Now look what you did.
The ribbon collapsed on the table spilling red silk onto the white tablecloth. I gripped the padded box as if the slightest movement would cause it to explode. It warmed in my hands. I gently lowered it to my lap.
"It won't bite you," Eva said. She sat across from me, dinner steaming on her plate, Guert pouring another drink. "When did you get here?" I asked.
"I've been here the entire time," she said. "Aren't you hungry?"
The food--garlic, onion, roasted peppers--it smelled so good. My plate, empty seconds ago was full. Butter ran in golden lakes through an open baked potato. Thick, pepper crusted roast slices were layered on my plate.
When I raised my head, it was to Eva murmuring, "Siyasebenzela," isiZulu for, "We serve." She said it with a nod, like a prayer.
"What do we serve?" I asked.
Guert answered, "The best drinks in town," and refilled my glass.
"Hot damn!" I said, taking a swig. I took one bite of my roast and looked up to see her empty plate, the corners of her mouth cracked and bloodied. Eva licked her blood with a rapid tongue, and the corners were healed, as if her tongue had sutured them with glue.
She ate. Her mouth stretched from ear to ear, and an elastic tongue lapped up her meal in one sweeping lick, then she gulped the bulge down her bloated throat. That is what you did not see. And you did not see what it is that she ate. It is not fit for human consumption. What you see on your plate is one thing, what you ingest is another.
The food, the drinks. It was all so inviting. And it tasted good; it felt good in my stomach. I wanted to eat. My trousers were too loose to wear without a belt. I had lost weight, and had to admit that I couldn't remember when I had last put food in my mouth.
The last time I had sat at that table, the same food had been served with a tooth buried inside. I had gone to the bathroom and had come back to the table to see Eva dabbing at the blood in the cracks of her mouth, to her saying "Siyasebenzela." But then, I didn't know what the word meant. Then, the voice wasn't so loud and constant in my head. Come to think of it, that had also been the last time I'd heard from Edward.
I pushed my plate away.
Edward had invited me to the house on Eva's behalf, and he'd done so with a nasty chuckle. He had been at the house that day, but no one had seen or heard from him since.
"Open it," she said, referring to the box in my lap.
"Where is Edward?" I asked, fondling the box.
"He's around," Eva said, her eyes fixated on my hands. "Let's forget about him for now." I had lifted the box off the table balancing it in my palms. "Open it," she ordered.
My hands obeyed, flinging paper to the floor like a boy overwhelmed on his birthday. A hinged jeweler's box sat in my palm. Thumb to thumb, I pried at the slit and it cracked open, revealing its treasure.
"Beautiful," I said. A round-hammered bronze disc about six centimeters in circumference lay on a cream silk pillow. Encrusted with lapis and red carnelians, a gold cord was strung through a top loop. I slipped my pinky through the cord and lifted it to my face. The disc spun and my eyes crossed as I watched.
"Do you have any idea what I went through to get that? Touch it," Eva said, goading me.
It was so hard to say no to her.
"Pick it up. Put it on."
The next moment, Eva was straddling my chest as I laid spread eagle on the floor by the front door. Her weight crushed me and I struggled to breath. My skin crawled and itched around my neck. "Wear it well," she said.
66--MENA
Mena waited outside on the stoep. She leaned against the front door and its frame objected to her weight with a long-winded sough. Drowsy and bored, she nodded off, then jerked awake. A second of sleep here, a minute there--it was enough rest to keep her sane.
Eva had rarely put them to work. The house took care of itself, and whilst she slept, their main job was to keep watch over the property and answer to Edward's whims whenever he was around. Now that he was finally gone, there was little for them to do.
Mena's endless hours had allowed her to spend time on the streets, becoming a voyeur into stranger's lives. She watched through windows after people turned out their lights, and snuck through unlocked windows or doors inspecting the cupboards, picking through closets, digging through drawers. She never took anything.
