“Well I’m fine now,” he said. “If only this doctor would let me go home. It was a bad experience, but there’s nothing wrong with me now. They’re wasting taxpayers’ money keeping me here!” Everyone thought this was very funny, but Amantle gave him a critical look. “You have lost weight,” she said accusingly. “I can see it in your face. They have not been feeding you up after all the time in the desert with no food. I will speak to the doctor.”
Kubu groaned. Losing weight was the one good thing that had come from the gruelling time alone in the Kalahari.
There was much discussion, and Kubu had to explain exactly what had happened. Everyone agreed that he’d done exactly the right thing in the circumstances. They expressed regrets about Tau, but they were the meaningless condolences of strangers – genuinely sorry for the loss of others, but guiltily grateful that the axe hadn’t fallen closer.
At last the talk died down, and Bongani said they must soon get back to Mochudi to avoid the traffic. He had gone with Pleasant to fetch Kubu’s parents in his car. Everyone agreed to this except Wilmon. He nodded, but then said firmly, “I need a few minutes alone with my son. Please wait for me downstairs.” The others left without argument, as though this had been planned. Kubu was intrigued.
Wilmon sat. “My son, Pleasant’s uncle and I have had discussions with Bongani’s uncles. His father is dead, but the uncles are good men. They don’t drink much, and they go to church each Sunday.” He nodded firmly to emphasise the importance of this. “They were very respectful, requesting Pleasant for Bongani by asking for her hand in the traditional way. Of course, we explained that Pleasant has a brother, and he must be consulted too. They understood completely. But they made a reasonable offer for the lobola. We discussed it back and forth, and I think we have a fair amount. Then we had some tea.” The old man was clearly pleased; it seemed he’d led a successful negotiation. Kubu was pleased too, especially as Wilmon had seemed a little vague and uncertain on a few previous occasions.
“How many cows?”
Wilmon leant over and whispered the number to Kubu, who whistled. “That is very fair indeed! You have done extremely well, Father. Pleasant’s family will be extremely grateful. And Joy, too.” He said it graciously, but he was a little put out that the number was two higher than he had raised for Joy.
Wilmon gave a big smile, patted his son on the shoulder and took his leave.
♦
Kubu had hardly had time to become bored again when Mabaku arrived.
“How’s the dehydrated hippo today?” Mabaku’s idea of humour, thought Kubu, trying to smile.
“I’m fine. Get me out of here, Director. There’s a lot of work to do.”
Mabaku hesitated. “We’ll have to be careful. You’re involved personally again. Sometimes I think we’d have half as many cases if I just gave you to the South African police.” He laughed to be sure Kubu realised he was joking. Then he sobered. “And there’ll have to be an inquiry about Tau. You know that.”
Kubu nodded. It would be a formality. Tau had disobeyed him, a senior officer. But that doesn’t change the reality, he thought.
“That reporter wants to see you. I told her to wait.”
Kubu was surprised, but he had no doubt which reporter Mabaku was talking about.
“Have they caught Khumanego?”
Mabaku shook his head. “He vanished. Joined up with his Bushman friends after he abandoned the Land Rover, I’d guess. He’s not alone in all this, I’m sure. But don’t worry, we’ll get him. We’ve got Wanted posters everywhere; his face is all over the newspapers. Sooner or later someone will recognise him. We’re watching his apartment building in Lobatse too, just in case, and we’ve applied for a search warrant. It’s only a matter of time.”
“I’d like to be in on the search. Knowing him and what to look for might help.”
Mabaku hesitated again. “Kubu, you need to take it easy. Get your strength back. I’ve spoken to the doctor. It’ll be at least a week before you can come back to work.” Kubu spluttered with indignation and started to cough again. Once he’d swallowed some water and had calmed down, Mabaku continued. “I’m not saying you must stay here. You can be at home. And I’ll take charge of the case myself while you’re away. I’ll get your input and keep you up to date with everything.” Kubu had to be satisfied with that.
