The streets flooded with people: crazy clowns tumbled or walked on stilts; fire eaters blazed; students wandered about dressed in wild clothes; guitar and drum players busked at every corner. Despite the cold, restaurants spilled onto the pavements, exploding delicious smells out into the night air. Asian mixed with Italian, mixed with boerewors, sizzling on a braai. The air was rich with aromas that made my mouth water. Strangers smiled and nodded to each other as they passed.
Tom Winter gripped my arm as we emerged from the cathedral and walked up toward the restaurant. We stopped for a moment to warm our hands at an open brazier where a group of young men performed an energetic gumboot dance.
‘Thanks, that was great, Tom,’ I said. ‘I loved it. I used to sing in the school choir. I’d forgotten how much I liked classical music.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you braved coming out with me. You look beautiful, by the way. I haven’t seen you dressed up before.’
Grahamstown in June was freezing. I was wrapped up in Bea’s red, fake-fur coat and hippy black skirt. I’d added a long purple scarf. I wasn’t sure whether this was suitable for dining out so I was relieved that I looked exactly like all the other festival goers.
I glanced up at Doctor Tom Winter. His stories about growing up in Sydney, surfing on Bondi beach and his adventures with sharks had made me laugh.
‘He’s a serious babe,’ Bea had said earlier. ‘All the nurses and staff at the hospital are mad for him. He’s single and available.’
‘Hungry, Thabisa?’ Tom asked, sliding his arm around my shoulders.
Too fast, I thought, pulling away. Just because I’m single, doesn’t mean I’m instantly available.
Tom smiled, ‘I’m just trying to keep you warm, Thabisa,’ he said softly. ‘It’s a cold night.’
‘Let’s go. I’m starving,’ I said, relenting and putting my arm through his. He was strong and solid to lean on. I liked the way he strode along, full of determination. He kept looking down at me to see if I was alright. I liked that too. I couldn’t help but compare him to Zak, who would have suggested ‘warming up’ of a completely different variety.
As we walked toward the restaurant, passing dozens of people clutching festival programmes, I noticed two women moving through the crowds toward me. There was something different about them. They didn’t look like holiday makers, having a good time, but walked with purpose, like they were late for an appointment. They didn’t look like theatre goers either. There was something business-like about them. They moved with synchronised steps, like soldiers. Both tall, they wore long, dark coats. One was blonde; the other had short dark hair. They walked swiftly, talking intently to one another.
As they passed us the dark one turned her head and looked at me. Our eyes met for a moment. Then the two of them were gone. I stopped and looked back, but they had been swallowed by the crowd. I was sure I’d met the dark one before. Something about her tugged at my mind. I knew the woman’s face. It nagged at the corners of my mind, like a half-forgotten tune, as we walked into the restaurant.
Tom’s eyes lit up when the waiter took Bea’s red coat from me.
‘I can’t believe you’re a police officer,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘You’re such a feminine woman; I can’t see you arresting people or shooting anyone. Not wearing that sweater, anyway.’ Tom looked straight into my eyes.
To my annoyance, my cheeks flamed. The black sweater with the low- scooped neckline was rather clinging, but it was all I had with me.
‘Well, I usually do the shooting and arresting wearing a bulletproof vest,’ I said.
‘What about you, Tom? You still haven’t told me what an Aussie doctor is doing in the Eastern Cape.’
‘I’m here for the next two years, as part of an Australian government support scheme,’ he said. ‘I’m usually based in Sydney at the Royal North Shore hospital. I’m supposed to be doing research on HIV-related diseases, but I keep getting seconded into the system, and end up being on the wards for hours when I should really be in a lab. There’s so much to do.’
‘Were you born in Sydney?’
‘Born and bred. It’s a great city.’
‘I’d like to visit Australia someday,’ I said.
‘It’s a great country. A fantastic place. Beautiful scenery, friendly people and a good attitude to life.’