Mena sat on the edge of their beds and watched them sleep, jealous of their nocturnal comforts. Nightmares teaming with hungry mouthed beasts lay waiting for her to close her eyes, and the only way to avoid them was to keep from falling asleep. The menacing brutes were real, and though she only saw them in her nightmares, they were a constant presence. They accompanied her on her excursions, and one or two would remain behind with the sleeper she visited. She left them twitching in their haunted dreams, taking comfort in knowing that someone other than herself would never rest again.
Eva lay upstairs, sleeping, and Guert was in the kitchen, vomiting. Mena stood outside waiting for Phred. Bet he's still trying to decide which shoes go with which hat.
Phred dressed in the best, stealing only the finest apparel and shoes from the priciest boutiques. Sometimes, after dropping off Edward, Phred made pit stops along the busy streets. People flagged him down whenever taxis weren't available, asking if he'd like to make a few Rand driving them around. Phred cautiously refused the ones he thought not worth the risk. If Phred liked what he saw--a young man alone, a drunken couple--he took them for a ride.
Their bodies ended up in Eva's freezer after he beat and raped them, taking whatever clothing, jewelry, or cash he wanted. The fact that his main job was to be on the constant hunt for food--people who would never be missed; there were plenty, more than one would like to think--kept him busier than Guert and Mena.
Where is he, she wondered, eyes trained on the tree-lined path. Bet he's scratching his head, trying to remember which dismembered arm goes with which torso before wrapping them up for delivery.
Not that it mattered; all the limbs wound up on the same shelf, all the torsos hung from the same ceiling on meat hooks, all the heads wrapped and stacked in the same corner, and all the organs stewed in the same drums.
Mena bit at a hangnail. She hated waiting. The kitchen was Guert's job, not her's. Barfing was secondary and should have been put off until later. Unable to resist the smells and the presentations she skillfully created, Guert consumed a piece of each tender morsel as it went from pan to plate. Unsettled by guilt, she wiggled her fingers down her throat, tickling the uvula until she vomited in the kitchen garbage.
Guert performed this ritual every day after every meal, leaving her body skeletal. Her cheeks caved, loose skin wrinkled under her sunken eyes and pointed chin. Brittle bones cracked on a regular basis. The lack of nutrition prevented her bones from healing properly. Swelling took weeks to subside. Humps formed and joints protruded at odd angles. She spent her life eating and puking. The drink could only do so much to heal the damage she had done to her body.
They drank Eva's muti to live longer lives, to coat their eyes against the walking nightmares, and to protect their immune systems from contagious diseases. Not for their own benefit, but for Eva's.
They all had other lives before Eva. Mena didn't know Guert's or Phred's stories and only recently had an errant flashback of her parents, a house, and a black poodle. She had been about five years old, and the morning was cool. The dog's leash got caught around her ankle and she fell. Taking her anger out on the dog, she kicked it. As the puppy ran out into the street she picked up a rock to throw at it. A passing car became her target instead.
Crack.
Sinister taillights flashed, and the long dark car backed up. A faceless man stepped out, grabbed her arm--she still felt his trap above her aching elbow--and her life darkened from there, but not with sleep. Phred didn't kill everyone he took. Mena was left for Eva, and she had made Mena her pet.
She nodded off again, head jerking when he pulled into the drive.
Phred strode up the red concrete stoep, head tipped, presenting a full view of his squared, greasy black hair. He wore a navy neckerchief and had tucked his trousers into high heeled boots worn on the wrong feet. Bet he got a good laugh at his own expense when he looked in the mirror. Bet he doesn't look in a mirror.
Mena followed him through the dining room, through double swinging doors, down the steps and into the sparse kitchen. Passing rows of prep tables lined up cafeteria-style, they stopped when they both spotted Guert leaning over a waste-bin, retching.
"Working up dinner?" Mena asked.
Guert's blue-tinged face was becoming more and more skeletal. Bet she starves to death.
"In here," Mena said, leading Phred to the back of the kitchen.
The chrome door of the walk-in freezer released its suction as she pulled on the handle. She parted thick plastic sheeting, holding the flaps aside for Phred.
