by Botha, Johan
FUCK! Now he was more than afraid and confused, he was angry. All the glass stuff in the lounge belonged to Juanita. Her family told him to keep it when he wanted to return all her belongings. Did he deserve this? What did he do up there on the mountain?
He snatched up the phone as he ran from the lounge.
As he looked back he could see that the foggy haze was concentrated in the lounge, dancing around in swirls, like ghosts having a last waltz before retiring to their eternal resting places.
He put the earpiece next to his ear.
Dum…dumdum….dum…dumdumdum….dum ……dumdum
Drums? Was that drums? Soft, barely audible, familiar? He listened intently to the phone until he felt the cold air around him again in a Whoosh and the rifle he clung too was gone!
No! Wait! There it hung, in the air, in front of him.
He let the earpiece fall and grabbed for the rifle but whatever held it was stronger than him.
The barrel turned until it was pointing right at him.
Peter tried with all his strength but he was much weaker than his opponent.
The barrel seemed to be growing in front of his eyes getting bigger and bigger until he thought that he could put his head inside it.
It was at this moment Peter first thought he might be hallucinating.
Maybe none of this is real. It’s the booze and the sun, a dangerous mix. This cannot be happening…
With one last mighty effort, Peter grabbed at the gun barrel just as the trigger seemed to be squeezed tight and a deafening hell broke loose around him! BANG!
Peter thought he could hear Juanita screaming his name as he realized once again how much he still wanted to live.
He felt the heat of the barrel as the gunshot passed through it. The sound of the shot echoed through the house like a cannon going off inside a cave. It seemed much hotter and louder than it should have been.
His ears rang and a hot tearing pain shot through his head.
Whatever held the Winchester let it fall to the ground and slowly everything turned back to normal inside the house except for the human form lying in the middle of the hallway and the broken wreckage of the lounge.
Chapter 4
Peter lay still as death itself while the contents of his canteen poured out beside him. The 70-proof brew pooled around him at first, then broke free from its circle and followed an invisible finger across the floor.
The mampoer found a path in the cracks of the wooden floor that led towards the kitchen where the coal stove still crackled hot, laid out by the old maid who had worked for Peter’s family for as long as he could remember. Sarah has already left to care for her own family and knew that Peter would look after himself for the rest of the evening.
His supper was waiting for him in the warmer drawer of the stove while a teapot began to whistle atop the adjacent burner, began to bubble and perk.
Sarah was thorough, and out of habit, left one of the plates of the old stove open so that the fire in the stove could get more air and heat up better. As the teapot began to overflow, the water spouted onto the coals below, making them crackle with excitement.
Inside, one of these huge coals was filled with water. It started hissing and steaming as it slowly reached boiling point.
The coal could not expand fast enough as the pressure built up inside it. It exploded with a loud bang, shooting pieces of flaming and crackling coal all over the interior of the stove.
Some pieces shot out of the gap on the stovetop and a piece of flaming coal landed very near the path of the liquor as it crawled towards the kitchen.
****
A river passes through Peter’s farm. One bank forms part of The Guardian Mountain and it goes straight up to heaven for about 350 meter's.
The centuries have carved a treacherous landscape here at the bottom; the river carving a tantalizing cliff that overhangs the water in a tempting way.
Peter once saw a baboon lose his foothold on this cliff and plunge straight into the strong current. He once tried to climb it himself, but was turned back quickly enough. It was as if the mountain had a life of its own and didn’t allow any trespassers on it.
All his life this cliff had fascinated Peter. There had always been something about this mountain that called to him, that teased him. Sometimes he’d spend hours fishing or sitting there, trying to see… something deeper in the rock. But there was never any change, any offering, any weakness presented.
But now as the shot in the house went off, something happened outside as well.
The mountain started rumbling and shaking. Giant slices of rock began to break free, and split in two as if this were the epi-center of an earthquake.
A faint sound seemed to come across the river, through the rocks beyond.
Dum, dumdum dum dum dum dumdum
Louder and louder it became, like a thousand Zulu warriors were beating on their shields as they readied for attack on some enemy. Feet thundering on the ground, causing it to vibrate and shudder.
Dum, dumdum dum dum dum dumdum
Vibrating through rock and water it startled the wild life into a panic. Birds rose from their roosts and took to the sky as the earth rumbled beneath them.
The sounds of drums became so loud that it echoed through the farm community.
