Nkumbi leaned back, his chair-back tapping the wall behind him, blue uniform police shirt blending into the painted cement wall. The man sitting across from him had been found two days ago around three a.m. at the edge of the sea with concrete blocks on his feet. Chained to him was another block of concrete, encasing a book. "You are very fortunate," Nkumbi said. "The police walk that beach only once every hour."
"What good is any of this?" the man asked. "You can't save me. Even dead, she will find me."
"And so am I to gather," Nkumbi asked, hands folded in his lap, "from what you have told me so far today, that you would be better off at the bottom of the ocean? You would still be dead."
"But, I'd be in the water." He said this with certainty, as if the water afforded him a type of protection.
The Unit had run his fingerprints and his DNA. Their databases turned up nothing. That only meant he had never been incarcerated, not that he was not a criminal or had never broken the law. He had refused to give his name or age or where he was from.
His skin was pale, hair blond, and he had an American accent. No calluses on his hands, all his teeth were straight, and he had no facial scars. He looked clean cut with one exception--tattoos of reptiles and geometrical symbols crept up his forearms. The tattoos were recent; Nkumbi could tell by the ink colour and the red, swollen skin.
Nkumbi saw that the man was not entirely ignorant of African customs, yet had a hard time understanding Nkumbi's dialect and the accents of the officers who had brought him in. He got tired of repeating himself, so Nkumbi kept his questions simple and direct.
"Tell me about the cemented book. Where did you get it?"
The man bent over the bucket, quietly, mouth open. When nothing came out, he sat upright and wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "I found it in a village," he answered, through gasps of air. "I had a couple Bibles in my hand, and this little kid came up to me, holding a book that was too heavy for him, and I tried to take it, but he wouldn't let it go. So I traded with the kid, offering a Bible."
Nkumbi suppressed a smile of contempt. This was a missionary sitting across from him. These people came into the country trying to convert Africans not so much to their God, but more to their own way of thinking. They gave up and went home when they realized that no good could come from trying to change a continent full of customs and tradition that dated back to creation. The Catholics were the only ones who had accomplished some success. Their M.O. was to intertwine faith with custom, and the "proof" of their religion when it came to exorcisms never ceased to amaze.
"Why did you have it chained to you, encased in cement?"
"Because I read it."
Nkumbi waited patiently for more of an explanation. As the minutes dragged on, he thought of a way to form his next question, so as to get the most information. "So," he began, speaking slowly, using each word as a ladder to the next, "This book changed you? It told you what you wanted to hear, at first. Then you wanted to drown it with you where no one would find it, or you."
The man obviously carried much regret and perhaps had been trying to drown it all in the ocean.
"It led me to her, to her house, to the author, Eva. Eva is giving it away in her book. It says things."
"What things?" Nkumbi asked.
He sniffed once and said, "She's coming for you."
33
Nkumbi walked in and out of the spaza shops in town, searching for one that might have the book for sale. There had to be an answer to the mystery in that book. The one that had been chained to the man was full of blank, wet pages. Nkumbi never did get any more information out of him, so he was released to a hospital. A message came not twenty minutes later, saying that the man had jumped from the roof and was dead. Eva's book had touched the ignorant, the educated, the rich, and the poor. She was putting herself in the public light for a reason.
There had been no crime, yet, at least not one with any solid evidence. If her book encouraged readers to break the law, that would be the thing he needed. Ritual murders, child abduction, and grave robberiesoffenceoo contributed to the country's escalating crime wave. Some villages took the law into their own hands, accusing enemies of witchcraft and burning them to death. Others let the tragedies go unreported, believing the police would never take them seriously. And while there was only one Unit in Pretoria, there was a Sangoma on almost every South African street corner.
Magik was considered a religion, and a growing one at that. Most Sangomas and witch doctors practiced a relatively harmless form, offering to heal and to protect. It was the black magik gurus that warranted The Unit's attention, making a game out of, "Catch me if you can when you cannot prove the intangible".
