by Botha, Johan
A little while later, he woke up to the sound of plates being moved around in the kitchen. He got up, his head thumping, and headed towards the kitchen. He found Big John and his wife Lettie near the table, dishing food into a plate.
“Brought you something to eat.” Big John said. He knew his friend was in need of someone to look after him.
“Thanks…”
“Come, eat.” Lettie said and pointed to the plate filled with putu and mince.
Peter sat down at the table. Just as he wanted to pick up the fork to start eating, his eyes caught a grey figure running past the door into the kitchen.
“What the fuck was that?” Big John exclaimed, also seeing the figure run past them.
“Come.” Peter said and got up.
Before he could move, the figure ran into the room.
“Hey mama!” Lettie yelled and jumped to the corner.
A baboon, grey and dirty, jumped onto the table. It had foam around its mouth and looked as if it hadn’t eaten in a long time. It went straight to the plate on the table and peed on the contents.
“You bugger!” Big John yelled and grabbed the pot of boiling water on the stove. He threw the water on the baboon before he could jump off the table. The baboon gave an unearthly scream and hobbled off the table, making for the front door. His chest and legs were badly burnt from the water falling on him.
“Hamba!” Big John yelled.
Lettie still stood in the corner, eyes wide. “Witchcraft.” Was all she said.
“Dammit, what the hell did that thing want in here?” Peter said.
A noise outside the door made the two men run towards the front door. That baboon was not getting in the house again!
As they stepped outside, Peter gasped, then started wailing.
In front of him lay his sweet Juanita, naked on the grass in front of his house. Her chest and her legs were badly burnt by a liquid. It looked as if it might be boiling water…
****
It was Beth’s face that Peter saw when he first opened his eyes. He squinted at her as his eyes adjusted to the light, feeling confused, waking from a nightmare.
‘Hi Handsome.” She said. “I am glad to see that you are still with us.”
He groaned and tried to sit up but his body refused to cooperate.
She pressed him back against the pillows.
“No, no, the doctor said you should just lie still and I should call him as soon as you decide to come back to the world of the living.”
“Where are we?”
“In hospital, you dumb ox. You were going to be fried like a chicken but luckily Big John pulled you out just in time.”
“I arrived there at the same time as the fire engine and the police. By then he had already pulled you out of the burning house.” Beth continued.
“What fire? I don’t remember a fire.”
“The fire department thinks that your stove was the cause of the fire.”
He moved again trying to be more comfortable and pulled his face in agony as the pain in his leg shot through his whole body.
“The doctor said that you had a lot of alcohol in your blood,” Beth added disapprovingly, “You’ve been here two days ya know.”
“Holy shit!” Peter exclaimed surprised.
Beth pressed the bell next to his bed and within a minute a nurse and the doctor were there fussing all over Peter. They questioned him about what had happened and he told them that he had hurt himself putting fences up on the farm.
The doctor informed him that he needed to rest as much as possible as he lost a lot of blood.
They left leaving Peter and Beth alone.
“What happened? And don’t tell me the story about the fence. I remember how scared you sounded.”
“I was shit-scared; I’ve never in my life been so scared.”
“So, tell me what happened.” Beth said anxiously.
Peter looked at her and tried to tell her as much as he remembered. It took about twenty minutes for the whole story and Beth not believing her ears just stared at him without any comments.
I wonder if the doctor is not right by saying that he had too much to drink…she thought.
“Tell me about the baboon again.” She said as his unbelievable story finished, and he did.
Beth knew how he punished himself over Juanita’s accident and that he had lost everything because of his addiction to the drink. This had to be just another Peter – Drinking –Bender. He nearly did himself in this time, Beth thought, why do I even bother to keep showing up…
“I know that I was not dreaming all this. You can be sure of that.” He said when it looked as if Beth did not believe his story. “I can prove it! Hand me my clothes!!” Peter said, excitedly now.
Beth got up lazily from the side chair she reclined in during Peters fantastical story and walked the few steps over to the narrow closet the hospital staff had put Peter’s soot covered, torn and bloodied clothing.
“Do you need everything? Or…” Beth asked warily as she looked skeptically into the large plastic bag labeled PERSONAL BELONGINGS.
“No, just my pants and belt, are they still there?”
“Eish,” Beth said, daintily pulling Peter’s clothes half out of the bag as she walked to the bed, “I’ll bring you some fresh clothes tonight.”
Peter yanked out the pants and belt and pulled the leather satchel off the end. He felt the weight of it and looked at Beth expectantly.
