Entwined

by Cheryl S. Ntumy

  Once people make the connection between him and me, the speculation begins. The good thing is that very few people make the connection, and when they do they always seem perplexed. How can such an unimpressive girl be related to the great Lerumo Raditladi?

  I glare at Rakwena, putting up my wall of ordinariness in case I have to defend myself against accusations of witchcraft, Satanism or just plain weirdness. “People love to gossip.”

  “So it’s just gossip?” he prods. “You don’t have premonitions?”

  I bite my lip and decide it’s safer not to answer. I’ve never admitted it to anyone beyond my dad and grandfather; Wiki and Lebz figured it out on their own.

  “Well, that’s too bad,” Rakwena says softly. “I think it’s an incredible gift. If you were telepathic, I’d advise you not to cling to the thoughts coming into your head so you don’t get overwhelmed. But since you’re not…” He sighs. “I guess there’s nothing more to talk about, right?”

  Damn it. Now he’s playing me. The idea of being able to speak freely about this sort of thing, with someone my age who understands, is so appealing that I’m tempted to tell him my whole life story. But he’s still the scary guy with the scar and tattoo.

  “How do you know so much about this stuff, anyway?” I snap, frustrated by my indecision. “Are you some kind of… ghost buster?”

  He laughs. “You didn’t realise your gifts would begin to mature around this age?”

  “My grandfather told me,” I reply without thinking.

  He grins. “So you do have gifts.” His eyes are twinkling. I wish they wouldn’t. “Then you also probably know that telepathy is common in someone with your abilities – empathy, premonitions – someone very sensitive to the people around her.”

  That’s news to me, but I know better than to open my mouth at this point.

  “Well, I just thought you might like to talk to someone who doesn’t think you’re a freak.” He moves away from the wall. “Take care, Conyza.”

  “Connie!”

  He shrugs. “If you insist on rejecting the things that make you unique, that’s your problem, Connie.” He slinks away.

  Ugh! What an idiot. What does he know? I’m so angry I want to run after him and slam my bag against that big head. Rejecting the things that make me unique? That’s easy for him to say! As much as I love my father, I have never completely forgiven him for naming me after a weed. And as for telepathy… All my life I’ve dealt with people who made me feel guilty for being different. Now Black Lizard, of all people, has succeeded in making me feel guilty for trying to be normal! I don’t care what he says; I don’t want to be telepathic. I have enough trouble dealing with my own thoughts.

  My grandfather sits on a stool on the front veranda of his small house in Bontleng, puffing a cigarette in thoughtful silence. I’ve become impervious to the smoke by now. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, waiting for him to finish sorting through his thoughts.

  He’s a very wise man. I don’t argue with him, I don’t talk back and I don’t speak to him with the same casual tone I use with Dad, because he’d soon put me in my place. He’s small and wiry, with a thick head of greying hair and a carefully trimmed beard. He looks like a university professor, which he was at one point. Nowadays he makes a living writing smarmy intellectual books about history and folklore.

  Then there’s his other job. People come to him for advice on anything from nightmares to exorcisms. The local traditional doctors call him a charlatan because he doesn’t play by their rules. Their beliefs are steeped in culture and his are cosmopolitan and constantly changing. He’s equally at home discussing forest sprites and thokolosi, and that’s why he and I get along so well. We both straddle the line between two worlds.

  I met him for the first time when he came for my mother’s funeral, but he wasn’t home for long. He’s spent years all over the world, studying the myths and legends of different cultures. The moment we met when he came home for good, we both knew we were in the presence of another not-quite-normal person. My father was baffled and, I think, a little jealous of our connection. He raised me alone for years, and all of a sudden this old man swept into our lives and took over. I used to wish they’d get over themselves and just try to get along, but it will never happen.

  Ntatemogolo is wearing his usual black trousers and African-print shirt with brown suede loafers. He finishes the cigarette, drops it on the veranda and stamps it out with the heel of his shoe, then turns his steady gaze on me.