Faster and faster it went!
The people in the nearby kraal looked around them, confused, wondering if someone in the village nearby had died. There must be some kind of feast going on, a special day, they wondered…
Inside an old cave a strange light bounced against the ceiling, shining like a bright star, as water came rushing through new crack in the old rock. It followed an aged trail left hundreds of years ago.
The sun started to set in the western side of the valley throwing its last rays into the opening. A strange mist started rising up though the wound in the mountain creeping into the air and hissing like a snake.
Next to one cave wall lifeless creatures sat upright. They looked like skeletons with the skin pulled over tight; mummified horrors from a circus. There was no clothing on them and their weapons were ancient but clean and sharp.
As the light in the cave brightened it struck the leathery props one by one like a lightning bolt and suddenly they started inflating with a ghastly breath. Under the dry, parched skin they seemed to come to life. One by one their eyes opened but they did not move, as if commanded by an unseen master.
On the altar was a skeleton, white as snow and decrepit. Through the year’s spiders have made webs inside and between the bones but now as the others became reborn, this forgotten maiden started to crumble onto her death-altar and became dust.
The drums became quiet.
Peter remained unaware of the chaos outside. He rolled on his side and groaned, vaguely aware of the smell of smoke. Sarah… the stove… he thought, with a growing awareness of danger…
Peter tried to crawl through the house, making his way towards the exit, hoping Beth and Big John would make it soon, yet considering briefly how easy it would be to just give in to the smoke, breathe in deeply now and let the Ancients take his soul and lead him back to Juanita.
Was this the way? The house was filling now, darkening with the thickening fog- his life, his memories, everything he had been clinging to these many months, was now going up in flames. He laid his face against the warming wood of the floor and through half-closed eyes saw the photos on the walls curl and melts. Juanita was gone now in every way he thought with a deepening depression and despair. He closed his eyes. His mind flashed to Beth, his best friend for so long, beautiful, fresh, loyal… and John, a brother to him in nearly every way….
I feel so tired.
The smoldering coal burned a hot black scorch on the wood floor, creating a divot for the nearby liquor to follow.
At the house the liquor was only an inch away and the heat of the smoldering coal and now smoking floor caused it to start evaporating into the air.
****
The shadow of a creature grew against the walls as it entered the larger hall. It presented itself to the macabre audience and raised its hands to engage them.
The Ancient Ones rose up as one and fell to their knees. Bowing their dusty heads they exclaimed in raspy voices…
“Nkosi Njalo!”
****
Peter didn’t know if it was the sound of the drums that woke him, or the smell of smoke, but when he opened his eyes drowsily he saw a new threat unfolding before him.
FUCK!!
With a “poof” the vapor of the mampoer ignited the very air inside Peter’s home, catching everything within its reach on fire. With an ache he felt the hair on his legs begin to burn. He laid there for a moment, fighting the urge to sleep.
The pain spurred him on and he crawled a few more feet towards the door, his leg bleeding and stinging from the heat, the amount of breathable air at the floor limited. He closed his eyes from the smoke and aimed his body toward the porch and hoped for the best.
****
The village where Big John and his family lived with about 15 other families was busy as an ant nest in the veldt.
The village was old and had existed even before some of the white settlers came to the valley. Some of the huts were older that the people who lived in them but they were kept in good repair by the men and woman of the village.
Each hut had its own area for cooking when it was not raining and also a separate kitchen area made of mud and clay where the people could cook during the rainy season. Some of the children slept here during the winters as it was warm and kept out the cold winds that came from the mountaintops.
Sometimes a tourist bus would stop there and pay the people just to show the travelers the village and some of the villagers would then pose for photographs.
The village bordered on four of the largest farms in the area and the men and women worked the fields during the day.
In the middle if the village was a huge open area where there was place to make a fire and also where village meetings would be held. The elders gathered here on these big nights to tell stories of the past. They also spoke of their ancestors and told legends of bravery so that the young ones in the village could carry it over to their own young ones someday.
Sometimes others joined them from villages nearby.
The local Sangoma lived in this village and some said that she had seen more than a hundred winters in her lifetime.
Her head was almost hairless while her toothless mouth could only chew very soft food. A maiden was chosen to be her apprentice and assisted her to eat by sometimes chewing her food for her.
The old woman had huge buttocks, and legs that looked like tree stumps while her upper body was very small. The old body seemed to be dimpled all over and on the rare occasion that an outsider saw her, they would think that she was an old fossil that belonged to another time.
