Kubu fetched his suitcase, containing a few changes of clothes, his toiletries and his boxed wine, and put it behind the driver’s seat of what would be the lead Land Rover. He didn’t want the wine to get too hot. Finally he checked that he had his copy of Haake’s map in his pocket.
Two uniformed policemen walked over, one a sergeant and one a constable. Each had a holster on his belt and carried a rifle. They introduced themselves as Sergeant Pikati and Constable Moeng. Kubu chatted to them for a few minutes to make sure they understood the nature of the trip and the dangers associated with it, but it was clear that they’d been fully briefed.
“I have bulletproof vests for everyone, Rra,” Pikati said. “But I’m not sure…” He hesitated. “I’m not sure you’ll fit into our biggest, and the smallest may be too big for your guide, if he’s a Bushman.”
“Bring them along anyway. I just hope we don’t need them.”
♦
They eventually left Gaborone about ten a.m. – an hour later than Kubu had hoped. Khumanego was late because of bad traffic on the road from Lobatse. He arrived with a small holdall and his Bushman hunting kit.
“What’s the hunting bag for?” Kubu wanted to know.
Khumanego frowned. “We’re going into the Kalahari. No Bushman goes into the desert without this. Ever.”
Kubu shrugged. He told Sergeant Pikati to drive the Land Rover with the trailer, and he would lead in the other.
Neither Kubu nor Khumanego spoke much, but when Khumanego did speak, he tried to persuade Kubu to give up on the mission.
“You’re wasting your time, David. You think you can drive into the desert with a convoy of Land Rovers and sneak up on these so-called bandits?”
“There are only two Land Rovers. Hardly a convoy.”
“They’ll see you, and you won’t see them. If they’re out there, they know the desert, where to hide, where to watch. If they want to, they’ll pick us off one by one. What are you trying to prove?”
“I’m not trying to prove anything, Khumanego. People are being murdered. There must be a reason. If I can find that, I’ll find the people responsible. I’ve got to look, and the area around Tshane seems the most promising.”
“Just because I’m a Bushman, I can’t guarantee your safety, you know. I’m just a guide, not a guard.”
Kubu didn’t reply. Khumanego was right. The trip was dangerous. But they had no choice.
All the while, the sun rose higher in the sky. Mirages appeared and disappeared, and the three policemen were soaked in sweat. Khumanego appeared unaffected by the heat.
Kubu was relieved to reach the Tshane police station. He sent Moeng for takeaway sandwiches and cold drinks, while he conferred with the station commander and Tau, who was going to join them. Kubu had asked Lerako first, but Lerako had suggested Tau, who knew the area around Tshane much better. Obviously he didn’t expect much to come out of the adventure.
Given how late it was, they decided to postpone their departure until early the following morning. Although he was frustrated by the delay, Kubu had to agree that leaving that evening made no sense. Of course, the silver lining was that he could phone Joy and then enjoy a decent meal at the Endabeni Guest House.
♦
The four policemen were at the Tshane police station by eight a.m., but Khumanego was late. The previous afternoon he’d said he would stay with friends, but no one knew who they were or where they lived. Kubu fretted and fumed.
Khumanego eventually arrived, without excuse or apology, and it was nearly nine before they set off into the Kalahari proper.
They initially headed south-west out of Tshane towards Mabuasehube. Kubu and Khumanego were in the lead Land Rover; the other three in the one pulling the trailer, keeping a good distance behind to avoid being overwhelmed by dust. Fortunately the road was sandy but firm, so the going was good.
Kubu talked about his parents, and about Joy and Tumi. In broad terms he tried to describe the changes at home since Tumi had been born and how he found the demands of child-rearing sometimes difficult to mesh with his professional duties. Khumanego listened but said little, staring out of the open window. Suddenly he changed the subject.
“This isn’t your world, David. This isn’t Gaborone. It’s very dangerous here – people get stuck and die of exposure and thirst in a matter of days. Even the Bushmen avoid it. Why don’t we just drive for a day or two, look around and head back. Your boss will be satisfied, and you’ll have done your job.”