Then Mabaku wanted to go through the whole story of the fateful reconnaissance trip into the desert step by step. He asked questions and noted all the details. At last he relaxed. “Well, that’s the story then. Pretty straightforward.” He could see that Kubu was in the clear. At the same time, one of his detectives had died in the line of duty; that was not easy to accept.
“I’ve got some other news for you, Kubu. The breakdown of the vehicle out there was part of Khumanego’s plan. It wasn’t a mechanical failure at all; he disabled it. He must have known a thing or two about Land Rover Defenders.”
“What did he do? He didn’t have a chance to get at the engine, and we tested the fuel flow and so on.”
“It was very clever. There’s a feedback pipe from the fuel injection, as well as a supply pipe to it. Both come from the fuel filter, which is easy to get to from behind the back wheel. He switched the pipes around. Takes a minute. So no fuel went to the fuel injection. It took the mechanic hours to work it out, though!”
Kubu nodded. “So Khumanego was planning this all along.” That hurt.
“Probably he hoped you would give up and go back to Tshane. Perhaps he would’ve disabled the other vehicle as well if we’d just sent out a replacement, but he decided he had to kill you once he realised you would never give up.” He thought for a moment, then added more kindly, “I think he was trying to scare you off, Kubu. I don’t think he wanted to kill you.” He paused. “But I’m not taking any chances. I’ve ordered that you are to have a police guard at your house until Khumanego is caught. And one will be with Joy whenever she leaves the house.”
Mabaku got to his feet. “Well, that’s enough for now. Mustn’t tire you out. Do you want to see that woman?” Kubu nodded. “I’ll tell her on my way out,” he growled.
♦
“Oh, Kubu, we were all so worried about you. Are you okay now?” Cindy appraised him. “You look drawn.”
“I feel fine. They’re just keeping me here to finish the Kalahari’s work and bore me to death, I think.”
Cindy smiled and settled in the chair next to the bed. “Do you want to talk about it?” Kubu shook his head, and she laughed. “I’m not looking for a story. Actually, I just wanted to see that you were okay. And to say goodbye. I’m leaving for Nigeria soon. It’s big and bustling and exciting, and there’ll be lots to write about. But I’ll miss Botswana. And I’ll miss you.”
“Why are you leaving so suddenly?”
“There’s a big issue around oil and the local people. It’s hot news now.” She paused and looked down. “I’m very upset about Khumanego. In a way, I feel responsible. Perhaps my pressure put you all on the wrong track. Now four people are dead. And it could so easily have been five.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s more than four.”
“Why did he do it, Kubu?”
Kubu shook his head. “I’ve no idea. But I’m going to find him, and I’m going to find out.”
They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Cindy got ready to leave. They said goodbye, and she leant over and kissed him on the cheek. At that moment, Joy came in carrying Tumi. Why do these things happen to me? Kubu thought. I’ve been suffering on a diet all year, more dead than alive in the Kalahari, and now Joy has to choose this precise moment to arrive. Why me?
But Joy was trying to keep Tumi entertained, bouncing her on her hip. So when she looked up from the baby, she saw Cindy just standing next to the bed. She stopped, and her face was not happy.
Kubu tried to rescue the situation. “Hello, darling. Bring Tumi over here. I’m dying to hold her. Oh, this is Cindy Robinson. She’s the newspap
er reporter who was following the Bushman case. She was just leaving. Cindy, this is my lovely wife Joy, and my beautiful daughter Tumi.” He hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick.
Joy passed Tumi to him and shook Cindy’s hand, but without enthusiasm.
Cindy rose to the occasion. “I’m actually leaving the country shortly, Mma Bengu. I just had to come and thank the assistant superintendent for his help. He’s been very patient with my questions and keeping my reports accurate. It’s just terrible what happened to him in the desert. I’m so relieved he’s okay.”
“Yes, we all are,” Joy responded coolly. Kubu kept himself occupied with Tumi, holding her above him at arm’s length and making faces.
