Mukurob

by André Costa

  David did not wait for the third time and pressed his lips firmly against hers. Their mouths stayed locked for a few minutes, while a substance many times more potent than morphine rushed through their bodies, disconnecting their minds from reality…, or perhaps projecting a new one. Because of his lack of experience, David was surprised by Marie’s ferocious sexual appetite, wakened by the estrogen that their wet kiss had sent surging through her body.

  Marie felt strangely safe as she pitched her body against David’s, and in no time at all his body was exposed to the moonlight. In a flurry of determined hands, she ignored the threat of the hunters in the area and closed her ears to the timid clamors of her partner.

  Everything seemed eternal, but happened very fast. David felt unable to speak, and his hands burned as if on fire every time he tried to keep up with Marie’s hips. Ignoring the protests of his mind, long since crucified parts of his body resurrected.

  Not even the cold of the night, or the threat of the fauna surrounding them, was able to contain the boldness of their movements or the consummation of their sin. With the elegance of a cheetah, Marie sheathed her claws as soon as David’s moans quieted.

  While words lacked for a long time, Marie showered David with caresses and displays of affection. He, on the other hand, shut down the movements of his body and the expressions on his face.

  PART 3

  Chapter I

  Not very far from where they lay, !Soh enjoyed the first rays of sunshine, which made it possible to identify the tracks left by the couple. His tracking abilities, however, were not needed, because his nostrils recognized the odor of smoke and, about five hundred steps later, accompanied by Thomas and Jack, he saw Marie’s head next to the ashes.

  “My God!” exclaimed Jack. “What happened here?”

  Thomas lifted Marie’s body, cold and half-naked. Her face, covered in bruises, looked lifeless, but she was breathing.

  “Marie, Marie…” Jack called.

  Thomas took his canteen and gently dropped water on her eyelids and into her mouth. She woke with a start, a desperate look in her eyes, and released herself from Thomas’s arms, leaning on Jack.

  “It’s you…” said Marie, collapsing in tears and twitches.

  “Father Callaghan…where’s David?” asked Jack.

  He did not have to wait for an answer. Twenty meters away, !Soh had already found the young priest in a similar state of weakness. There was a thick layer of dried blood on his face.

  “What happened? Who did this?” asked Jack.

  David did not know who had attacked them. All he could remember was that he had been resting on Marie’s lap when he heard dogs approaching followed by a group of armed men. Soon after, they started punching and kicking both him and Marie.

  When he saw Dr. Steensen again, David fell to his knees.

  “My God, what did they do to you?”

  While Marie uttered incoherent words, looking disoriented and frightened, Thomas covered her uncontrollably shaking body with his jacket and administered first aid.

  “We have to make a new fire! Quickly!” said Thomas, gesturing for !Soh to hurry.

  “What’s wrong with her?” asked Jack, terrified.

  “Hypothermia,” answered Thomas while opening his first aid kit. “But it seems to be a mild case. Without the tremors, it would be much worse.” Thomas heated a bit of water over the fire and, with a damp cloth, warmed her armpits.

  While they waited for Marie to recover, David tried to remember what had happened, but he kept quiet when asked if Marie had suffered sexual violence. What they could ascertain for sure was the absence of a few of her belongings: a watch, a necklace, and a pair of earrings. The first branded her wrist, the other her neck, while the only remaining sign of the earrings was bloody tracks on her earlobes.

  Upon arriving at the camp, Andreas immediately arranged for her to be transferred to a clinic in Grootfontein, where she was admitted for tests and observation. By the time she was released twenty-four hours later, David—who required less medical attention—and Jack had already arrived in Windhoek.

  The Guesthouse’s garden was forcibly green, although drought had reached alarming levels throughout most of Namibia. Gretha Schwartz was watering it when the Toyota pulled up at her little-twisted iron gate. Upon recognizing Father Callaghan in the back seat, the old lady left the task along with a group of orchids to their fate.

  “Oh my goodness! Father Callaghan, I’m glad you’re ok!”

  Bathed in the light of the hostess’s radiant face, David stepped through the gate, trying, but failing, to return the smile. He was physically and mentally exhausted and not much in the mood for social niceties. The garden carried the same hypnotic pastel tones he had gotten used to in the Kalahari, which only deepened his melancholy.

  “Very good to see you too, Mrs. Schwartz!” he said, enfolding her in a hug.

  Not content with a hug alone and ignoring David’s sullen face, Gretha stood on tiptoes to kiss both of his cheeks. He capitulated and broke into a broad and genuine smile.

  In the meantime, Jack was teetering under the weight of suitcases and camping gear, walking back and forth between the car and the veranda. “I didn’t expect to find orchids this time of year. They are beautiful!”

  The men were accommodated in one room with two single beds, but without the generous view of the city center that David had enjoyed in his previous stay. In its place, there was a small balcony overlooking a windowless wall. As soon as they had unpacked their bags, they escaped the confines of the room and went down to the dining area, choosing a table near the fireplace. It was mid-afternoon, and the room was empty except for one of Gretha’s grandchildren, folding starched napkins at a table in the corner. They sat in silence for half an hour, trying—in equal measure—to calm their thoughts and avoid a laborious conversation.

