by Andrea Eames
‘It is the njuzu,’ she whispered. Her face was drained of colour – I could see it, even in the moonlight. ‘She has turned against me. She is telling me so.’
She raised her eyes to mine, and I saw a strange sight – Hazvinei afraid.
Chapter Twenty-three
INCEST. THE BIRTH of an unnatural child. The killing of innocents. Hazvinei had committed every possible sin against the mhondoro. She thought she was untouchable, but the sluggish swirl of the blood-coloured river told me otherwise. The spirits would not forgive us this time. Babamukuru, Abel, Hazvinei and me: we were caught up in their plans, and bad fortune would soon follow. The witch-smeller was not the only one who would be able to hunt out Hazvinei. Abel was no longer here to protect her, and I had learned that I could not protect her either.
‘We have to go,’ I said to her.
‘I have been telling you that for weeks,’ she said. ‘We have to go and find Abel.’
‘No.’ I shook my head, trying to dislodge the claws of the leopards.
‘Why not? Where else are we going to go?’
‘Abel will not be able to help us. It will be better if it is just you and me …’
‘And we will do what? Go back to the kopje? Dig graves next to Amai and Baba and wait for the jackals? No.’
‘Hazvinei.’
‘I go to find Abel, or not at all.’
We made our plans as quietly as we could, but Babamukuru followed us from room to room in the dim, closed-up house, listening to our conversations and rarely leaving us alone. Tete Nyasha fluttered about us as usual, but there was an anxious quality to her smiles and the sadza she made us tasted of worry and tears.
I knew that something was going to happen. The air had that charged, electric feeling, as if a storm were coming. When Tete Nyasha gave me a hug, there was a crackle of static.
I was right. It happened after dinner, while Babamukuru was picking his teeth clean with a fingernail.
‘We might have a surprise for you soon,’ said Tete Nyasha to Hazvinei, smiling. She looked at Babamukuru. This must have been a pre-arranged signal, because he got up and left the table, whistling. Hazvinei pushed her food around her plate.
‘Tinashe, you coming to the shebeen?’ said Babamukuru.
‘No, Babamukuru.’
‘I think you should come.’
‘I am tired.’
Babamukuru glowered. ‘Come, Tinashe.’
‘I do not feel well. I think I will stay here.’
Hazvinei flicked her cat-eyes over to me, and away. No expression.
Babamukuru shrugged. ‘Fine. Manheru.’
I sat at the table with my arms crossed, looking at Tete Nyasha and Hazvinei. Tete Nyasha seemed nervous. She started to clear our plates.
‘What is the surprise, Tete?’ I asked her.
‘Do you want to go to your room, Tinashe? I could make you some tea?’
Hazvinei and I moved closer together, almost imperceptibly. I could feel the warmth of Hazvinei’s shoulder close to my own, and I felt the way I had when we had been in trouble together as kids. If one of us was going to get a hiding, we both were.
Tete Nyasha gave up, and talked to both of us.
‘I have exciting news, Hazvinei,’ she said.
Hazvinei said nothing.
‘Michael Mapfumo wants to marry you.’ Tete Nyasha reached out for Hazvinei’s hands, but she crossed her arms. ‘We are very lucky. He is a good man. And his ro’ora offer is very generous.’
‘Michael Mapfumo?’ I said. ‘The big man from the shebeen?’
‘Yes. He is a good man,’ said Tete Nyasha again.
‘I have never spoken to him,’ said Hazvinei.
‘You have seen him, though! And he has noticed you for a long time. It could not be better, Hazvinei. Think what a good life you will have.’ She laid her hand against Hazvinei’s cheek, and smiled. ‘How do you think I met your Babamukuru, hey? I liked him, of course, but my parents saw to it that we did things the proper way. The way things should be done.’
Hazvinei sat, enduring Tete Nyasha’s caress. I recognised the glint of her half-closed eyes. I saw her hands clench and unclench.
‘This is a good thing, Hazvinei,’ said Tete Nyasha. ‘If you think about it, you will see. Wouldn’t you like to have a home of your own? Where you can make your own rules?’
I had to admire Tete Nyasha’s tactics. She was shrewder than I had thought. If anything was likely to appeal to Hazvinei, it would be the power to make her own rules.
