The Witchdoctor's Bones

by Lisa de Nikolits

  Richard wiped her face clean with a napkin and gave her a kiss.

  “Don’t get too hammered,” he cautioned her.

  “Right, look who’s talking,” Mia laughed. “Come on, luv,” she said to Richard, “let’s have a nuvver round of shots, not just me and Jasmine, all of us. You both, too,” she called out to Eva and Kate. “And you,” she pointed at Rydell who was sitting off to the side in a red velvet chair.

  He shook his head, licked his lips and fussed with his sleeves. “No shots for me,” he stammered. He examined the glass of beer in front of him, holding it up to the light before venturing a cautious sip. Then he crossed his legs tightly, shoved one hand into his pocket and fingered something nervously.

  “No alcohol for us and anyway, it’s time we went to bed,” Stepfan announced. He threw the cloth napkin onto his ketchup-covered plate and got to his feet. “Come, Lena. I want us to go through our backpacks one more time. We will see you all in the morning, good night.” He bowed in Charisse’s direction and walked out with Lena trotting behind him, her food largely untouched.

  Gisela returned to the bar to find them all another round down.

  “You’ve got to catch up with shots,” Mia said bossily but Gisela shook her head.

  “Another nice big vodka will do me fine. Neat, and make it a double.”

  “Hardcore,” Richard said admiringly. “Oh, bollocks, in for a penny, in for a pound.” He threw back his drink and ordered another round.

  An hour later, the party was in full swing and Kate could not remember ever being so drunk. She stood up and spotted Rydell who was still sitting alone, watching everyone. He stared at Kate and gave her a strange, lopsided grimace and shook with silent laughter. Kate tried to make sense of the unspoken exchange but the room was blurring and she left the bar unsteadily, gripping chairs for support on her way out.

  Rydell watched her leave and fingered the small knife in his pocket, experimenting by pricking the pad of his thumb. No, he was fine, he did not need the release of pain. It was true that he had been alarmed when he first saw Kate; she reminded him strongly of the early Vegas showgirl pictures of his mother, having the same leggy full-bodied appeal, but it was more than that. Her features were similar; her full lips, her high oval cheekbones and the fall of her long dark hair that refused to stay tucked behind her ear.

  “Nothing will stop me this time,” he hissed under his breath.“Not even you, Mother. Not this time. I’m not going to let anything stop me, do you hear me? Not you or anyone else.”

  From Cape Town

  to the Cedarberg Mountains

  KATE WOKE EARLY THE NEXT MORNING with a blinding hangover. She was afraid to move but lying down felt worse and she eased herself up with deliberate slowness, opening her eyes to see the room spinning at her like a bowling ball thrown through a fish-eye lens.

  She lay there cursing herself. The first real day of her holiday and she was sick as a dog. Half an hour later, she decided a walk would help and she dressed gingerly, putting on her sunglasses and pulling on her jeans and a T-shirt.

  She stopped in the lobby to lean her forehead against the cool wall and overheard a woman talking.

  “Hello? Jono? This is Marika van Breytenbach; I’m with your tour. I was supposed to be here for the briefing last night but my flight got rerouted because of a snowstorm and I was lucky to get here at all. The bad news is that South African Airways lost my luggage. Could you phone them? You’ll have more authority than me. I’ve got a contact name and number for you; I’m hoping they can find my luggage before we leave Cape Town.”

  Ah, her roomate, the missing Marika.

  “O…kay…” Kate heard Marika say hesitantly and then she listened for another moment, quickly responding with a heartfelt yowl. “I can’t have a shower, Jono, because I haven’t got any luggage. No soap, no towel, no clothes. I don’t even have a hairbrush.”

  She sounded despondent and Kate felt bad for her. “You’re right, we’ll sort this out later. Thank you, Jono.” With an audible sigh, the woman hung up the phone.

  Kate went up to her and held out her hand. “I’m Kate, your roommate, I’m sorry to hear about your luggage. What can I do to help?”

