Nthebolang says nothing. She can’t believe what has happened. She can’t understand why Beatrice is doing this. Does she think this is another one of her games? Does she not know that Motsumi’s life is at stake?
Nthebolang feels ill. She watches Beatrice leave and then looks at Motsumi, but when she catches his eye he looks away. Nthebolang feels so alone, as if she’s fighting a mammoth war without a single ally, including Motsumi. She doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Thomas Milner is at the front, testifying already.
‘The boy came to me, it’s true,’ he says. ‘He had a problem. Bogadi had been paid for his wife. But he claimed he was in love with Mary’s daughter. I advised him that a marriage was not to be taken lightly. That he should cleave to his wife and leave young girls such as Nthebolang alone.’
‘He did not speak to you about a plan by his mother and wife to bewitch Baatweng? A plan to kill his younger brother?’ Kgosi Sechele asks.
‘I do not recall that,’ says Thomas. ‘We spoke of his marriage and he agreed with me. It was best he left Nthebolang alone. God did not allow such things. He spoke of wanting to join the church properly, even to be baptised. You can imagine how shocked I was to hear he was involved in all of these heathen, evil things. He’d obviously been lying to me that day, to what end I cannot say.’
The people in the crowd are getting angry. It’s as if Nthebolang has made it all up, as if she’s lying. She wants to shout and show the people who the real liars are: Thomas Milner and Beatrice. How can they do this? Why do they want to say such things?
Thomas Milner sits back down a bit further away from where Nthebolang and her mother are sitting. Her mother leans towards her and pats her leg to get her attention.
‘Why are they saying this?’ her mother asks.
‘I don’t know,’ says Nthebolang. ‘They’re making everything worse. They don’t understand the consequences of what they’re saying. How can they lie at the kgotla?’
Kgosi Sechele questions Seapei and Gosalamang. They say they were out that night because they had late-night prayer sessions and Bible study with Mmapitse. Mmapitse, besides being a healer, is well-versed in the Bible and they consult her since neither one of them knows how to read.
The gathering is losing patience. Nthebolang can feel a wave of distrust and hatred flooding over her. She wants to run. She will not, though; she will see this through.
Then Mmapitse comes to the front. She doesn’t look at Nthebolang. She leans on her cane, looking like the old woman the crowd expects her to be.
‘Mme, you have heard the girl’s accusations. Please may you explain yourself,’ Kgosi Sechele says.
‘I know Nthebolang well. Her mother has brought her to me for healing. I think the accusations of witchcraft, the execution of her father, a known witch, the very thing that brought them here to Ntsweng, may have caused much damage inside this girl’s heart and mind when she was very young. I blame her for nothing she has said at the kgotla today. She is unwell. I know she’s a good girl, a good Christian, and that she is now confused. She has made a mistake. She’s fallen in love with a married man and is now pregnant with his child. Of course a married man cannot leave his wife for a mere concubine, and this can be hard on a young girl, especially one with Nthebolang’s past, a girl with few options in life. She is not the first to make such a mistake. She’s young and impressionable. She spends a lot of time alone. These things can cause problems for a child. I blame nothing on her.’
Mmapitse is shaking. No one can accept that such an old woman could climb up the steep mountains and into caves filled with bats. That she could eat human flesh and dance with the dead. It’s absurd.
‘So you are saying she is a liar?’ asks Kgosi Sechele.
‘No, I cannot judge her in that way. She is misguided. Prayer and the Bible will guide her back.’
‘Are you saying nothing she says is true?’
‘Many people come to me when they’re sick. They tell me things. I know some of what she says is true, but not as she says it. There was a plan. A plan to kill the young boy … to bewitch Baatweng. But it is not Seabe who organised it. Seabe came to me – she was scared. She heard her husband, Motsumi, speaking with Barobi. We know Barobi has a reputation for such things, but I always thought they were merely rumours. Seabe heard them planning to bewitch the young boy so that Motsumi would inherit everything. I told her I would speak with Barobi. I know him because of our work – he’s also a healer of sorts. He told me no plan existed. I took it to mean he would make sure nothing happened. I was very surprised when I heard the boy was dead.’