He sounded like a representative for the Australian tourist board. I smiled to myself. He also looked very tired. I imagined what being a young doctor working in a government hospital was like. Run off his feet most of the time and overwhelmed by the hundreds of people he had to deal with every day, instead of doing what he came to do.
‘If you ever come to Australia, I’ll show you what Sydney has to offer.’ His face lit up with enthusiasm. ‘I’ll take you round the harbour. We’ll go to lunch by water taxi to Doyles at Watsons Bay. Greatest fish and chips on the planet.’
He talked about himself easily, determined to tell me his whole history. Maybe it was an Australian thing, this quick-fire delivery of all the facts. I sat back in my chair, amused by his boyish enthusiasm. It sounded like he’d had a trouble-free life, full of holidays in the sun, the best schools, lots of family support. Even being hit by the enormous challenges of an understaffed, poorly resourced Eastern Cape hospital hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm. I felt much older by comparison. Older and more cynical. But there was a kindness about him that I liked.
‘Sounds good,’ I said when he finally petered out. ‘I’ve got friends in Sydney. They emigrated to Australia a few years ago. They live in a suburb called Manly.’
‘Really?’ Tom’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a coincidence. My brother lives in Manly. It’s a great suburb. People mostly get there by ferry from the city. It’s a pretty trip.’
‘One day I might go and see them,’ I said. ‘They were very good to me when I first came to school in Grahamstown, Doctor White and his family. I stayed with them. They “westernised” me. I had to learn how to turn on taps, eat with a knife and fork, sleep in a proper bed, that sort of thing. They had three naughty little boys, who must be quite grown up by now.’
‘Tell me about you,’ Tom said. ‘I know you’re Xhosa. Are you from somewhere around here?’
I smiled, looking around the restaurant with its shines and clinks, its fanned napkins and resplendent cutlery. I rubbed the stem of my wine glass between my thumb and forefinger before I spoke. ‘I come from a seriously remote valley at the foot of the Drakensberg Mountains. When I left, fourteen years ago, I was the only person who could read and write. Nowadays there are a few others who have left the valley and gone to the cities. Maybe when they come back, they have picked up some schooling, but not many of them, believe me.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘Well, it’s true, even my grandfather, the tribal chief, can’t write, but he can certainly add up. He knows the value of money. He was the one who decided that I must be educated.’
‘How come?’
‘It’s a long story. I was the chosen one, went to a farm school, then won a scholarship to high school, then on to police college. The finished product is sitting in front of you.’
‘The finished product is wonderful,’ he said. ‘Do you speak with clicks?’
‘Of course,’ I said, and gave him an example. ‘Iqaqa liqikaqikeka kuqaqaqa! – The wild cat is rolling on the turf. It uses one of the isiXhosa clicks, the q. Neat, eh?’
He laughed. ‘You reckon you could teach me to do that?’
I shook my head, laughing. ‘Easier said than done. We inherited this language from our San ancestors. Thousands of years ago they developed click sounds to communicate while they hunted. We still use them, every day. Stick around and I’ll show you the c and the x clicks.’
‘It’s fascinating,’ Tom said. ‘The aboriginal people in Australia have special sounds too, they call them Songlines.’
‘Songlines? What are they?’
<
br /> Tom smiled. ‘It’s really complicated to explain. Songlines are the way people navigated during the Dreaming, which they believe marked the beginning of everything. They believe their ancestors sang the world into existence... began it all with their special songs and stories, dance and paintings. It helped early people to travel the deserts, and communicate with each other.’
‘Oh, that does sound pretty complicated.’
‘It is. There are dozens of books and ancient records about it. I wish I had time to learn more about it.’
‘IsiXhosa’s very descriptive: good for swearing,’ I said. ‘We’re also great at making music.’
‘I bet,’ said Tom. He searched my face. ‘May I ask you a personal question?’
‘You can ask.’
‘You’ve never been married?’
‘That’s right. Why, does that surprise you?’