The bell over the glass door jingled as Nkumbi walked through. Modern, well lit and spacious, the shop's shelves dipped under the weight of its books. "Howzit," a white t-shirt and white jeans clad girl called out from behind a sales desk. She finished bagging a purchase, wrapping the large, metal covered book in a paper bag.
Her customer left and she approached Nkumbi, looking his starched uniform up and down with her bright green eyes. "Can I help you find something?" He had seen those eyes before, but where?
Nkumbi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I am looking for a book, but I do not know the title."
"Do you have the author's name?" she asked.
"Eva van Hollinsworth."
"That's an excellent book. It's over here by the desk. I've only got three copies left."
Nkumbi followed the salesgirl to the checkout and the book--large, like a university textbook with a metal cover--leaned against a clear plastic stand. It was the same one she had just wrapped and sold to the last customer. Enlightenment was the title, with Eva's name along the spine. Nkumbi lifted the heavy volume and rapped on the cover with his knuckles. Tin. He tried opening it and realized it had a keyed lock clasping it cover to cover, binding the pages in secrecy. In size, it resembled the one that had been concreted to the drowning man's foot.
"Do you know the publication date?" he asked.
"I heard she had a big launch in April, at her house," the girl replied.
Yes, that would have been the night Jeffrey and Caroline were there. It was now August, so the book had been on the shelves for about five months. Long enough.
Nkumbi fiddled with the lock and the girl said, "We ask our customers to buy it first. The key is inside the back cover."
The girl took the book from Nkumbi's hands and turned it over. "This packet," a small, plain-sealed manila envelope was taped to the back, "is filled with seeds. Don't lose them. They're a necessary ingredient." She handed the book back to him.
"To what?" Nkumbi asked.
The girl smiled. "You haven't heard?"
Nkumbi's expression gave away nothing.
"For the recipes," she said, her green eyes widening to take in his ignorance, "Alchemy." She dropped her voice and said, "They really, really work. I tried one."
"I will take it," Nkumbi said.
34--LINDSEY
Lindsey hung up the phone, covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes to better comprehend what Jeffrey had just told her. Tatwaba was gone, he said, and she had run from the house claiming to have seen uSathane--the devil. She said the devil was in the house. Lindsey had been patient with Jeffrey, knowing he was going back to Eva's house, because she hoped he might see Edward, or that maybe Eva would admit to something. So far, neither had happened. Nkumbi had said it didn't mean Edward was dead. Sure, there had been the phone call, but Lindsey wasn't buying it. That had not been Edward on the phone. Why the cover up, she wondered.
Lindsey shifted on her couch. Her slight headache wouldn't go away and she hadn't slept more than a few hours a night since Caroline's illness and since her husband disappeared. Lindsey had trusted Jeffrey, but relied on Tatwaba. Tatwaba had taken to Caroline in a grandmotherly way and Lindsey never thought twice about Tatwaba's spiritual side, her belief in magik.
Caroline had alwa
ys been drawn to the supernatural. Lindsey had been raised Catholic, but never passed on any of her churching to her daughter. Edward had insisted that their daughter should choose her own faith when she was older, and Caroline had never received her sacraments, not even baptism. Lindsey had stopped going to church and began to call herself a crisis Catholic--offering up prayers only when the mines caved, or threatened to, and when the gold began to hide deeper and deeper.
She sighed, then withdrew a slip of paper from her purse and dialed the phone number Nkumbi had given her.
"Father Carob? My name is Lindsey Van Hollinsworth. Captain Nkumbi Piedmont gave me your number.
"Good, good. Well, I'm calling in regards to my daughter. And husband. I, uh, can't help but feel a little foolish." Lindsey sighed. "I'll get to the point. Doctors aren't able to help. I think my daughter needs a priest.
"Symptoms? Well, she looks thin, but she's very heavy. She hears voices." Lindsey placed a hand on her head and closed her eyes. "My daughter loved parties, dressed well. Now, she won't leave the house or clean herself. She won't eat. She won't brush.
"It started right after she went to her sister's house, a woman named Eva van Hollinsworth. Her father was there, too, and now he's missing."
