But Deliver Us from Evil

by Lauri Kubuitsile

  Nthebolang wakes and her mother sits next to her on the edge of her sleeping mat.

  ‘Has my father returned?’ the girl asks.

  ‘No.’

  Mma Nthebolang takes a breath to steady herself. She has decided that she will explain everything to her daughter, thinking that it will be more frightening if Nthebolang sits through the trial and does not understand what’s taking place. It’s better she knows everything even if it is hard for her to hear.

  ‘My girl,’ she starts, taking her daughter’s hand in hers, ‘your father has come into big problems, very big problems. His brothers, Malome Retsogile and Malome Oaitse, have died suddenly. Now the people are blaming it on your father.’

  ‘Malome Retsogile is dead? And Malome Oaitse? Were they attacked by lions?’

  ‘No, someone bewitched them. The people are blaming your father.’

  Nthebolang’s face sets; her eyes harden. She suddenly looks much older than her years, and her mother is surprised by this. In that moment there is a shift. Her mother had been the protector, the one to clear the path ahead so that they could walk without thorns tearing at their flesh and rocks cutting their feet. In that moment, Nthebolang took over and it would remain that way from then on.

  ‘They’re wrong,’ the girl says.

  ‘Yes, they’re wrong. But we must go to the kgotla so that a trial can take place, so they can see that they’ve made a terrible mistake.’

  Nthebolang pushes her blankets away and gets up from her sleeping mat. She stands resolutely. ‘Yes, we must go. We must go and get Father.’

  The entire village is at the kgotla. People have come in from the cattleposts and masimo to attend the trial. Witchcraft is a popular topic and no one wants to miss a word of what will take place. It will be discussed for many months afterwards and it is better if one has first-hand knowledge to be able to correct others who might get the facts wrong. Danger must be spotted and tracked to ensure safety. Bad luck and other unknowable evils need to be uncovered. It is comforting when a cause can be found and people do not have to accept chaos and uncertainty in their lives.

  Nthebolang and her mother sit among the people. After some minutes, Rra Nthebolang is led to the front of the kgotla. His hands are tied, his face swollen. He looks at them and then quickly looks away. The men with him push him to the ground some distance from his wife and child. Nthebolang and her mother look at him and say nothing; there are no words to describe the pain of what they’re seeing.

  The kgosi begins to speak.

  ‘This man is charged with witchcraft which has caused the death of two men. This is a serious crime with a serious penalty. If you speak in this kgotla be sure that what you are saying is the truth as you know it. A man’s life is at stake.’

  The chain of people comes; one after the other they step forward. Mma Nthebolang wants to scream at them for their lies. Instead, she sits frozen in grief and disbelief. Nthebolang watches everything carefully but she too remains quiet. She allows their words to find space in her mind, solid space where she can call on them later if her will to correct this injustice ever wavers.

  I’ve seen him walking in the village at night on many occasions.

  He is very greedy. He doesn’t respect his elder brothers.

  The way he behaves with his daughter is unnatural.

  I saw him buy muti from that one we all know. A foreigner he brought from far away, from a place where we will not be able to find him. I saw this with my own eyes.

  He wanted all the cattle, now he has used witchcraft to get them.

  His wife is a witch too! I see the way she behaves. So proud! Proud because she knows she will inherit all the cattle got through these evil ways.

  Mma Nthebolang tries not to look at her husband. For the first time in their life together, he looks frightened and that leads her to lose hope. When she sees the fear in him, in his lined face and deflated body, she knows they will not win. The worst will happen.

  The kgosi’s son stands to testify. ‘When we told his wife that her two brothers-in-law were dead, she acted calmly, as if she expected such news. It was very abnormal. I even mentioned it to my father afterwards. She asked only about her husband, as if two dead men were nothing in her world, as if it was a regular occurrence. We have suspected for some time that witchcraft has entered our village. The rains are bad time and again; cattle are dying. But now two men are dead. We must take serious action before it goes any further.’