“I’m not doing this for show! I’m serious about finding these bastards.” Kubu was beginning to lose his temper. “If you don’t want to help me, why did you come?”
Khumanego returned his attention to the red sand and scrubby shrubs that lined the road for kilometres and kilometres.
They had driven for just over two hours at a reasonable speed when Kubu pulled off the road and stopped. Everyone got out of the vehicles and took the opportunity to drink some water and stretch.
“We’ve reached the first waypoint. This is where we turn off,” Kubu said, looking carefully at his hand-held GPS. He pointed to an X on the large map of southern Botswana that he had unfolded on the bonnet of the Land Rover. “We’ll drive for another hour and stop for lunch. Then we’ll push on for about three or four hours, so we can set up camp in daylight. It’s always useful to practise these things when you can see. Then when we set off tomorrow morning, we’ll start looking for any small koppies. The problem is that they may only be ten or fifteen metres high, so they’ll be hard to see.”
♦
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Progress was quite slow due to the soft sand, and all the men, except Khumanego, suffered in the heat. When they eventually stopped for the day, the policemen showed that they were experienced in setting up camp. The three tents went up quickly without a problem. Two stretchers were set in place in two of them. The large mattress, inflated using a little pump that was plugged into a cigarette lighter socket, was put in the third. Khumanego declined a stretcher and said he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the sand a little away from the camp.
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Constable Moeng asked. “Aren’t there wild animals that could attack you? Like hyenas or lions? Aren’t there snakes and scorpions?”
Khumanego shook his head. “Bushmen know how to live with the animals and plants. We don’t fight them like other people. We respect them, and they respect us. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“Aai. I’d never sleep out there. No matter what you say, I’d be scared. The tent is going to be bad enough. If a hyena can eat bones, it can also eat through the canvas. I’ll be lucky to get any sleep at all.”
While the camp was being prepared, Kubu took the satellite phone and walked a short distance away to make his check-in call to Edison. He gave their co-ordinates, and said he’d phone again around eight the next morning.
He turned the satellite phone off and walked back to camp. Before joining the others, he replaced the phone in its charger in the Land Rover.
♦
Kubu was impressed with the food. His steaks arrived medium rare as he had requested, and he found the peas and baked beans quite tasty. Sitting under the brilliant stars, he even enjoyed the box wine. It’s incredible, he thought as he gazed upwards, how many stars you can see when there are no lights around. There was the Milky Way; and the Southern Cross and its pointers; and Orion with his belt and sword; and there was the brightest star of all – Sirius, the eye of Orion’s hunting dog, Canis Major. Billions and billions of stars. It wasn’t surprising that people looked upwards in awe and wondered about the universe and how it began and what was going to happen to it. It was easy to see how so many people saw gods when they looked at the night sky.
Khumanego spoke little during the meal, but when he saw Kubu looking upwards, he told the group stories about how the Bushmen viewed the skies.
“You think of those three stars as Orion’s belt,” he said, pointing. “We have
a different story. For us they are zebras, a male in the middle with a female on each side. A god was standing on one of the star clouds and shot an arrow at the three zebras. You can see the arrow near the zebras – it is those three stars close by. But the arrow fell short. So the zebras lived, and as the night wears on, they will sink towards the earth. Then, one by one, they will step on to the earth, and soon they will no longer be left in the sky. But the arrow will remain.”
Nobody said anything for several minutes as they gazed upwards.
“The moon was once a man who made Sun angry. Sun stabbed the man with his knife, and a bit fell off the man. Sun stabbed again and again until the man was nearly gone, had almost disappeared. ‘Spare me,’ the man cried. ‘Spare my children.’ And Sun relented, and the man grew again. But when he was whole again, Sun grew angry once more and started to stab him again.”
The men sat in the dark, lost in thought.
