Shona directs me to an open-air market under a thatched lapa on the outskirts of town. Banga carries the basket while Shona selects apples, avocados, mangos, and oranges. I tag along and stop at a crafts stall to admire the jewelry. A delicately carved wooden charm of the Zambezi river god, Nyaminyami, catches my attention.
I lift the leather string of the necklace to admire the craftmanship. The ebony color of the wood is almost black. The river god looks a lot like a sea monster with the head of a fish and the body of a snake coiled like a cone. The coiled part represents a whirlpool.
“You know what that is?” the vendor asks, dusting his hands on a faded T-shirt sporting two small holes on the shoulder and a larger one on the sleeve.
“Nyaminyami,” I say, caressing the beautiful charm between my fingers.
“You’ve been here before.”
“A long time ago.”
“Do you know the legend?” he asks with a toothless smile.
“That anything that drops into the river is an offering to appease Nyaminyami.”
That’s what our guide had said when my mom’s sunglasses had fallen into the water. According to the legend, Nyaminyami and his wife are the god and goddess of the underworld. They live in the Zambezi River in the Kariba Gorge and control life in and on the water.
When the Kariba Dam was built, it split the river in two, separating Nyaminyami and his wife. This made Nyaminyami very angry. He created accidents to stop the people from building the dam. Although a lot of workers died in these accidents, they continued to construct the great dam of Kariba, thereby keeping him from his wife forever.
He punished the people with floods that killed many. Since the dam was built, the flooding never stopped. Soon after, the earthquakes started. The pressure of the water adds to tectonic strain, causing regular, small tremors. The locals believe Nyaminyami uses these earthquakes to break down the wall in order to reach his wife. It’s a very sad story of a very powerful love. I’ve always been fascinated by legends, and I find this one especially beautiful.
The vendor glances in the direction of the river, even if it’s too far to see the falls from here. “To appease him, we give him sacrifices, but Nyaminyami is still angry. He won’t stop until the big wall is gone and he’s reunited with his wife. Until then, we’ll suffer famine, flooding, and earthquakes. Nyaminyami will punish the people until they listen.”
He smiles slyly. “Do you know why a body is never found when a man falls into the river?”
It’s probably because the crocodiles eat them, but I’m enraptured. “Why?”
“Because Nyaminyami keeps them in the underworld of the water for all eternity.”
“What kind of sacrifices do you make?”
“We once gave Nyaminyami a black calf. In return, he gave us some of the bodies of the men who were killed during the building of the dam. But Nyaminyami isn’t interested in our material offerings any longer. Until he gets back his wife, he wants our souls.”
I swing the pendant from side to side. The detail is truly exquisite. The god’s expression is narrow-eyed, watchful, and dangerous. The masculinity and power of the river god reminds me of Ian, but unlike Nyaminyami, Ian is very much interested in material gain. I suppose that makes him closer to a devil than a god, but I’ve always thought there’s a fine line between the two. Devils can be kind, and gods can be cruel.
“How much?” I ask, testing the string to make sure it’s long enough to fit around Ian’s neck.
“Fifty,” he says. “Give me seventy, and I’ll give you two for the price of one.”
He takes a similar string with a smaller, white Nyaminyami carved from bone from under the table and drapes it over my hand. The two necklaces hang side by side, one small and the other big, one white and the other black. Female and male. Husband and wife. They look like they belong together, like they were made for each other. Inseparable. No dam should ever keep them apart.
Digging through my bag, I find my purse and hand the vendor a couple of bills. “I’ll pay two hundred.” He needs the money.
He grips his elbow with one hand and takes the money with the other. “I hope they’ll bring you luck.”
“I hope so too,” I say, dropping the necklaces into my bag.
Shona comes over to say they’re ready to go. We’ve spent an hour at the market, plus an hour of traveling. It’s close to five when I pull up in a billow of dust at the lodge. I’m dusty from the gravel road. My face, arms, and legs are covered in a thin layer of red sand, and my hair is matted from the wind. I have a warm glow from too much sun on my cheeks, but I haven’t felt this free in a long time, not even when I was living in my apartment in Rustenburg. Not since the farm.
