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JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS

A thirty minute one act play by

SARAH JENKINS

(The setting is an open-plan flat with a kitchen area separated from a living area by a dining table.

Off to the side of the lounge area is an entrance to other rooms, and a window.

The furniture is slightly shabby, and suggests the 1970s, as does the clothing of the actors,

particularly Karen and Deon.

As the curtain opens, Karen is busy in the kitchen making preparations for a meal. She is listening to

the radio, which is tuned to a news bulletin.)

ANNOUNCER: The trouble began this morning at about eight, when a group of schoolchildren

reportedly barricaded a street in protest about the conditions under which they are being taught.

Eyewitnesses say the police were quickly on the scene and tensions rapidly escalated. The police are

still in the area, and the gathered mob is restless and the situation remains tense. According to the

official police spokesman, several of the protestors were shot when they refused to obey a

command to put down their stones, and a number of individuals have been arrested and are in

custody.

(During this speech, the central door between the kitchen and living area opens, and Deon enters,

carrying a briefcase, which he puts down on the table)

ANNOUNCER: Members of the public have been advised to stay away from all entry points into

Soweto, unless it is absolutely essential to go there.

DEON: Hi, sweetie, how was your day?

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KAREN: Fine, thanks, and yours? Hey, what do you think of this trouble in Soweto?

DEON: Ag, I bet it’s all exaggerated. The press loves to blow things out of proportion. It’ll be one or

two troublemakers stirring up shit. It always is. (He turns off the radio)

KAREN: But what’s it all about?

DEON: I dunno. Someone at work said he heard they don’t want to be taught in Afrikaans. I mean,

really, what bloody language do they want? Must every school teacher now go out and learn flipping

Zulu or whatever it is they want to speak?

KAREN: It must be more than that. This sounds really serious, I’m quite worried. (She pauses, as if

reluctant to speak) Now if we had a TV we could watch the news and... um...see what’s happening...

DEON: Well we don’t have one, so there’s no point in wishing, is there?

KAREN: Well....why don’t we... well... start saving for one?

DEON: Because it’s a gimmick, that’s why. It’s not going to last. By next year this time, the novelty

will have worn off, television broadcasts will have folded, those who run the station will have seen

that most of us aren’t interested, and you’ll be sitting with a couple of hundred rand’s worth of

useless equipment in your living room.

KAREN: Oh, I don’t know. TV seems to have caught on and stayed popular in other parts of the

world. Like in America, for example.

DEON: Yes, well the Americans are something else, aren’t they? We can hardly compare ourselves to

them. They always have to have all kinds of newfangled rubbish. Disneyland and space travel and

God knows what else!

KAREN: TV isn’t only successful in America. I’ve heard they have it all over Europe, and even in

Australia.

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DEON: And South Africa has never had it, and I don’t see why we need it. I mean, look at what we

have to keep us entertained in this country ... brilliant weather, stunning beaches and forests and

mountains, plenty of sport...

KAREN: Well I think you’re jumping to conclusions. And I really do think South Africa is going to have

TV permanently from now on...well, at least until something else is invented to take its place.

DEON: Baby, what do you want a damn TV for? We have each other. You’re not getting bored with

my company, are you?

KAREN: No, off course not, but...

DEON: It’s not like we’d even watch it much. In the evening you have housework and other stuff to

do, and at the weekends we’re usually out, going to movies and the tennis club, and having braais

with our friends.

KAREN: Yes, and don’t forget your bloody rugby.

DEON: Well of course, that too. But you don’t enjoy rugby, so what are you complaining about? You

don’t want to come to the games. You’ve said so yourself.

KAREN: It’s not the afternoon matches I mind, it’s all those Tuesday evenings drinking with the boys

at the rugby club.

DEON: Well, I’m sorry, babe, but unfortunately they’re here to stay. A man quality needs time with

other guys. Every man should have male friends. If you have a problem with it, why don’t you join a

book club or something? Something to keep you busy on the nights when I’m out.

KAREN: No book club meets every week, or sometimes even twice a week!