“If you listen carefully,” Khumanego eventually continued, “you can hear the stars whispering. They are your ancestors talking to you, watching you, watching over you. They see what you do, how you live, and decide whether you will join them.” He turned to Kubu. “I’m sure Gobiwasi is now holding hands with his ancestors, watching us, remembering old times.”
Kubu thought back on the wizened old man he’d seen not long ago. A man of dignity and grace, he thought.
After a while, Kubu stood up. “Time for coffee. Then to bed.”
“Moeng will stand guard until one. Then I’ll take over until dawn,” Pikati told him.
“Good idea,” Kubu responded.
The rest stood up and went to try to get some sleep.
♦
The group woke early and had finished a light breakfast and several cups of coffee by six a.m. They wanted to leave in the relative cool of the morning. They knew that the terrain was going to be much more difficult than the previous day, because they’d be driving off-road on soft sand through a part of the Kalahari that was covered with scrub. They’d have to maintain speed to prevent the vehicles from sinking into the sand, but that would be difficult because they’d constantly be avoiding bushes and small trees. Kubu had decided that he didn’t want to drive under such conditions and brought Tau into the lead vehicle to take over.
It was only about five minutes after Kubu’s Land Rover set off that they received a radio call from the second vehicle.
“Come in, KUBU ONE. Come in, please.”
Sergeant Pikati told them that the second Land Rover’s engine had spluttered to a stop moments after they had started. He asked them to return.
When they reached the vehicle, Kubu saw that Pikati was already at work, head under the bonnet, and Moeng was near the back wheel looking carefully at the fuel filter.
“It has to be something with the fuel,” Pikati said as he stood up. “As far as I can see, all the electrics are okay.”
“The filter is pretty clean,” Moeng said, handing it to Kubu. Although Kubu knew little about the workings of a vehicle, he could see that the filter wasn’t clogged.
“Try it again. Maybe it’s like my computer. When something happens, I just turn it off and then on again. It usually works.”
Moeng replaced the filter, and Pikati slid behind the steering wheel and tried to start the engine. It cranked over and over, but did not start.
“Maybe it’s the spark plugs,” Kubu offered.
“I don’t think so. The engine spluttered to a stop just after we got going. That wouldn’t have happened if the plugs weren’t working. It would’ve cut out right away. Anyway I checked them before you got here, just in case.”
“I don’t know much about cars,” Kubu said, “but let’s think this through.”
Pikati nodded.
“One. Is there fuel in the tank?”
“Yes. The fuel gauge shows full – we topped the tanks up this morning. And there have been no leaks. We’d have noticed that.”
“Two. Is the fuel pump working?”
“We can hear it.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
“No. But it is easy to check. Moeng, unclip the fuel line from the filter housing. I’ll turn on the ignition.”
Moeng went back to the rear wheel, felt inside the wheel well and undipped the fuel line to the filter.
“Okay. Start her.”
Pikati turned the ignition and fuel sprayed out of the line.
“Stop!” Moeng shouted.
Pikati turned the key off.
“And you’re sure the spark plugs are okay?”
“Yes.”
Kubu shook his head. “I’ve no idea what else to ask.”
The three men gathered around and tried to brainstorm what else could be the problem, but to no avail. Nothing else made sense.
Kubu called to Tau and Khumanego, who had found a little shade and were watching the proceedings with interest.
“Come over here! We need to decide what to do.”
♦
Kubu waited until eight to phone Edison. This time it took a couple of attempts to get through.
“Good morning, Kubu. How are things in the desert?” Edison was obviously in a good mood.
“We’ve got a problem, and I need you to do something for me. We haven’t moved since last night.”
“What’s the problem?” Edison asked.
“It’s one of the Land Rovers. We can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. The engine turns over but doesn’t catch. It seems the fuel system is working, and so are the spark plugs. We’ve run out of ideas.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Find a couple of Land Rovers and send them out. I’d like them to reach us tomorrow evening at latest. Also, talk to a mechanic and see if he’s got any ideas.”