Banga carries the basket to the kitchen. Shona follows, shouting at him not to drop the basket and bruise the mangos. We don’t really need the fruit, although a fruit salad for dessert would be nice. I think Shona just thought up an excuse to let me drive to town. I’m eternally grateful to her. The pleaser in me wants Ian to trust me. I want to win my freedom at all costs. The idea of living with him has grown on me, and I’m starting to see how there’s no other option. Not really. I’m falling for him. Despite what he is and what he does for a living, I’m losing my heart to him. I’m giving my heart to a criminal, and because of who I am and how I’m wired, I only get to give my heart away once. Like Nyaminyami loves his wife, I’ll love him forever. My heart won’t give me another choice. It may be the weakest organ in my body, but it has always had the strongest will. That’s what fighting does. It makes you strong.
The realization rattles me as I enter the reception hall. I slow down as it hits me between the eyes. The knowledge is special. Finally knowing who my one-and-only is going to be is a defining moment. Precious. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve just had butterflies in my stomach and a sensation of floating on clouds, but what I have with Ian isn’t a normal love story. It’s darker. So many of the moments we shared were stolen. Yet I loved every minute I spent with him, no matter how warped or wrong. I knew it from the start, knew it all along, and now that I face the biggest truth of my life, I don’t have a prince charming to tell me it’s going to be all right. I only have the word of the villain, and all I can do is pray he’s as good as his word.
Lost in my thoughts, I exit onto the deck and bump into a hard chest. A pair of hands grip my arms, steadying me. Taking back a step, I look up into Leon’s face.
His stubble is dark but his beard lines are neatly trimmed, and he smells of expensive cologne. His hair is slightly darker and wavier than Ian’s. Messy curls fall over his forehead. Like the other night, he’s dressed in a suit, but a black one this time.
I shake off his touch and step out of reach. “Sorry. I didn’t watch where I was going.”
“That’s all right.” He looks me up and down. “It looks like you dug yourself out of a grave.”
“Jeep,” I say. “The road is dusty.”
“I heard Ian lets you drive around,” Ruben says, rounding the corner and climbing the steps. Like Leon, he’s dressed in his finest, wearing the same suit from the last time they went out to get laid.
I’m about to say I hope they’ll enjoy chasing women, not that they should be too hopeful of attracting nice women with their prickly personalities, when Ian follows in Ruben’s footsteps.
I still. What I was about to say flies out of my head. Ian is dressed in a dark, pinstripe suit with a white, open-neck shirt that reveals the tattoo under his collarbone and the hard muscles of his chest. He’s wearing a black belt with a Hermes buckle and matching dress shoes. With the stubble darkening his jaw and his hair tied back into a man bun, he looks hot enough to melt panties. He’s chewing on a cigar and doesn’t notice me, because he’s engrossed in fitting a cufflink. He adjusts the sleeve of his jacket and lifts his gaze.
Our eyes lock over Leon’s shoulder.
Ruben squeezes past me, giving me a knowing smirk. Leon ignores me to follow Ruben. I glance in
the direction from where the men had come. A cocktail table with a crisp, white tablecloth is set up near the river. Three empty champagne glasses stand on the tabletop. They probably celebrated the spoils of their last job.
I stare up at Ian when he reaches me. He smells divine. The scent drifting to my nose isn’t a mixture of leather and tobacco. It’s something that comes from a cologne bottle, something expensive designed to seduce and make women swoon. I swallow as I take him in. A bruise spreads inside my chest. I hold onto the silly hope he’d tell me he’s taking me out or going to church, anything, but he takes the cigar from his mouth, cups my cheek and says, “Don’t wait up.”
And then he walks off.
My mother never asked my father where he was going. He didn’t give her reason to. I don’t want to be the woman who asks, but I can’t help myself. Before he’s out of the door, I utter the words I told myself I never would. “Where are you going?”