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DEON: Ag, you know what I mean. A book club was just an example. Get yourself a useful hobby, like

sewing. If you like, I’ll buy you one of those new sewing machines which can do embroidery. You

could make yourself tons of new clothes, and save us a fortune.

KAREN: I’d rather spend the money on a TV. With this current wave of trouble in the country, I really

feel we need to keep ourselves properly informed about what’s going on.

DEON: Jeez, Karen, but you don’t give up, do you? When you set your mind on a subject, you’re as

much a pain as he is. (He points at the ceiling)

KAREN: Oh, Deon, Mr Venter’s harmless enough!

DEON: Harmless? He’s a bloody pest. If I’d known we were going to have him for a neighbour, I

wouldn’t have bought here! In fact, I didn’t really want to buy this flat, I preferred the one in

Sunninghill. This was your choice!

KAREN: Well I know his meetings can be a bit noisy, but he seems like quite a kind old man. I’ve seen

him putting milk out for those little feral kittens in the back yard by the garages.

DEON: Ja, encouraging the bloody things. Wild cats are absolute pests.

KAREN: Still, I think it’s kind of him to do it.

DEON: Kind my foot. He’s a stuck up snob. Last week I smiled at him, and he ignored me.

KAREN: Maybe he didn’t see you. I think he must be well-liked. Lots of people come to his flat for

those church services or whatever they are.

DEON: Ja, God knows what it is they get up to up there. All that bloody singing and music, and then

the way they throw around the furniture! Surely there’s a law against people holding queer church

services in residential blocks? It’s a major bloody disturbance of the peace.

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KAREN: (Giggling) They’re not throwing the furniture. Those thumps we hear are people falling

down. Apparently they get overcome with the Holy Spirit, and then their legs give way.

DEON: (Guffawing) What! Their legs give way?

KAREN: Well, that’s what Marianne said.

DEON: Marianne? Who the hell is Marianne?

KAREN: His wife, of course.

DEON: Oh. I didn’t know her name. And anyway, since when are you two suddenly pally?

KAREN: Oh, Deon. Just because you hate Mr Venter and his church meetings doesn’t mean that I

have to hate his wife. She’s quite nice, actually. We often talk when we’re at the washing lines, or if

we meet on the stairs.

DEON: Well so long as you don’t start going to their bloody meetings. I don’t want my wife’s legs

giving way.

(He sniggers and strides offstage, undoing his tie as he goes. Karen turns on the radio again)

ANNOUNCER: That was our reporter Thys van Tonder, speaking from the scene of the standoff

between the police and the rioters at Soweto. As he said, it looks as if the sixteenth of June 1976

will go down as being one of the most important days in South African history, just as Sharpville was

sixteen years ago. We’ll keep you updated as the story unfolds. In the meanwhile...

DEON: (Offstage) Why did you turn on that bloody thing again? Isn’t my company enough for you?

KAREN: (quickly switching off the radio) I’m sorry, Deon. It’s just that this riot story is so scary, I really

want to know what’s happening out there. I don’t like it. What if it’s the start of a revolution?

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DEON: Ag, that will never happen here in South Africa. We have one of the best armies in the world.

I should bloody know, I gave up a whole year of my fucking life to be in it, and the kids these days are

giving up two.

KAREN: I know, but there’s a huge number of black people in this country. If they all decide to rise

up...

DEON: Oh, for God’s sake, Karen. (He re-enters, now wearing a t-shirt) If you’re so bloody worried

about it, I’ll go down to the cafe, and buy the evening newspaper for you! Then you can read for

yourself that it’s nothing to get worked up about!

(He strides to the door and slams his way out. Karen sighs, and sits down on the couch, her head in

her hands. After a few moments the phone rings. She jumps up to answer it)

KAREN: Hello...845837...oh, yes, Mr Venter....No, I’m sorry, I can’t say I noticed anything when I

came in.... Of course, I’ll ask him when he comes back, he’s just popped out to the shop... No, no, he

never said anything about finding a wallet, and I’m sure he’d have told me if he had, but I’ll ask him

anyway...I do hope you didn’t have a lot of money in it...Oh, good, well that’s not so much to lose,

then, but I hope you find it anyway. Have you looked in your car?...Okay, then, goodbye.

