My Only Story. Deon Wiggett
is our group!’
For an organisation as morally neutral and enterprisingly psychopathic as Naspers, Breytenbach was a natural fit. Entering the group via Die Burger, he rose through the ranks in a glorious nineteen-year career. After editorial promotions to Port Elizabeth and back to Cape Town, he left Die Burger as news editor to become a hands-on marketer and publisher.
In 2005, amid dark whispers, Naspers moved him suddenly to New Delhi, India. He returned to the Mother City in 2008 and, at the height of his powers, was publisher of Huisgenoot and YOU and Drum, using the former’s dominant position in the Afrikaans magazine market to make or break young male artists.
In 2014, he used the Pers as a launchpad for his own murky digital-media empire, and used first Lumico and then Lightspeed Digital Media as a grooming ground in place of Naspers, Die Burger and Huisgenoot.
In an Italian restaurant near the Naspers tower, I tell Adriaan about something that is nagging at me. I am trying to orchestrate a shaming by media, which can only be achieved by having elite connections. You may, and should, ask what makes my rape so special that I get to mobilise the media to pursue my trespasser.
The answer is: absolutely nothing. My privileged, upper-middle-class rape occurred under privileged conditions, for a rape. Much of humanity has suffered much more.
But I cannot do anything about the other injustices. I can do something about the continuing rapes by Willem Breytenbach. Moreover, if I catch him just right, maybe I can make an example of him – maybe extract some meaning from the boyhood and decades I lost.
Picking at pizza with Adriaan, I say to him: ‘Look, the very valid criticism we will get is, “Why are you talking about some middle-class, white boy’s rape when women and children in the townships face much worse? Why are you not talking about that?”’
‘We talk about that all the time,’ says Adriaan. ‘We never talk about the kind of story you want to tell here.’
‘That’s quite a good point,’ I say. I may be warming to Adriaan.
But now I have run out of ways to stall. It is a mostly sunny Wednesday on the Cape Peninsula. I am in my rental car and, as I round a certain bend, I see Devil’s Peak and Table Mountain on my left and the Atlantic on my right. In front of me is Three Anchor Bay and its warren of narrow one-ways, and also the house where Willem lives.
As I get closer, I get tenser. This seems like a terrible idea now. The risk is massive, and for what? Knowing what a renovated house looks like?
I am on a one-way and I have missed the turn-off for Mutley Road, and now the road back out is in front of me and my personal monster is at my back. It is time to get the hell out of here.
But somehow I find myself circling back to the same one-way. I see the Mutley Road turn-off, and despite myself I turn left as Kate (UK) on Waze says: ‘You’ve arrived at your destination.’
There, right before me, is the thing I have been dreading. A car is parked in front of his house.
7
I inch lower down in the seat of my rental car. Is it less conspicuous to drive by slowly or quickly? Slowly?
I start driving past slowly, but I am staring straight ahead, not daring to look right. If Willem comes out of the house, ready to go to the office, and he looks up, he will see me. He may recognise a man of thirty-nine he has mostly forgotten.
But I have passed now, and I am unharassed. I circle back again and park at a much safer distance. If Willem comes out now, I do not think he will see me, unless I do something conspicuous.
I have brought along an audio recorder and some headphones, just like the real Sarah Koenig. I speak into the microphone and try to record my feelings.
I say: ‘There’s a car parked outside. Is that his car? Is he metres away?’
Seagulls squawk; a van stops further down with water-cooler replenishments; from a block of flats, a mother loudly berates a child. This is all terrific background ambience for the podcast. The podcasting textbooks say I must go and stand in the road to get a few minutes on tape.
But that is a step too far. So I do the next-best thing. I sink down so low in my seat that passing motorists will only notice an open window and a long arm concluding in a microphone. I manage to record thirty seconds of ambience before my arm starts to tremble.
I really am quite shocked at the level of my fear. How will I take down Willem if the sight of his house almost makes me dissociate? Wait, I have actually been sitting here for a few minutes without really thinking about it. Am I dissociating right now? It is time to listen to my body and get far away, and quickly.
But first, I must announce my intentions on tape.
‘I am going to have one more drive past, and then I’m driving to his work. His most basic daily routine … driving to the office. Because everything is changing. I am no longer the one who doesn’t know about him. He’s the one who doesn’t know about me.’
I need to sound braver on this tape. ‘Soon, we’ll have our very first encounter in decades,’ I tell a theoretical Willem. ‘And this time, the surprise will be all yours.’
And only then do I understand why I have come here. I needed to know where he is. He is not a theoretical monster that holds sway over Three Anchor Bay. He just lives in a house here – that house right over there – among regular Capetonians who are nothing like him.
This is part of the power I need to take back. He should be afraid of me, because he is the prey now. Just before I switch on the ignition, I know what I am here to say.
‘Willem,’ I say, ‘I am sitting outside your house.’
8
Back in my loft in Johannesburg, I talk to Ethan for the first time. He is a journalist in the Naspers tower and he perfectly matches the profile.
Ethan had ‘contact’ with Willem when he was at university, he tells me over the phone. Then he tells a story that seems out of place. He talks about a summer job he had at Die Burger, but he does not mention Willem.
Then he resumes where he left off: ‘When I was at university, he was in India. He sent me these emails that were … I’ve kept all of them.’
I am quite disappointed that Ethan has nothing else to share. He seems a sweet guy, and is clearly traumatised, but some raunchy emails to an eighteen-year-old student will not help me prove anything.
But now Ethan is thinking of ways in which he can help. ‘I must show you these emails!’ he says.
Then he points me to someone else, who says: ‘I know this guy, Mike.’
I perk up considerably. Thanks to my trawling, I now know the names and faces of everyone in Willem’s extended circle. Know them well enough that when the guy mentions Mike, I know straightaway who he is talking about.
Apparently Mike cannot stand Willem and had to go to considerable lengths to get away from him. Their relationship is just as I deduced from Instagram.
Mike is quite a bit younger than me and he used to work for Willem, which means that I know very well what his body looks like – Willem posts that sort of thing. The pictures were taken at a time when Mike was a central character in Willem’s life – the lad is smart, slender and smooth, and he has a certain look. I can only imagine Willem’s excitement the first time he caught sight of Mike.
I am surprised to hear that Mike has been spilling the beans, but I figure, if he is talking about Willem to other people, why not me? This could be my first breakthrough. If I can just get Mike to tell me his story, I can ruin Willem by Easter; a bit of bullfrog crucifixion would be appetising and apt.
I know exactly where to find Mike, so I send him a message.
It is an unseasonably chilly evening when Mike and I meet in a coffee shop. I get