“Open your hands…” he said, his blue eyes brilliant in the yellow lighting of the room.
Beth snorted at his dramatic display and placed her hands open in front of him over the blankets covering his lap.
Peter untied the leather strips that held the satchel closed and pulled the gathered top open. He turned the bag over and shook the contents into Beth’s hands.
“Here. Proof.” He declared.
Beth furrowed her brow, and locked eyes with Peter, wondering what he could possible prove with this display, until she felt a combination of ash, bones and teeth hit her palm.
****
The next morning Beth arrived with fresh clothes and a coffee for Peter and was surprised to find him already out of bed and standing in the room naked and smiling when she arrived.
“Well! Uh….” Was all she could muster as he winked at her and took the coffee and backpack full of clothes from her hands.
“Thanks.” He said, “I’m ready to get out of here.”
Peter sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the cargo shorts and t-shirt Beth had purchased for him. Nearly everything he owned had burned; he didn’t even know it yet. Beth filled him in on her business from the night before. She had stopped at Big John and Lettie’s and filled them in on Peter’s story. As usual, they didn’t say much. The locals were very selective with their words.
The doctor came in to re-dress Peters leg wound. It looked angry. Beth watched him as he bandaged it and saw clearly the four deep marks…like claw marks. It made what she saw in her hands yesterday even more believable.
Peter signed himself out, against the doctor’s advice, but cheerfully said goodbye to the nurses and medical staff, all who knew him well from Emergency work. “See ya soon Pete!” the doctor said. Peter shrugged, tossed his arm over Beth’s shoulders and walked out.
****
Rob Vine stood in front of the burned out remnants of the Jordan Place. As the lead Investigative Reporter for the Suburb Sun, it was up to him to document every misadventure and malady that be struck the poor and downtrodden of this kraal and village he covered. He also handled obituaries, the farm report and the classified section.
Although a transplant from the US, Rob had spent the last fifteen years in this community. Well-known and well-liked, he still made the local girls swoon with his Hollywood good-looks, and swarthy ways – adopted as they were. Most of the time Rob imagined himself to be Brad Pitt in some big budget movie, on location in some exciting film, and not merely making it paycheck to payche
ck, hiding out in this forgotten piece of jungle from an angry ex-wife and a somewhat shady reputation in the field.
Here, he was collecting the story of this gloomy fire, already getting the brush –off from Big John, which he understood. He’d known John to be a good man, but not eager to share his private pain or history with the press.
As Rob snapped a few shots of the smoldering framework, he noticed the broken glassware – recognizing it as Juanita’s. He took a photo of it. This was sad. Lovely Juanita is gone, and now this. “I hate this fucking place…” Rob muttered under his breath.
He turned as he heard the sound of gravel crunching on the road behind him. Peter and Beth had arrived.
This should be interesting…
****
“It’s very quiet." Peter remarked. The usual morning sounds on the farm were gone. No birds were singing and even the kraal was quiet.
In front of the ruins of Peter’s old home stood Big John Twala and Rob Vine.
“I’ll handle Rob,” Beth offered as they spotted the reporter from the truck. Peter didn’t reply, focusing only on the visage of his friend, his source of strength, Big John.
A huge man with hand like watermelons and shoulders that always seemed to be carrying a heavy load.
Peter grew up in front of Big John who had worked for the Jordan family since the age of fourteen.
He worked hard and Peter’s father thought of him as a son. He taught him everything that there was to know about working on the farm.
Since the Juanita’s accident, and Peter’s subsequent depression, he had automatically taken over the running of the farm. He knew that Peter needed time to recover from his loss and all men did this in their own different ways.
Beth pitched in as well. She had been Peter’s friend since grade school; they were friends for life…unconditional. She was always there for him and had rarely left his side since Juanita’s death. The only time they’d been apart was when her parents sent her away to boarding school for a few years when she was 15. She lived with her aunt in Johannesburg for a couple years, and came back all grown up.
It was Beth who helped Peter out of the car now, Big John noticed, as he turned around to greet them.
"Wow..." Beth said and it felt as if something crawled over her body as they looked at what was left of a once majestic building. She felt an unease deep within her. It seemed familiar to her, seeing these charred remains. She found herself looking deep within the burned out shell of the building.
Where is it? Where is it? What am I looking for? She shook her head viciously to clear her mind.
Beth gave a step forward…. And another just as Big John called out to her. Beth turned around and failed to see the movement in the shadows. It scampered for darkness to become invisible and part of the ruins.
“Beth! Peter…” John called to them, his face wet with tears. He struggled to maintain his composure for his friend’s sake, but his own loss was too great.
