Entwined

by Cheryl S. Ntumy

  I look up at Rakwena and tighten my grip on his hand as his free hand reaches up to push the button on the intercom.

  “Serenity House,” chirps a female voice. “How can I help you?”

  “Hi, it’s Rakwena Langa. I’m here to see my mother. I’ve brought a friend.”

  “Rakwena, welcome back. Please come in.”

  A brief buzz sounds and the pedestrian gate clicks open. Rakwena leads the way inside and the gate swings shut behind us. We walk up a stone walkway. The garden is lush and peaceful, and I notice someone sitting on a wicker chair at one end of the house with a book in his lap. We push open the glass door and step into the sunny reception area, where the woman with the chirpy voice is waiting with a smile. She’s middle-aged, with a warm, friendly face and a neat little ponytail.

  “Rakwena, it’s so nice to see you. How have you been?”

  Rakwena releases my hand and returns her smile. “Fine thanks, Lucinda. How is my mother?”

  “She’s had a good week,” the lady replies. “She’s just gone out to the backyard for a little sunshine. Just sign in and you can go see her.” She smiles brightly at me. “You’ll have to sign in, too. I’m afraid you can’t take your handbag and cell phone, but they’ll be safe here.”

  I look up in surprise, but hand over my bag with my phone inside, then sign my name in the register under Rakwena’s. Rakwena turns out his pockets, handing over everything including his keys.

  “Is that necessary?” I whisper once we’ve moved away from the reception desk.

  He smiles. “It’s a mental hospital. They can’t allow anything that could unnerve or harm the patients.”

  “Oh. Right.” I can’t imagine being so far gone that something as random as keys becomes dangerous.

  I follow him outside. The yard is immense, and I realise that the place is much bigger than it looks from the front. There’s a wide lawn with heavy stone benches and tables. I notice that there’s no movable furniture and no swimming pool or fountain. There are a few people sitting outside on the benches, and two women walking hand in hand through the garden, talking in animated voices. Everyone is wearing normal clothes – no uniforms, not even the staff, who have name badges on.

  In one corner of the garden sits a lone woman, wearing a pretty summer dress and leather sandals. Rakwena moves slowly towards her.

  “YouOK?” I ask in a whisper.

  “I’m fine. And you don’t have to whisper,” he adds in a teasing voice.

  I grin sheepishly. We reach the woman, and I recognise her as the person in the portrait hanging in Rakwena’s house. Her house. Rakwena sits next to her on the bench and I sit on the very edge, giving them some space.

  “Hello, Mama.”

  She glances up. She looks at him for a long moment, blinking. Finally the corners of her eyes crinkle and she smiles. “Rakwena.”

  “Yes.” He moves closer and takes her hand. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Fine.” She takes her hand out of his and looks away.

  I’m worried about how he’ll take her reaction, but he’s calm.

  “Mama, I brought someone with me. Her name is Connie.”

  She turns her head, gives me a cursory glance and then starts to fidget with the hem of her dress.

  Rakwena turns to me. “Sorry,” he whispers. “She must have just been medicated.” He manages a small smile, but I’m focused on the pain in his eyes. My heart twists around in my chest. I wish there was something I could do, but I’m not even sure I should be here. I feel as if I’m intruding.

  “Don’t apologise,” I tell him. “Maybe I should wait in the reception area…”

  “No.” He reaches for my hand, then changes his mind and looks at me, his face clouded by doubt. “Is this too much for you? I’m sorry.”

  Where did this boy come from? His mother barely recognises him and he’s worried about me! “I’m fine. I just thought you might want to be alone.”

  “It doesn’t make much difference,” he points out. He takes a deep breath and touches her arm.

  She jerks and whirls around to face him, her eyes wide with suspicion.

  “It’s okay, Mama. It’s Rakwena.”

  She frowns, then sighs. “Oh, yes. Rakwena.” She pats his hand absentmindedly. “I’m very sleepy.”

