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The apprenticeship years - Athol Fugard Issue
Twentieth Century Literature, Winter, 1993 by Sheila Fugard
Rehearsals began. Athol took on the role of Father Higgins and was prepared to deal with the consequences. Bloke Modisane agreed to play Shark, the township gangster, and his mature presence and confidence gave an authority to his performance. He was also a presence in the rehearsal room which I think balanced the undue dominance of Athol and myself.
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We had two visitors in the rehearsal room, Lewis Nkosi and Nat Nakasa, young intellectuals, both in their early twenties. Lewis was a thin, delicate, beautiful man from Natal. He had soulful eyes and a dark complexion, and there was a kind of "beat generation" feel to him. Yet I was aware of a deep reserve that seemed to distance him from others and forbid too close a friendship. He had a very good mind. Both he and Nat worked as journalists for Drum Magazine. Lewis was always cool, and his remarks were witty and sharp. Nat was different, a man full of smiles and jokes. These two men became our friends. It must be remembered that the fifties was an incredible time in Johannesburg. Many bright British young men also came there to work for the big mining houses like Anglo American. Liberal whites, especially those who were politically involved, socialized with young black intellectuals. People like Lewis and Nat were much in demand at dinner parties in the fashionable white Johannesburg suburbs of Houghton and Rosebank. People like Athol and myself, who were white, were of no interest to these wealthy liberal hosts, and were ignored. Perhaps the confidence of Lewis and Nat came not only from their success at their careers but also from being on this white party circuit.
The future of these two men was shaped by the fifties. Nat Nakasa became a brilliant journalist, and finally got a grant that allowed him to study in the U.S.A. He left South Africa on an exit permit, a one-way ticket out, which meant that he would never be able to return. Nat's life darkened in America. Exiled from his source, and unable to adjust to a new and demanding society, he fell into depression and jumped from a high-rise building in New York City. His death was a tragedy that later, for me, belied his laughing, smiling face that was so much a part of our No-Good Friday rehearsals. Later Lewis Nkosi left South Africa too, but more successfully. He became an academic, a critic, and a successful writer. I found both men to be so fresh and brilliant that it is impossible for me to forget either of them.
We needed a design for our No-Good Friday set. A friend put us in touch with Aaron Witkin, a young architect. He listened to our ideas, and read the play. He drew us a simple plan for the interior scene--Willy's room. The exterior of a Sophiatown back yard was discussed as well. Once we had the design, we had to build the set. We contacted Father Martin Jarret Kerr, who was the principal of St. Peter's College, an Anglican school for boys. Like Father Huddleston, he too was a liberal English priest. He gave us space in a classroom where we could work on the set. I felt that a "box set" for the interior scene was the easiest for us to assemble. Athol and I bought plywood and canvas. Together we made the frames and then stretched the canvas across them. It took us a few nights of hard work, since neither of us had any experience with carpentry. Finally we had our box set, which did the job, and also was light enough for the luggage carrier of our station wagon when we finally took on our township "tour."