Edison whistled. “That’ll be difficult. It’s the weekend tomorrow. I may have to get them to Tshane from Gaborone. They’d have to leave by tomorrow morning to get to you in time. I’m not sure I can get everything organised by then.”
“If they left at dawn, they’d be here by evening. I need them here as soon as possible. We’ve got to push on, otherwise the murderer may strike again. I can’t afford to wait here for ever.”
“I’ll have to clear this with the director first. Call me in a few hours, say at noon, and I’ll let you know.”
Kubu knew there was nothing he could do but wait – not his favourite pastime.
∨ The Death of the Mantis ∧
Thirty-Five
Kubu thought it was one of the worst days he had ever spent. Worse even than those dark days when he had been taunted and bullied at school. They waited hour after scorching hour, passing the time with nothing to do. Kubu fretted, wondering where the murderers were, and what they planned. He felt sure that the wasted time was critical, that something bad was ahead.
The three policemen spent the morning uncomplaining under the vehicles – the best shade available. Kubu envied them as he looked from the broken shade of a nearby tree at the three sets of boots sticking out from under the Land Rovers. His morning was spent shifting from one uncomfortable position on his camp chair to another, following the shade, mopping his forehead and towelling off his soaking upper body.
Khumanego was nowhere to be seen. He had left camp, saying he’d return later. Where was he? Kubu wondered. What could he be doing in this heat? He was probably happily trotting through the Kalahari feeling quite at home! Or was he meeting with his Bushman friends who roamed the desert?
♦
Every hour or so, each man would drink several large glasses of water. Nobody ate anything after breakfast – it was just too hot.
Kubu was very thankful when it was noon. He walked slowly to his Land Rover and took out the satellite phone. He needed to share his misery. When Edison answered, he asked for Mabaku, and the director came on the line almost immediately. He must have been listening over Edison’s shoulder, Kubu thought.
“Kubu, it’s Mabaku here. Look, this whole ven
ture is getting out of hand. We won’t be able to get the Landies to you before the day after tomorrow. Around lunch time, we think.”
“But Director! We need them tomorrow at the latest.”
“I’m sending more men. And they have to get provisions and so on. These things take time. They’ll only be able to leave Tshane around lunchtime tomorrow.”
“Then they should reach us late tomorrow night.”
“They’re not going to travel at night. I don’t want them to get lost, let alone attacked.”
“I can’t sit in the desert twiddling my thumbs when people are being murdered left, right and centre!”
Mabaku’s voice rose. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kubu. If you don’t follow orders this time, I’ll transfer you to the Camel Corps or something worse!”
Kubu didn’t laugh.
“Look, why don’t you go back to Tshane and wait in comfort?”
There was some merit in that suggestion, Kubu thought. But it meant another two days of sitting in the Land Rover, bouncing up and down. That might be worse than sitting in the sun doing nothing.
“No. I’ll wait here,” he decided. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
♦
“What’s gone wrong now?”
Kubu gave a start and turned. He hadn’t seen or heard Khumanego come back, but now he was there, standing quite close.
“It’s going to take them two days to get here. There’s nothing we can do but sit and wait. It’s infuriating!”
Khumanego walked closer and spoke softly. “David, it’s time to give this up. Be patient. Wait until these people make a mistake and give themselves away. Let’s go back to Tshane. Perhaps we can work something out from there.”
Kubu shook his head. “I’m not giving up. That’s final.”
Khumanego said nothing for several seconds. “Where’s the sensible David I used to know? At school you always did the right thing. I was the one who’d take risks and get us into trouble.”
For a while the two men stood next to each other in silence. At last Khumanego sighed, and said, “Look, I really do want to help. It all just seems so pointless. But maybe we can do something while we wait for the other vehicles. Actually, I think there is a group of small hills not too far from here. We could take a look from a safe distance. Then come back and report to your boss. If we don’t see anything…” He shrugged.
Detective Kubu 03; The Death of the Mantis Page 24