  “Should I take you to your room?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

  She shakes her head. “I’ll just sit here for a while. It’s warm.”

  She seems a little more lucid now. I squeeze Rakwena’s shoulder and he offers me a shaky smile. We stay there for a few minutes in silence, then Rakwena starts to speak in a soothing voice, about nothing in particular. He talks about something he saw on TV, a book he read, an assignment he did. It’s strangely comforting, and seems to have a positive effect on his mother. Her expression grows peaceful as she stares out across the lawn. After some time she rests her head on his shoulder.

  “It’s time to go,” says Rakwena suddenly.

  I follow his gaze to the woman standing beside the door, looking at us and tapping her watch. “So soon? We’ve been here less than an hour!”

  “Rules are rules,” he says.

  His mother lifts her head and turns to him. “You’re leaving.”

  He nods, getting to his feet. “It’s almost time for your therapy session, so we have to leave now. Let me help you get back inside.”

  She takes his arm and the three of us walk slowly towards the door. “Rakwena, did you speak to your father yet?”

  I feel Rakwena’s energy shift. I can’t see his face because he’s looking at his mother, but I can imagine his expression of dismay.

  “Why would you ask me that?” His tone is anxious.

  “Oh, he came to see me,” his mother goes on casually. “He asked of you, and I told him you were at home. I thought he was going to see you.”

  Rakwena shoots me a worried glance. “No, Mama. I haven’t seen him.”

  “Oh. Well, soon, I’m sure.”

  Rakwena doesn’t reply. He hands his mother over to the nurse on duty, kisses her cheek and promises to return soon, and then he takes my arm and practically drags me out of the facility, barely giving me enough time to retrieve our things from reception.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask as we make our way towards the nearest bus stop.

  “Did you hear what she said?” He seems far more agitated than I expected. “She thinks she saw my dead father!”

  “I thought you said she hallucinates. Isn’t that why she had to come here?”

  “Yes.” He releases me. “Yes, but that was long ago. She hasn’t talked about him in years. The drugs make her forget a lot of things; she’s not supposed to hallucinate any more. She hasn’t done it in ages. Something’s wrong!”

  His energy level has risen so much I see sparks shooting out of his knuckles. I grab his hands. The sparks shoot right through me, but I don’t let go. “Rakwena. Calm down.” I peer into his eyes. They’re far too bright. “Maybe she saw something that reminded her of your father.”

  “No.” He’s coming back to normal now; the spark has reduced to a tingle. “They took away anything that might trigger one of her episodes – photos, letters, everything. I just don’t understand where it came from all of a sudden. I thought she was improving.”

  “I’m sure she is. Maybe she had a dream.”

  He considers this. “Yes. Maybe.” His shoulders relax and he nods, relieved. “Yes, that must be it. It was just a dream that confused her. That happens sometimes.” He really wants to believe it. I can tell how freaked out he is, but somehow I get the feeling that there’s more to this than he’s letting on.

  We get into a taxi and I hold my tongue, but when we reach the rank I can’t keep quiet any longer.

  “Rakwena?”

  “Hmm? I’m OK now, don’t worry.” He smiles as we make our way to the Mafikeng bus.

  I hesitate. “Are you just worried about your mother’s condition getting wors
e, or is there something else?”

  “What else could there be, Connie?”

  “I don’t know.” I study his face, looking for clues. His scar is turned towards me, more menacing than ever. I look at the shiny puckered skin and suddenly something comes to me. My body tenses, my eyes sting and my head fills with fog. I see his scar, fresh and bleeding. Someone screams, then it’s over.

  It’s the vaguest premonition I’ve ever had. That scar has something to do with whatever he’s hiding, something to do with his father. I can’t see beyond that – as usual Rakwena’s barrier is in my way. “You weren’t just worried when your mother said she saw your father,” I say, partly to myself. “You were scared, too.”

  “Of course I was scared. I don’t want her to go backwards after she’s made so much progress.”