“Your daughter’s lovely, Kubu,” Cindy said to him. “Get well soon. Now I must be going.”
“Goodbye, Cindy. I wish you all the best in Nigeria. It should be an interesting time for you.”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Goodbye now.” She waved to Joy, and headed for the door.
Kubu held his breath.
“That was the reporter you told me about?” Joy asked.
“Yes.”
“She’s very pretty. Nice figure, too.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Have you started planning the engagement party for Pleasant? Did you know that my father helped with sorting out the lobola?”
Joy brightened. “Yes, and did very well! Pleasant told me.” Soon she was explaining the plans for the party and the outline for the wedding. Tumi chortled and smiled. Kubu breathed a silent sigh of relief.
∨ The Death of the Mantis ∧
Thirty-Nine
Khumanego had been walking for three nights. He was grateful that the moon would soon be full, making travelling easy. And the nights were cold, so it was good to walk hard and keep warm. In the early morning and late evening he would search for the cactus-like hoodia plants. Once, he found tsama melons, which he collected and carried with him. After foraging, he would find one of the thicker bushes and hollow a spot under it where he could sleep and conserve water during the heat of the day.
Most of the water he’d taken from Kubu’s vehicle in a large plastic Coke bottle was gone. He’d hoped to find a seep in an old watercourse, which he knew was about a night’s walk from where he’d abandoned the Land Rover, but it had been hard-dry. He could have dug for water, but at that point he had three quarters of the bottle left, and the hoodia plants had been plentiful.
Apart from the water bottle, nothing of the Westernised man remained. He’d removed his shoes at the vehicle and carried them a short way into the desert, where he’d buried them along with his shirt and shorts. Now he wore only a Bushman leather loincloth and carried his hunting kit over his shoulder. When he met another Bushman group – as he would – he’d be one of them.
Sometimes he thought of Kubu and Tau. The other policemen would be fine; they had food, water and shelter. He felt he had been weak. A quick poison added to their food would’ve killed them all and made a dramatic statement. But all along he’d hoped to persuade Kubu to turn back, to abandon his search, to let the frenzy die down. There would’ve been no more deaths for a while, and after that he would have had to deal with Lerako. He would have enjoyed that. But Kubu wouldn’t back down. And more vehicles were coming, coming to attack The Place and its lone guardian. He’d had no choice.
But Kubu had been a long-time friend. Khumanego did not want his death as he’d wanted the deaths of others. But now it didn’t matter. He’d done what needed to be done. That was all there was to it.
♦
By Monday, Khumanego had become very tired. The day had been hot, but he’d tried to drink only a little water. He lay still and watched gratefully as the sun set. He waited until the evening cooled and then forced himself to go on. But when the moon started to sink and the dark closed in, he collapsed on the ground, exhausted. He needed guidance from the ancestors, but he was too tired to dance, so he found the horn in his bag, swallowed some white powder from it and closed his eyes to focus his thoughts. Then he slept – or seemed to sleep.
When he woke – or seemed to wake – he was standing in the desert. There was no moon, but the sky was full of stars, not fixed, but moving slowly across the sky. There was only starlight, but the desert sand and its plants seemed rich with colours – the reds and greens and blues of much more verdant climes.
Khumanego looked down and saw himself lying on his back with his arms folded across his eyes, as if trying to protect them from a blinding light. He turned away and looked around the spirit world, a world familiar to him from many visits, many revelations, but also strange, always different.
He saw the body of an old man, lying at rest surrounded by his few carefully arranged possessions – a bow, a hunting bag, containers for poisons, arrow heads. Next to the circle, sitting on a white-dry log, was a man past his prime but still strong. Despite the years rolled back, Khumanego recognised him at once. He almost laughed with joy at the opportunity offered here that had been denied him in the grey world that people thought of as real.
He addressed the man in their common language in the most respectful way. “Gobiwasi, I am honoured that you are here to help, me, to guide me with my mission.”
“You sought guidance before. I was wrong to deny it. So I am here. Waiting.”
