Mothusi was feeling pain everywhere. The fool had beaten him real bad when he’d tried to reason with him.
As if that wasn’t enough, following that he dragged him down the dirty road, cursing throughout. He even blamed Mothusi for being so “heavy.”
“You should stop eating too much,” he advised each time he took a break from the dragging. Mothusi was literally crying in pain. He told the guy he could walk, he should stop dragging him like that, but the guy wasn’t listening. He insulted Mothusi in all sorts of manners, insulted Mothusi’s family too and called him names.
Mothusi wondered if he was related to the woman he had killed. That was possible. If he was, then there was definitely no way he was going to let Mothusi live. And he wouldn’t kill him quick. He would make him suffer. What bothered Mothusi most was the fact that he had never seen the man — or his friend — before.
The fool panted as he dragged Mothusi along. Even with the injured foot, Mothusi was sure that he would outrun the fool if he tried. But he didn’t want to take any chances. If the fool was in any way related to the woman Mothusi had killed, there was a possibility he would search for and find Mothusi, regardless of where he hid. So it was best for Mothusi to simply give in to whatever fate had in store for him. He silently prayed. He had never been a firm believer in God, but he found himself reciting prayer after prayer under his breath, begging for forgiveness for all his sins, including killing the woman.
The fool now sounded really tired. His breaths came in gasps. He stopped, leaned over and put his hands on his knees.
The thought of kicking him hard in the guts crossed Mothusi’s mind, but he dismissed it just as soon. Mothusi was spent. Plus the pain he was experiencing wouldn’t allow him to go far if he tried to run.
The fool looked at Mothusi like he was scum, spat on him and kicked the injured foot. Mothusi yelped in pain. The fool resumed the dragging. As soon as the van came in sight, the villain paused for more breath. Mothusi just lay there, resigned to the intense pain that was coursing through his body.
“Thabang!” the fool shouted. Mothusi looked up. The fool was looking up at the van.
“Thabang!” he yelled again. A lion was chasing Thabang. He had been sitting by the local dam, fishing, when the lion appeared. At first he had thought it was nothing but a stray dog, so he had ignored it and continued fishing.
Just when he thought the stray dog he had seen on the other side of the dam had disappeared, he heard a growl behind him, too close for comfort.
He whirled around just in time to see a lion, its head right by his neck, teeth bared to the maximum. His bladder let go and he swam into the dam in panic as that was the only direction available. He waddled across the shallow dam, screaming out for help as he did, hoping the lion didn’t know how to swim. But the lion followed him, jumping into the dam and floating towards him like a fish. He screamed louder as the lion got closer. The lion was just about to reach out for his ass with its bared teeth when he heard his name called.
“Thabang!” He woke up with a start. The front of his pants was wet and for some reason he had a boner. The pain in his mouth had intensified. He stretched and looked around just so to make sure the sound of his name being called was not part of his nightmare.
There stood Dumani. At his feet lay their victim. When the hell did he change clothes? He had been wearing a black tee shirt when they had chased him earlier, but now he was wearing a blue baggy shirt and an equally baggy green jacket. Thabang smiled to himself. He had underestimated Dumani. Even when the moron left earlier on, Thabang hadn’t really expected him to return with the abductee. But here he was.
“Thabang, come on over and help me. This guy is heavy!” shouted Dumani.
Thabang, still groggy and recovering from the fear caused by the nightmare, opened the door to the van and jumped out.
The mere sight of Thabang walking listlessly towards him, a large patch of wetness on the front of his pants, made Dumani angry. The moron not only had the audacity to take a nap while Dumani did the hard work, but also took the chance to piss himself. This was not the first time that Thabang had done this. There was one time when they were on a job together — they were hired by someone to batter a guy (they never asked the reason why) — and by the time they located the guy Thabang was too drunk and had pissed himself. They ended up not beating up the guy and the guy who had sent them to do the beating refused to pay and sent Dumani and Thabang packing instead. That was one of the many times that Dumani swore never to work with Thabang again.
But then who else could he work with? Dumani knew people didn’t like him. They suspected him for being a crook.
He knew he looked like a crook, but no one had the right to tell him so. He once cornered a young man in a bar up in Lentsweng and slapped him twice after he had said to his colleagues that Dumani looked like a guy he was in prison with a year ago.
Dumani had never been in prison, but if certain investigations that the Police were doing went the right way he was most certainly headed there. His last crime was a robbery that went wrong. He was with Thabang and they had planned to rob a little shop on the corner.
They waited until closing time, and then they attacked the little shop just as the young female shopkeeper was putting away the profit.
The woman had such a loud, high-pitched scream that as soon as she started screaming a mob appeared out of nowhere.
Lucky enough, earlier on that day Thabang had managed to steal a little old Corolla which they had left nearby, engine running. As soon as the mob appeared, they jumped in and Dumani drove off. The thing Dumani couldn’t understand was how a guy was capable of breaking into a car yet couldn’t drive.