(She puts the receiver down and goes into the kitchen area. As she opens the fridge, the door opens,

and Deon re-enters)

KAREN: Back already? That was quick!

DEON: I didn’t go there. I found something very interesting instead. (He waves a wallet over his

head) Guess who this belongs to?

KAREN: Mr Venter.

DEON: And how the hell do you know that?

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KAREN: Because he phoned just after you left, and asked if either of us had found it. Where was it?

DEON: Lying just outside the gate, partially under the hedge. I only noticed it by chance.

KAREN: Well he’s anxiously looking for it. So go upstairs and give it to him.

DEON: No, I reckon he can come down here. We’re going to have some fun, baby!

KAREN: Why, what do you mean?

DEON: There’s something very interesting inside it...

KAREN: You mean you looked inside?

DEON: Of course I had to look inside. Don’t be so bloody stupid. How else was I going to find out

who it belonged to? I wasn’t planning to keep it, you know.

KAREN: Yes, yes...

DEON: And anyway, why go through all the schlep of taking something to the police station and

having to make a statement and God knows what else when you might be able to find a phone

number and simply ring up the owner?

KAREN: Okay, okay, I get your point.

DEON: So aren’t you even curious about what I found? Take a guess. Go on!

KAREN: (Shrugging) Drugs?

DEON: Nope, try again.

KAREN: Um...a card from one of those places...what do they call them now...an escort agency?

DEON: No, but I reckon you’re getting warmer. (He opens the wallet, and removes a photograph)

Look!

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(Karen takes it from him and studies it)

DEON: Now what do you think of that?

KAREN: I don’t really know what to think.

DEON: Oh, come on, that’s not your friend Marietjie or whatever her stupid name is...

KAREN: Marianne.

DEON: Whatever. The point is, it’s not her. And more important still, she isn’t even white!

KAREN: Ja, I can see that.

DEON: So? Why the hell does he have a picture of himself canoodling with a coloured meid in his

wallet?

KAREN: I wouldn’t call her a maid. She looks quite smart.

DEON: Ag, you know what I mean. The point is, he’s white, she’s coloured, and it’s illegal to be as

close as they obviously are!

KAREN: But they aren’t doing anything wrong in the photo. They’re both fully dressed, and standing

in someone’s garden.

DEON: With his arm around her shoulder. Pretty closely around her shoulder, I might add...

KAREN: But until we know the facts, we can’t jump to conclusions, Deon. Maybe she’s just a lady

from his church.

DEON: That doesn’t explain why he has his arm around her shoulder. Or why her head is almost on

his shoulder. No, Karen, I think we’re on to some lekker little intrigue here, and I’m going to make

him explain it!

KAREN: Oh, Deon!

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DEON: Don’t oh Deon me. This is the perfect punishment for all that bloody racket we have to put

up with every Wednesday night and Sunday morning, and all that hymn singing and people falling

down or whatever it is they do!

KAREN: Well I’m sure his explanation will be a perfectly innocent one. If you ask me, she’s someone

involved with his church.

DEON: We’ll see about that! (He strides to the phone, and dials a number. After a few moments it is

answered)

DEON: Mr Venter? Deon Du Randt here, you know, your downstairs neighbour....Yes, the one from

number 26...That’s right. Well, you’ll be glad to hear I’ve found your missing wallet....yes, it was

actually out on the pavement, lying half hidden in the hedge....That’s right, there is seven fifty three

in it, so nothing’s missing....Yes, yes...Please come downstairs and fetch it, and bring your wife

along...okay, see you now-now. (He hangs up) Ha! Now we’ll see what’s what!

KAREN: Why on earth did you ask him to bring Marianne?

DEON: So she can see what he’s been up to. I think that should be fun, don’t you?

KAREN: Deon, why do you hate him so much that you want to make trouble? Always assuming

there’s even any trouble to make?

DEON: Because I hate his fucking self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude. Always so bloody prim

and proper if you see him around the building. He seems to think he’s better than anyone else is.

