I stepped back. ‘Why didn’t I know this before?’ I asked my grandfather.
‘The time was not right,’ he answered.
My eyes flicked beyond the story of blood and betrayal to a gentler tale. In the swathes of coloured beading, embedded in the symbols and emblems, I read of an ancient ancestor, the survivor of a shipwreck, a white woman with eyes like crystals, who had come to the valley. Was she the answer to my grey eyes? I stepped in towards the beads again, trying to bring everything into focus. The scope was much larger than I thought at first. I needed to see more.
As I stepped forward, Solenkosi Tswane lowered the lamp.
His leathery skin, folded into hundreds of deep lines, made it difficult to read his emotions. His narrow, dark eyes were fixed on my face. I noticed how straight his back was for a man of his age.
‘You see your history? I know you do. The ancestors have been talking to me, Thabisa. They have spoken. They tell me there is a truth to be told. A truth about the three murdered members of our family line. Those men who died. Those men the snake betrayed.’
‘Let me see more,’ I said, trying to take the lamp. He drew back.
‘No. This is all you need to see for now. If you want to see more you must return to the valley.’
Proud, I thought. Royal. For a moment I felt close to him. I was shocked to feel it, believe me. I suppose it was something to do with blood ties. But the moment didn’t last. This man had conned me before... me, his granddaughter, and his only relative. His only hope for his line to continue. I struggled to get back into my own comfort zone, the place where I hated him without reservation.
‘So my child, the beads still speak to you?’
I bowed my head.
‘I show you this so that you will see that you are mine. That my blood runs in your veins. I look at the clothes you wear, the way you walk and talk. It tells me you have outgrown this village and your family. Have you also outgrown your black skin?’
‘Of course not, Tat’omkhulu,’ I said. ‘I’m proud of my black skin.’
‘I listen to you talking English to this Zulu man. Have you forgotten your language? Are you now so modern that you no longer know where you come from? Have you forgotten the red soil, the wattle huts, the talking beads of your village?’
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘I speak isiXhosa all the time.’
‘But you have chosen to work with men and carry a weapon?’
‘I am a police officer, Tat’omkhulu. This is what we do.’
‘And who is this man? This Zulu? Is this a man who will marry you? Pay lobola for you?’
‘He’s a colleague, Tat’omkhulu. Not a prospective husband.’
‘You speak English, you ornament your hair, your hands, your face. Why is this?’
‘There is nothing wrong with what I do, Grandfather. I’m a modern South African, a working woman. You educated me. It was your choice to send me to school.’
He turned away angrily, jerking the red blanket around his body.
‘It was to have one, just one, in the valley to read and write for us all,’ he said. ‘I want our line to continue, the line of the chieftain. When my sons died, and then my daughter, your mother, there was only one hope. That hope was you. Ungumzukulwana wam – you are my grandchild.’
‘You can’t keep looking backwards, Tat’omkhulu. You need to look forward. Times have changed.’
‘Hmmm,’ he threw his hands up at me dismissively. ‘We need to keep the traditions of this valley. Our ancestors speak to us here. We will not leave. We will never leave this place.’
‘You don’t need to leave the valley. You only need to allow the young people to go to school. Find a teacher. Let them learn.’
‘And have them go away like you, and never return?’
I sighed wearily. Being shouted at and bullied doesn’t exactly make a girl keen to come home, I wanted to say. But what was the point? His ways were as deeply engraved as the dust creased into the wrinkles on his face. My mind was a jumbled mess. The bead room, the news of my father’s death. The whole valley atmosphere. It was impossible to argue with him. I was weary, I needed to lie down somewhere and get my head together. The revelations of the bead room had been a massive shock. I had never seen or heard of it in all the years I spent in the valley. Now I really needed time to think, I wanted to recharge my batteries. Fat chance of that when I had to share a room with one of his young wives. I wondered what his motive was in showing me the bead room. And why now? Why not before?