Barobi stands up. He looks at Mmapitse, but does not speak. His face is set and fierce, his eyes unwavering as they stare at her. She doesn’t turn away from his gaze; she’s as strong as him, maybe stronger, because it is clear now that she has led him to his own noose. How does a seer miss such a thing unless a more powerful seer has hidden it from them? He stands still, but even from her distance, Nthebolang can see his body vibrating with rage. He glances in Nthebolang’s direction and she looks down immediately. His is not a face she can stand up to.
‘You will sit,’ Kgosi Sechele directs Barobi.
Barobi sits down slowly, not taking his eyes off the old woman, though it still has no effect on her. Her bravery impresses Nthebolang, scares her.
Kgosi Sechele turns to Mmapitse. ‘Thank you, Mme.’
Mmapitse returns to where she was sitting, walking slowly with her tall stick, taller than her, that seems too heavy for an old woman to carry, an effort to lift it each time. Seabe rushes forward to help the old lady to the ground where she arranges herself without once looking at Nthebolang.
Nthebolang holds her stomach as if she’s cradling her son in her hands. What’s happening? How can lies triumph over the truth? But hadn’t she learned that betrayal long ago? In her confusion, she’s forgotten this important truth.
She can’t look at Motsumi. Her only hope is that Kgosi Sechele will have mercy, and will banish him from Ntsweng and not order his execution. His guilt, even Nthebolang can see, is already decided by the testimonies that have been given. The kgosi can’t go against it. A king is a king because of his people. He has no options. He must do as the people believe he must do.
The world tilts so nothing that’s right can succeed. Can Kgosi Sechele see who is telling the truth and who’s lying? Kgosi Sechele is known throughout Africa as a strong, wise man. Does he have the power to see the true reality of the situation hidden under many heavy layers of lies? Or will he rely on words, words spoken by fallible humans, humans with agendas, demons dressed as people.
Had she heard them speak of eating human flesh? She knew she heard it. She’d seen them dancing in the shadows – hadn’t she? Was there any way that these things had not happened, as Beatrice had said? Could she have dreamed these things? Could she be the liar? Everything swirls and Nthebolang can find no certainty in anything. Has her own mind betrayed her? She looks around, scared that maybe the enemy that plagues her lives within.
She watches Motsumi walk to the front and she thinks of those nights alone under the stars at the koppie. Would they ever have that again? She wishes with all her heart it could be so. She prays to God to save him, to let them leave and be together away from these people who wish only the worst for them.
Though Motsumi avoids looking at her, and though he seems indifferent to her efforts to save him, she knows what she feels for him is real. She knows it. It was not created only in her mind. She and Motsumi are meant to be together. It’s not something she has convinced herself to be true to lessen her sins.
‘I’m innocent,’ says Motsumi. ‘I loved my brother. I would never want to hurt him. People know this.’ Motsumi speaks slowly, as if each word is too heavy for his exhausted tongue. His speech is muddled. She wonders if they might have given him some medicine so that his words come out wrong.
‘Do you know this girl from the mission house, this Nthebolang?�
�� Kgosi Sechele asks.
‘Yes, of course. I once loved her very much. We were … together. I hear now she is pregnant with my child. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I can’t know if she has seen other men too – perhaps one of them is the father. If it’s true, if the child is mine, I can marry her. I don’t have a problem with that. Why should I not?’
‘And your wife?’
‘Yes, she is my wife. I can have another wife. I’m not a poor man.’
‘That day you were found leaving the village, where were you going?’
‘Nowhere.’
‘You had a packed wagon. You were going nowhere?’ asks Kgosi Sechele, confused by the odd answers from the young man.
‘I was on my way to Mahikeng. I wanted to speak with my father. They left the day before and I was hoping to catch up with him along the way.’
Nthebolang listens as if listening to a stranger.
‘Did your mother speak to you about a plan to kill Baatweng by bewitching?’
‘Yes … I mean … no … it was Seabe.’