  But I know he’s lying. “How did your father die?” I ask as we get into the bus.

  His jaw tenses. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “But you were at the funeral, weren’t you?” I persist, ignoring his last statement.

  He reaches for his phone, turns the radio on and hands me one of the earphones. “What should we listen to?”

  “Were you at the funeral or not?”

  He sighs. “I was only five, and my mother didn’t want me to go.”

  “So you can’t be sure there was a funeral at all.”

  He laughs, but there is an edge of panic to his voice. “This isn’t a movie, Connie. My father is dead and my mother was confused, that’s all.”

  “How do you know?”

  “My God, Connie!” he snaps, finally losing his patience, and attracting curious stares from the other passengers. He lowers his head closer to mine and reduces his voice to an angry hiss. “I know!”

  “But you don’t even know how he died,” I point out. “You were a kid; people could have lied to you.”

  “No one lied to me.”

  “But how do you –”

  “I was there,” he interrupts, with weary surrender. “I saw him die. Are you satisfied?”

  I’m stunned. My jaw goes slack. I never imagined… but then how could I? I feel terrible. I take the earphone and plug it into my right ear, letting the catchy pop tune wash over me. Whatever went on in Rakwena’s family’s past is bigger than me. Bigger than both of us. I should stay out of it. My eyes move to his scar and once again I get that funny feeling in my stomach. I can’t stay out of it. Rakwena is part of my life now, and if he’s afraid, I can’t help being afraid, too. Maybe I just need to be patient. Maybe he’ll tell me the truth about his father, the way he told me about his mother… but I doubt it.

  I settle back into my seat and stare out of the window. Neither of us feel like talking much right now, and the music is somewhat soothing. I doze off at intervals.

  We’re walking through the bus rank in Mafikeng when Rakwena finally breaks the silence. “My father was not a good person.”

  “You don’t have to explain.”

  “I think I do.” He clears his throat. “I want you to understand. He did terrible things. Terrible, evil things, all the time. He ruined my mother’s life, and when he died I cried for three days. Not because I was sad – because I was relieved, and at the same time I was afraid he would come back. I couldn’t believe we were free of him. I tried to forget, but I couldn’t. For years the memory of everything he had done stayed with me. It was only when my mother got sick that I learned to bury those memories for good. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to think about him, and I don’t want anyone else to think about him. Every moment we spend on him keeps him alive. So after today, we are not going to mention him again,OK?”

  I gulp nervously. “OK.”

  It’s after six when we get home. Rakwena walks me to where the combis to Phase 8 stop.

  “Thanks for letting me come with you, Rakwena. It means a lot that you opened up to me about your mother.”

  “Thanks for not freaking out,” he replies with a smile. “I think she would like you, if she were in a position to really get to know you.”

  “I think I’d like her, too.” There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to ask… but all I do is say goodbye and give him a hug before getting on the combi. I promised I would stay away from the topic of his family, and I really want to keep my promise. But… easier said than done.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The premonition strikes on Sunday morning, halfway through my tuna and mayo sandwich. It starts the same way as always, but after the fog my stomach churns, struck by a wave of nausea much stronger than usual, and it feels as if someone stuck a knitting needle in my chest.

  I drop my sandwich onto the plate and bend double over the table. Often the premonitions pass so quickly that I don’t even have time to think about closing my eyes, but this time I’m focusing on the pain and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to fade. Bad idea. Thunder cracks inside my skull as the fog lifts just enough for me to see the images flashing into my thoughts. Ma-fourteen, and a skulking human figure, impatient and more dangerous than ever. A phrase comes to me out of the fog – one step further. I have no idea what it means but the fear it evokes is enough to have me worried. Then the fog fades and the premonition is gone, leaving a dull ache in between my ribs.

  I’m grateful Dad is in the bathroom. I abandon my food and run to my room to get my phone, but I’m torn between calling Rakwena for advice and calling Rose to make sure she’sOK. I decide to call Rose first. It rings and rings and rings. I take a deep breath; it’s still early. If the girls were out last night then she must be fast asleep, exhausted.