“Are you not with the ancestors?” Khumanego indicated the stars moving above them.
Gobiwasi shook his head. “I am here. Waiting.”
Khumanego didn’t ask why the dead man was waiting, nor for what. Here was a man who would understand, a man who had walked the same path in the grey world.
“I have tried to protect The Place – as you did.”
“The ancestors are angry with you. That was not your destiny. You protected The Place through the deaths of others. That is not the way of our people, not the way of the Mantis.”
Khumanego became angry. “You too protected The Place that way. You too killed a man.”
Gobiwasi stared at him, neither accepting nor denying this charge.
Khumanego persisted. “People know you did this. It is spoken of quietly and in secret. It was about this that I wanted to ask you.”
Still Gobiwasi stared, but now his eyes seemed to be following the moving stars as if he’d lost interest in the discussion. “It was necessary,” he said at last. “The white man was there, going through the caves, taking things, destroying the paintings. He would have returned, perhaps with many others.”
“I understand,” said Khumanego. “The man wanted to steal The Place from us, desecrate it, anger the ancestors. You had no choice but to kill him. All such men must die. It is necessary.”
“But now I have to wait.”
Khumanego was frustrated. This was not the encouragement he had expected, needed. He’d had visions before of the ancestors showing him the way. Leading and supporting him. Encouraging him.
“These others had to die too. We used the weapons of our people, you and I: knobkierie, arrows, poisons. Soon people will learn that if they go near The Place and trample our sacred ground, they will die. Soon they will stop coming. Fear will form a fence that no one will cross. A fence built of fear is stronger than their fences of steel that can be kicked down. I am building that fence around The Place. The ancestors will be greatly pleased.”
Gobiwasi looked down at his aged dead body, surrounded by the possessions of the grey world. When he looked up, his eyes were sad. “What about the Bushman you killed? Your own brother.”
Khumanego struck at him, but, of course, there was no contact. “You are stupid, old man! He was the younger. He had no right! My father sent me away to a school with the black people and showed my brother The Place instead of me. How could he do that? The ancestors were very angry, and soon my father became ill and died. My brother wouldn’t help me, even refused to tell me where to find The Place. But he would have shown it to others. You could buy him for money. He was a worm. I crushed him with my foot! And I found The
Place myself, without him. The ancestors guided me, gave me this mission.”
Gobiwasi said nothing, and Khumanego’s anger grew until everything seemed tinged with red, even the bushes and the desiccated grass.
“You are a fool, Gobiwasi! You killed, too, for The Place. Long ago. Yet now you challenge me! What right do you have? Now you say you wait. What are you waiting for, old man?”
But now everything was blurred by the red mist of his anger, and Khumanego closed his eyes to clear them. When he opened them and moved his arms from his face, he saw that the red tinge remained. It came from the huge crimson sun climbing ponderously above the horizon in the east, temporarily colouring the grey world.
♦
The next night as he walked he smelt a whiff of a cooking fire long before he heard or saw any sign of the Bushman group. He smiled. Once more the ancestors had guided him. His plan would be to join the group, live with it, camouflage himself completely. No one would find him. He could move to another group if the police got too close. And he would keep watching The Place. Keep guarding against intruders. There would be other killings when the time was right.
When he came to the edge of the campfire’s light, he saw that the ancestors had indeed been good to him. For the little group he found there was the very group that Gobiwasi had once led. They knew him and would be grateful for what he had done to rescue them from Lerako. He could have asked for no better meeting. Perhaps it was for this that Gobiwasi had been waiting?
So he strode into the light of the fire and greeted the oldest man warmly in the IGwi dialect.
“Dcaro! I know you. This is a most happy meeting.”
The man regarded him with natural surprise, but there was a trace of something else in his expression. “Khumanego. I know you.” It was a cold response.
“Indeed! I am here alone and wish to join you. I will help you hunt, gather hoodia and melons, do whatever needs to be done.”
Detective Kubu 03; The Death of the Mantis Page 28