"You've heard of Eva?" Lindsey asked him, surprised that he knew the name.
"Yes, I'm serious," she replied when he asked.
"Yes, inside the house," she said.
"You can't?" she asked. "Why not?"
He stuttered through his paltry excuse; he needed approval from the Vatican and would call back as soon as he could, though it might not be within the month, or even the next two. Things moved slowly in the Vatican, he said, giving Lindsey the name of another priest, one who might have less red tape to peel through--a monsignor.
"Oh, okay." Lindsey scribbled another phone number on her paper. "I'll call him. Thank you, Father. Goodbye."
Lindsey immediately dialed the next number. Then the next one the monsignor gave her. She went through five different priests before giving up in exasperation.
35--NKUMBI
Nkumbi heaved the book onto his car's passenger seat. It landed with a thump and the tan upholstered seat caved in around it. When he had first picked it up, the cover felt smooth and warm. But now the cover was rippled and had taken on a greenish tinge, like snake skin, and it was cold.
Some books, he rationalized, as well as magazines, were sold with two different covers. Marketing purposes. Perhaps, he had picked up a smooth brown copy, but the sales girl had bagged a rippled green copy. Perhaps.
He leaned over to pick up the book. He tried again with both hands, veins bulging on his forearms as he lifted the book over and onto his lap. Lowering the heavy weight carefully onto his thighs, he unlocked the cover. The binding squeaked like a rusted hinge and a waft of sulfur accosted him. His eyes burned and he closed them. When he opened his watering eyes, he stared at the Table of Contents.
Nkumbi's cell rang. "Hello," he said.
Lindsey did not return the pleasantry and talked fast, recounting her last few phone calls. "The first one seemed to believe me, but told me he'd need to speak with someone from the Vatican and that it would be about a month before he got back to me. So, I called another. The next three told me to see a psychiatrist, and the fifth told me he's exorcising an entire family and didn't know when he'd be available. Honestly, Nkumbi. If South Africa has so many exorcists, why can't I find one willing to come over now?"
"South Africa has many, but not enough," Nkumbi said. "Too many evils in our air." He dropped the conversation for a moment, looking at the book's open pages. "I just bought her book," he said, turning to the first chapter, each page flipping like a thick sheet of leather.
"Caroline has a copy," Lindsey said.
"Have you read it?" Nkumbi asked.
"No. I can't find it. Neither could Jeffrey. He thinks Tatwaba misplaced it."
Nkumbi pursed his lips, thinking while trying to ignore the weight on his lap. "The first priest you called, it sounds to me like he knows your devil. What these priests must also know is that your devil is not an inhabiting spirit; it is human, and that is something different, perhaps unacceptable for them. She is the devil's child."
Lindsey asked, "How literal do you want me to take that? As in, Rosemary's baby?"
Nkumbi had seen the movie and he remembered Mia Farrow's distress when her character realized she was to give birth to Satan's baby. He did not want to give Lindsey too much information, but this was her daughter at stake. Lindsey was trying to do the right thing. She was decisive and she listened to Nkumbi. Few people really listened. Most thought they knew better. He believed he owed her more and she had kept herself together so far.
His eyes skipped from the pavement to the shop's storefront. Normal looking people drove and walked by. Afternoon sun brightened alleys and cobblestone walkways that ran off the main street. The air held the crisp scent of the sea. He gripped the cell tighter and in a hushed, strict manner, said, "I do think that Eva believes the Book of Revelations to be her legacy. The people at her party, they all believe she is the anti-Christ."
"I thought the anti-Christ was supposed to be a man."
"'Man' can be interpreted to mean 'human'. I read Revelations again last night. It says that the anti-Christ will be a man of sin, claiming divine authority, working false miracles and signs. Apparently, her book is full of workable miracles and signs. She claims divine authority, which I know from others I have spoken to, the ones who have admitted to worshipping her.