  “You should have come to me,” he admonishes in Setswana.

  “I’m sorry, Ntatemogolo,” I reply in English, and shrug helplessly. “But I thought it was just a headache until this morning.”

  He grunts. “This boy who spoke to you; what is his name?”

  “Lizard. I mean Rakwena. I don’t know his surname. He has this huge scar on his face.” I frown. “Why?” As you’ve probably guessed, I can’t read my grandfather’s thoughts. He’s way too advanced.

  His jaw tenses. “A scar? And a lizard tattoo?”

  “Yes.” I blink, baffled for a moment, and then blurt out, “You know him?”

  “He is not an ordinary boy.” He gives me a stern look. “Stay away from him.”

  “Why?” I catch myself. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What do you mean he’s not an ordinary boy?” I lean forward eagerly. “Is he like us?”

  “No!” he almost shouts. He recovers quickly, but it’s too late; the damage is done and I’m curious as anything now. “Not… not exactly,” he says in a calmer voice. “He is… very knowledgeable in these matters, that’s how he was able to tell you so much. But it’s better to be careful with people you don’t know, especially in our world.”

  I nod obediently, but my mind is spinning. This is the first time I’ve been in contact with someone my age who really knows something about the supernatural, instead of the usual silly superstitions and fear-based gossip. It doesn’t surprise me that Lizard and Ntatemogolo have crossed paths, now that I know Lizard kind of sees dead people, too.

  “Now.” Ntatemogolo smiles suddenly. “It’s time for you to take your gifts seriously, my girl. This telepathy – it is not a small thing. We must sharpen your skill, so you can use it the way it was meant to be used.”

  My eyes widen. This is the last thing I want to hear. I’ve spent all day just trying to preserve my sanity! I know things about my peers, teachers and strangers in the street that I really didn’t want to know. Worst of all, Lebz is still not talking to me. The idea of this going on indefinitely is unacceptable.

  “Please, Ntatemogolo – I don’t want to use it,” I confess. “I want to make it go away!”

  He glares at me, and I shut my mouth and lower my gaze. “You will accept your gifts, Conyza, and you will learn to use them.”

  “Yes, Ntatemogolo.” This would be a great time for my grandfather to tap into his smarmy intellectual side and pretend he’s not the local version of Van Helsing. “But…”

  “I’m going to Serowe tomorrow, but I’ll be back next week,” he interrupts smoothly. “We can start then. In the meantime, I want you to listen to the thoughts that come to you, their intensity, their flavour. Find out how close you must be to the person to read them. Also…” He pauses. “I want you to see whether there are people you can’t read.”

  “Like you?”

  He smiles. “It is not easy to block out a power like yours, so you must be careful of those who can. You will learn a lot about this gift if you pay attention.”

  I’m in turmoil. Part of me is excited about this new ability, and the other part just wants to climb into bed and sleep forever.

  He looks at his watch. “You should go home. Your father will be worried.”

  Worried? If he finds out where I’ve been and why he’ll have an anxiety attack. I get to my feet. “Thank you, Ntatemogolo. Do you want me to tell Dad you said hello?”

  “I didn’t say hello,” he replies, without mi
ssing a beat.

  I bite my lip to hide my scowl.

  “How is he?” he asks after a moment.

  “He’s OK.”

  He grunts. “Travel safely.” He stands up and gives me a brief hug before pushing me gently down the steps.

  Today is Thursday, by the way. Just thought I should point that out.

  The next morning I hang around the house until almost seven, hoping that Lebz will turn up even though she hasn’t replied to any of my messages and refuses to take my calls. It soon becomes clear that she’s not coming.

  Auntie Lydia is early. I cringe at the glimpse I get into her head – she’s replaying the argument she had with her husband this morning. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who gets bruised by her sharp tongue. I grab my stuff, call out a quick goodbye and rush to school.

