But Deliver Us from Evil

by Lauri Kubuitsile

  At that time of night everyone is asleep. The cattle kept at the main kgotla grunt contentedly as Nthebolang passes. A dog in the distance howls at the moon, and a confused cockerel sings out that morning has arrived, although it is still hours away.

  Motsumi will wait for her at the koppie to the west, before the river. It’s their meeting place. She’s excited to be going there – scared and excited, as she always is. Apart from him she has no friends, which makes her depend too much on him, and which she knows is dangerous.

  She passes the last kgotla, Maunatlala, but then thinks she sees a movement along the path ahead, and ducks between a low thorn bush and the wooden palisade wall of the compound of Mma Seapei. She wouldn’t want to be seen out at night roaming the village, especially given who she is, so she stays still and silent.

  There are voices, women’s voices, up ahead on the path and heading in her direction. Why are they moving around the village at this time of night? Nthebolang’s breathing quickens as fear spreads through her body, but she tries to control it. If she’s caught here at night, the rumours about her family could easily change to accusations and the accusations to actions – dangerous actions. She knows this all too well. Only witches move at night when everyone sleeps.

  As they come closer, she hears clearly that they are women, all of them. She thinks she recognises some of the voices. They’re women who come to the church services on Sundays: Mma Seanokeng, Mmapitse, Mma Seapei, and Mma Gosalamang. Those are the voices she knows, but there are others too, unknown to her. She doesn’t dare poke her head out to see. They might be five or six, she’s not sure. She waits, breathing shallowly, and then only when she has to. She hears their words clearly in the quiet night. There will be no way to deny what she has heard, no blame to be given to the wind or other loud night noises. They speak freely, sure that no one can hear them, sure that no one is around at that time of night.

  ‘He’ll be gone before the new moon.’

  ‘Did you bury it in the cooking house?’

  ‘They won’t find it. I’m sure. It’s fixed.’

  ‘It’s done. We will succeed.’

  ‘We own this place.’

  ‘Yes, we own this place.’

  The women pass and still Nthebolang waits. She’s frozen by their words. What could they be speaking about? Nthebolang tries not to answer the questions flooding her mind. What’s buried in the cooking house? She can feel what the women carry with them, the stench of it, the heavy air that trails behind. Nthebolang knows but she will not define it, will not name it.

  She waits long minutes, until she’s sure they’re gone. Away with all of what they carry. If only they could take what she has heard back with them. She wishes she’d heard nothing. What’s happening? Why is this evil here? Is it stalking her? She tries to rub the words from her mind. She doesn’t want to know what they’re talking about, and she thinks if she pretends she didn’t hear, it might somehow be enough. What had they ‘fixed’? She doesn’t want to know. They are words of evil. They’re words of death.

  Things have been happening in Ntsweng. She’s been having dreams that she tries to ignore. Dreams of blackness and screaming, wild faces calling out to her. Dreams where she’s in danger but then it’s not her; it’s the people she loves, her mother, Motsumi, her father. They’re falling and falling. Then, Kgosi Sechele’s friend was killed by lightning … and now this. Is she a catalyst in some way? Has she created these things? No. Why her? She’s innocent. No, she will not think that way. Hasn’t she been baptised? Doesn’t she read the Bible and attend Sunday sermons? She lives at the mission house – is that not a protected place? All of this has nothing to do with her – why would it?

  When she’s sure the women are gone, she runs from her hiding place to the koppie without stopping. Could she ever run fast enough to be free of these things that plague her? She finds no answer to that.

  Motsumi is there already, waiting. She falls into his arms breathing hard, almost in tears. She lets him hold her. She convinces herself it feels good and safe. She tells herself that Motsumi can keep this evil at bay.

  ‘You’re shaking – are you cold?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes … I’m cold,’ she lies. ‘Hold me.’

  He takes her in his arms and they sit among the boulders, watching the moon-shadows of the stones move slowly across the ground as the night slips towards morning, morning where things of the night lose their power. Daylight, where witches disappear.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning Nthebolang wakes, finishes her chores, and heads out to the lands. Her mother is working there. The mission station has been given ploughing lands to grow food for the people who live there. Her mother takes care of the fields, planting mealies, sorghum, pumpkin, watermelons, and beans that they will eat throughout the dry winter. Nthebolang needs to talk to her away from the mission house. These are not things Jesus would want to be spoken about in his house. Things are not right; she can feel the shifting. Something is happening to her, to the village, and she’s scared. Maybe it’s time for them to leave. She wants to discuss this with her mother before it’s too late.