  Marika was older than Kate had first thought, in her mid-forties at least. Kate was glad she was wearing sunglasses because Marika was dressed in a startling explosion of colour.

  “Wow, are you an artist?”

  Marika laughed. “Shows does it? Yes, I’m an illustrator.” She grinned and spoke with a thick South African accent. “I missed the briefing, what’s the plan?”

  Kate checked her watch. “Jono said the bus leaves at 8:30, so we’ve still got lots of time.” She let out a groan. “This really isn’t like me, Marika but I’ve got a shocking hangover and I feel really sick.”

  “You’re going to find me very boring to room with, I’m not much of a drinker,” Marika smiled.

  “Neither am I, believe me, and after last night, I plan to drink even less, although we did have fun. Let’s go up to our room, you can wash your face at least and I’ll give you a clean T-shirt although I haven’t got anything as bright as yours.”

  Marika grinned. “Sounds good to me. What a nightmare journey. First I got rerouted and then…”

  Kate suddenly rushed past her on the stairs, pushed her key card into the lock and made for the bathroom where she threw up until there was nothing left but painful dry heaves.

  “You poor thing.” Marika followed Kate into the bathroom and pulled Kate’s hair back from her face. “You’ll feel better now.”

  “So embarrassed,” Kate muttered, flushing the toilet with one hand while resting her head on the side of the bathtub.

  Marika patted her shoulder. “We’ve all been there. Listen, I’m going to have a shower, okay? Can I borrow your towel?”

  Kate made agreeing noises and crawled to her bed, covering her eyes with a sweatshirt.

  By the time Marika emerged, her short blonde hair dark with water and her face stripped of makeup, Kate was feeling better. Slightly.

  “Time to go down to the bus,” she said and Marika obligingly grabbed her camera bag. “This is heavy,” she commented. “Are you a professional photographer?”

  “I wish,” Kate said. “My dad said it was no way to earn a living.”

  “One could say the same about illustrating, but I manage.”

  “I lack the courage of my convictions,” Kate admitted. “This trip is the first thing I’ve ever chosen for myself.”

  They went outside and found Gisela leaning against a large white overland tour bus, smoking a cigarette.

  “This is Marika, my lost roommate,” Kate made the introductions. “Gisela, how come you’re not hung-over like me?”

  “Maybe because I only ever drink vodka,” Gisela shrugged.

  Kate went green. “Please don’t mention alcohol.” She looked up at the bus. “Can we go inside and explore?”

  Gisela laughed. “It’s like a big shoebox on wheels. The door’s open. I’ve already put my luggage inside.”

  They climbed in and found the bus utilitarian in the extreme, with a narrow white-painted metal frame and low-ceilinged grey metal racks above the seats. The riveted-steel floor had two bucket seats on either side of the aisle and the seats had thinly cushioned backs covered in a worn gray fabric. Kate searched in vain for cup holders and pouches on the seat backs and tried a window, which opened with some persuasion. “It’s quite rustic,” was all she could manage.

  “Definitely seen some serious mileage,” Marika agreed as she turned to Kate who had slumped down into a seat, looking green again.

  “Listen to that lovely noise out there,” Marika said to distract Kate from her hangover. “Taxi horns, African music, people shouting. I love Canada, don’t get me wrong, but I miss this a lot.”

  “I’m from Canada too
,” Kate said, her eyes closed. “How long have you lived there?”

  “Nearly twenty years. A long time, not that you can tell from my accent.”

  The flow of minibus taxis increased, with the noise level rising and Marika studied the resigned faces of the taxi passengers staring at nothing in particular on their way to work. A black woman walked by in threadbare clothing, a large bag balanced on her head, a baby swaddled against her back, and a toddler clinging to her hand.

  “I’m quite sure I wouldn’t be able to live these people’s lives, not even for a day,” Marika said. “And I wonder if anything has become any easier for them since apartheid ended? From what I’ve heard, they work as hard as before and so many of the promises turned out to be lies.”