Butcher hooks hanging from the ceiling of the capacious room held only one flayed and halved carcass. A couple bags of wrapped meat were stacked along the bottom shelf and three plastic drums lined up along the wall. He nodded in satisfaction to the freezer's bare condition.
"I have a large delivery."
"How large?"
"Large enough to fill this room."
She relaxed her shoulders. "A stocked freezer is safer."
They exited the freezer and the sour smell of Guert's stomach acids hung around the waste bin. Mena would have to see that Guert disposed of this with a hose and sponge before one of those things in the wall came searching for leftovers. Ever since Caroline put her hand through the wall those damned things came and went almost every day. Last time, Mena caught one in the bin lapping up everything in there, including Guert's vomit.
"We gotta unload," Phred said.
67
After Phred left, Guert had returned to the kitchen to prepare dinner whilst Mena lingered on the stoep. Where he was off to next was anyone's guess. Mena didn't even know where he slept, assuming he did. She and Guert had their own rooms in the house, down the hall from Eva's. Edward had also roomed on the same floor. They weren't friends, and they tried to mind their own business.
Mena chewed on the inside of her cheek. She did not like the dark clouds moving in from the distant horizon. Was it that time already, she wondered? Storms followed Eva whenever she ventured outdoors--Mena was usually the one who had to throw the seeds into the air before Eva could even come to the front door. This storm was different.
It had to be the pregnancy, she told herself. She'd been through those before and whenever the baby was due, a black storm rolled in as one minion was retired with the mother's death, another minion retained for the baby's birth. This storm was one of those black ones, blowing in fast. She had seen several of them. The darker the storm the bigger the swarm. Bet this one is full of them things.
One time she had hung around outside, gaping into the blackened sky. Their stiff wings sounded like locusts snapping in the air. Long arms, legs, and necks with alien-like, cone-shaped heads swiveled as they searched the ground. One of them spotted Mena and screamed at her. Mena cowered in the stoep's corner by the door. Thunder clapped over their shrieks and calls, and when lightning flashed, everything in the sky disappeared for that second. Eva stood over her. "The transfer of the guard," Eva said. "Shoo," she then said to Mena, directing her back inside.
Mena nibbled inside her mouth, her teeth pulling threads of skin away from her inner cheek. She did not like this coming storm at all.
68--JEFFREY
A cough nagged the back of my throat. I kept trying to swallow the annoyance down, but it wouldn't let me. The dry air tortured my throat. I leaned over and spat on the verandah. "I'll be damned," I said, staring at the glob on the cement.
I had to wonder whose cemented verandah I stood upon. And how I had gotten there. Empty water bottle in hand, I stepped up and rang the bell. It gonged behind the beige oak doors. I bounced up and down on my heels, arches sore, bladder impatient.
I rang the bell again. No footsteps. I sighed, dropping my shoulders and pulling my zipper at the same time. Steaming yellow relief hissed onto the porch, puddling at my worn shoes.
I zipped, and jerked at the stab to my hip. The hammer was in my pocket. "Bloody hell," I said, wondering how long I'd been wearing those same trousers.
I rang one last time before trying the doorknob. To my surprise, the knob turned. Opening the door, I peeked inside.
Cool, flowery air brought me to a standstill. Beyond the ceramic tiled entryway, a plump conversation sofa curled around a coffee table with a vase of yellow roses perched in its middle. The flowers brought back memories of quieter, happier times inside my own English home.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Lindsey stood in the living room doorway wearing a thick robe. She massaged her wet head with a matching towel. "What do you want?" she asked again.
"How is Caroline?" I asked. I needed to hear that she was all right, that she was functioning and happy. Then I could go home.
Lindsey glared at me angrily and marched to the windows. She peeked through the sheer curtain, both hands clutching her towel to her chest. "Who's in the car?" she asked.
The Rolls idled outside.
"That's Phred," I said. "I think he followed me."
Lindsey stepped away from the window. "You brought him to my house?" she asked.
"You don't like him either, huh?"
"She's not in there, is she?" Lindsey asked.
"Eva?" The sun shined in through the sheer curtains. "I doubt it."