  She finds her mother already on her way back. She’s carrying a watermelon on her head and a basket of sorghum in one hand. When she sees Nthebolang, she stops in the shade of a tree and sets the watermelon and the basket on the ground. She sits down on a rock, wipes her brow with a handkerchief, and waits for her daughter to reach her.

  ‘Dumela, ngwanake,’ she says. Nthebolang returns her greeting and sits down on the ground at her feet. ‘Have you come to help?’

  ‘No, not exactly.’

  She isn’t sure where to start. Her mother will not like what she has to say. ‘I … Is something happening? Do you know of something going on?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ her mother asks.

  ‘I mean … in the village. Have you heard of anything … anything about … witchcraft?’

  Her mother’s face hardens. ‘I told you never to speak of such things. They don’t exist. Have you learned nothing from the way we have suffered? From the Bible? Has it not taught you these things don’t exist?’

  ‘Something is going on. If nothing else, we know such things need our attention. They can turn against us if we’re not vigilant.’

  ‘What have you heard?’ Her mother looks around to be sure no one is near.

  ‘Just things, a feeling that things are not right.’

  ‘Things? What things? Silly people talking in the village? That’s what killed your father, what got us here – here, where we are no better than beggars. Were you not baptised? You’re protected now. You know such things don’t exist. Only backward people, heathens, think of such things. We’re not part of that.’

  Nthebolang can see her mother’s fear building a wall between them. Maybe it’s wrong to discuss this with her. She appears strong enough now but who knows what really lives in a person.

  ‘But you know Taolo is dead. The witches sent lightning …’ Though only a few days before she had chastised Motsumi for saying such things, now it seems true. After what she heard the night before it seems possible.

  ‘No. Taolo is dead. That’s true. He was struck by lightning. That’s true too. If you’re out in a storm and there’s lightning, it can happen. It happens.’ Mma Nthebolang rubs her handkerchief across her face in frustration more than to wipe away any sweat since they are sitting in the cool shade. ‘Don’t be part of all of this. Please, don’t speak of such things.’

  ‘I know … but … I’ve been having dreams again too.’

  Her mother’s face changes from anger to worry. Nthebolang’s dreams are not to be dismissed. ‘Dreams? What are they about?’

  ‘It’s all mixed up. Everything’s wild and uncontrolled. I see faces, horrible faces, and they’re calling me. There is such an evil darkness, and people I love are falling and falling. I’m afraid.’

  ‘I think you must go to Mmapitse; she can help.’

&nbs
p; Nthebolang shivers at the name of Mmapitse, one of the women in the group the night before. She wants to tell her mother what she heard the women saying; she wants to tell her that Mmapitse may be part of it all – but how can she without revealing that she was out meeting Motsumi? Her mother will be furious if she hears that. Good Christian girls do not go out at night to meet boys in the bush. At the same time, Nthebolang can’t go to see Mmapitse about her dreams. Though Mmapitse is one of the most active women in the church, last night Nthebolang saw the old woman clearly for who she really is – a dangerous woman.

  ‘No, not Mmapitse. She can’t help me.’ Nthebolang prepares to get up, but her mother grabs her arm.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? We need to find out what these dreams mean. Mmapitse can help: she’s a good healer; she sees things. Why are you refusing to go to her?’

  Nthebolang shakes her head. ‘No, never mind, I’ll be fine. The dreams are nothing. The dreams will go away. I don’t need Mmapitse. You said we’re Christians now – you’re right. We shouldn’t go to people like Mmapitse. I’ll speak with Thomas Milner. Please don’t speak to Mmapitse about me. I was overreacting, but you’ve set my mind at ease.’

  Nthebolang stands. She positions the watermelon on her head and then picks up the basket of sorghum. She looks down at her mother, still seated, still concerned.

  ‘Everything’s fine. We’d better get back. The Milners will be looking for their lunch soon.’