"You said Jeffrey claimed that he saw people bow to her and to the name of Jesus. I was taught by nuns that at the sound of Jesus name, every knee shall bow above the Earth and under the Earth. Those bowing to her worship her. They hissed when Jesus' name was said? They were angry that they had to bow to the sound of his name."
"You just gave me the chills. Do you believe she's the anti-Christ?" Lindsey asked.
"I do. Government and political power, the worship of self: all part of the description. She has family in government, and the political protection that comes with it. Her money buys political power."
Lindsey sighed. He heard her sniffle. "I knew she was an occultist," she whispered, "but the anti-Christ? Does she think she's Satan?"
"She is the Lamia," said Nkumbi.
"That's what Tatwaba called her," Lindsey said.
"She is real."
"Lamia is a myth," Lindsey said.
Nkumbi was quiet for a moment, and said, "She claims she was Satan's wife, Lamia. Lamia gave birth to his daughter and all his grand-daughters."
"A demon. You mean she's possessed."
"I cannot prove what I now know to be true. I also thought the Lamia to be a myth. I have interviewed eye witnesses. There is Caroline and Jeffrey. And I have her book. As Lamia, she gives birth to herself. Reincarnation."
"You kidding me?"
"No," he said.
"She was Ehvleen?"
"It would seem so," he said.
"So, then, wait. That means Edward was . . . that Eva was his wife, only went by another name. That Ehvleen is Eva. Are you telling me she's immortal?"
"Not immortal," he answered. "That is why she is a recluse. She is safest in her home."
"If she's not immortal, then you can get her."
"Get her for what? Other than the things no one can prove, we have no case. Witchcraft, Satanism, those things are not crimes."
"For what she did to my daughter!" Lindsey screamed. "She has my husband. If you can't get her, who can?"
He felt her frustration. "I will not patronize you," he said. "You have to understand; Eva has got a strange hold on some high placed people. Her father, your husband, is a diplomat. No judge will issue any warrant on her, and they will not go in Eva's house searching for Edward. I cannot give her driver a ticket. The court would throw it out and accuse me of falsification, or worse. You have told me Edward has called. You do not believe it is him, but others have said
they have heard from him."
"What others?" she shrieked.
"I cannot say that the police have done any digging, but I have. The people I have talked to have heard from him, people who have been to her house. Now, they could be lying or perhaps they are being fooled."
"More doing," she said. "I want more doing. I just can't seem to get over the fact that no one can help me find Edward. I'm afraid for him, but I have to admit that part of me thinks he brought this on himself. Eva is his daughter. He knew better."
Nkumbi took a deep breath and said, "You have heard of King Solomon, yes? The wisest man in the world? He was warned as he rose to power not to intermingle with the women from the countries he defeated. Solomon loved his women. Had many wives and concubines. But at the end of his long reign, what did he do to bring about the end of his prosperous kingdom? The one thing he was warned not to--he brought in the beauties from conquered cities and placed them in his palace. He knew better, and yet ... do not badger yourself over the what-if and the should-have; those thoughts will eat at your heart."
"Why here, why us?" asked Lindsey.
"I am not sure why she picked your family. Africa is full of wealth and superstition--perfect for her. There is a folk tale that says Satan landed on Africa when he fell from Heaven. I think, because of where he landed, she is bound to this continent. We are not without hope. She is human with limitations and boundaries."
Lindsey chuckled on the other line.
"I do know another priest," he said, offering one of the last cards in his back pocket, one he was not sure it was time to play. "When I tell you who it is, you might be hesitant to call him."
36--NKUMBI
Nkumbi slipped the cell into his breast pocket. He hoped Lindsey would make the call. She was a rational woman; the kind that would not let resentment get in her way.
He turned his attention to the open book in his lap. The first section was a basic lesson in Alchemy. All surfaces, according to Eva, hid something much more valuable underneath. It was up to the reader to discover the way to unearth each treasure whether it was buried under metal, dirt, rock, or skin. Geometrical patterns--used to channel spirits and to tear a rip in the universe, so as to travel through it--were best tattooed on the body.
Seeking Samiel Page 10