Her legs, although huge were too weak to carry her body and she was carried around by the young men of the village. They’d take her to places where she liked to sit during the day and teach her young apprentice all the secrets of being a Sangoma.
Tonight was very important because the old woman has told Big John that he must call the people from the nearby village for a meeting. There was something that the forefathers wanted her to share with them.
Wood was gathered to make a fire in the center of the village and while the men slaughtered and old ox the women started making fires for porridge.
Women busied themselves, making sure that there was enough utshwala to drink. This traditional beer was made from sorghum and yeast. They filled up old empty tins and some of the men began drinking as soon as word was out that the beer was ready.
There is a big, old, hut near the center of the village and this is where the old Sangoma lives. Nobody dared to enter her domain without first calling out that they wished to do so.
Only when they received an answer did they either enter the hut or were turned away. .The only one that has the privilege of entering without any warning is the maiden who just two moons ago gave her first sign of womanhood.
She was taught well by the old woman who knew that soon she would follow the path of her ancestors and become one of the respected that talk through visions to her people.
The maiden helped the old woman get dressed.
First the old naked body was rubbed with fat from an ox until it shone like a babies flesh in the firelight. Then she dressed the old woman in her traditional dress of Kudu skin and beads. Dried seeds and small silver bells that looked as ancient as she was, tied around her waist and ankles. Around her wrists came all kind of bangles made from almost every shiny metal that existed in Africa.
Around her frail neck she put a necklace made of silver. It has a huge silver medallion on it with the words, To Lizzy, thank you. , for saving my ... n, Mrs… The letters were faded from years of cleaning and polishing.
With a last look at the old woman the maiden walked out to call the two young men who were waiting nearby.
The young woman was almost ready to take her place as tonight’s ritual. Tonight she would be honored to be initiated into Sangomahood.
Someone shouted outside as the men returned with the meat that they had cleaned near the river.
The ground in the center was hard from years of dancing and walking. There was no sign of any growth in this area and the young men placed the Sangoma near the fire so that she could get warm and the light of the flames would heighten the shine on her skin.
The flames threw shadows over her skin as she sat there with her toothless grin and made her look like one of the ancient god statues that used to be carved from wood.
The beer flowed freely and the men were all in a mellow mood. Nobody knew what the old mother was going to say and they all supposed that it was going to be good.
Acacia trees surrounded the whole village. In the summer it gave the most welcome shade and in the winter gave some shelter to the village from the cold winds coming down from the mountains.
A full moon reached over the treetops and lit up the area beneath. It’s yellow light casting weird shadows over the scene.
A jackal yelped somewhere in the field and mist started coming up all round. The low clouds concentrated on the area around the ring of trees and from a little distance away it was almost impossible to see what went on in the center of the village.
The old Sangoma took the beer that was offered her and took long swallows from the calabash while her apprentice prepared a special pipe for her consisting of mixture of leaves and other powders.
The old woman looked up at the moon and a strange look came over the wrinkled face. She knew that something strange was going to happen but did not have any idea of what to expect. This was a feeling she was used to.
Her pipe was ready and she took another long swig of the beer. The maiden placed the pipe between her lips and took a small burning piece of wood from the fire, which she used to light the pipe while the old Sangoma sucked on it.
Her chest swelled until it seemed about to burst.
Somewhere a drum was beaten slowly and the sound filled the village.
Some young men got up and started a rhythmic stride until they were all in a circle around the fire where they began moving in time to the beat of the drum.
The old lady exhaled the smoke from her lungs and took another swallow of the beer.
The drums started beating faster and faster and the dancers continued to move in time to the beat.
The old Sangoma took another pull on her pipe, anticipating the reaction from her village. She was delighted with her role in this mad play.
The warmth of the fire called her and her eyes took on the glare of the flames.
She watched the young bodies and lusted after them as her body started foll
owing the rhythm of the drum. She shook and rolled her head while her naked breasts bounced up and down.
The apprentice came up to her and rolled open a Kudu skin and placed it between the open legs of the witch.
The young girl could feel that something was about to happen and that it would change the course of many things in the village. Her heart beat faster. She was afraid. She was taught not to be. She was very afraid.
Around the fire the men started to sing an old primitive song that they had learned from their elders. The sound filled up the village, bouncing off the mountainside.
