African Stories

by Doris Lessing

  Then Jabavu says: “But I did not.”

  Their eyes go first to Jerry, and they believe him, then they go to Jabavu, and they believe him.

  Jerry stops saying it. He understands they are too stupid to hold any thoughts in their heads longer than a moment.

  He seats himself on a packing-case and looks at Betty, while he thinks fast and hard.

  Jabavu, after a long, long silence while he looks at Betty, seats himself on another. A feeling of despair is growing so strong in him that his limbs will hardly move. He thinks: And now there is nothing left. Jerry will say I killed her; there is no one who will believe me. And—but here is that terrible thought—I was pleased he killed her. Pleased. I am pleased now. And from here his mind goes darkly into the knowledge: It is just. It is a punishment. And he sits there, passive, while his hands dangle loosely and his eyes go blank.

  Slowly the others seat themselves on the floor, huddling together for comfort in this killing they do not understand. All they know is that Betty is dead, and their goggling, empty eyes are fixed on Jerry, waiting for him to do something.

  And Jerry, after sorting out his various plans, lets his tense body ease, and tries to put quietness and confidence into his eyes. First he must get rid of the body. Then it will be time to think of the next thing.

  He turns to Jabavu and says, in a light, friendly voice: “Help me put this stupid girl outside into the grass.”

  Jabavu does not move. Jerry repeats the words, and still Jabavu is motionless. Jerry gets up, stands in front of him, and orders him. Jabavu slowly lifts his eyes and then shakes his head.

  And now Jerry comes close to Jabavu, his back to the others, and in his hand he holds his knife, and this knife he presses very lightly against Jabavu. “Do you think I’m afraid to kill you too?” he asks, so low only Jabavu can hear. The others cannot see the knife, only that Jerry and Jabavu are thinking how to dispose of Betty. They begin to cry a little, whimpering.

  Jabavu shakes his head again. Then he looks down, feeling the pressure of the knife. Its point is at his flesh, he can feel a slight cold sting. And into his mind comes the angry thought: He is cutting my smart coat. His eyes narrow, and he says furiously: “You are cutting my coat.”

  He’s mad, thinks Jerry, but it is the moment of weakness that he knows and understands. And now, using every scrap of his will, he narrows his eyes, stares down into Jabavu’s empty eyes, and says: “Come now, and do as I say.”

  And Jabavu slowly rises and, at a sign from Jerry, lifts Betty’s feet. Jerry takes the shoulders. They carry her to the door, and then Jerry says, shouting loudly so that it will be strong enough to get inside the fog of drink: “Put out the candles.” No one moves. Then Jerry shouts again, and the young man who sleeps at night with Jerry gets up and slowly pinches out the candles. The room is now all darkness and there is a whimper of fear, but Jerry says: “You will not light the candles. Otherwise the police will get you. I am coming back.” The whimper stops. They can hear hard, frightened breathing, but no one moves. And now they move from the blackness of the room to the blackness of the night. Jerry puts down the body and locks the door, and then goes to the window and wedges it with stones. Then he comes back and lifts the shoulders of the body. It is very heavy and it rolls between their gripping hands. Jerry says not a word, and Jabavu is also silent. They carry her a long way, through grass and bushes, never on the paths, and throw her at last into a deep ditch just behind one of the shebeens. She will not be found until morning, and then it will be the people who have been drinking in the shebeen who will be suspected, not Jerry or Jabavu. Then they run very quickly back to the disused store, and as they enter they hear the others wailing and keening in their terror of the darkness and their muddled understanding. A window-pane has been smashed where someone tried to get out, but the wedged stones held the frame. They are crowded in a bunch against the wall, with no sense or courage in them. Jerry lights the candles and says: “Shut up!” He shouts it again, and they are quiet. “Sit down!” he shouts, and they sit. He also sits against the wall, takes up his cards, and pretends to play.

  Jabavu is looking down at his coat. It is soaked with blood. Also, as he pulls the cloth over his chest, there is a small cut, where the point of the knife pressed. He is asking himself why he is so stupid as to mind about a coat. What does a coat matter? Yet, even at that moment, Jerry nods at a hook on the wall, where there hang several coats and jackets, and Jabavu goes to the hook, takes down a fine blue jacket, and then looks again at Jerry. And now their eyes stare hard across the space between them. Jabavu’s eyes drop. Jerry says: “Take off your shirt and your vest.” Jabavu does so. Jerry says: “Put on the vest and shirt you will find among the others in that packing-case.” Jabavu goes as if he has no will, to the packing-case, finds a vest and a shirt that will fit him, puts them on, and puts on the blue jacket. Now Jerry quickly rises, strips off his own jacket and shirt, which have blood on them, wipes his knife carefully on them, and then gives the bundle to Jabavu.