‘Not your mother too?’
‘No, Kgosi, not my mother.’
‘Did you speak with Nthebolang about this? Did you tell Nthebolang it was your mother and Seabe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you tell any of this to Reverend Milner?’
‘Yes, everything. But all he wanted to hear about was Nthebolang. What she did, what she didn’t do. He was crazy to hear everything about her. He didn’t want to listen to any of what I went there to speak to him about. I left him more confused than when I had arrived. It was as if he was Nthebolang’s lover, not me. Perhaps he’s the father of her child, who knows?’
Murmurs and hisses spread through the crowd.
‘Did you tell Reverend Milner about your mother and Seabe’s plan to kill your brother?’
‘Yes, I told him. I don’t know if he heard, truly heard. He wasn’t listening, not properly. He kept saying it can’t happen. Bewitching was not real. He told me to come to church and everything would be fine.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes, I did. But nothing is fine now. Everything is much, much worse. His god is not helpful at all.’
‘So what do you think happened to your brother?’
‘I don’t know. But it was evil.’
‘You had no part in it?’
‘No …’ Motsumi hesitates. He looks at Nthebolang only then, and then looks at the other accused. His eyes rest on Barobi and it is as if he is speaking to the man. ‘Did I? I can’t have. I love Nthebolang. She told me not to be part of the plan and I listened to her. She’s powerful in that way. She says things that sway my mind to hers. That’s why we were leaving. She told me I should not marry Seabe. But Seabe told me we would be together; we would be rich.’
‘Are you saying now that you love Nthebolang and you were going to leave Ntsweng with her?’ Kgosi Sechele asks. He’s becoming impatient with the inconsistencies in Motsumi’s testimony.
‘Yes, that’s where I was going – isn’t it? We were meeting at the koppie.’ He looks at Nthebolang and speaks directly to her. ‘Isn’t that right?’ Then he smiles into the distance.
This is not the Motsumi Nthebolang knows. He’s not there, not in that body. Someone else is there. She wants to run to him and shake him, shout at him to wake up before it’s too late. Since she stepped inside the kgotla it’s as if everything is confused; nothing is as it should be. Who did this to her, to them? Who is as powerful as that? It’s as if someone is controlling everything.
Everything is wrong – or is everything right and she’s wrong?
And then her eyes settle on Mmapitse. The old woman sits with her hands in her lap, calmly watching Nthebolang.
Chapter Forty-two
The headman speaks for only a few minutes, summarising what they have been told in the testimonies of the witnesses. Nthebolang holds her mother’s hand like a lifeline. She tries to clear her mind, to see things how they really are. She sits still and breathes carefully, but each breath cuts at her. Everything is tilted and clouded and confusing. She feels she’s been pulled back in time to when she was a little girl, to that horrible day.
Kgosi Sechele stands to speak. Mma Motsumi rushes to him and falls at his feet. Men rush forward and drag the woman away. She claws at the kgosi’s legs, but her fingers are prised free. In a cloud of dust, they pull her to the back of the crowd where her cries form a backdrop to Kgosi Sechele’s words.
He begins to speak: ‘This is a complicated case. I am a Christian. I have been baptised. If I am a Christian, they say, then I cannot believe that witchcraft exists. But as a child of this land, I know what can occur. How can I deny the evil that has been covering Ntsweng? I am beginning to understand that Christianity for us, for Africans, is different from the Christianity of the Europeans. We must adapt Jesus’s words through our own eyes, taking into consideration our own lives and experiences, accepting that which is and cannot be denied. It would be irresponsible to leave my people vulnerable to the witches who so clearly live among us. I am your leader; I must do everything in my power to protect you.
‘The girl’s testimony was flawed in numerous ways and must be discounted, and yet I hear a grain of truth in the middle of her imaginings. There was a plan set in motion, one motivated by greed, instigated by powerful medicine, implemented by evil.
‘I have no option but to find Motsumi and Barobi guilty of witchcraft, witchcraft that led to the death of an innocent young boy. We can never know how many other people have fallen as a result of their evil deeds but at least we can know it will come to an end. Their punishment is death, to be carried out immediately.’