“Who do we have here? This is the wrong guy, I’m sure of that,” said Thabang, standing over the guy Dumani had brought with him.
Dumani thought of punching Thabang but decided against it just as soon. The moron had had enough for one day. “I’m sure this is the wrong guy. Where did you find him?” Thabang said again.
Dumani decided to cooperate, at least for now.
“In the bush. He was injured and I thought I might as well,” Dumani said, kicking his victim’s injured foot as he did. The victim yelped in pain.
“So, you decided to help him? You want us to give him a lift? I didn’t realize you were such a Good Samaritan,” said Thabang, anger building up on his face, then leaned over the victim and said. “My name is Thabang. What’s yours?”
Before Dumani could say anything, the victim answered in frightened tones, “Mothusi.”
“Come on, we will take care of you. What happened to your foot?”
“I…”
Dumani couldn’t help it. He whacked Thabang across the face while he was leaning like that and yelled, “What the hell are you doing, introducing yourself to this guy?”
“Dumani, have you gone crazy or something? Why the hell are you…”
“You don’t mention our names in front of victims.”
“What victim?”
“This one,” Dumani said, kicking Mothusi’s injured leg. Mothusi yelped in pain again.
“I thought we were helping him. He is the wrong guy.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll do. He is exactly the same size as the one we were sent out for. It’s the size that matters.”
“Who told you so?”
“Told me what?”
“That it’s only the size that matters.”
Dumani clucked his tongue in annoyance and ignored Thabang. Thabang was pushing the wrong button. Soon he’d have no teeth remaining if he wasn’t careful.
Mothusi screamed as soon as he was thrown into the back of the van. This was not just because of the pain, but fear as well.
He fell right on top of the woman he had killed and the feeling was gross. He hadn’t had enough time to appreciate the extent of the damage he had done to the woman until now. The interior of the back of the van was a little too dark, but he could see the woman’s blood
had coagulated and mixed with soil, giving the corpse an appearance that would remain stuck in his mind for as long as he lived.
He moved away from the corpse and huddled in the corner. He mulled over the words Dumani had said.
He is the same size as the guy we’ve been sent for.
Which left the question: who were these guys? At least now Mothusi was sure that they were not related to the woman. They must have been the ritual killers that were rumoured to roam these areas.
And this meant Mothusi was in trouble just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he was going to try and make the best out of a bad situation.
He retrieved from his large coat pocket a little empty container of mayonnaise, removed the lid, scooped as much brain matter from the corpse as he could and put the lid back on, then put the container in his jacket pocket. Now he just had to work out a way of escaping.
“What the hell did you do to the tyre?” said Dumani.
“I changed it,” said Thabang while hopping into
the passenger seat at the same time. He leaned out of
the missing window. “Let’s go.”
Dumani was looking at the slashed tyre, trying
hard to contain his anger. He goes out and does the
hard work, comes back to find one of the tyres slashed
and Thabang was now telling him they had to go.
That was one of the problems of doing a job with
people who couldn’t drive. They didn’t know little
things such as a car needs a full tyre to drive. He
made the decision then that he was never going to
work with morons again. For real this time. “How the hell am I supposed to drive a van with
a tyre like this?” yelled Dumani.
“I did the best I could. Both front tyres were
slashed but there was only one spare. As it is, we
don’t have much choice but to do with what we have
before it gets too late. Now, let’s go,” Thabang said
and relaxed back on the seat. He even seemed to be
about to take a nap.
“Who slashed the tyres?”
“I don’t know. I found them like this.” “Where did you go? I thought you were supposed
to wait by the van until I come back?”
“I found the tyres slashed when I came back from
chasing that guy.”
“What guy?”
“The real victim. I suspect it’s him that slashed
the tyres.”
“So he came back?”
“No. I don’t think he is stupid enough to come
back when he knows we are looking for him.” “So when did you chase him?”
“With you. Remember?”
Dumani looked at Thabang for a long time,
resisting the temptation to smash him hard across the
mouth and leave him with no teeth whatsoever. But
then it was getting too late and another fight may slow
things down. Dumani leaned against the van, had a
smoke to calm his nerves. The way he was, he was
afraid if he went into the van right there and then, he
was going to break Thabang’s jaw.
When he finished his smoke, he jumped into the
van and revved the engine. Thabang was snoring
away and he stank. He smelt of stale urine. Fuckin’
moron.
Modimonthuse the headman wasted no time. He had rung the bell that announced that there was a meeting earlier on and the meeting place was now packed. He now explained to the gathered crowd the reason for the meeting, just as Ngano had told him. A search party needed to be dispatched immediately. The ritual killers that had been rumoured to roam the surrounding areas had been sighted. Not only that, but they had tried to abduct one of the villagers. This was serious.
Several concerns were raised, the main one being that it was too late to be venturing into the darkness. Killers love darkness. They thrive in it. They see better in it. So if a search party went out there, some of its members were most likely to end up victims of the ritual killers.