  Wiki’s waiting at the gate. His thoughts are going at 100km an hour and I slow down as I approach him, trying to give my head time to adjust. I think I started reading his thoughts from several metres away, but it’s hard to tell because there are so many other people around, and unfortunately they’re thinking, too.

  “Do you have a test today?” I blurt out, grabbing his shoulder for support as I try to sift through the mess in my head.

  His face lights up with a delighted smile. “How did you know?” His smile falters. “I don’t look worried, do I? Because I’m not worried. I’ve been studying all month! I’m prepared; I’m always prepared. Except when I’m not, but that is very, very rare, and…”

  “Shut up, please!” I groan, leaning my hand against his chest.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t have to.” I sigh, shake my head and focus on his face. The thoughts fade to the background like a good soundtrack. “You know that crazy thing Lebz said yesterday?”

  “The crazy thing that made her stop talking to you?”

  “That one.” I pause, searching for the best way to phrase it. “It’s true.”

  He blinks once, then several times in quick succession. “You can read her mind?”

  “Yep. And yours. And everyone else’s.” I smile at his sceptical expression, and the decidedly less polite thoughts that accompany it. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is me, remember? Ridiculous is my forte. Anyway, it turns out the headache I had was brought on by the onset of my new ability, and when I woke up yesterday, I could hear everyone’s thoughts. And I really mean everyone, Wiki.”

  He takes a deep breath, takes me by the elbow and steers me in the direction of our class. “Start at the beginning, please.”

  I lower my voice and tell him the whole story. I hesitate before mentioning Black Lizard, but then reason that Wiki won’t be as appalled as Lebz might be by my sudden association with the school outcast. Turns out I’m wrong.

  “Rakwena told you you’re telepathic?” Wiki hisses under his breath, as we draw nearer to the classroom. “Tattooed, antisocial Rakwena?”

  “No, the other one,” I snap. “Can I finish the story?”

  “But how did he know?”

  “Well, I –”

  “This could be a problem.”

  I frown, but before I can ask Wiki what he means – or dig it out of his thoughts for myself – we reach the classroom and I’m crushed by a stampede of thoughts from twenty-odd Form Four pupils. It’s painful, like being woken up by a trumpet in your ear and a needle in your eye. I cringe and try to think of green grass on rolling hills.

  “We’ll talk later,” Wiki whispers, and we make our way to our seats.

  It’s not easy to concentrate. I have to sing under my breath to drown out the noise, and that makes it difficult to hear the teacher. Fortunately, outside of English class, teachers rarely see me. I’m that student, the one sitting behind someone smarter and next to someone more popular. Such people give you the impression that something’s not quite right with them, but they’re not intriguing enough for you to care. You probably have one in your class. Come on, think. Can’t remember the name? That’s the one.

  I don’t mind being that person; it’s a skill I’ve worked hard to hone. When you’re born a little weird, all you want is to fade into the background so no one notices. Botswana, bless her dry, dusty heart, is not kind to people who are different. In that respect, I suppose my country is no different to any other.

  “Hi, Lebz.”

  She glares at me over the top of her book. It’s the first few minutes of English Literature, and naturally our desks are next to each other. The teacher hasn’t pitched up yet so the students are sitting on desks, gossiping and being generally irresponsible. Lebz pretends to be fascinated by King Lear, which is pointless because it’s common knowledge that she can’t read Shakespeare without checking the notes.

  “Stop being such an idiot,” I hiss furiously. “Honestly, what do you want from me? I told you a million times, I didn’t know I could do it until yesterday! Obviously I would have told you, my best friend, as soon as I figured it out. And besides, wouldn’t you rather be friends with a telepath than enemies? Think of how dangerous I could be. I could tell Kelly everything running through your mind.”

  Her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t,” she whispers. “You don’t even talk to Kelly.”

  “I don’t need to; I already know what she thinks about everyone… including you.” Ooh, good one! Sometimes I surprise myself by coming up with these ingenious tactics. I give my head a haughty toss and pull my book out of my bag. “But since you’re not talking to me…”

  She grits her teeth. Poor thing; she’s conflicted, but I can see her will breaking. After all, we’ve been friends forever and I’m more reliable than her horoscope. She lets out an exasperated growl. “Fine! I forgive you. Now, what do you know?”