  I call just to make sure Ntatemogolo is home, then shout to my father through the door, telling him I’ll be back in a few hours. I’m restless and anxious throughout the combi ride, and when I get off in Bontleng I run down the street.

  Ntatemogolo is waiting for me. “A premonition?”

  I nod. He gestures towards the consultation room and I follow.

  “Tell me.”

  I pour out everything I can remember. I expect him to look concerned, but his expression doesn’t change. “Ntatemogolo, we have to act now!”

  “We’re not going to do anything.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “What do you mean? Did the traditional doctors say something about the Puppetmaster?”

  Ntatemogolo is quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks again his voice is low but firm. “You are not ready to take this on. You’ve only been planting for a few days. You can’t get the necklace from the girl, if that is what you’re planning.”

  Of course it’s what I’m planning – since he’s being so bloody uncooperative, it’s the only solution! “Ntatemogolo, I –”

  “Leave it alone, Connie. Let me find this man on my own. There is no need for you to get involved yet.”

  “I’m already involved!” I snap impatiently, and then remember my manners. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  He nods. “I know you are worried about your friends, but don’t act rashly. You are not ready. Please, give me more time. I will find out who he is. Give me a week.”

  “A week is too long.” I’m trying to keep my voice calm, but I want to scream. “They’re in danger right now!”

  “You said that he only uses them on weekends, not so? Whatever has been done this weekend can’t be undone, my girl. If the girl gives you the necklace willingly, so be it. If not, don’t try to plant. Please.”

  He’s not like Dad – I can’t win him over. I nod tersely, and after a stiff goodbye I leave. I’ve already made up my mind. He’s wrong to wait, just as he was wrong about Rakwena. He’s definitely wrong about me trying to plant. I’m going to do it, and I’m going to get it right. All this crap about me not being ready, as if I’m some reluctant heroine in a novel! By the end of the day tomorrow I’ll have that necklace, and then he’ll see.

  I’ve been waiting on the bench by the library for twenty minutes when Rose finally staggers towards me. Her face is pale,
her lips are cracked and her eyes are dull. She looks like she’s lost weight since the last time I saw her.

  “Rose!” I jump to my feet and run to her, afraid she’ll collapse beneath the weight of her school bag. “My God, you look terrible! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Sick,” she mutters, sinking onto the bench. “Tired. I’m so tired, Connie.”

  I knew it. I knew it was getting worse! “What happened?”

  She shakes her head weakly. “I don’t remember. I’m just exhausted.”

  I study her haggard face with a frown. What the hell is the Puppetmaster up to now? He must have pushed them harder than ever over the weekend, but what could they have done that would wear them out so completely?

  “We told our parents we caught a really bad flu bug from school,” Rose whispers. “I think they believe us. We’re all sick. Amantle is worse – I don’t think she’ll be in school. My mother wanted me to stay in bed but I told her I had a test… I had to see you. Help me, Connie. Please! I’m scared.” She looks up at me with wide damsel-in-distress eyes, as if I’m her only hope. Eish, I probably am.

  I give her a hug, partly to comfort her and partly to hide my uncertainty. “It’ll be OK, Rose. I’ll get you out.” But for a moment I’m not sure I can. Maybe my grandfather was right; I don’t know what I’m doing. Just because I have dreams and get weird vibes once in a while doesn’t mean I can go head-to-head with a powerful sorcerer, one who makes his colleagues tremble. I’m just a kid. What was I thinking?

  Then another voice makes its way into my head – the voice of my telepathy. I forget my doubts and let myself sink into the zone, focusing all my attention on Rose. She’s shaking, making no attempt to hide her fear. Between the cracks in the Puppetmaster’s barrier I catch glimpses of a badly lit room, a chair with strips of leather attached to it and a bloody knife.