” I paused. “My father didn’t have many friends. To be honest, I’m a little surprised to hear from you.”
    He chuckled again. “I thank you for the invitation, if that is what it was. But it is not as simple as getting together to drink coffee—I live in Soweto, just outside Johannesburg.” When he continued, his voice took on a serious tone. “At this precise moment, you have no interest at all in meeting me. But that will change. All I ask of you, Steven, is that you suspend judgment until you finish reading what he left you. And when you have finished reading, I invite you to call me.”
    I wrote down his number, and when I asked for the spelling of his name, he had to repeat it several times.
    “I understand that this is frustrating for you,” he said, “and I would conclude it today, but it is not mine to end. Please, trust me when I say that this is the beginning of the openness you desire, and that when this process your father started comes to conclusion, there will be no more secrets. Okay?”
    “I don’t have much choice, do I?”
    “I’m afraid not,” he said.