There are screams and wild cries.
Nthebolang is still while the world erupts around her. People push at her. Some shout. Someone jabs her in the back. Her mother protects her, pushes people away. Nthebolang wants to see, but her mother holds her tightly to her breast. She breaks away from her mother and sees that already Motsumi is tied, his hands fixed behind his back, a rope around his waist held by men so that he cannot make a run for it. The men push Motsumi’s unwilling feet forward. His face is blank. They do the same to Barobi.
The two tied men are in front; the people of the village follow, forming a long V spreading out behind them. It is late afternoon and the promise of heat in the morning has been kept. The macabre parade climbs the hill, the hill on the other side of which is the cave of bats, and Nthebolang feels that she is re-walking a nightmare.
They follow the same path she took with Beatrice. Up and up. The two men at the front stumble and fall and are dragged to their feet again. Motsumi is silent. Barobi is cursing everyone. Screaming Mmapitse’s name to the gods. Damning her. Making them promise to avenge the injustice, to bring about due punishment to those who deserve it. His curses echo off the mountain, back down into the village. They certainly carry through the rock to the cavern, the unending void, where //Gaunab lives. Will he take care of Barobi’s unfinished business?
Motsumi’s mother wails and tears at her clothes. She begs Kgosi Sechele to have mercy – again and again. People pull her away, but in minutes she is free and back again. Kgosi Sechele looks ahead, unemotional.
Mmapitse climbs the hill, though during her testimony it seemed impossible. The impossible is possible again. Nthebolang is learning that lesson over and over.
At the place where they should turn right for the cave, they turn left and continue ever higher up the mountain. The people sweat in the afternoon heat. They are not noisy, but they are not silent either. They speak quietly of anything other than what they want to speak of. They speak of work left at home. Of a bird they hear in the distance – what is its name again? Of a plant that is useful for toothache, and a woman puts some in her pocket. They do not speak of witches. Of death. They do not speak of deceit and lies. Of betrayal. It is decided now and it is best everyone rallies behind the decision. Any wavering now will only bring undue pain.
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nbsp; They climb and climb. The sun beats on their heads. Sweat drips into eyes, wiped away with handkerchiefs or the edges of shawls. Thorns catch at skirts; others’ fingers undo the tangle and set the captive free. Men walk stonefaced; women remind themselves not to cry.
Nthebolang looks only at Motsumi’s feet. She cannot accept that she will never see him again. That she will not see his feet. Or his hands. His face or his legs. He will be gone from her forever. She walks inside that horrible dream. Everything has gone wrong; it has not turned out the way that she had planned.
At the top, it is Barobi who goes first.
It is like nothing. It’s a normal thing, an everyday thing – at least it appears that way. Like tossing a stick into a fire. A stone into a muddy pool. Two men lift him and throw him out over the edge and into the endless hole. His scream is heard for seconds, first loud, then fainter and fainter – and then gone, though the ghost of it hangs in the air, the absence of it heavy in each person’s ears. For most, his scream will be heard forever.
Motsumi’s mother holds him. She repeats: ‘Sorry, sorry .’ Seabe stands back, dry-eyed, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her face set hard. Nthebolang watches her.
Motsumi looks at Nthebolang. In that second, before he is gone, he looks at her and he is there again. He is that funny, arrogant boy on that first day long ago. He is the one teasing her to leave her work and go into the bush with him. He is the man who made love to her under the stars. In that second, he is her world.
And then he is not. In the next instant, he is gone over the edge. Only a short surprised scream is heard in the hot late-afternoon air.
Nthebolang can hear a bulbul singing behind her, see a vulture gliding on a thermal over the hole. She hears a stone tumbling, tumbling down the hill, inadvertently kicked by someone turning away towards the village.
The people begin to leave. It is over. Nothing more to see.
Nthebolang can’t move from the spot straight away. Her mind needs to adjust to the new world she is now in.
But Deliver Us from Evil Page 25