  “No matter what, it must be better now,” Kate said from her slumped-down seat. “Their lives were violated before in the most evil and unspeakable of ways.”

  “Ja, I know of course you’re right, my friend. I just wish for happier endings, that’s all.”

  Marika watched a tall lean woman throw her arms around a poster-perfect surfer boy who recoiled slightly from the embrace. “People are joining us,” she said.

  Kate carefully sat up and peered out the window. “That’s Helen. She seems very uptight. I wonder who the pretty boy is with her.”

  “Whoever he is, he’s not keen on her,” Marika commented.

  “You’re right. There’ll be no happy ending there, there never is.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  Kate’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m so stupid. But this is between you and me, because I told Jono I’ve got a boyfriend. I don’t know why I lied, maybe I don’t want to admit it’s over. I also got the feeling Jono might be interested in me, and there’s no interest from my side, but I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  “Got it,” Marika said. “We can talk more later, I think the rest of the gang is here.”

  One by one, the group clambered onboard, with Jono bringing up the rear. He searched the bus for Kate, and he smiled and waved at her. She summoned a grin and waved listlessly back.

  “Good morning, everybody!” Jono was much more energetic than the night before.

  “Good morning, Jono,” they chorused.

  “How did everybody sleep?” he asked.

  A volley of replies gave assorted answers.

  “That is very good to hear,” Jono said, when the din subsided. “Now let me introduce you to our cook, or should I say, our chef.” He put his arm around a beautiful woman in her mid-thirties, with full lips, high cheekbones and sleepy almond eyes. The thin, worn fabric of her navy pants and faded T-shirt did nothing to diminish her grace.

  “Treasure has been on many tours such as these and fed many more than you and has received the highest praise for her cooking.”

  The group clapped and shouted greetings and Jono smiled.

  “And now, to the second thing,” he said. “Has all the luggage fitted?”

  “We had to use the entire back seat but yes, it fit,” Harrison jumped up. “But I don’t think the things are well-secured in the luggage racks.” He strained to look up, “Please, Mr. Jono, check, I’m worried.”

  Jono walked down the aisle, prodding and readjusting. “It is fine,” he said.

  “Isn’t there any space on the roof we could use to store a few things?” Richard asked.

  “No, my friend, that is full. One piece of advice, try not to acquire too many souvenirs along the way and if you must buy things, try to keep them small,” Jono grinned.

  “Does that mean I can’t have one of those giant six-foot carved wooden giraffes I’ve heard about?” Jasmine joked. “But Jono, getting one of those was the main reason for my trip.”

  “Then I suggest you wait until Swakopmund,” Jono advised her, “where you can buy a lot of brown paper and post one home to yourself. Even better, give him your address and let him swim home to you.”

  Jasmine sighed with a crestfallen expression on her face and Jono laughed. Kate could not understand why no one seemed as hung-over as she felt.

  “I am being a very bad host,” Jono said. “Everybody, we must welcome Marika who happily has arrived, although her luggage was not so fortunate. But it will get here in the end. Marika, where in South Africa are you originally from?”

  “A farm in Underberg, Natal,” Marika said. “Jono, did South African Airways…,”

  “Underberg? Near Himeville?” Helen interrupted.

  “Yes, exactly,” Marika was surprised that Helen knew such a remote town. “How do you know it?”

  “I’ve been volunteering there for the past year. That’s incredible, what are the odds? And why are you here,” Helen persisted, “on this tour, when you come from the most spectacular place in the world? If I had a farm in Underberg, I’d never leave it.”

  Marika was uncomfortable at being put on the spot. “I guess I want to see the Africa that lies beyond my father’s farm and I’ve always been fascinated by the Bushmen. They were so advanced and such amazing, peace-loving people.”

  Rydell, across the aisle, gave a loud derisive snort. Marika turned to Kate for an explanation but Kate shrugged.

  Helen thought how small the world was and while it was true that she had loved Underberg, she had been excited to leave with the promise of a wonderful new life beckoning. However, as she had rudely realised the previous night, that shiny promise had been no more than the false hope of fool’s gold. She swallowed hard, not yet ready to acknowledge the truth.