Modimonthuse mollified the concerned. Somebody’s wife and children were missing here. The ritual killers could have taken them. Time was of utmost importance. Action had to be taken before an attempt was made on their lives — if at all they were still alive. The killers had to be shown that they were operating in the wrong area. Modimonthuse authorized that they be killed if they were found.
The search party, made up of strong young men, grudgingly headed off into the setting darkness towards the surrounding bushes. They were armed with torches, knobkerries and axes.
I was leading the search party. My fear of what might have happened to my family kept me going despite the tiredness that was trying to slow me down. I didn’t even want to think about it. I was walking faster than normal and the rest of the search party seemed to have difficulty keeping up with my pace. Some were trying to reassure me, but I wasn’t listening. I wanted us to arrive where I had left the van as soon as possible. I suspected their intention had been to abduct me, then take me somewhere where they could kill me at their own pace. But what if there were more than two of them? What if, while those two were trying to abduct me, another pair was abducting my family? But why me and my family? There was more to the whole thing than met the eye.
The image of my daughter Josephine sitting wide eyed, her arms and legs bound like mine had been, about to die, popped into my mind. Tears streamed down my face at the thought. I started walking even faster. My body was tensing up. I’d never killed before, but I wished for a chance to kill those two goons in the most painful manner.
Then I thought of the murderer. I had intended to report the murder to the chief but thought better of it. I hadn’t been able to identify the woman.
What if there was some truth in what the chief had said? That maybe I was imagining things? What if what I was going through was one long nightmare from which I’d wake up any time?
But I knew this wasn’t a nightmare. This was real. I had seen that woman being killed.
I had heard her helpless screams. I had seen her almost decapitated body. I still had bruises from the attempted abduction. But what if these bruises were part of the nightmare? Some nightmares can feel real. I’ve had nightmares in which I dreamt I was having a nightmare. Could this be one?
What worried me most about the murder was that from the little I knew of him, the murderer was a saint. In fact, on the few occasions that I attended Tsebeyatonki Church of Christ, he had been one of the officials there. He had even delivered a few prophesies. Could this be a case of mistaken identity? Could it be that the murderer was in fact somebody else, rather than who I thought it was? A member of the ritual killing team, maybe?
But I was sure it was him. I’d taken a quick look over my shoulder while he was chasing me with an axe and saw the sort of anger on his face that I had never thought he was capable of.
There must more to the story than it seemed. This couldn’t just be a case of passion killing. If it was, the murderer wouldn’t have had to bring the woman this far just to kill her. He would have killed her in his house, or hers, or any other place but not an isolated one like this. He would have wanted his and her bodies to be found. He would have killed himself too after killing her. Or perhaps I disturbed him before he could finish himself off? I didn’t think so because he was still alive. If he had intended to kill himself, he would have chased me off so I won’t witness anything further then found a hidden place and do away with himself. Which meant this wasn’t just a passion killing. There was more to it. Could the murderer really be one of the ritual killers?
I was so lost in thought I didn’t hear Volume Two — an alcoholic who claimed to be a lawyer although his education was limited to Form two — who was right behind me talking to me until he tapped me lightly on the shoulder to grab my attention.
“Are you sure you know where the van is?” said Volume Two.
“Yes, we are about to arrive,” I said.
I quickened my pace. I was sure the area where I left the van was just a stone’s throw away. We just had to round one more bend and we would see it. I’d been in this area many times hunting and knew my way around very well.
My heart pounded faster as we rounded the bend.
Despair hit me hard. The van wasn’t there. Neither was the corpse.
D
amon lived alone in an isolated, sparsely populated cattle post called Matlakala. He lived far from everyone else, the
nearest neighbours being at least a kilometre away. That was because he used to be rich and needed a lot of land back then. He used to have large kraals that took the whole of the surrounding area where he kept a large herd of cattle. Now the land was unattended and bare, and no one was interested in buying it.
His wife died five years ago and he became a recluse. Following her death, his cattle, too, started dying at an alarming rate. Some got stolen, he suspected. He used to have at least five hundred of them. Now he was down to ten. He knew he had enemies who obviously were not happy with his success in farming. And it seemed they were winning, through witchcraft.
Damon had very little education. His father, from whom he inherited the cattle, never believed in education. In his father’s opinion, the only important thing about education was to learn how to count, so he allowed Damon to attend school until Grade two. But back then Grade two was a decent stage to quit school at. The education system was more intense than it is these days. The memory of students was far much better than that of the current type. The teachers wrote on slates back then, and wiped out everything soon after writing it, and you had to store everything in your heard since there were no exercise books. The only problem was, he was a slow learner, but he managed to learn the basics well enough to be able to count cattle.
He lived with his father until he died. The plan had been for the father to give him a decent number of cattle when he hit the age of forty and let him go live on his own. He had always treated him like a child, and he lived with his parents throughout his life. He had never worked as there was no need to. Now he needed to work, but he was too old. There was a point when he sat down and contemplated swallowing his pride and seeking a job as a herd boy, but swallowing so much of his pride proved to be harder than he had expected.
The Other Four Page 5