  Jack finally decided he needed something more concrete to distract his mind and helped Gretha to prune an acacia in the fading light of the late afternoon. David, however, could not muster the strength to do anything and sat silently with his thoughts. His introspection continued throughout twilight and most of the long night, but the next morning he woke determined to set out on a mission as urgent as it was personal.

  With his conscience clamoring for humility and penitence, he walked the two-kilometer route along the mountainside of Klein Windhoek to St. Mary’s Cathedral in the center of the capital. When he reached the Romanesque building—inaugurated in 1908 and with a facade of three majestic arches framed by two towers—he stopped at the foot of the stairs to take a deep breath.

  Inside, he could hear the choir singing one of his favorite songs. The music sequestered his ears, his soul, and his mind. With serene steps, he approached the central portico, following a flowerbed that seemed to guide his way to the altar.

  He stopped not long past the entrance and realized that the morning Mass was nearing its end. The church was not full, and there were some unoccupied seats near the priest. David preferred, however, to settle down at the back, between the sounds of the street and the booming ecclesiastical speech.

  Observing the priest’s attire, he realized that the archbishop of Windhoek himself was delivering the Mass. The music of angels came from a platform to his right. He closed his eyes in an attempt to fully appreciate the sweet melodies, but his effort was in vain. The robes of the archbishop had unloosed inconvenient thoughts about the hierarchy of the Church and the whims of the ego. His mind had freed itself from his soul once again.

  The Mass became unbearable, and David escaped before the congregation stood in line to receive the host. He walked briskly for four blocks until he reached Zoo Park, deserted except for a few scraggly pigeons. There, he sat on a bench and reflected on the sacrament of forgiveness. David eventually decided that he needed to seek pardon for his sin as soon as possible by confessing
to a colleague that he had succumbed to temptation in the wilderness.

  It was then that David thought of the hundreds or maybe thousands of confessions he had heard during his six years as a priest. The Catholic Church automatically punishes with excommunication any priest who reveals what was said to him in the confessional. Having to keep his vow was not always an easy task. David had solved his discomfort by creating two characters for himself: he, David and he, Father Callaghan. David, with a perspective of life much more tolerant of human vices, would remind Father Callaghan of man’s feeble nature and that, as his master made clear, sinners do not know what they do or say.

  Deciding which one of the two should reveal the violation of the vow of chastity, however, proved anything but straightforward. Should David confess, or Father Callaghan? The latter at least had his deeds stamped by divinity in advance, but Marie’s habit of alternately referring to one or the other only added to his confusion.

  At that moment, however, Father Callaghan’s need for survival was more pressing. While still at the seminary, he had judged that if Jesus had given the apostles the power to forgive, and all of them being holy men, the Church should take greater care of those who, in the name of Christ, transmit the same power. This responsibility could only be passed on to those who understood the sacrament in all its extent and gravity.

  By this argument, Father Callaghan thought, “even though I may forgive myself, perhaps I will no longer be able to bring the blessing of the sacrament of penance to the faithful.” The realization that he might have lost the condition of being a priest slowly seeped into his body.

  David’s dilemma, on the other hand, was entirely different. He was not primarily concerned with the sexual intercourse, but rather with its flashbacks. The extracts from a night of lust refused to leave his memory and had in all likelihood already contaminated other areas of his brain. His intense feelings began to change his behavior. But despite what he supposed, his anxieties did not alienate him from Father Callaghan. At no other time had his two characters been closer confidantes. By late afternoon, when they made their way back to the lodge hand in hand, only one decision had been made, and it was consensual: to postpone their confession.

  Chapter II

  The night was falling by the time he walked up the hill toward the majestic German colonial house. The same sky as in the Kalahari hung above his head, enlightened, haughty, exuberant, and firm. David avoided looking up, feeling small and intimidated. His legs struggled to reach the top, fulfilling their obligation under duress. Upon arriving at the small iron gate, he felt relief beyond physical respite.

  He crossed the threshold and walked through the garden without paying it any attention, yet he was unable to pass the porch unnoticed, as he had wished. Like a guard, Jack sat at a beautifully laid table with tea and toast.

  “It’s all good when it ends well. Take a seat, Father!”

  Yes, David was indeed fortunate to be alive, yet at that moment he felt somewhat disinclined to celebrate. All he wanted was to lie down in bed and succumb to his thoughts. Contrary to his wishes, however, he sat down.

  “Is there anything you want to say?” Jack asked.

  “Words would spoil the serene contemplation of this moment,” replied David, pretending to be interested in the sky.

  “Well, you seem to be feeling better. You must have walked all day.”

  “I’m fine. My bones still ache a little, especially my face.”

  “I have news of Marie. She’ll be here tomorrow morning,” Jack said casually while stealing a sideways glance at David to see his reaction.

  David managed to keep his face neutral and his voice steady. “And how is she? Shouldn’t she stay in the clinic longer?”

  “Not only will she return to Windhoek, but she will also leave Namibia tomorrow.”