  The young man sits down. His father looks at him but gives no indication of accepting or denying what his son has said. After some moments of silence, the kgosi turns to Rra Nthebolang.

  ‘Stand,’ he orders.

  Nthebolang’s father stands. As he listens to the kgosi, he looks only at his daughter. He cannot stop the tears. He knows what’s coming. Guilt or innocence is not a part of it. Truth is irrelevant. The people need to be placated; the fear needs to be fed. The kgosi has no choice. The people want only one thing.

  ‘Rre Diteko Baipidile, the evidence leads me to only one conclusion and that is that you are guilty of witchcraft and murder. You are sentenced to death.’

  His wife wails and collapses to the ground. Nthebolang kneels at her side.

  ‘Mme, don’t do this!’ the little girl whispers into her mother’s ear. ‘Be strong for Father. Your tears will make everything worse for him. Death is not the worst that can happen.’

  Mma Nthebolang is helped to her feet by her tiny daughter, for no other person will assist them now. They begin their new life of being only two in the world, of being pariahs. They hold hands as they follow the group up to the highest cliff in the hills that surround the village. Rra Nthebolang walks at the front. No one needs to push him ahead, to encourage him to his fate. He will die with his pride intact.

  It takes close to an hour to reach the summit, as the path is strewn with granite boulders and thickets of angry thorn trees. At the top, two men grab Rra Nthebolang’s arms and carry him to the edge of the cliff. Just before they throw him over, he turns to the gathering.

  ‘You have made a mistake, but I forgive you.’

  He does not cry or scream as he falls through the air. No sound is heard when his body lands far below. It is forbidden for anyone to collect the broken bodies at the bottom, to bury them, to check whether or not the person is dead, to check whether he lies crumpled and suffering among the stones. They are witches; they deserve what they get.

  Like a celebratory parade, the people descend the hill. They are sure everything will be set right now. There is palpable relief. They think of their fat cows and the rain that will fall without stopping and make the world healthy and green again. Yes, all is sorted now. The future is bright and promising. The evil that has held them back has been dealt with.

  Nthebolang and her mother remain behind at the top of the hill for as long as they can. They sit in the dirt unable to move, stuck in that time now past, that moment when Rra Nthebolang was still alive. If they move it will be gone forever. If they move he will be dead.

  The kgosi comes to them.

  ‘You both will need to leave this place immediately. Quickly collect what you need. The people will want your house burned to the ground. Take what you can before they do.’

  He is not condemning them. He’s only reminding them of what is going to happen. He doesn’t label them witches. In his way he is trying to help. It’s a kindness.

  Nthebolang looks at him, studying his face and his words. She speaks in a voice much older than her years, more determined and certain than anyone might expect of her.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘We’ll leave this place, my mother and I, but know that you have done wrong today. You have murdered an innocent man. I owe my father a debt for what has happened to him and I will find a way to pay it, no matter what it costs me.’

  Nthebolang and her mother only take what they can carry. They pack it in leather bags and blankets: one for their back, one to carry on their heads, and one for ea
ch hand. The people stand a distance away, waiting silently. Waiting and watching. When they have gathered their belongings, Nthebolang and her mother watch the crowd set their home on fire. People cheer. People whom they have considered friends, some even relatives – but relatives who will never claim them again – rejoice as their life is destroyed and reduced to ashes.

  They turn and walk away from the flames, down the road out of the village, leaving all that they have ever known behind. They can only walk. Where they are going, they don’t know. The loss and sadness are too much; they cloud everything, making it unclear what lies ahead. They only walk to be gone. Walk in silence and heavy grief, as if walking is what their life will be now.

