The Hangman's Replacement: Sprout of Disruption (BOOK 1)

by Taona Dumisani Chiveneko

  “No. I know you are not the type to kill for recreation. I also have no doubt that you would do the job with dignity and distinction. This question has nothing to do with being an executioner. I just want to know if you have ever killed anyone before. If you have, there will be no consequences. I would not tell anyone. I would not care why you did it. I just want to know if Abel Muranda has ever snuffed out a human life ... with his own hands.”

  Though Mr. Gejo’s mouth was well hidden behind his massive moustache, his voice was crisp. Instead of muffling its sound, his expansive facial hair seemed to filter the untidy cadence that often cluttered the voices of lesser men.

  Mr. Gejo was likeable and dangerous.

  “No, Mr. Gejo. I have never killed anyone with my own hands.”

  Tiny creases formed at the corners of Mr. Gejo’s eyes. Beneath that moustache was a smile of amusement. But what he found amusing remained a mystery to Abel Muranda.

  “Good luck, my friend,” said Mr. Gejo as he turned and walked away.

  After walking a few blocks, Abel Muranda saw a teenage boy loitering in a parking lot. The youth’s eyes were darting all over the place. His clothes were at least three sizes too large for his frame. His jeans were nestled halfway down his buttocks. Most of his red underwear was gleaming in the sun. This made no sense because he was also wearing a belt. Surely, the belt was strong enough to keep his jeans from sagging so low? The boy did not seem to care how ridiculous he looked. In fact, he held himself with pride.

  Though the parking lot was empty, the boy looked like he was expecting some excitement at any moment. Abel Muranda asked him where he could find Claudius. With a helpful nod, the boy abandoned his loitering project and led the way to the transit terminal. When they got there, an equally shady Claudius shook Abel Muranda’s hand.

  “I would die for any friend of Mr. Gejo,” said Claudius.

  “I appreciate the sacrifice, Claudius. But for today, all I need transportation.”

  Claudius saluted.

  “Of course!”

  Abel Muranda bundled into an overcrowded minivan, which sped off in a cloud of dust.

  * * *

  Vaida

  There was something different about Vaida’s house. It seemed to have too many bedrooms for its size. Abel Muranda had never been inside a city home, so he concluded that all of them were probably like this. Vaida herself was a nice woman. She had a big smile and a loud voice. She also dressed like one of those city women he had heard so much about: lots of face paint and even more self-confidence. Her elegance was more colourful than Mrs. Sibanda from the interview panel.

  Abel Muranda noticed that there were only women’s shoes near Vaida’s front door. She had not mentioned any husband or children. As they drank some tea, Abel Muranda tried but failed to think of a polite way to raise the subject. Vaida talked a lot. He could barely drink his tea and listen at the same time.

  It was now six o’clock.

  “How much did Tongai tell you about me?” she asked.

  “Who is Tongai?”

  “Tongai Gejo. The man who sent you here? Remember him?”

  “Oh, Mr. Gejo? He did not tell me much. He just said you and your husband are good friends of his. That’s all.”

  Vaida burst into laughter.

  “Where did you say you were from, again?”

  “Far away. No one seems to know where it is so I have stopped telling anyone.”

  “Try me.”

  “Okay. Gwenzi.”

  “Near Rukukwe? Yes, I know that place.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I have distant relatives from that area. In fact, one of my uncles went back to visit a few months ago. He bought a goat.”

  “I think I may have sold your uncle that goat!”

  “Really? What a coincidence.”

  “Was it black and white? Stubborn?”

  “He did not mention its colour or temperament.”

  “I see. My goat was tough and proud. His name was Hurudza.”

  “That’s an interesting choice of name for a goat, Abel Muranda. Was Hurudza also antisocial, by any chance?”

  “Well, he didn’t get along with the other goats but we were best friends.”

  “How peculiar,” said Vaida with a smile.

  “Do you go back to visit your family in the area?” asked Abel Muranda.