‘You can have children,’ said Tete Nyasha. She glowed at the idea. ‘You can be a mother.’
‘I don’t want to be a mother.’ Hazvinei’s voice was low.
Tete Nyashe took it for bashfulness, I saw. She pinched Hazvinei’s cheek. ‘You should not be embarrassed to talk about these things! It is good to grow children inside you. It is what a woman is meant to do. Nothing can be better.’
These things should not be discussed in front of a man. Once more, I felt invisible.
‘I don’t want children,’ said Hazvinei, louder this time.
‘You will feel differently once you are married,’ said Tete Nyasha, still smiling.
‘No!’ Hazvinei stood. ‘I am not marrying that baboon. I am not lying in the same bed as him, I am not touching him, and I am not having his children.’
Tete Nyasha raised her hands to her ears as if to cover them. ‘A child is sacred,’ she said.
‘Hazvinei, sit down.’ I tried to catch hold of her, but she shook me off.
‘Just because you are a dried-up old woman,’ she said. ‘Just because you killed your babies.’
‘Hazvinei …’ I stood.
Tete Nyasha seemed to remember that I was there, and clutched at me with blind, searching hands. ‘Tinashe, what is she talking about?’
‘Nothing, Tete,’ I said. ‘She is angry. She does not know what she is saying.’
‘You killed your babies,’ said Hazvinei with cruel emphasis. ‘Amai said so.’
Tete Nyasha’s face twisted. ‘You … hure!’
Prostitute. It does not take much for a woman to be called a whore. Sometimes all she has to do is show her knees, or talk to a man alone. But for Tete Nyasha to call someone a whore – that showed the earth shifting, the trees changing colour, the skies opening. I saw her reach her hand out, palm open. I did not try to stop her. This was something between women, something mysterious and smelling of that strange inside-body blood that was sticky and dark, and something with which I should not meddle. She struck Hazvinei across the face. Hazvinei’s skin leapt up almost at once, dark and swollen, as if the slap had held poison.
‘Musata nyoko,’ said Hazvinei – a terrible insult – and spat.
‘You are an unnatural girl! You are evil!’
The last word fell to the ground between them and writhed there. Hazvinei hissed at Tete Nyasha, her teeth bared, and ran from the room.
‘Hazvinei!’ I started to run after her, but stopped when I saw Tete Nyasha sink to the ground. Her face was wet with tears, like a damp sponge that has been squeezed.
‘Tinashe!’ She held out her arm for me to help her up.
‘I am sorry, Tete Nyasha,’ I said, and I ran after Hazvinei.
I found her sitting behind the dustbins.
‘I thought you had run away.’
‘You would like that.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
I sat beside her – far enough away to avoid irritating her. I could feel the hostility rising off her skin like steam.
‘We cannot stay here.’
I sighed. ‘Please. Let us just wait until morning. Then I promise I will take you to wherever you want to go.’
She looked at me sidelong. ‘Do you promise?’
‘I promise.’
When we returned to the house, hours later, Babamukuru was home from the shebeen. He was in a good mood, as he always was after a good drinking session. But it was short-lived. Soon he would want to s
hout and fight. Hazvinei and I knew this, and we stayed silent. Tete Nyasha was deflated, slumped in her chair looking down, up, at me, anywhere but at Hazvinei.
‘Hazvinei,’ said Babamukuru. ‘You are lucky.’
We were silent. I flicked my eyes at Hazvinei, but she was not looking at me.
‘Very, very lucky,’ he said.
We were all silent. Tete Nyasha’s hands fluttered, but she clamped them down onto her knees again.
The silence spread out between us, stretched its legs, wandered around the room. Babamukuru was not going to tell us until one of us asked. My lips and tongue felt sluggish, but I forced them to move into the shape of ‘Tete Nyasha has told us the news.’
‘Ah.’ Babamukuru rubbed his hands together. He was really in an excellent mood. It was very strange to see. ‘It is Michael Mapfumo.’
I remembered Michael Mapfumo’s cheeks hanging down from either side of his face like a sad pig’s.
‘Mapfumo.’ I said. It was clear I was the designated speaker for me and my sister. Hazvinei was saying nothing.