  The two pieces of news were, in time and consideration, equally devastating. David was not ready to face Marie so soon after what had happened. His thoughts were still too conflicting and unstable, but he was even less prepared to say goodbye.

  “They haven’t found Benjamin. They arrested the Chinese men, though, but they have no clue where he is.”

  “They don’t know?” David felt guilty for having forgotten about the Herero driver, although Benjamin had been instrumental in the twists and turns of his own destiny.

  “Marie is inconsolable. She cannot stop feeling guilty.”

  She was, in fact, guilty in many respects, David thought. He remembered her disgusting lack of scruples in dealing with relationships; and what bothered him more was that he did not feel contempt, but anger instead.

  “Marie is a man-eater, but I know her heart; she’s capable of love... Oh, and she has great news: She wasn’t raped…,” continued Jack.

  David turned his head and lowered it, his gaze fixed on his feet. Jack’s comments could not have come at a worse time.

  “David... do you want to say something?”

  The conversation would have indeed dragged on, had it not been for Brigitte’s brief interruption to bring them a small pot of chicken soup. Jack, who had ordered it before David’s arrival, had completely forgotten about it.

  “Don’t you want it anymore, Mr. Elliot?” asked the young lady. “The cook is not here today. That’s why it took a little longer.”

  “Ah, yes, it’s fine, please...,” said Jack.

  “Would you like me to serve it?”

  “No need, thank you, Brigitte.”

  “In that case, just call if you need anything.”

  As he watched the young lady go back inside, David realized that she was no longer a character of significance to him. The voyage into the depths of the Kalahari had consumed so much of his vital energy that he had almost completely forgotten the warm welcome he had received upon his arrival in Namibia. And that had been only a few days before.

  Jack, however, was surprised by David’s total lack of response to the young woman’s charisma.

  “What a beautiful girl!” Jack said, baiting the young priest. “But probably no satisfactory suitors here in Windhoek. That dress, though, is a bit too short for winter, don’t you think, David?”

  “I didn’t notice it.”

  “Oh, well… it’s a small human tragedy, anyway.”

  “Human tragedy? What do you mean?”

  “A beautiful, young, intelligent, humble woman... I’m available, but I’m gay. And then there’s you! Brigitte makes eyes at you every time she sees you; that much is obvious! David is not gay, but he’s a Catholic priest. So, there you have it. Pure tragedy!”

  David wanted to respond to his friend’s irony but found neither words nor good reason. He looked at the stars and fell silent again.

  “David,” Jack pulled his chair closer. “I don’t know what’s bringing you bitterness, but you can trust me. I’m no good at confession, it’s true, and I cannot absolve you of your sins. But if it’s any use, I do know how to help with penance.”

  David looked away from the infinite sky and buried his gaze in Jack’s eyes. His expression, wrought with fear and suffering, immediately worried Jack, and the former seminarian regretted asking the question.

  “Easy, my friend. Whatever it is, there is always a way out”.

  “No, I’m afraid not this time. There is no turning back from what I’ve done. No absolution will bring peace. And it wouldn’t work anyway...,” David said, his brow furrowed and tears rising in his eyes. “You see, I cannot feel shame for what I have done,” he added, dragging the words.

  Jack reached out to touch David’s arm, in an attempt to comfort him. With a clear mind, he followed his intuition, “I hope Marie deserves your heart in the same measure.”

  Dinner was served not long after that. The two men had just enough time to change their clothes to suit the drop in temperature and to shake off their melancholic mood. In the
dining room, Gretha seated them at the table closest to the fireplace, which by then was fulfilling its purpose.

  Although simple, the menu consisted of a good selection of game meat and salads. Both opted for the kudu with mashed potatoes and vegetables. They were brought a bottle of red wine without having ordered it.

  “It’s fine. I can’t think of a better grape than this Pinotage,” David said.

  “This specific formulation was conceived in my country almost a century ago,” said Jack. “Vintners were looking for a new composition with the celebrated pinot noir, a grape that is widely known for producing great wines, but that is delicate and difficult to cultivate. So, one day a professor of viticulture at my university had the brilliant idea of crossing the Pinot Noir with the robust Hermitage. He planted four seeds in his garden, but then, as fate would have it, he had to move because of a new job and forgot all about his experiment. Some years later, when the grounds were being cleared, a former student of the professor’s happened to be passing by and remembered his teacher’s experiment just in time to save the grapevines. Not long afterward, the first wine was produced with this new grape, and it was an immediate success,” Jack explained.

  “Life and its fates, or could it be coincidences? Had the man passed by a bit later, we would have been deprived of this pleasure,” David said, raising his glass for a toast. He was pleased to finally have something less weighty to think about. Trivial and straightforward things are paradoxically extraordinary, he thought.

  “And I would also have been deprived of your company and friendship, if I had not found that article about the San on the Internet,” continued David. “I would probably not have risked my life but would certainly not have felt any more alive for it.” He paused to take a deep breath and to savor another sip of Pinotage.

  David held his glass up for another toast and let it hang in the air for a moment. As he lowered it to the table, his gaze suddenly turned away from Jack, and his shoulders sank.