  “No. They are distant relatives. Besides, I am always busy with work.”

  “What sort of work do you do?”

  “Officially, I run a ‘stationery’ supply company. But that is on hold. I am recovering from surgery. The doctor told me to relax for several weeks.”

  “Were you ill?” asked Abel Muranda.

  “Yes. But I was lucky. My doctor is one of the best. He fixed my problem before it got worse. Many issues are easy to fix if they receive immediate attention.”

  “Doctors are amazing,” whispered Abel under his breath.

  “Mine certainly was,” said Vaida happily before noticing the gloom on Abel Muranda’s face.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “There is always something wrong, Vaida. I learn to live with it. So what is stationery?”

  “Pens, paper, and office supplies. That sort of thing.”

  “You can afford a house like this from selling pens and paper?”

  “I sell them in large quantities. My customers are companies and government departments. I don’t sell to individuals.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “What do you mean, ‘unofficially’?”

  “You said that ‘officially’ you sold stationery. What do you do unofficially?”

  “Oh, I see. You will soon find out. All I can say is that my surgery has forced me to take a break from working on that too. But I have enough employees to make my inaction irrelevant. For now, I will show you to your room. I hope you are not an early sleeper.”

  “Not at all. My neighbours call me the ‘Owl of Gwenzi’. I often stay up until nine o’clock at night. Don’t worry. You won’t have to tread quietly until then.”

  “This is your first time in the city, right?”

  “Yes. I think I will like it.”

  “Only if you learn to stay up after nine o’clock. Long after nine o’clock.”

  * * *

  The Overnighters

  That evening, Abel Muranda took his first shower in an indoor bathroom. It was lavish, but what idiot came up with the idea of a white bathtub? If a person left no stains, it meant that they were too clean to take a bath in the first place. Someone who really needed a bath would coat the entire place with dirt!

  City people. They were strange and pampered. Abel Muranda could not revere any man who had never held a plough. He could never admire any woman who had never carried home a bucket of water on her head.

  By the time he finished taking his bath, the tub was a rich ecosystem of brown, black and purple streaks. In between the streaks were blotches of green fungus. No wonder he still smelled foul during the interview despite bathing in the river. Abel Muranda looked at the disaster he had created in the tub. What was the right way to clean up this mess? After mulling the situation, he decided to leave it alone. He didn’t want to break anything.

  After retiring to his room, Abel Muranda changed his mind. He was about to return when he heard Vaida walking into the bathroom. A gasp of alarm was followed by a brief silence. Abel Muranda felt even more embarrassed when he heard her scrubbing the tub. He considered offering to clean it himself, but decided against it. If there was no mutual acknowledgement of the incident, both he and Vaida could pretend it had never happened.

  The evening became more interesting around nine o’clock. Abel Muranda’s fatigue was fast overtaking his guilt about the bathroom. The Owl of Gwenzi was drifting off when he heard a car in Vaida’s driveway. He raised himself from the pillow and opened a crack in the curtain. Outside was a white minivan like the one Claudius had driven him in.

  At firs
t he heard a chorus of laughing female voices. The voices were soon matched with a group of young women tumbling out of the vehicle. Though it was dark, the glint of moonlight on exposed human skin was unmistakable. The women were minimally dressed. Abel Muranda was scandalized. In his opinion, they were naked. There were roughly fifteen women in total. As they disappeared around the corner, he heard the excitement moving towards the front door. Soon, the house was filled with animated chatter. Abel Muranda could hear Vaida’s voice above the others.

  What was going on here?

  At around ten thirty, Abel Muranda heard the sound of more vehicles outside. Once more, he raised his head and peered through the curtain. Driving into the yard were the most expensive and shiniest cars he had ever seen. Two were black, one was silver.

  Within fifteen minutes, there were twelve cars of all sizes in the front yard. Not a blade of grass was visible in the jungle of steel and glass machines. Well-dressed men with large guts stepped out from the cars. All moved into the house with a measure of self-importance that was only exceeded by the anticipation in their every step.