‘Yes. Mapfumo wants to marry Hazvinei.’
‘I know, Babamukuru,’ I said. ‘Tete Nyasha has told us. But he is an old man.’
‘He is not old! He is the same age as me.’
I said nothing.
‘Yes. It is very good news.’ Babamukuru stood up. ‘It is very lucky. You are not a complete waste, Hazvinei. You have the chance to be a good woman now. It is very, very lucky.’
Hazvinei raised her head. Her eyes seemed to have sunk into her head. ‘Very lucky,’ she said, ‘to have an old, fat man as a husband.’
Babamukuru paused, not sure if she was being sarcastic or not. Poor man.
She took a long time gathering her saliva. I could see that she was drawing it up from some deep part of her, some place that was full of bile and bitterness. When she spat at his feet it sat on Tete Nyasha’s perfectly polished floor, still foaming a little. Tete Nyasha twitched in her chair, wanting to jump up and clean it.
Babamukuru stared at the offending patch of wetness. Hazvinei was nothing if not thorough. It was an impressive spit, worthy of winning the contests I used to have with the kopje boys when I was small.
I should have seen it coming. Babamukuru hit her across the face.
‘You devil,’ he said.
Tete Nyasha grasped his arm. ‘Don’t, don’t hit her. It is not going to make things better.’
But Babamukuru had grabbed an enamel pot from the kitchen.
I jumped up. ‘Babamukuru, Hazvinei is sorry.’
‘Don’t think I haven’t heard what people are saying!’ Spittle collected at the corners of his mouth. ‘I took you in! I have treated you as my own daughter!’
Hazvinei’s scorn was palpable.
‘I have given you everything. Have you ever been hungry? Have you ever been thirsty?’
I remembered the bruises on Tete Nyasha’s face. The bruises on Hazvinei.
‘And now we have found you a good man to be your husband, and you say no? You do not understand, Hazvinei,’ and he leaned so that his face was close to her own, ‘that this is something that has been decided already. We have decided the bride price. You are getting married. And when you have grown out of this defiance you will thank us for what we have done. For me, I am glad to have you out of my house.’
Hazvinei mumbled something, and Babamukuru spun around to Tete Nyasha. He was in a hitting mood, I could see that, and it did not matter who was within reach of his fists.
‘What is it?’
‘She said,’ Tete’s voice was barely audible, ‘she said that she is not a virgin.’
Babamukuru’s eyes were almost all white, his teeth bared.
‘Tete Nyasha is confused,’ I said. ‘It has been a difficult night for everyone. I think we should talk about this in the morning.’
I did not see the pot coming. My vision went black, and I fell off my chair. For a moment I wanted to laugh. Hit in the head with a cooking pot! It was the kind of thing that happened to cheating husbands.
‘You are not a virgin?’ Babamukuru was staring at Hazvinei. She had the cornered defiance of a cane rat – all eyes and teeth.
‘That’s what I said. Mapfumo will not want used goods.’ She spoke the words with relish.
‘You are lying,’ said Babamukuru. ‘You are evil, and unnatural, and you are lying.’
Tete Nyasha said nothing. She was exhausted, I could see.
‘We shall make sure,’ he said. ‘Nyasha. You must check.’
‘Don’t touch her!’
It is traditional for the older women in the family to check the young ones, to make sure they are intact.
‘Do it!’ Babamukuru wagged his finger in Tete Nyasha’s face. ‘See if the fambi tells the truth.’
‘Tunga, I …’
‘Do it now, or I will do it for you.’
I did not believe he would do it. Tete Nyasha, though, must have believed him, for she started moving towards Hazvinei.
‘Get away from me!’ Hazvinei stood with her hands in fists at her side. ‘I will not let you touch me, old woman.’
‘Hazvinei …’ Tete Nyasha reached out a hand as if to touch her cheek, but Hazvinei slapped it away. ‘No!’
‘I do not have the time for this,’ said Babamukuru. He rolled up his sleeves. ‘I will do it. Hold her down.’
Tete Nyasha looked at me.
‘I will hold her,’ I said, ‘If Tete Nyasha performs the examination.’