My grandfather lowered the lamp, and gestured to the entrance. We walked back to the main room. Back to the real world where everything seemed so normal. But what was normal? Life was becoming more complicated by the minute. The bead room flashed and glistened in my head, all its mysteries swirling in front of my eyes.
***
I spent a restless night, tossing and turning on a thin straw mattress in a room with some of the young wives. I longed for my orthopaedic mattress and crisp cotton sheets, a loo that flushed, running water. Sleep was impossible. From nearby homesteads, I could hear faint titters of laughter that every now and again became raucous howls. Rhythmic clapping, men’s voices, dogs’ piercing barks, laughing. I needed earplugs. Whoever said town life was noisy hadn’t tried to sleep in my grandfather’s village. I could smell my mint toothpaste wafting past the wood smoke. There was a buzzing in my left ear. A valley mosquito had found me and was rubbing its hands together and licking its lips.
Just as I finally dozed off, a cockerel roused me and I struggled grumpily out of bed. Why would I ever want to come back here, to live in a place where I was uncomfortable, miserable and misunderstood?
12
22 June 2006
I walked down to the river at first light. The bank was lined with gogos washing clothes. ‘Wena!’ they called out, leather-worn hands squeezing waterfalls from the washing. ‘The disobedient girl is back.’
I ignored them, watching the children playing in the water. They floated paper boats, splashing and giggling. It reminded me vividly of my own childhood.
I was aware of a young woman approaching, and realised that it was Pinda, my old friend, one of the reluctant attackers on the night of my punishment. She was all grown up, dressed as a married woman, with her leather skirt and swathed head-dress. A little girl appeared beside her, clinging to her hand, standing close and watching me. Pinda’s daughter? Surely not. But she obviously was. Her hair was pulled into little bunches, sprouting all over her head at different angles, tied with ribbons and beads. Hair adornment had obviously found its way into the valley, but only for children and unmarried women. The married women still wore iqhiya – traditional headscarves.
‘I like your hair,’ I said to the child. She blinked slowly, and parted her lips, but didn’t say a word.
I smiled at Pinda, the new grown-up Pinda, with her chocolate skin. She smiled back, her cheeks creaseless and smooth as toffee.
‘Hello, ntang’am – my age mate,’ I said. ‘Is this your daughter? So now you’re a mother? What’s her name?’
Pinda kept her eyes downcast.
‘Zindzi,’ she said, ‘she’s four years now.’
‘She’s cute,’ I said. ‘How are you, Pinda?’
‘I’m well, thank you,’ she replied. Then she reached out her hand, and touched my braids. She fixed me with a look, a little tilt of the head, and a tiny smile. She knew everything about the old me, but nothing about the new me.
I took a deep breath. ‘My life has changed, Pinda, but it is a good life.’
‘I’m glad,’ she replied quietly.
I wondered how Pinda had felt the night of the cutting. How hard it must have been for her, to be forced to hurt a friend.
I reached out my hand and took hers.
‘I am happy to see you again, Pinda,’ I said. ‘I am happy you are a mother, and have such a sweet daughter.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘And I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘So sorry
.’ She shot a nervous glance at the river, where all action had ceased, and all eyes were focused on us. Then she turned away, taking her little girl with her. They both turned back to look at me and wave.
I tried to imagine little Zindzi in years to come. Would she still be happy to live in the valley, or would she make a break, get out and away? How long could the valley contain its children?
***
As soon as we could, Zak and I left the valley. Zak appeared unfairly sprightly after all the drinking and smoking of the night before. He could at least have been slightly hung-over.
As we climbed up the steep mountain pass I decided to tell him about the bead room. My grandfather had told me not to speak to anyone else about it, but I needed to talk to somebody I could trust. And much to my surprise, I realised that Zak was that person. Not that I was going to divulge anything more about my personal life, I wasn’t too sure how far I could trust him on that score. But this was evidence. Pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. He might be able to help me sort out my feelings over it.
‘I only saw it for a few minutes,’ I said. ‘If only he’d let me see more. I wanted to ask him so many questions.’
‘Did you know about any of this?’