  “Take my things out with yours and bury them in the ground,” he says. Again the two pairs of eyes stare at each other, and Jabavu’s eyes drop. He takes all the bloodied things and goes out. He makes his way in the darkness to a place where the bushes grow close, and then he digs, using a sharp stick. He buries the clothes, and then goes back to the store. And as he enters he knows that Jerry has been talking, talking, talking to the others, explaining how he, Jabavu, killed Betty. And he can see from the way their frightened eyes look at him that they believe it.

  But it is as if in burying the soiled and cut clothes he also buried his weakness towards Jerry. He says, quietly: “I did not kill Betty,” and with this he goes to the wall and seats himself, and gives himself up to whatever may happen. For he does not care. Most deeply he does not care. And Jerry, seeing this deep lassitude, misunderstands it entirely. He thinks: Now I can do what I like with this one. Perhaps it was a good thing I killed that stupid woman. For at last Jabavu will do as I tell him.

  But he ignores Jabavu, whom he thinks is safe, and goes to the others and tries to calm them. They are weeping and crying out, and sometimes they call out for skokiaan as a remedy for the fear of this terrible night. But Jerry speaks firmly to them, and makes more strong tea, and gives each a piece of bread and makes them eat it, and finally tells them to sleep. But they cannot. They huddle in a group, talking about the police, and how they will all be blamed for the murder, until at last Jerry makes them drink some tea in which he has put some stuff he bought from an Indian, which is to make people sleep. Soon everyone is lying again on the floor, but this time in a sleep which will heal them and drive away the sickness of the long skokiaan drinking.

  For all the long hours of the night they lie, groaning sometimes, sometimes calling out, making thick, frightened words. And Jerry sits and plays cards and watches Jabavu, who does not move.

  Jerry is now full of confidence. He makes plans, examines them, alters them; all night his mind is busy, and all the fear and weakness has gone. He decides that killing Betty was the only clever thing he has ever done without planning it.

  The night struggles on in the flick of the playing cards and groans from the sleepers. The light comes grey through the dirty window, then rose and gold as the sun rises, then strengthens to a steady, warm yellow. And when the day is truly there, Jerry kicks the sleepers awake, but so that when they sit up they will not know they have been kicked.

  They sit up, to see Jerry playing cards and Jabavu slumped against the wall, staring. And into each mind comes a wild, confused memory of murder and fighting, and they look at each other and see that the memory shows in every face. Then they look towards Jerry for an explanation. But Jerry is looking at Jabavu. And they remember that Jabavu has killed Betty, and their faces turn greyish and their breath comes with difficulty. Yet they are no longer stupid with skokiaan, only weak and tired and frightened. Jerry has no fear at all that he may not be able to handle them. When they are
properly awake and he can see the knowledge in their faces he begins to talk. He explains, in a quiet and offhand way, what happened last night, saying that Jabavu has killed Betty, and Jabavu says nothing at all.

  It is only the silence of Jabavu that upsets Jerry for he has not expected it. But he is so confident that he takes no notice. He explains that according to the rules of the gang, if suspicion should fall on them, Jabavu must give himself up to the police, saying nothing of the others. But if the trouble should pass, they must all keep silence and continue as if nothing has happened. Jerry speaks so lightly that they are reassured, and one slips out to buy some bread and some milk for tea, and they eat and drink together, even laughing when Jerry makes a joke. The laughter is not very deep, but it helps them. And all this time Jabavu sits against the wall, apart, saying nothing.

  Jerry has now made his plans. They are very simple. If the police show signs that day of finding out who killed Betty, he will quickly slip away, go to people he knows who will help him, and travel south, with papers that have a different name, leaving all the trouble behind him. But he has very little money left, after the week of drinking. Perhaps five shillings. His friends may give him a little more. Jerry does not like to think of going all the way to Johannesburg with so little. He wants some more. If the police do not know on whom to put the blame, Jerry will stay here, in this store, with Jabavu and the others, until the evening. And then—but now the plan is so audacious that Jerry laughs inside himself, longing to tell the others, because it is such a good joke. Jerry plans nothing else than to go to Mr. Mizi’s house, take the money that will be there, and with it run away to the south. He believes that there is money in the house, and a great deal. When he robbed Mr. Samu, five years ago, and in another town, he took nineteen pounds. Mr. Samu had the money in a big tin that once held tobacco, and it was in the grass roof of a hut. Jerry believes that he has only to go to Mr. Mizi’s house to find enough money to take him in luxury and safety, with plenty of funds for bribery, to Johannesburg. And he will take Jabavu with him. Jabavu is now safe, sullen, and too afraid to tell Mr. Mizi. Also, he must know where the money is.