  Outside the village they see a man, a tall man with angular features. He’s herding a large group of cattle away from the village. As they get closer, Mma Nthebolang can see that the cattle are theirs – they are cattle from the cattlepost, Diteko, Retsogile and Oaitse’s cattle. She had heard someone talking about a man who had a signed contract from Diteko claiming that he owed him money, and that the money was to be paid in cattle, all of them. For the speaker, it was yet another reason for Rra Nthebolang to take his brothers’ lives. He had debts to pay, big debts. Others said it was the debt to the man who helped him with the black magic that killed his brothers. In any case, no one will get involved. Let the cattle go, they say; they are part of all of this, the coveted objects that grew the greed that led to the evil that entered their village. Let them go.

  Mma Nthebolang begins to walk faster. She wants to get past the place where the man and the herd will cross their path. She doesn’t want to speak to him, not even to greet him. She knows nothing about any money owed, another injustice, another burden to carry.

  Rra Nthebolang told her about the single cow he would need to pay the man for the tonic for the cattle. That’s all she knows. Diteko was an honest, good man. He didn’t create debts of that sort. People can say whatever they want. Lies on top of lies. What does it matter now?

  She sees this man as they get closer to him. He must be the one, the one who gave Rra Nthebolang the tonic and who now, because of what had taken place, has claimed the entire herd instead of the single cow he was owed. She does not think any further. She stops her mind. She carries too many emotions already. She does not want to carry the amount of anger her thoughts will take her to if she lets them.

  They cross the spot, the intersection of the paths. They have walked a distance away and Mma Nthebolang thinks they are free of this man, but then Nthebolang pulls her hand from her mother’s. She runs back towards the herd of cattle.

  ‘Nthebolang, don’t! Come here!’ her mother shouts as she chases after her daughter.

  ‘Lala! My Lala!’ Nthebolang runs towards the small calf walking with its mother near the back.

  The girl flings her arms around the calf and begins to cry. The man herding the cattle is near them now.

  ‘What is she doing?’ he asks Mma Nthebolang in a harsh voice. ‘She must leave my cattle alone.’

  She ignores him. She will not speak to this man. She bends down to her daughter. ‘Lala must go with her mother. They would both be sad if they were separated, just as you and I would be sad if we were separated.’

  Nthebolang looks up at her, her eyes full of tears. She lets go of the calf and takes her mother’s hand. They walk away. Nthebolang looks back only once, but by then the man has moved further along and Lala is lost in the many animal bodies and she cannot see her any more.

  Chapter Five

  Wilhelm rides hard and fast for most of the day. Beatrice, still tied on to the back of the horse, closes her eyes and tries to find her father in her mind. For the first time, he’s not there. Her father is not gone, he never can be. It must be everything that has happened. Somehow her mind pictures have vanished.

  Finally they stop. Wilhelm unstraps her and sets her down on the ground. A too-thin white man with a slit of a mouth comes out of the brick building at the front of the large compound. There are other buildings at the back, some made of mud, some of stone and cement, and Beatrice can see children, mostly Bushman children, in the distance.

  ‘What is this now?’ the man asks Wilhelm, looking at the girl, her hands still tied and her mouth gagged.

  ‘Captain Theodore Cook told me to bring her to you, said you’d be the best choice. She was kidnapped by the Koranna out on the Gariep. We suspect she’s Afrikaner, her parents long gone. She has taken on all the ways of the savages, so probably she was taken as a baby. You’ll have your hands full trying to tame this one.’

  The thin white man looks her over. ‘Well, we have no choice then if Captain Cook has said we must take her. We’ll have to keep her here and see how to manage.’

  Wilhelm rides off and Beatrice is left with the man. With her hands still tied, he takes her by the elbow and leads her behind the building to the spot where the children are.

  ‘Kamogelo!’ he shouts into the crowd.

  A sturdy Bantu girl, Beatrice suspects Tlhaping, comes forward. She looks at Beatrice and then at the man. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Take this one to the hostels. Get her washed. Tell Matron to give you a uniform. Throw these clothes in the rubbish pit. We’ll burn them later.’

  Beatrice does not fight as the girl Kamogelo leads her to a long building near the back of the compound. She’ll not escape this place just yet. She first needs to figure everything out. She’s unsettled by the loss of her father and their connection. She fears something has happened, something frightening and permanent. Kamogelo removes the gag from Beatrice’s mouth, which is now sore and dry. She’s thankful to be free of it.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Kamogelo asks in Afrikaans.