‘Only rumours. I was told that my father and two uncles had died in an accident. I asked many times, but never got an answer. My mother died soon afterwards. When I lived in the valley I was always asking, but it was never discussed with me. Now it’s clear they were murdered.’
‘Why?’
‘Probably because of anti-apartheid activity during the struggle,’ I said. ‘They were betrayed. I don’t know the details. Didn’t, that is. Until last night. The beads said they were betrayed by a snake man.’
‘A snake man?’
‘That’s what the beads said.’
‘What else did you see?’ he asked.
‘The beads go back centuries. It seems I had a white great-great-great-great gogo about three hundred years back.’
Zak laughed. ‘So that’s where those eyes come from. There’s a whole clan of people descended from white castaways living near the Xara River, not far from Umtata. Ever heard of them?’
‘No.’
‘Black skin and pale eyes, apparently. Remarkable. Perhaps your long- ago gogo came from there. Some powerful young chieftain sees a beautiful castaway girl with big grey eyes, buys her from his neighbouring tribe with an unheard-of amount of cattle. It’s not impossible, is it?’
‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘I guess not, but I think you’ve got an over-developed imagination, Khumalo.’ Nearly as over developed as your muscles, I nearly said, but stopped the words before they slipped out. Not before I did a quick scan of his body though. Good scenery in this part of the world on a cool Wednesday morning.
‘Imagination?’ He laughed softly and shrugged. ‘Perhaps I have.’
‘How come you knelt to my grandfather?’
‘I knelt to him because I respect him, Thabisa. He’s a remarkable man. I miss my own grandfather, he was a great guy. These elders have a lot to teach us, you know. I actually envy you having this link to your village life. I miss all the friendliness, all the connections, don’t you?’
I could see he was sincere. It amused me. He was usually so cool. ‘Oh please, spare me. Are you trying to tell me that the oh-so-modern Mr Khumalo likes all the traditional stuff?’ I enjoyed the chance to get under his skin for a change.
‘Was it easy to read the hieroglyphics of the beads?’ he asked, neatly changing the subject.
I had a flashback to the night before, the bead patterns swimming and forming in front of my eyes. I felt it again and closed my eyes briefly.
‘It’s an odd feeling. Like dancing, you always know how. I was taught when I was very young. I remember lessons with my mother and then Ngosi. It’s crazy. The valley people have kept bead records for hundreds of years. Another way of writing. They use the beads to record history. When I saw the bead room I realised that I’m probably the only one who can bead-read and read conventionally. I wonder why the other girls didn’t get the chance to learn the beads? It seems unfair that I was the only one.’
‘Well, you are the tribal chief’s granddaughter; you would have been groomed for that reason alone, surely?’
‘Don’t remind me,’ I said.
‘Who else can read them?’ Zak asked.
‘My grandfather, his chief wife, the sangomas probably, my mother when she was alive and now me.’
‘In Zulu culture most beadwork relates to love and marriage,’ he said. ‘It’s an indication that you’re available in the marriage market.’
‘Valley rituals aren’t like that. Obviously you Zulus have a different agenda.’
Zak ignored me. ‘Let’s get back to business,’ he said. ‘Our criminals are not as simple as we thought, right? We need to know what we’re dealing with. It looks like one of them could be a white female. If so, that’s highly unusual. Thelma and Louise – remember that movie? – Bonny and Clyde and Patty Hearst – that girl who was kidnapped and ended up being a bank robber. There are probably others, but not many that I’ve heard of.’
‘Have you ever dealt with white female criminals?’
He hesitated. ‘Never in a situation like this. Who has? It’s probably a first for all of us. We need to think hard about who she is and why she’s doing this.’
‘I smelt perfume on the guy who attacked me at the safe house. It wasn’t any old perfume, either. It was Chanel. No. 5.’
Zak stopped so suddenly, I nearly cannoned into him. He turned to face me, shot me a look of cool assessment. ‘Thanks for finally letting me in on that vital piece of information,’ he said dryly.