‘It certainly does.’ He smiled. ‘Not many women who look like you make it past twenty-five without getting married at least once.’
‘I’m thirty-three. Is that a nice way of asking what’s wrong with me?’
Tom laughed. ‘Do you think I’m being nosy?’
‘You think I’d be a prize catch?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Well I’m not. Definitely not. A few guys might think it, from a distance.’
‘What’s wrong up close?’
‘I’m not like most women.’
‘Why’s that?’
The waiter appeared and hovered over us as he served our drinks.
Tom raised his eyebrows the moment the waiter disappeared. ‘Go on, I want to know why you’re not like most women.’
‘I seem to be doing all the talking here, Tom, it’s your turn next. But if you really want to know... I’m reasonable looking, successful, independent. I meet a guy. He wants to go out with me. The first few dates, he shows me off to his friends. We like each other. We get intimate. Then, in a month or so, I get a new assignment. I have to go away, sometimes for weeks. I work around the clock. I come home in the early hours. Now, this guy wants a partner for a dinner, to go to the bush, or fly to Cape Town for the weekend. I can’t do it. So, eventually, he decides that the relationship isn’t working out after all. He leaves.’
I surprised myself, telling Tom all this. He was a good listener. I looked at his handsome, blue-eyed, pale-cheeked face, and a sudden vision of Zak flew into my mind. His dark eyes skimming over my face, his sudden grin when he caught me looking.
‘So he couldn’t cope with your job?’ Tom prompted me. The waiter appeared with our food. He took a long time to serve us. I felt Tom’s impatience. It amused me. I sliced my steak, grinning at him, deliberately not rushing to continue.
Finally I said: ‘Some men like to be in the superior position. They love the idea of being with someone like me, but the reality is far from what they want. It sounds fun to have a detective for a girlfriend, especially one who works in the Violent Crimes Unit. And then there’s the salary. I’m pretty well paid for what I do. Some guys don’t like a woman making more money than they do. The ones who do make more money don’t want a woman whose job is more important than her love life. They can’t handle the fact that my work takes priority. I’m not complaining. I’m just explaining how it works.’
I stopped, took a sip of wine. I was more relaxed than I’d been for days.
‘What about the cultural side of this?’
Now he was getting onto tricky ground. A little too tricky for a first date. I answered slowly, ‘I’m a bitter disappointment. As the chief’s only blood relative, I’m supposed to be living in the village, doing beadwork, having kids. I’m right off the planet as far as they’re concerned.’
‘And haven’t you ever wanted to settle down, have kids, the whole thing?’
‘Every woman I've ever known wants that in some way.’
‘And you?’
I shrugged. Answered lightly. ‘Maybe someday, when I find the right man. It’s not easy to find someone who you’d like to grow old with, believe me.’
He nodded slowly and smiled at me. ‘Tell me more about your valley. I know you’re amaQaba, but what does that mean?’
‘Among other things, it means we worship the ancestors.’
‘How do you do that?’
‘Well, it’s not exactly Christianity. Ancestors are our link to God. Every African has to keep in touch with his ancestors throughout his whole life.’
‘Like guardian angels?’
I laughed. ‘Ja, that’s a good way of describing it. That’s what my grandfather believes. What I used to believe too.’ I felt sad for a moment, remembering things which used to mean so much to me.
We laughed, drank several glasses of good wine, and chatted. I liked Tom Winter. He was attractive, charming and fun, but at the edge of my mind, a face kept dragging at me. I tried to push it to the back of my mind, and concentrate on Tom, but I guess a police officer is never off the job. The tall, dark-haired woman. Who was she?
After dinner, we returned to the safe house on Hill Street, and I asked him to come in for a nightcap. There was a security guard outside on the pavement. Thanks Bea.
Tom opened a bottle of wine. I filled his glass and we stood in the kitchen while the kettle boiled for my coffee.
‘Thabisa, what happened the other night?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Who attacked you?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘Are you on a special assignment?’