He’s nothing but a bloody snob. Yet he gets up to this kind of crap...(he waves the photograph)

KAREN: Well I don’t have that impression of him. I think he’s just a bit reserved.

DEON: Not to mention driving us all mad with that deafening bloody racket several times a week in

the name of religion. And all the while behind the scenes he’s having it off with some other female,

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and a bloody coloured girl at that! I mean, look at this written on the back of the picture. ‘All my

love, W’.

KAREN: I know, it does look suspicious, but I wish you wouldn’t interfere, Deon. Just give him the

wallet and shut up. I...I wouldn’t want him to go to jail or anything.

DEON: Ag, who said anything about jail? I’m not planning to report him to the police. I’m just going

to get a little bit of my own back and have a bit of a laugh, watching him squirm.

(He flops down on the couch. Karen sighs and goes to the kitchen, and removes something from the

fridge, which she begins chopping on the counter. After a few moments there is a knock on the door.

Deon springs up and goes over to answer it. Venter and his wife enter. They are a middle-aged

couple, conservatively dressed.)

VENTER: Good evening, Mr Du Randt. Thank you for calling me about my wallet. I was quite worried

about it.

DEON: Yeah, I’ll bet you were!

KAREN: Hi, Marianne...do come in. We were wondering if you guys would like to join us for a drink?

(She glances sharply at Deon.) We’ve got whisky and beer and sherry.

MARIANNE: Thank you, Karen, we don’t take alcohol in our church, but a cup of tea would be lovely

if you’re offering.

KAREN: Yes, of course! (She fills the kettle, her movements flustered, as Marianne takes a seat on the

couch)

DEON: Now, Mr Venter, as you know, I picked up your wallet on the pavement outside.

VENTER: Yes, I suppose I must have knocked it out of my pocket when I put my hand in to retrieve

my key.

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DEON: And I’m sure you’ll forgive me for having looked inside it, but obviously I wanted to see if

there was a name or contact details of some sort.

VENTER: Sure. No problem.

DEON: Unfortunately...I found something else?

VENTER: What? I’m not sure I’m following you, Mr Du Randt. What did you find?

DEON: A picture, Mr Venter. A very interesting little picture, I might add. (With a flourish he

produces the photograph.) You might be interested in seeing it, Mrs Venter. (He hands it to

Marianne)

MARIANNE: Oh, it’s just that snapshot of you with Willow Carelse. (She nonchalantly hands it to her

husband)

DEON: What...? Who?

KAREN: Oh, what did I tell you, Deon...

VENTER: Willow Carelse is...was...an exceptional young lady, Mr Du Randt. I won’t deny it. She was

extremely special to me. She was my flesh and blood, you know.

DEON: What! You mean you’re really...?

VENTER: ‘Coloured’ is the word you’re looking for, Mr Du Randt. Let’s call a spade a spade. No, I’m

not coloured passing as white. Nor did I father her with a woman of colour. It was something else

which made her my flesh and blood. But that’s something I doubt you’d understand.

DEON: Why? Who on earth was she then?

VENTER: A very wonderful, very brave young woman. And in the time I knew her...well, I came to

love her deeply. In fact. I...I sometimes I wondered if I was actually in love with her...

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MARIANNE: Yes, Marius. I think you were. At least a little.

VENTER: You thought so?

MARIANNE: I didn’t want to say it, as I was afraid you might think me jealous, but yes, I do believe

that was the case. A woman always knows these things.

(Deon looks shocked. He stands gaping at the Venters. Venter sits beside his wife on the couch, and

takes her hand. She presses his, and looks lovingly into his face)

DEON: And you don’t mind?

MARIANNE: I can assure you there was nothing for me to mind, Mr Du Randt.

VENTER: Oh, Marianne! Thank you for understanding, my darling. (They embrace)

MARIANNE: I’m sure there’s no room for any misunderstanding whatsoever. Knowing what I do of

both of you, I’m positive nothing improper ever happened between you.

VENTER: Good heavens, no, of course not....

MARIANNE: I can live with your affection for her. In fact, I’d probably think less of you if you didn’t

feel that way.

VENTER: Yes...no... It was just a feeling of such incredible warmth... such tenderness.