Babamukuru stared at me. ‘Fine.’
Hazvinei turned as if to run out of the room, but I grasped her thin wrists and held her tightly. She kicked, bit and swore at me, slumped and turned to deadweight in my arms, scrabbled her legs on the floor like a cockroach when the light is turned on.
‘Hazvinei,’ I spoke in her ear. ‘If I do not do this, Babamukuru will do it instead of Tete Nyasha. And he will hurt you.’
Hazvinei bared her teeth and snarled like an animal. Her eyes were white all around, and spittle collected at the corners of her mouth.
‘You should be grateful that we have found anyone for you at all,’ said Babamukuru.
Tete Nyasha looked at me, and then at my sister. Hazvinei had stopped struggling. She lay staring at Tete Nyasha, her eyes wide and unblinking. Tete Nyasha thrust her hand under Hazvinei’s skirt. Hazvinei twitched once, convulsively, and swallowed, but did not drop her stare. After a moment, Tete Nyasha got to her feet and went to the sink. She washed her hand while we watched her, and the water ran red.
‘She is intact,’ Tete Nyasha said to Babamukuru as she cleaned herself.
I felt Hazvinei’s pulse quicken under my hands. I kept her pressed down, willing her to be silent.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Babamukuru.
‘Yes.’ Tete Nyasha would not stop cleaning her hand. She turned it over and over under the tap water, rubbing at it with the hard, green Lifebuoy soap.
‘You are a filthy liar,’ said Babamukuru to Hazvinei, conversationally. There was an almost-smile on his face. He hit her across the face once, twice, almost casually, as if he were not thinking about it at all. I released her and we sat together on the cold floor, breathing. A drop of blood from Hazvinei’s lip fell onto my hand.
‘You will go with Mapfumo,’ said Babamukuru. He sat at the table in front of his cooling sadza. ‘Come. Sit. Eat.’
Tete Nyasha sat beside him. The sound of her chair scraping the concrete was unbearably loud.
‘Tinashe, Hazvinei.’
I got up. Hazvinei looked at me for a long time, so long that when she finally took her gaze from me, it felt like a hand had been lifted from my shoulder. She turned and went to her room. All I could hear was Babamukuru breathing heavily, in and out. And then the clink and clang of his knife and fork on his dinner plate as he started to eat. Tete Nyasha and I sat in front of our cooling food. I picked up my fork once or twice, then put it down again. I could not imagine eating. I had forgotten what it felt li
ke to eat.
Tete Nyasha eventually managed to pick up her cutlery and eat her food with some sort of normality. She gulped loudly, though, and drank a lot of water. I could hear the bites of food going down her throat. With that, and Babamukuru’s clinking and clanging and loud breathing, the room was unbearably noisy. I watched the gravy separate into brown stuff and clear fat, then congeal.
‘Eat,’ said Babamukuru, waving his fork at me.
I looked at my plate.
‘Eat.’
I picked up my fork again. Perhaps it would be easier if I were allowed to use my fingers, as we used to on the kopje, but Tete Nyasha insisted on using a knife and fork.
‘I will not tell you again, Tinashe,’ he said.
I speared a bit of meat with my fork and brought it to my mouth. I did not think my jaws would work. I put the fork back down.
When it hit the table, Babamukuru stood and came over to where I was sitting. I looked up at him. I could see his pulse in the hollow of his throat. He laid a hand on my shoulder with what felt like tenderness. For a mad moment, I thought he was going to smile. Then, with a sudden, violent movement, he swept the plate off the table and against the wall.
Poor Tete Nyasha. Her immaculate house.
‘Get out, both of you.’
Tete Nyasha and I retreated. Behind us I could hear the scrape and clink of cutlery as Babamukuru continued to eat.
Chapter Twenty-four
WE HAD TO go. Of course we had to go. We left in the early hours of the morning, before Babamukuru and Tete Nyasha awoke, just as Abel had done.
‘I want to find the photograph.’
‘What photograph?’
‘The one of you and me with Amai and Baba. Babamukuru took it from the house when we left.’
‘Tinashe. There is no time.’
‘It is the only photograph we have.’ I looked through drawers as quietly as I could. The house still stank of a dark, secret smell.