The two men looked at each other and shook hands without a word. They understood each other’s feelings.
Big John and Peter’s father built this house with his own hands and now it was only a black ruin smoldering in a beautifully laid out garden.
“Thanks for pulling me out of the fire. I could have been dead if it was not for your good timing.” Peter said with gratitude.
“You would have done the same for me.” Big John said.
“I don’t think I would have been able to lift that huge body of yours. I would have had to get a tractor to lift you out.”
They smiled as Rob walked over.
“Peter! I’m glad to see you are alright! Beth.” he winked, “a pleasure as always.” Rob smiled wolfishly. “Are you both alright? Can you tell me what happened?”
Peter smiled at Rob, he couldn’t help it. He knew Rob was doing his job, and you just couldn’t help but like the guy. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Rob, and I don’t want the whole town thinking I’ve lost my mind.”
“Well, Now I’m intrigued. Off the record?” Rob offered, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, I owe my friend here my life….” Peter trailed off, grabbing Big John by the shoulder.
“It was nothing. I was going to come by last night to talk to you anyway...” Big John replied, thinking of the scene with the Sangoma just moments before Lettie called him to Peter’s aid.
“Really? About what?” Peter asked as he began to remember the strange happenings of the fire.
Rob’s attention was captured, having heard rumors of what happened in Big John’s kraal last night with the Sangoma, and knowing that Lettie, Big John’s wife was known to be a ‘psychic’ in her own right.
****
Lettie had grown up in a small village near the coast. She had learnt from a very young age that she was not just another normal ingane. She was special, so her mother had always said. She was the only child and never knew her father. Her mother had told her that she need not know who left her when she was just a newborn baby.
By the time Lettie was ten years old, her mother fell ill and she had to care for her. She would sit for days at end next to her mother in their makeshift hut, swatting away at the flies seeking home on her mother’s sore infested legs. She died not long after that.
Being such a small and vulnerable child, she tried her best to look after herself. She searched for food in the veld where the older boys in the village worked.
“Hey wena!” a boy yelled at her one day as she walked past them, three bananas in her hand.
“That’s not yours!”
“Found it in the veld on the ground. It does not belong to anyone.” Lettie said hesitantly. She knew better than to start arguing with the boys as she knew what happened to little girls that were found wandering along in the fields.
“Uyaphi?” the boy asked and came closer, rubbing his hand against her upper leg.
“Hamba!” she said and started walking away.
“Whoa, where you think you are going?” he grabbed her arms and the bananas fell from her hands.
The last thing she remembered is the smell of sweat and the feeling of blood trickling down her thighs. A woman was carrying her and chanting an ancient African song. She could hear the feint dumdum dum of drums in the distance…
When part of you dies, another part is born… Lettie heard the words whispered to her, and she believed.
****
“There was some excitement in the kraal last night… The Sangoma...well, now is not the time, Peter.” John said, looking at Rob.
“Tell us what she said. Maybe there is a rational explanation or what happened to Peter.” Beth said anxiously, thinking again about the teeth and bones… so strange and twisted.
Big John looked at her, wondering why she seemed so anxious.
“She saw bad things. So did Lettie …She cannot talk about it, even to me.” He said
“But why?’ Peter asked again, growing impatient.
“It is the fear that her words might bring it back. The forefathers might bring us bad luck if she talks about it.”
“What is going on here?” Rob asked, suddenly sensing the scope of what was happening around him. “What is going on? What’s up with this fire Peter? Are you saying that this was not a normal fire? The fire chief is still trying to find the source Pete.”
“Rob…. Let’s just say, keep your pencil sharp.” Peter said, walking away.
Rob looked at Big John and he seemed scared. That should be a headline, Rob thought, because he knew that nothing scares this man. He once saved Patrick Jordan’s life.
****
Peter’s father had bought a full blood young Brahman bull to bring some new blood into his herd. The two-year-old calf was one of the most beautiful animals to ever come into the district. The local villagers would come out to the farm to watch Patrick train him and work with him in the pen.
The bull grew strong, and Patrick continued to work with him, but it always had a wild s
treak in it. One day Patrick slipped in the kraal and frightened the bull. It came straight at him.
Big John had been watching from the fence rail and threw himself over the barrier and in the path of the bull in a flash. He quickly grabbed the horns of the Brahman, and stood his ground.
As Patrick scrambled up, John twisted the bull’s head until one horn almost touched the ground. With a final surge of power he turned the bull over as Patrick shouted.