  ‘Beatrice.’

  ‘We don’t have any white children here – you’re the first one.’

  ‘I’m not white. I’m Koranna.’

  Kamogelo looks at her again. ‘You look white. I think they think that you’re white.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what they think, but they’re wrong.’

  Kamogelo shrugs.

  She is taller and stronger than Beatrice. She might be a bit older too, but not by much. When she speaks she reveals a wide friendly gap between her front teeth that Beatrice already envies.

  Kamogelo opens the door to the long cement building and they step into the cool darkness. There are rows of small iron beds down each side of the room covered with identical grey blankets. Beatrice follows Kamogelo right to the end, to the last bed but one.

  ‘This one’s yours. Mine’s that one next to the wall. We’re going to be neighbours. I wonder if we’re going to be friends too. I’ve never had a white girl as my friend.’

  ‘I told you, I’m Koranna.’

  Kamogelo smiles, showing the gap between her teeth. ‘Now I’m going to untie your hands. Are you going to behave? If you don’t behave, both of us will get beaten. And you ought to know now that Reverend Anderson is free with a cane, very free with a cane.’

  ‘I’m going to behave.’ Beatrice doesn’t believe in fighting people who are not her enemy. Kamogelo is not her enemy.

  She unties Beatrice’s hands. ‘This is your trunk. Take those clothes off and put them in here. We won’t burn them. They’re all you’ve got from home. Keep them hidden, though, or they’ll take them. I’m going to go and get your things from Matron. Are you fine staying here?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll stay.’

  Kamogelo leaves and Beatrice feels for her knife. Through everything, Maangees has lain calmly next to her heart. She slips it off and hides it between the iron bed frame and the mattress. She’ll put it back on her neck when she gets a chance. She needs to take care, as she suspects a girl with a knife is not allowed in such a place, though she can see already that Kamogelo makes her own rules and Beatrice doubts she would tell anyone about Maangees even if she saw it.

  Still, there is no need to complicate matters.

  Kamogelo returns with two sets of underclothes and two grey
dresses made from rough heavy cotton that scrapes against her skin. ‘Come, let me help you wash. Sorry the uniform is so ugly. I saw from your dress that you’re used to nice clothes.’

  ‘It’s not your fault; there’s no need to be sorry.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ Kamogelo says.

  ‘Are you a boss here?’ Beatrice asks her.

  Kamogelo laughs. ‘No. I’m never a boss anywhere. I’ve just been here the longest so Reverend Anderson thinks he can trust me.’

  ‘You’re his ally then?’

  Kamogelo’s quick smile disappears. ‘No. Never his ally.’

  The days at the mission station are full with prayer, chores, and school. The regimentation binds Beatrice’s mind and spirit. She wishes she could get free to move about in the bush, to climb the trees she sees over the fence, to hunt, to sit quietly alone so that her mind can finally be free, so that the window to what is before her can open.

  Kamogelo and Beatrice are assigned to the garden, so they spend a lot of time weeding and carrying heavy buckets of water from the well to the plots. Although she tries, Beatrice can no longer hear her father. She can’t see the pictures that tell her what the future will be. Everything in her mind has lost its light and gone black. Something is missing within the walls of this mission station.

  Most of the children – there are about fifty in total – are from various Bushman groups. Kamogelo tells her that when the missionaries find Bushman families, they try to take the children, often by force, claiming that the parents are negligent, saying the children need the Bible to find the right way through life. Often the parents return at night and steal the children back, so the group of children at the mission changes a lot.

  Kamogelo is one of the unchanging parts of the place. She’s been at the mission station for three years already, the longest of any of the children. Her people were attacked by a group of Sotho, and when they fled, she waited with her mother who had been shot and couldn’t run with the others. The plan was that once she was better they would go after their people.