  It’s evening and Thomas Milner is away to Kgosi Sechele’s house again. They have much to speak about, it seems. Kgosi Sechele craves talk of Jesus and the Bible. He was deprived of any deep discussions during the time of Dr Johnson, who was rarely sober and, even when he was, was not as well versed in theology as Kgosi Sechele, who soon tired of him and his weak mind. Nthebolang thinks it might have been his lack of knowledge about the Bible that was more of an irritant to Kgosi Sechele than his drinking and womanising. Kgosi Sechele has little time for ignorant people with lazy minds. He seems to find Thomas Milner more interesting and they meet often, sometimes deep into the night. Thomas Milner is happy to ingratiate himself with the kgosi – he knows the benefits, and Nthebolang has realised that Thomas Milner is an ambitious man wanting everything, wanting everything as quickly as possible.

  ‘Can you help me get Elizabeth to bed, Nthebolang?’ Beatrice asks, her face still marked by the light-purple remnants of where Thomas Milner’s fists had landed. Everyone pretends that they are not there.

  Nthebolang follows Beatrice and her daughter into the bedroom. ‘Will you read me a story, Nthebolang? The one about the big boat in the flood again?’ Elizabeth asks.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She helps Elizabeth change into her nightgown. The little girl is already gaining weight under Mma Nthebolang’s care. Beatrice notices nothing. She never checks whether Elizabeth has eaten or bathed. One wonders how the child survived up to the time they arrived in Ntsweng. The girl’s father isn’t much better. He cares only about his work and keeping firm control over his wife. As for his daughter, he hardly sees her.

  Nthebolang finds it sad, especially since Elizabeth is such a good child – quiet and accommodating and easy to love. She’s bright too. Nthebolang taught her how to play mmele and Elizabeth picked it up readily. Already Nthebolang loves Elizabeth, and so she finds it difficult to understand her parents’ indifference. It’s as if they wished she was not there at all.

  Nthebolang pulls back the covers of the small bed in the far corner of the room and Elizabeth climbs in obediently. She tucks the blankets up around the girl’s chin, and then sits on the edge of the bed and begins reading. As she reads, Beatrice stands at the window, the curtains pulled to the side, looking out into the night. Elizabeth soon falls asleep and Nthebolang gets up to leave.

  ‘Good night, Beatrice, I’ll see you in the morning,’ says Nthebolang, turning to leave.

  Beatrice comes away from the window. ‘Could you help me brush out my hair first, Nthebolang?’

  Beatrice sits on the stool in front of her dressing table and Nthebolang begins removing the pins that hold her unruly hair in place.

  ‘It’s such a bother, this hair. One day I’ll take the scissors and cut it all off.’

  ‘Oh no! You mustn’t. It’s lovely – it’s just that you have no patience. You must let me care for it. I think it’s beautiful.’

  ‘You’re right, I guess. I have no patience for such silly wastes of time.’ Nthebolang pulls the brush through Beatrice’s hair over and over, stopping only to remove tangles with her fingers. ‘I grew up in the bush; we didn’t bother with such things.’

  ‘In the bush?’ Nthebolang is surprised. She thought Beatrice was from Cape Town – that’s what they’d been told.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She smiles up at Nthebolang then changes the subject. ‘Who’s that boy I see you with?’

  ‘Motsumi? He’s a friend.’

  Beatrice laughs. ‘You’re the worst liar ever, Nthebolang. You love him, I can see it. But take care – he’s full of danger and lies.’

  ‘Why would you say that? You don’t know him,’ says Nthebolang, not hiding the hurt of Beatrice’s words.

  ‘No, you’re right: I don’t know him. I don’t need to. I can see things. I’ve always been able to. Especially danger. And badness. Nthebolang, I care for you. I’m only warning you. You must step carefully around him, take time to consider all decisions. Motivations are not always clear. He hides things that you will not like.’

  Nthebolang continues working out the knots in Beatrice’s hair. Time passes in silence.

  ‘I think I saw an old woman hiding in the garden. What do you think she wanted?’ Beatrice asks after some minutes.

  ‘An old woman? Where?’