I concentrated on the bird song, looked at the great white clouds drifting above us while I tried to keep my temper.
‘I wasn’t keeping anything back from you,’ I said calmly. ‘It only dawned on me last night, when I was trying to get to sleep; I remembered that the headmistress of my Grahamstown school wore it. We were all in awe, and wanted some too. It’s a very distinctive smell, you don’t forget it. In fact, isn’t smell the sense that stays with us throughout our lives?’
Zak stopped. ‘Come, sit down here, Thabisa,’ he said. ‘Let’s go through this carefully, close your eyes, pretend you’re a witness. Let me ask you what you remember, every word, every twitch. If this is stacking up the way I think it is, you’re the only person who’s had any contact with her.’
I sat on a rocky ledge and closed my eyes.
‘I really thought it was a man. He was so strong and violent. It was only afterwards that I realised there was something seriously odd. The perfume. And now, with what my grandfather said about the nail polish, everything’s been thrown out of kilter.’ I bit my lip and frowned. ‘How could I not have recognised the smell? And if I missed that, was there anything else I should have noticed?’
‘Exactly my point. Come on, Thabisa.’
‘Okay.’ I closed my eyes. I willed myself back into that dark house. I felt the fear again. The horror of that squeaking voice, the strong hands on my neck, the flames on my hand. The feeling of helplessness... ‘I wasn’t thinking straight, my mind-set wasn’t right. How could I have mistaken a woman for a man?’
‘What did she say?’
‘“Get the hell off the case!” But most of the time he – she? – was completely silent. That was the most frightening part. And the voice, it was right out of a cartoon, it was Bugs Bunny shrieking in my ear. It made my flesh creep.’
‘It’s possible we’re dealing with a pair of crazies. They could be getting their kicks from crime and avoiding being captured,’ Zak suggested. ‘It happens.’
‘But it doesn’t fit in with warning me off and knowing my name, does it?’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It doesn’t. We haven’t got any answers yet, just a few facts that can’t be explained, but –’
Whatever Zak was about to say was lost. I looked up at the jagged rock face and what I saw the
re made me thrust myself violently back, pushing against him.
‘This is very friendly, DI Tswane...’
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed. ‘Keep still.’
We had clambered along a precipitous rock face, going from foothold to foothold across a steep, tumbling rock fall. I flicked my eyes upwards. A leopard stood on the rocks just above us.
We drew back, hardly breathing.
The leopard was right above us. It was big, with a stocky body and powerful limbs. Brown rosettes stood out sharply against its golden fur. It was stretching in the sun, twitching its tail and powerful neck muscles.
Zak’s hand was in the middle of my back, pushing me flat against the rock. He stood in front of me, his body protecting me.
Cold sweat trickled down my back. Mountain leopards were dangerous, secretive and stealthy. I had seen them before, but never as close as this.
We shifted around and braced ourselves, pressing as far back into the rock as we could get. The great cat looked down and slowly turned its head. The golden eyes stared straight at us. I almost stopped breathing, caught in the headlight beam of the cat’s eyes. I sensed Zak moving his hand towards his gun. Even the smallest movement focused the leopard’s intense stare. For several long moments the creature looked at us, then gave a lazy yawn and ambled off.
‘Oh my God,’ my voice was shaking. ‘Do you think it’s gone, properly?’
‘Don’t know, I’m going to look,’ Zak said.
I heard him unholster his gun. He motioned me to stay where I was. I pulled my own gun out and muscled my way in front of him.
‘I’ll go, it’s my territory,’ I said.
Zak grabbed me by the back of my jacket and yanked me back.
‘Stay here,’ he said, as he climbed up and disappeared over the lip of the rock face above us.
I waited. The silence was deafening. My heart was beating triple time and my palms were slick with sweat. I told myself I had to think clearly, but my mind was clouded with emotion. Emotion? About Zak? I must be mad. I was so angry with him. I knew how dangerous leopards could be, what they could do. Why did he have to rush off like that? Like a typical alpha male.
Now I See You Page 10