  The music started at around eleven. How could Vaida play such loud music at this time of night? Surely her neighbours were in bed already? Some of them probably had small children. But as he took another look at the cars outside, it dawned on Abel Muranda that the neighbours’ inconvenience did not matter. If anyone called the police, the officers would probably salute the men in Vaida’s house before scolding the informant.

  Around midnight, the situation became more troubling. Abel Muranda heard the door of the adjacent room slam shut. He could hear the giggles of a young woman between the drunken grunts of an older man.

  Something unholy was happening next door.

  The unholiness had a rhythm. It continued for the next hour. The silence that ensued did not last long. Before Abel Muranda’s fatigue could haul him from the din of debauchery to the chastity of sleep, his bedroom door flew open. The first thing he saw was the tip of a large gut entering the room. It was full of beer. Abel Muranda was sure he could hear the frothy bubbles bouncing around in the cavernous belly. The structure continued its entrance for several seconds before its owner came into view. He was fat and oily. His balding head was sweating heavily. It looked like it had been pressed against the spout of a boiling kettle.

  “Who are you!” screeched the man.

  “Abel Muranda. Who are you?”

  “Hofius Mbozha. I am a Big Shot, so if I were you, I would leave this room right now. This young lady and I need the space to consummate our misdeeds!”

  Hofius was drunk and vulgar. The lucky lady in question only became visible when she followed the rest of Hofius’ body into the room. She was drunk and nearly undressed. An ill-timed sneeze would have finished the job.

  “I do not care who you are, Mr. Hofius. This is my room and I am sleeping in it.”

  “This is ridiculous!” bellowed Hofius. “You do not have a lady in here. This is sacrilege! Who comes to Vaida’s to sleep alone? What sort of creature are you? As my uncle once said, ‘Only a man without a penis would choose to sleep alone in a house full of lovely ladies.’”

  Hofius waved a sausage-like finger in the air. His uncle had used this technique to enhance the impact of his wisdom.

  At that moment, Vaida walked in and grabbed Hofius by the shoulder.

  “Tell him, Vaida. I am a Big Shot!” raved the drunken man.

  “I know, Hofius, but you cannot have this room. Mr. Muranda has it for the night.”

  “But he does not have a lady with him, Vaida? I am sure this is against the law!”

  “Usually. But not tonight,” said Vaida in a soothing voice.

  “Maybe I should teach this man some manners? Would you like to learn a lesson from The Big Shot, my friend?”

  Hofius began rolling up his sleeves. His fat hands emerged like obese snakes squeezing out from a tube of tooth paste. He was punishing his clothes with a ruthlessness that Mr. Gejo would envy. However, he was doing so with a deluge of fat instead of muscle. Abel Muranda rose from the bed and planted himself in front of Hofius. His face was calm. The rest of his body was a tightened ball of muscle.

  Vaida stood aside and folded her arms.

  “Sure, you can teach him a lesson, Hofius. But don’t tell Tongai about it. Abel is one of his good friends.”

  “Oh ... I see,” Hofius said kindly. The obese snakes were sucked back into their toothpaste tubes. His gut sagged even further towards his knees. Only then did everyone realize that he had been sucking it in. Mr. Gejo’s name had calmed Hofius the way breast milk silences hungry babies.

  “Well in that case, I bid you a good night, Mr. Muranda. Sleep well … Alone.”

  Vaida gently turned Hofius around and led him out the door. His gut scraped against the handle as he left. If he had been sober, he would have yelped in pain. But he was drunk and eager to spend time with his lady. Hofius barely winced.

  “This way, Hofius. I have a special room for you on the other side. It’s much nicer.”

  Abel Muranda could hear Hofius muttering all the way down the hall. He was aggrieved.

  “It is against the law, Vaida. I tell you, it is against the law …”

  “I know,” Vaida said soothingly.