‘All assignments are special when you work in my department,’ I said.
He took the milk jug out of my hand and placed it on the table. Then he wrapped his arms around me, bent his head and kissed me, gently, on the lips. ‘You’re lovely, Thabisa,’ he whispered.
It was a quiet, tender sort of kiss, not half as dangerous or exciting as the one yesterday on the mountain path. But, what the hell, it was still a pretty good kiss from an attractive man, and he wasn’t pushy, arrogant Zak Khumalo, A-grade kisser. With Tom though, I was determined to keep it cool. I pulled away, smiling.
My cell phone message alert bleeped. I glanced down and saw three missed calls from Zak Khumalo. Damn. I hadn’t switched my phone on to ‘ring’ after the concert. It was still on ‘silent’, but the reception in Grahamstown was so erratic, I had been careless. Damn, damn. Khumalo had the uncanny knack of turning up where he wasn’t wanted at exactly the wrong moment.
Unwillingly, I called him back.
‘Yes?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you ever answer your phone?’ he demanded. ‘Are you alone?’
I hesitated. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Well, get rid of whoever it is. I need to talk to you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
Impatience surged through me, but I turned back to Tom, smiling ruefully. ‘Tom, I’m sorry, I’ve got to ask you to go. I’ve got a colleague coming over to brief me on something.’
He smiled. ‘Okay. But don’t think you’re getting rid of me as easily as that, Thabisa. I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow.’
‘Thanks for a great evening, Tom, I’ve really enjoyed it.’ I kissed him on the cheek as I saw him out.
Nice guy, bad timing. The story of my life.
Ten minutes later Zak knocked on the door. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans under his black leather jacket. As he hung the jacket up, I saw the gun stuck into his jeans in the small of his back. His mouth was hard and unsmiling.
‘Your cell. Turned off... again?’ he said shortly. ‘You know better than to do this, DI Tswane.’ I watched his eyes scan the room, taking in the empty wine glasses, the open bottle, and finally me, and what I was wearing.
‘Sorry Khumalo. I didn’t realise that leaving the house had become a crime. And anyway, why are you interrogating me? What are you doing here?’
‘I’m watching over you, like I’ve been instructed.’
‘I don’t want to be “watched over”. You’re harassing me, K
humalo.’
‘Most women would be happy to have me follow them around.’
‘I’m not most women.’
‘Don’t I know it!’
‘What do you want?’
‘Where were you?’
‘That’s got nothing to do with you. I’m off-duty. And what I do with my social life has nothing to do with you, so why this attitude?’
‘You’re not off-duty, Thabisa. You know the way we work. You’ve been assigned to a murder enquiry. There’s no such thing as off-duty. We socialise when it’s over.’
‘Great speech, Khumalo. It might even work on somebody else. But don’t try pulling the high-and-mighty with me. Just remind yourself of the women you screw around with when you’re “on-duty”. Besides, you’re not even supposed to be on this case. It’s mine.’
‘Well, stay on it then.’
I fought to keep my voice cold and unemotional. ‘Look at the facts. We’ve been into the valley to interview a witness. Job done. Am I supposed to stay in uniform all night, waiting for something to happen?’
‘You were attacked the other night, remember? In this house. Don’t you think there’s a connection?’
‘Cut it out, Khumalo. You just want everyone to think you’re the best police officer around.’
‘You’re wrong,’ he said flatly.
‘No, you’re just Zak Khumalo, mystery man. Off on your own missions. Keeping your own secrets. Why don’t you spill some beans, Zak? Tell me what exactly it is that makes you so mysterious? I’m sure all the girls in Jozi would love me to give them some more details about their pin-up man.’
I fell quiet, took a deep breath and tried to scrape Zak Khumalo out from under my skin before he set up permanent residence there.
I looked up at him, expecting to see the usual smirk playing around his mouth, but for once Zak wasn’t smiling.
Now I See You Page 12