He stops in the frame and looks back at me. His face is an unreadable mask. Two seconds of nothingness pass. Just as I’m about to ask again, he pops the cigar back into his mouth and leaves.
I’m rooted to the spot as the three men walk into the late afternoon. I can’t move. The engine of the Hummer fires up. I will him not to leave, to come back and say he was only fooling with me in a horrible, sick way, but the gear kicks in and the tires crunch over the gravel. I follow the sound with my ears while my heart beats much louder in my chest. When the sound disappears, I still stand there.
Why?
Because I didn’t tell him I wanted to be exclusive?
Is this some kind of twisted lesson?
Slowly, life flows back into my body until my pulse beats with hurt and anger. I’m shivering in my dusty clothes, standing alone in the big, quiet reception hall and looking a mess while he, the man to whom I’ve just pledged my heart, is going out with his friends to have fun. The kind of fun they’re going for makes my stomach burn with acid. It’s too late to protect myself. I’ve already given my heart away.
How ironic.
Livid, humiliated, and rejected, I go in search of Banga and ask him to escort me to Ian’s room. When he leaves, I search the room for alcohol. I need a drink. A mini bottle of vodka like they serve in planes or anything else with alcohol in it will do. There’s a flask of mint tea and Madeira cake on the dresser, but no hidden bottles of liquor in any of the drawers. Slamming the last drawer shut, I lean against it and inhale deeply. I should’ve brought a bottle of wine from the kitchen.
Enraged, I shake my bag out on the bed and grab the necklace I bought for Ian. The sharp points of the Nyaminyami digs into my skin when I close my fist. I want to throw it in the trash can or, better yet, into the river, but I can’t bring myself to do it. He belongs with his wife, the smaller, white one. Instead, I dump the necklaces in the drawer where Ian has packed my new underwear.
The sun starts to dip. The shadows in the room are long already. I light a lamp and take clean clothes from my side of the closet before going for a shower. I wash the dust from my hair and body, and get dressed. I don’t have a curling brush to dry my hair straight. The best I can do is let it dry naturally in waves. I didn’t pack much make-up either, but a bit of bronzer and mascara will do. After finishing off my look with my plum lipstick, I dab my perfume for special occasions on my wrists.
Stepping in front of the full-length mirror, I give myself a once-over. The jeans are one size too big, but the tight tank top hugs my breasts nicely, making them look bigger. The hiking shoes are my only footwear, so there’s not much I can do about that. I fluff out my hair and get the two-way radio. Banga sounds sleepy when he answers.
“Aren’t you at the office?” I ask.
“I took an early one seeing that everyone’s out.”
Everyone but me. “Can you please get the Jeep and come get me?”
“Why?” He sounds a bit more awake. “What’s going on?”
“Better bring a rifle.” I add with a snort, “We don’t want Ian to be cross.”
“Miss Cas—” He clears his throat. “Cas, I don’t think—”
“I’ll walk if you don’t come get me.”
He sighs. “I’m on my way.”
Ten minutes later, he parks in front of Ian’s bungalow. Dusk is already setting in. I grab my bag and hop into the driver’s seat, forcing him to scoot over.
“Where are you going?” he asks with a wary expression.
“The village.”
He concedes with a heavy sigh.
The horizon blazes red against the darkening sky when I park in front of the shebeen.
“You can’t be serious,” he says, shooting me an owl-eyed look.
I take my bag and drape the sling over my chest. “Just stay sober. I may not be in a state to drive back.”
“Cas, wait.”
I don’t listen to more.
The outside area is packed with people, every table and bench occupied. Lanterns are already lit, providing soft, yellow light. Local music blares from the dusty speaker. It’s a song that hit the charts in South Africa, one I like very much. The tinny tone and overbearing bass tell me the speaker has long since blown, but who cares? There’s music, people, and booze.