  It is all very simple. As soon as Jabavu has given the money to Jerry, Jerry will tell him to go back to the others and wait for his return. They will wait. It will be some days before they understand he has tricked them, and by then he will be in Johannesburg.

  Towards midday, Jerry brings out the last bottle of whisky and gives everyone a little of it. Jabavu refuses, with a small shake of the head. Jerry ignores him. So much the better.

  But he takes care that all the group are sitting playing cards, drinking a little whisky, and that they have plenty to eat. He wishes them to like him and trust him before explaining his plan, which might frighten them in their condition of being softened by the drinking and the murder.

  In the middle of the afternoon he slips out again and mingles with the people in the market, where he hears much talk of the killing. The police have questioned a lot of people, but no one has been arrested. This will be a case like so many others—yet another of the matsotsis killed in a brawl, and no one cares much about that. The newspapers will print a paragraph; perhaps a preacher will make a sermon. Mr. Mizi might make another speech about the corruption of the African people through poverty. At this last idea Jerry laughs to himself and returns to the others in a very good humour indeed.

  He tells them that everything will be safe, and then speaks of Mr. Mizi, half as part of his plan, but partly because of the pleasure it gives him. He gives a fine imitation of Mr. Mizi making a speech about corruption and degradation. Jabavu does not stir through this, or even lift his eyes. Then Jerry makes a lot of jokes about Mrs. Mizi and Mrs. Samu and how they are immoral, and everyone laughs except Jabavu.

  And everyone, including Jerry, misunderstands this silence of Jabavu. They think that he is afraid, and above all afraid of them because they know he has killed Betty, for now they all believe it; they even believe they saw it.

  They do not understand that what is happening in Jabavu is something very old. His mind is darkening in despair, in accepting of what destiny has willed for him, and is turning towards death. This feeling of destiny, of fate, is very strong in the life of the tribe where guilt and responsibility for evil is decided by the old ways of magic. Perhaps if these young people had not lived so long in the white man’s city they might understand what they see now in Jabavu. Even Jerry does not, although there are moments when this long silence annoys him. He would like to see Jabavu a little more afraid, and respectful.

  Late in the afternoon Jerry takes his last five shillings, gives it to the girl who worked with Betty, and who is more troubled than the rest, and tells her that because of her cleverness she is the one chosen again to go to the market and buy food. She is pleased, and returns in half an hour with bread and cold boiled mealies, saying that people are no longer speaking of the murder. Jerry urges them all to eat. It is very important that they must be full and comfortable, and when they are, he speaks of his plan. “And now I must tell you a good joke,” he says, laughing already. “Tonight we shall rob from the house of Mr. Mizi; he is very rich. And Jabavu will do the stealing with me.”

  For a second there is uncertainty. Then they look at each other, see Jabavu’s heavy eyes, lifted painfully towards them, and then they roll on the floor with laughing and do not stop for a long time. But Jerry is looking at Jabavu. He decides to taunt him a little: “You kraal nigger,” he says. “You’re scared.”

  Jabavu sighs, but does not move, and panic moves through Jerry. Why does Jabavu not cry out, protest, show fear?

  He decides to wait for a show of strength until the moment itself. As the others cease laughing and look at him for the next good joke he makes a grimace towards Jabavu, inviting their complicity, and they grin and look at each other. He lights the candles, and makes them come together in a small, lit space around a packing-case, with Jabavu outside in the shadow, and there they all play cards, with much noise and laughter, and Jerry coaxes their excitement into the cards so that their attention is not on Jabavu. And all the time he is thinking of every detail of the plan, and his mind is set hard on his purpose.