  “Let us be on our way,” Jono said, “Our bus is named Mandoza, after a popular South African musician. One day I will play some of his music for you. Everybody, let us go!”

  In the privacy of the cab, Jono and Treasure exchanged glances as they settled into their seats. “Here we go,” Jono referred to the riotous chatter behind. “It begins again.”

  “Hmmm, yes.” Treasure suppressed a smile. “But there’s something different this time, Jono, yebo? I saw that girl, how she caught your eye. I have never seen you like that before. Haw wena. Since when do you like tall American girls?”

  “She is from Canada but I am quite certain I do not know what you are talking about,” Jono said, grinding a gear.

  Treasure laughed and smoothed her hair with long, capable fingers. “Yebo, I was right on the money. But you’ve always told me you could never trust a white girl, when it comes to matters of the heart?”

  “You are right. Do I think a white girl could ever really fall in love with a black man like me? No. That aspect of apartheid is still strong for me. How are you, this morning anyway? I thought you would have a sore head from coming home so late.”

  “No sore head for me, my friend, I’m fine thank you, you worry about yourself.”

  Jono concentrated on the road, thinking that while Kate had a boyfriend back home, she was travelling by herself and that had to say something about the relationship. He acknowledged the flicker of hope in his heart and thought that stranger things had happened than a tourist coming on holiday and falling in love with the guide. The legacy he had grown up with, the forbidden relationships between black and white, that bitter old voice whispered that Kate would reject him out of hand because of his black skin, while his rational mind argued that she was not like that, that things had been different for a long time, and that anything was possible.

  Treasure put her bare feet up on the dashboard and picked up a magazine, happy to be distracted from her own worries by teasing Jono, oblivious to the fact that she was being stared at by Rydell, stared at with singular and uncompromising focus.

  From the moment he laid eyes on Treasure, Rydell realized she was The One. Overwhelmed by his good fortune, he tried to remain calm but he felt as if ants were crawling under his skin. He was simultaneously ecstatic and panic-stricken. He had not expected to find her so soon. And n
ow that he had her in his sights, quite literally, he had no idea what to do.

  Yes.

  He twitched with delight and twisted the fabric of his trousers with plump, pale fingers.

  Yes, Treasure will know how to make a man feel like a man, not like the painted whores in Kansas City.

  He thought back to the red-clawed women who had tried to trap him in cheaply-perfumed cages of sagging tired beauty and broke out in a cold sweat, wiping his forehead and upper lip with the sleeve of his shirt. They wrapped their arms and legs around me and tried to suffocate me with their flea-infested feathers. Not that Rydell was opposed to restraints and vices, that binding punishment provided necessary release. Being chastised by a dominatrix was the only way he had found to momentarily quieten the anxious fevers that jostled for real estate in his tormented mind. He deserved to be tied up and whipped, he needed it, and besides, that brutality was honest. What he could not bear was the mockery of social pretense.

  He snuck a quick glance at Treasure and greedily drank in the sight of her. Treasure, unaware of him, licked the tip of her finger and turned the page of a magazine.

  Rydell felt his erection straining against his trousers and he shifted in his seat. He thought back to his book and how it had shown him his destiny. He had nearly gone mad from being so alone but the book had changed his life. He tugged the floppy brim of his hat, filled with fury at the thought of how hard his life had been, how he had been called an odd little boy, and then, an odd little man, despite his remarkable intelligence.

  I’m not odd. They’re the ones who are odd; the ones who think I’m not right in the head for wanting the things I do — as if I can help it. They’re the ones who make me sick, they want to eat me, they want to stick their feelers inside me and suck out my juices.

  Filled with panic, he found it hard to breathe, and he reached into his pocket and clutched the small serrated knife he carried with him. He dug the sharp edge into the palm of his hand, cutting into his flesh and the pain helped to clear his head. He glanced back at Treasure, willing her to lick her finger again with the tip of her dark pink tongue.