I recognize some of the people from working in the fields. The women whistle when they see me. One of the men who usually stands guard at the river runs inside and comes back with a plastic chair. The back is cracked and there’s a hole in the seat, but it’s sweet how they’re making space by the front table as if I’m a VIP. Everyone is drinking homebrewed beer from metal mugs, but someone finds a glass with a chip in the rim that the barman washes for me.
“You don’t have to give me special treatment,” I say when one of the women hands me the glass.
“What? You’re the first person from the lodge who’s ever visited us except for Ian, and not even Ian has been to our bar.”
I don’t want to think about Ian. I take a gulp of the beer.
“Plus,” she says, “you’re helping us with the crop. That makes you our guest of honor.”
When another popular song comes on, a young woman with the most gorgeous lips I’ve seen pulls me to my feet. She shakes her hips, bumping me playfully. “Dance with us.”
That’s exactly my intention—to let my hair down and have fun. It’s got nothing to do with drowning my sorrows at the bottom of a chipped glass of barley beer.
A cleared patch of soil serves as a dancefloor. We dance several songs in a row. By the time I’m out of breath, I’m not over my anger with Ian, but I feel a whole lot better, which has plenty to do with two refills of beers.
I assure my dance partners I can’t stand on my feet for another minute and drag myself back to my chair. A pretty young woman dressed in stonewashed jeans and an off-shoulder blouse sits on a drum next to my chair, nursing a beer. Unlike many of the other young women, she doesn’t have hair extensions. The short hair suits her. She has a shapely head and an oval face with long, dark lashes.
She offers me a dimpled smile when I sit down. At the same time, she checks me out from head to toe. “I’m Danai.”
“Cas,” I say, returning her smile.
She taps long, red fingernails on the tabletop. “I know who you are. Everyone does.”
“I suppose.” News must travel fast in the small village.
“Ruben told me all about you.”
If she’s waiting for me to ask what he said, she’ll wait a long time. I’m not taking the bait. I turn sideways and watch the dancing.
After a few beats, she says, “He told me Ian is keeping you here against your will.”
What’s going on between Ian and me is nobody’s business. I utter a wry laugh and don’t look away from the dancers as I say, “Ruben talks too much.”
“He told me the whole story about the cops wanting you to spy for them. If you had a chance, would you do it?”
Of course, Ian told his gang what Wolfe wanted from me. I already knew that from Ruben�
�s hostile comments. However, that Ruben told her makes me angry for no explicable reason.
I face her again. “Why would I do something that will earn me a bullet in the head?”
“To escape. Putting Ian behind bars will mean freedom for you.”
I take a sip of my beer. “I’m not going to split on Ian.”
“Why not?” She regards me with a bellicose smile. “It’s not as if you want to be here.”
That’s not entirely true. To be honest, I love it here. I just don’t want to be a prisoner. I want to be free to come and go as I please and to make decisions. Instead of some floozy, I want to be the one on Ian’s arm when he goes out wearing a suit.
There. I’ve admitted it to myself. I’m jealous. Ian owns my heart, and I can never have it back. I want to make things work, but I’m not going to accept being locked up in his proverbial tower as a piece on the side while he gets to live in the real world and go out to get laid. I’m worth more than that. He may have stolen my affection like the thief he is, but I gave my heart freely. That doesn’t mean I have to be a doormat.
“You’re not denying it,” she says. “So, it’s true.”
I take another long drink. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“You’re such a dumb bitch.”
I think I may punch her, but maybe I didn’t hear right. Maybe I’m drunk. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t even realize how lucky you are. Most women will change positions with you in a blink.”
Resisting the urge to throw my beer in her face, I say, “Like you, for example.”
She doesn’t deny the allegation. She confirms it by saying, “I’ve been in love with Ian since I was twelve.”
She must be in her early twenties. That’s a long time to nurture love. If she hadn’t been so rude, I would’ve felt compassion for her.
“I was sixteen the first time I hit on him,” she says. “He always told me I was too young.” Her laugh is bitter. “I’m not too young now. It would’ve happened. I know it.” She motions at her body. “Men like what they see. But then you came along.”
Stolen Life Page 11