  Nthebolang can’t stop her voice from revealing her fear. She sets the brush down and goes to the window to check. She looks out into the dark night, the moon hidden by clouds, first towards the gate, then back towards the shed. She scans the shadows of the palisade wall. No one is there.

  ‘Where was she?’

  Beatrice comes up next to her and pushes the curtain to the side. She looks around. ‘She’s gone. I saw her by the gate. She was digging at the gate. I thought at first it was Mary, but she was much older. She walked with a stick.’

  She leaves the window and sits back down on the stool at the dressing table. She giggles a bit.

  ‘Maybe I didn’t see her at all,’ says Beatrice. ‘I’m unreliable. I’m never quite sure what’s real and what’s not, I have so many spirits following me. People dead, people lost. I never know what’s really there and what’s not.’ She turns to look at Nthebolang, who is still standing at the window. ‘Are you scared of something? Your hand is shaking. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sure it’s nothing. Don’t be upset about it. I should have kept quiet.’

  Nthebolang looks at her shaking hand on the side of the window sill and pulls it behind her. ‘I’m fine; it’s nothing. I thought … I thought … maybe it was something. But it’s nothing – you’re right. Come, let’s finish your hair.’

  Nthebolang steadies her breathing and goes back to Beatrice. She concentrates on the brush, on pulling it slowly through the long thick hair. She disciplines her mind to think of nothing else.

  ‘I can see you’re upset. Please don’t be. First I upset you with my words about your friend, and now this. I wish I hadn’t told you. These things happen. I’m sure it doesn’t concern you.’ Beatrice takes Nthebolang’s hands in hers. ‘I like you. You remind me so much of a dear friend I used to have … one I hope to find again. I lost her so thoughtlessly. I hope she’s fine. I miss her every day. She’s called Kamogelo. She’s beautiful and dark like you, but the gap in her front teeth is slightly larger.’

  ‘Where’s your Kamogelo now, Beatrice?’

  Beatrice smiles at Nthebolang in the mirror. ‘Will you call me Beaty? Please, it would make me so happy. My father called me Beaty, Kamogelo too. All the people I love call me
Beaty.’

  Nthebolang feels uncomfortable calling a white woman by such a familiar name. Beatrice is different though, in many ways. ‘Fine … Beaty … where is your Kamogelo?’

  Beatrice looks towards the window. ‘She’s out there, waiting for me. Waiting for me to escape and go to her.’

  Nthebolang thinks it odd to hear Beatrice use a word like escape, as if she were in some sort of prison. She finishes Beatrice’s hair and wraps it in a cotton cloth, then helps her into her bed. Beatrice never waits for Thomas Milner. If he’s not with Kgosi Sechele – if he finally finds his way home – he often sits at his desk reading or preparing reports until deep into the night. He has started writing long articles for the London Missionary Society’s newsletter, and these take up a lot of his time too. He’s trying his best to make sure people, the right people, know his name and the work he’s doing in Ntsweng, what little there is of it. The Bakwena are not easily converted to Christianity even after all this time. He tries hard to show things in the best light in his articles, often stretching the truth to do so. Nthebolang knows this because he sometimes asks her to rewrite his articles in her tidy handwriting.

  Once Beatrice is in bed, Nthebolang leaves the mission house, but she doesn’t go to the servant’s hut at the back straight away. Instead, she slips to the gate in the shadows in case Thomas Milner arrives or Beatrice wakes up and decides to look out the window again.

  She looks around the ground at the gate. The disturbed soil is easy to find. Grabbing a nearby stick, she digs at the spot. Only a few inches down, she finds what she expects. There is a piece of dried skin, and wrapped around it is some hair and a tooth. It looks like the tooth of a dog or a hyena. It smells strongly of blood and strong medicine. It has been buried there by the old woman Beatrice saw; Nthebolang is sure of that. She wants to scream out in fear but she steadies herself. She needs to destroy it before it infects all of them. She hopes she’s not too late.

  She holds the object away from her, dangling it on the end of the stick. Managing to move it to the back of the cooking house, she drops it on the ground, then takes one of the glowing embers from inside. She adds some twigs to make a fire before dropping the evilness into the flames. She watches as it burns and waits until it is nothing but ash and the tooth that will not catch fire. That will have to be destroyed in another way.