  At midnight, with a wink at the others, he gets up and goes to Jabavu. He is sweating with the effort of his will. “It is time,” he says, lightly, and fixes his eyes on Jabavu. Jabavu does not lift his eyes, or move. Jerry kneels, very swiftly, and exactly as he did the night before, keeping his back to the others, he presses the tip of his knife lightly against Jabavu’s chest. He stares hard, hard at Jabavu, and he whispers: “I am cutting the coat.” He narrows his eyes, forcing their pressure at Jabavu, and says again: “I am cutting the coat, soon the knife will go into you.” Jabavu lifts his eyes. “Get up,” says Jerry, and Jabavu rises like a drugged man. Jerry is a little dizzy with the relief of that victory, but resting his hand against the wall he turns and says to the others: “And now listen to what I shall tell you. We two go now to Mr. Mizi’s house. Blow the candles out and wait in darkness—no, you may keep one candle, but set it on the floor so that no sign of light may show. I know that there is a great sum of money hidden in Mr. Mizi’s house. This we shall bring back. If there is trouble, I shall go quickly to one of our friends. There I shall stay perhaps one day, perhaps two. Jabavu will return here. If I am not here by tomorrow morning, then you may leave here one by one, not together. Do not work together for a few days, and do not go near the shebeens, and I forbid you to touch skokiaan again until I say. I shall tell you when it is safe for us to meet again. But all this is if there is trouble, and there is no need for it. Jabavu and I will be back in three-quarters of an hour with the money. Then we shall share it out between us. It will mean there is no need to work for a week, and by that time the police will have forgotten the murder.”

  For the first time Jabavu speaks. “Mr. Mizi is not rich and he has no money in his house.” Jerry frowns, and then swiftly draws Jabavu after him into the darkness. The ca
ndles flicker out in the room behind. There is dark everywhere, the trees are swinging in a fast, cool wind, mounds of thick cloud move across the sky, showing damp, weak stars between. It is a good night for stealing.

  Jerry thinks: “Why does he say that? It is strange.” But what is strange is that in all these weeks Jerry has believed Jabavu is lying about the money, and Jabavu has never understood that Jerry truly thinks there is money.

  “Come,” says Jerry, quietly. “It will be over soon. And now, as we go, think of what you saw in the Mizis’ house, and where the money will be hidden.”

  Suddenly across Jabavu’s mind flickers a picture, then another. He sees how on that evening Mr. Mizi went to the corner of the room, lifted a piece of plank from the flooring, and leaned down into the dark hole underneath to bring up books. That is where he keeps books which the police might take away from him. But following this picture comes another, which he has not seen at all, but which his mind creates. He sees Mr. Mizi reaching up at a large tin filled with rolls of paper money. Yes, Jerry is very clever, for the old hunger in Jabavu raises its head and almost speaks. Then the pictures vanish from his mind, and the hunger with them. He plods along beside Jerry, thinking only: We are going to Mr. Mizi. Somehow I will speak to him when we get there. He will help me. Jerry says, in a loud voice: “Don’t stamp so loud, you fool.” Jabavu does not change the way he walks. Jerry glances all around him through the dark, thinking nervously: Surely Jabavu is not mad? Or perhaps he has some drug I know nothing of? For his behaviour is very strange. Then he comforts himself: See how the killing of Betty turned out well, although it was not meant. See how this night is so good for stealing, although I did not choose it. My luck is very strong. Everything will be all right . . . And so he does not again tell Jabavu about walking quietly, for the wind is swishing the branches back and forth and raising swirls of dust and leaves around their feet. It is very dark. The lights are out in the houses, for now they are walking in the respectable part of the city where people rise early for work and so must sleep early. Then Jabavu stumbles over a stone and there is a big noise, and Jerry whips out his knife and nudges Jabavu with his elbow until he turns and looks. “I’ll stick this into you if you call out or run away,” he says, softly, but Jabavu says nothing. He is thinking that Jerry is very strange indeed. Why does he go to Mr. Mizi for money? Why does he take him, Jabavu? Perhaps the killing of Betty hurt his mind and he has gone crazy? And then Jabavu thinks: Yet it is not so strange. He made jokes about killing Betty and then he killed her, and he made jokes about stealing from Mr. Mizi and now we are doing that too . . . And so Jabavu plods on, through the noise of the wind and the blackness that is full of dust and moving leaves, and his head is empty and he does not feel. Only he is very heavy in his limbs, for he is tired with so little sleep, and then the nights of dancing and the skokiaan, and above all, he is tired from the despair, which tells him all the time: There is nothing for you, you will die, Jabavu. You will die. Words of a song form themselves, a sad, slow song, as for someone who has died. “Eh, but see Jabavu, there he goes the big thief. The knife has spoken, and it says: See the murderer, Jabavu, he who creeps through the dark to rob his friend. See Jabavu, whose hands are red with blood. Eh, Jabavu, but now we are coming for you. We are coming Jabavu, there is no escape from us . . .”