"What do you want? Are you sick?" she asked, whipping the towel around her shoulders. I wanted to snatch it and stuff it in my mouth, sucking out every drop of moisture.
"Can I have some water?" I asked.
Lindsey looked me up and down, as if deciding. "Wait here," she said.
I had forgotten how much I had loved this serene house, how wonderful it smelled. Sentimental trinkets filled the shelves and hung on the walls. Months ago, if anyone had asked, I would have called Eva's house the more masterful, regal choice. But now, I knew better. I missed the little details that made a house a home.
Lindsey returned with a small plastic cup. I downed the water and held it out for a refill, water dribbling down my chin.
"You're a slob," she said. "And you smell." She focused on my neck and leaned closer, looking concerned and disgusted. "What is that?"
I dropped my chin, attempting to follow her gaze.
"That." Lindsey parted the shirt's fabric exposing a circular bulge on my chest just below the suprasternal notch. She drew in her breath.
Putting fingers to my throat, I followed a thin, raised scar, feeling it all the way to the back of my neck. I fingered the bulge, staring blankly at Lindsey, prodding at the puckered, hammered disk, the jewel bumps, the tight cord. No matter how many times I rewound the event in my mind, I had no idea how it had gotten under my skin.
There was no explanation that I could give without freaking her out. I felt like screaming, like ripping out the necklace and whatever else was trapped inside my memory and under my skin.
"The seatbelt cut--it got infected and scarred," I lied, buttoning up my shirt. I sheepishly held out my cup once more. "Would you mind?"
"Yes, I would. Where've you been, Jeffrey? You do know that Caroline died, don't you?"
It was a punch in the gut. My chin began to quiver. "When?" I asked, working my brain to remember kissing her goodbye in the hospital.
"You didn't know?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"It appears to be suicide, but the coroner hasn't made an official ruling. You were in her room with her, weren't you? One of the doctors saw you. You were the last one to see her alive. Did you overdose her?"
"I, I didn't do . . . What are you . . ."
"No," she said, "I don't believe you're capable of that."
Damn Eva. Was death her idea of a cure? "She was supposed to be cured."
Lindsey stood with the empty cup in one hand, the other hand on her hip. "Are you any happier with her? Do you have everything you wanted?"
I nodded, and then shook my head.
"Your eyes," she said, stepping closer. "Green, like Caroline's."
"My eyes are--"
"They're green," she said. "But you wouldn't have noticed the change, would you? It's that book. You read it." She took a step away from me. "Caroline's funeral was last week."
"I just saw her last night," I said.
69--LINDSEY
"I didn't kill her. I told her I loved her, I told her I was sorry."
Lindsey handed Jeffrey the damp towel off her shoulders. "Here, wipe your face." She went into the kitchen and filled a glass pitcher with water.
Forgiveness. Nkumbi had made the task sound easy, but it felt monumental. With the action would come the feeling, or so she hoped. She added ice to the cup, and closed her eyes briefly, repeating that 'f' word over and over in her head. She threw the plastic cup in the bin and grabbed a crystal glass from the cupboard.
"I'm scared," she said when she reentered the living room, offering him the glass of water. "I'm scared for my life. I'm scared for my husband's. Please, tell me--have you seen Edward?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I've asked about him. I don't think she would do anything to him."
"Oh no? He has her named in his will."
"She has so much money. That's no motive for her."
"Does greed mean anything to you?" Lindsey asked. "It should. You're quite familiar with it, by now. Greed has hooked you in the nose and led you down its stinking path. How do you think she gets all her money? I keep telling you, you have no idea who you're dealing with. And I didn't, either. I drove to the courthouse, after Nkumbi said something to me in the hospital about Eva--she has cancer."
"She gets it every time," Jeffrey said.
"What?"
"It's a genetic disorder in her family," he said. "My father told me."
"Oh, Edward never told me," she said. "Turns out that there is a lot he never told me. I pulled out his will. He's leaving everything to Eva. I signed everything over to him, years ago, for tax purposes. It all goes to her. The mines. The gold.
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