MARIANNE: A feeling of loving is how I’d describe it. (She glances sharply at Deon, who is still

gaping) I think somebody has been jumping to conclusions about matters which are none of his

business.

VENTER: Mr Du Randt, is that so?

DEON: No, man, of course not!

MARIANNE: Then I can’t imagine why you found the picture of any interest.

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DEON: Well, I mean...like it is a bit misleading...I mean, anyone might get the wrong impression,

someone who doesn’t know you, and doesn’t know that you’re such a strong Christian...

MARIANNE: Yes?

DEON: What I’m trying to say, I wouldn’t have wanted the picture to fall into the wrong hands and

for people to have started gossiping about you. That’s why I never took it to the police station...

VENTER: Oh, stop babbling, Du Randt. I think we all know exactly what you thought. Very well, then,

I shall tell you the whole story. As you can see, I am not a young man. I’m probably old enough to be

your father. Since I was eighteen, I’ve been a regular blood donor. So I’ve been giving blood for many

years.

DEON: Oh, great, that’s amazing. I keep meaning to go along myself, of course...

VENTER: Some years ago, through the clinic where I donate, I heard of a young woman, recently

qualified as a school teacher, who was gravely ill. She was suffering from leukaemia.

DEON: Oh, no, man, that’s hectic...

VENTER: They were looking for someone to donate bone marrow to her. In the last two or three

years doctors have started treating leukaemia with transplants of bone marrow from people who

aren’t related, you know, though donations between close family members have been happening for

a good few years now. Preliminary trials over in America have showed hopeful results, though as yet

there has been no definite success. The specialist felt a transplant might be her only chance, but

none of her relatives was a good match. On the off-chance, I asked if I might be suitable. To my

surprise, I was.

MARIANNE: He didn’t only do it because he is the kindest man I’ve ever met. He did it because his

own sister died of leukaemia thirty years ago.

VENTER: The long and short of it is I was the best match they could find. So I met the young woman.

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MARIANNE: That was Willow Carelse, of course.

VENTER: When I met her, I didn’t see her as a brown person, a person from the other side of the

fence. She wasn’t an untouchable, or a second class citizen, all I saw was a lovely young girl who

could have been my poor sister, lying there in that bed.

MARIANNE: She was so ill they weren’t even sure there would be time to perform the procedure.

VENTER: But there was. And Willow responded well to the treatment, she improved almost straight

away.

KAREN: Oh, good...

VENTER: I wish it was, Mrs Du Randt. Well, in the beginning, it was, I donated the tissue through a

relatively minor surgical procedure, she underwent the transplant the same day, and they said it was

a success. Though she remained in hospital for a long time, there was definite positive progress.

MARIANNE: So now you can see why he feels she was his flesh and blood. She was. Literally.

VENTER: Of course, I wanted to stay in touch with her after her surgery. Not because I wanted to

feel good about myself or about what I had done, but because when you pray for someone every

day, they become a part of your life, they take root in your heart.

MARIANNE: The doctors advised against it, but this husband of mine can be very stubborn when he

wants to be.

(She hugs him)

VENTER: Well, Willow and her family welcomed my interest. We were invited to their home in

Doringspruit, you know, the coloured location on the other side of the river?

KAREN: Yes, I’ve been past it.

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MARIANNE: They invited us for Sunday lunch. And what a lovely Christian family they were. We

were made very welcome. The parents were school teachers too, and as we both used to teach

before we became pastors, we had a lot in common with them. We visited them a number of times

over the following year, didn’t we, dear?

VENTER: We certainly did. And I struck up a particularly deep rapport with Willow. She had a lot of

questions for me. Questions about God, about why He lets bad things happen to good people. Of

course, she knew I was a pastor, so she felt she could talk to me about such issues.

MARIANNE: The illness had been a very heavy blow to her. Before she got sick, she’d been engaged

to be married. Because of the leukaemia, she was told she could never have children, so she broke it

off with her young man friend, much as she loved him.

KAREN: Oh, no, shame...

VENTER: Yes, she said she couldn’t deprive him of the children he wanted, though it broke her heart.