  “Well…”

  Students scramble for their seats as the teacher walks in, and I’m saved from answering.

  “We’ll talk at break,” I tell Lebz. I’m so thrilled to be talking to her again that I don’t mind sneaking up to Kelly during the day and picking her brain. If I can find it.

  My plan to eavesdrop on Kelly’s thoughts is foiled. When I walk past her little gang between classes, all I hear is the mundane babbling of her chums. They’re all extremely concerned with what Kelly thinks. For once we have something in common, but Kelly’s mind appears to be blank. I knew it!

  “Well?” Lebz demands, accosting me at break time. “What did you find out?”

  “I’m sorry, Lebz, but Kelly doesn’t have a mind for me to read,” I report with glee. “I tried. Nothing. Empty.”

  Lebz clicks her tongue and Wiki, who has just appeared, grins and declares, “Peace at last!”

  “Come on.” Lebz drags me towards our bench. “I know you know something.”

  I should have known she wouldn’t be willing to accept Kelly’s stupidity. I decide to bend the truth. “OK. But you’d better not tell her! You can’t even give her any hint that you know.”

  “Of course not!” She’s practically salivating.

  “Kelly’s jealous of you,” I announce.

  Lebz gasps. “What? Why?”

  “Because everyone likes you. She’s popular, but she also has enemies. You’re genuinely loved by pretty much everybody.” Well done, Connie! I’m almost certain it’s true, too.

  Lebz smiles shyly. “Wow.” She’s pleased. She’s more than pleased, she’s humbled. Silly girl. I wish I could get her to stop comparing herself to Kelly long enough to notice her own strengths. She beams at us. “Whose turn is it to get the food?”

  “Yours,” Wiki and I say in unison.

  “You owe me for twenty-four hours of silent treatment,” I add.

  “And you owe me for my excellent peacemaking skills,” says Wiki.

  Lebz is too happy to argue. She holds out her hand for the money.

  Five minutes later, I’m sitting alone; Wiki has gone to… yes, the library. I see a familiar figure entering the school grounds and my heart does a little jump. It’s Thuli, bac
k from buying cigarettes at Mother Hubbard’s, a tuck-shop near the school owned by a woman without scruples.

  Thuli. I realise with a pang of guilt that I haven’t thought about him in almost two days! I’ll have to spend a full hour daydreaming about him to make up for my disloyalty. His eyes are already red from whatever he’s been smoking, his shoulders are hunched, and he’s walking with the air of someone too good for the world… which of course he is. He’s a genius, maligned and misunderstood, as Wiki likes to say when he’s mocking him.

  I follow him with my eyes until somebody else catches my attention. Black Lizard, leaning against a wall, staring at me. I jump, startled by the intensity of his gaze, and drop the water bottle I’m holding. I bend to pick it up and when I get up again he’s heading for his usual spot behind the lab. Above the faint chatter in my head I hear Ntatemogolo’s warning, but my feet are already moving to follow him.

  “Hi.” I walked so quickly that I’m a little breathless by the time I reach him.

  Lizard looks at me. “Are you following me, Conyza?”

  “Connie. No. I mean… I just…” I take a deep breath and start over. “You didn’t tell me you knew my grandfather.”

  He shrugs. “Everyone knows your grandfather. He’s written all those books.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” I’m nervous. I think my hands are shaking. But if you were this close to a guy with a lizard tattoo and a freaky scar your hands would be shaking, too. “He says you know stuff. About… Look, he knows you, and he doesn’t pay attention to kids. So you must be… different.”

  He doesn’t reply. He just looks at me with those piercing black eyes. “It’s getting easier, isn’t it? I can tell; you seem calmer. You’re getting used to the noise.”

  I shrug. “I guess so. My grandfather’s going to teach me how to use it.”