  Abel Muranda could not believe the last words Hofius said before his voice faded down the hallway.

  “So, Vaida. Are you available tonight?”

  “No Hofius. Clarita, here, is more than capable of handling you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course. I just was hoping –”

  “I don’t do joint ventures, Hofius. Besides, I am recovering from surgery.”

  Abel Muranda heard a dejected groan just before he shut his door. He was trembling with anger. If he had not been a guest, he would have demolished Hofius Mbozha.

  How dare he?

  Did Hofius know that he, Abel Muranda, had walked for three weeks, braved flooding rivers, and wrestled a crocodile on his way to Harare? Was Hofius aware that a single punch in the gut from Abel Muranda would eject the foul vocabulary from his being? Success and luxury can make men foolish. They fail to realize that their success cannot protect them from physical disassembly.

  Abel Muranda grabbed a corner of his blanket and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he screamed. The celebrations muffled the anguish that escaped.

  * * *

  The Apology

  By three thirty in the morning, only four cars remained in the yard. The Overnighters.

  Abel Muranda’s eyes were bloodshot. Though he had not slept properly for days, his fatigue was not strong enough to overcome the stampede of emotions that were harassing him. At four in the morning, he heard his door handle turning. It was Vaida.

  “Hello, Abel.”

  “Hello, Vaida.”

  “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

  “It’s what I am used to.”

  “Well, at least take a blanket.”

  “No, thank you.”

  Abel Muranda sounded resolute. Vaida decided not to insist.

  “May I come in? I would like to apologize on behalf of Hofius.”

  “If he wanted to apologize, he would have come himself.”

  “He was drunk, Abel. He also threw up on my carpet, but I won’t get into that.”

  Vaida stepped into the room.

  “Anyway, I have also come to apologize in my own capacity.”

  “Vaida. I appreciate the gesture, but you don’t have to undress in order to apologize.”

  Vaida stood in silence by the door. At first, the shock had rendered her motionless. She quickly recovered, but remained still.

  Maybe if she lingered, Abel would reconsider what was on offer?

  He did not.

  “You realize that you don’t have to pay?” she asked.

  “It makes no difference. Many things are free, but few come without a cost.”

  Vaida shook her head. When she was dressed, she sat on the bed and gaze
d at Abel Muranda’s outline on the floor. Neither of them spoke. Vaida stood and walked over to the window. She knew the room well. When she stood at a certain spot, her figure created a flattering silhouette against the lace curtains behind her. Vaida’s dress was so closely fitted that it was impossible to distinguish it from the outline of her own body.

  “Apology accepted,” said Abel Muranda. “Can I sleep now?”

  “Fine!” said Vaida. She walked away from the window and sat herself on a chair near the door.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Hofius has a small penis. His gut makes it even harder to feel anything he does with it. Half the time I am struggling to breathe under his weight.”

  “Vaida, I do not need to know about your … work. It’s none of my business.”

  “So why do you sound like you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, I don’t believe you.”

  “You can believe what you like. I am too tired to argue with you.”

  “Whatever you say, Abel. Anyway, don’t take your confrontation with Hofius personally. Insulting other men’s sexual organs makes him feel better about himself. Maybe he felt threatened by you. Any man would. I am sure you have –”

  “Stop telling me what you think all men want to hear. I get no satisfaction from knowing that another man believes he does not measure up. Even when I despise him. Now let’s drop this topic.”

  “Okay, Mr. Righteous. I was just trying to provide the hospitality that Tongai Gejo sent you here for.”

  “Well he misread me.”

  “What did he tell you about me?” asked Vaida.

  “He said that you were a friend who would give me a place to sleep.”

  “That was all?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. I assumed that he had told you what type of place this was. I thought that your earlier ignorance was an act. I thought you were just shy.”

  “No, Vaida. I did not know I was coming to a place like this. Mr. Gejo seemed like a sincere man. I just wanted somewhere to stay while I waited for the results of my interview.”