She needed answers, and I saw it as my mission to give them as best I could. I often visited her at her

parents’ home, we had many long talks. It was during one of my visits that her mother took that

photograph of us. A loving, caring photo of two people who had travelled a long and painful road

together, of two people united in flesh and blood, two people who knew a love so pure and

profound that it cannot be easily compartmentalised into any of the categories of meaning people

usually give the word...

KAREN; (Softly) You needn’t go on, Mr Venter. I...I think we understand.

VENTER: It’s not you who needs to understand, Mrs du Randt. (He glances at Deon). So, Mr du Randt

– as you can see there was indeed a very deep bond between me and Willow. And now you

understand why I called her flesh of my flesh. I’ve never had kids of my own, but here was this

beautiful young girl with my marrow in her bones and my blood in her veins, who looked to me as

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any daughter might look to a wise and loving father. And I ... well, she was a daughter to me, though

there was also that tenderness beyond words that makes me give it the name love.

DEON: So what happened?

VENTER: What we had hoped and prayed against. The transplant wasn’t enough, the thing took hold

again. Though techniques of suppressing rejection are improving all the time, but unfortunately

there has yet to be a successful bone marrow transplant which completely cures leukaemia.

MARIANNE: Her relapse came at the time of that drought we had, as if blown in by the hot berg

winds. One day we went there to visit and she seemed to have simply wilted. Her mother was

desperate to believe it was just a head cold, but I think we all knew otherwise.

VENTER: The next time we went, she was in bed. Weak, frail, as limp as the paper-pale willow leaves

when the watercourses have run dry... I suppose you think I’m a sentimental old fool, don’t you, Du

Randt?

DEON: No, no, of course not. I mean...

KAREN: I think it’s a very moving story, Mr Venter. Thank you for sharing it with us.

VENTER: She’s gone now, of course. Last July. (He buries his face in his hands and stifles a sob)

DEON: Ja, ja, look man, I’m sorry if I misjudged you. My wife said she was sure it was something like

that, didn’t you, Karen?

KAREN: No, Deon. I warned you not to jump to conclusions. But you didn’t want to listen. Now look

what you’ve done. I hope you’re happy!

MARIANNE: Karen, could you please get Marius a glass of water? He’ll be okay. He just gets very

emotional when he talks about it.

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(She sits stroking her husband’s shoulder and murmuring to him as Karen fetches the water. Deon

tries to hide his embarrassment by moving over to the window and looking out.)

VENTER: Thank you, my dear. (He sips the water). It’s been almost a year now, but it still hits me

hard.

KAREN: Of course, I understand. So have you stayed in touch with the family?

MARIANNE: Of course we have. We quite often drop in to see Tommy and Ella Carelse on a Tuesday

evening, don’t we, dear? I think it’s wonderful that in a country like this where black and white are

kept apart in so many ways, such warm and lasting relationships can still be forged. I always see the

hand of God in it.

KAREN: And they still stay in Doringspruit?

VENTER: They certainly do.

KAREN: I’ve never been there.

DEON: No, neither have I.

MARIANNE: Really, Mr Du Randt? I wouldn’t have thought that was the case.

DEON: I don’t know what you mean.

VENTER: The fact is, we’ve seen your car there. And no, it wasn’t another white Ford Escort. We

followed it all the way home.

MARIANNE: You’d obviously dropped someone off. A girl who lives a couple of doors away from the

Carelse’s. She has an Afro hairdo, and wears big golden hoops in her ears.

VENTER: Yes. We saw you twice, if my memory serves me right.

KAREN: Deon? Deon!

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MARIANNE: Anyway, I think we’d better be going, my dear. I need to see to supper. Come, Marius.

(Marianne and Venter leave through the main door, saying goodbyes as they go. Deon stands at the

window, hand pressed to his forehead)

DEON: Now Karen...don’t jump to conclusions...

KAREN: Me? Me? Jump to conclusions? Who the hell is she, Deon? Who are you dropping off in

Doringspruit on Tuesday nights after your drinks with your so-called rugby buddies? Answer me, you

lousy bastard! Answer me!

(She flings herself at him, and shakes him violently as the curtain closes)