Dumani didn’t care what happened to Mothusi afterwards. They had been sent to bring a victim.
Dumani had always hated asking questions. Even back in school, he’d always hated the so-called bright children that asked questions. He always felt they were wasting time. That’s why he bullied them whenever he got the chance.
He didn’t bother to ask questions when he was told to bring the victim in. All that had mattered was the promised wealth. And that was still all that mattered. If Damon was going to kill Mothusi, so be it. It was none of Dumani’s business.
Dumani climbed into the back of the van, stretched over the corpse and pulled Mothusi by the arm.
“Come with us,” he said as he did so.
Mothusi didn’t resist. It seemed like the guy had resigned himself to whatever was in store for him.
As soon as Mothusi hit the ground, Thabang helped Dumani lift him and they carried him towards the entrance to Damon’s yard, where Damon was waiting and opening the gate. They put Mothusi in front of Damon. Damon seemed to have problems with eyesight. He peered into Mothusi’s face for a while. Dumani shone the beam of his large torch on Mothusi and said, “So where would you like us to leave him?” He couldn’t control his smile. Who could when wealth was within reach?
Damon stood back up and sighed heavily, then said, “I know my eyesight is not very good, but I can tell this is the wrong guy.”
“What do you mean?” said Dumani, suddenly feeling discouraged.
Damon looked around, sighed heavily once more, raked his right hand across his bald pate, and said, “Come, let’s talk.”
Damon led Dumani to the corner of the yard.
When they were out of earshot, he said, “I was specific as to who I wanted. I even told you how the guy was dressed. I told you where you were going to find him. But you still brought the wrong man, who won’t be of any use to us. The Boss asked for that particular man.”
Dumani released a heavy sigh. The thought to kill the old man crossed his mind, but then he thought doing so would only jeopardize the promised wealth.
“Who?”
“The Boss. You had twenty-four hours. Now I’ve to talk to him to see if he can extend. I’ve to warn you, though, that if he can’t extend, your lives may take a worse turn.”
Dumani couldn’t imagine what worse turn his life could take. But he blamed Thabang. If Thabang hadn’t offered him that piece of chicken, they wouldn’t have fought. If they hadn’t fought, they would have brought the right victim a long time ago.
Damon disappeared into his dilapidated house, dialling a number on what seemed to be one of the oldest cell phones ever made. Dumani went back to join Thabang and Mothusi. As soon as he did, he looked around stealthily and kicked Mothusi in the ribs just for the heck of it. Mothusi yelped.
“You see what you’ve done,” Dumani whispered. Who he really wanted to kick was Thabang. He kicked Mothusi because he just wanted to let off steam. Thabang was searching for something in his left trouser pocket.
Damon returned a few minutes later. Thabang, seemingly not having found whatever he had been looking for, walked closer to Dumani as the old man approached, and whispered, “What did he say?” while pointing at the old man at the same time.
Dumani ignored him. The old man beckoned to Dumani and the two went back to where they had their last conversation.
“You’re two lucky men indeed,” the old man said. “The Boss has extended the deadline by a week. But if you can’t bring him by then, you’ll wish you were never born. Your lives will take the worst turn possible.”
Dumani sighed in relief. He told himself that this time he was going to do everything in his power to bring in the right victim.
“So what would you like us to do with the young man we brought?”
“Just leave him here. You can’t take him with you or else things won’t work. I’ll talk to The Boss and he will decide what to do with the young man.”
Dumani didn’t feel good about this. He had a feeling the old man was going to sacrifice Mothusi and just didn’t want to pay as promised. But what choice had he? Hopefully they would find the right man and get paid when they delivered him.
Thabang whispered, “What did he say?’ again when Dumani re-joined him, but he ignored him.
The two were about to leave when, as an afterthought, Dumani retraced his steps, beckoned to the old man and whispered, “Would you be by any chance be interested in a dead’s woman’s body?”
“A dead woman?” said the old man incredulously.
“Yes. We found a freshly dead woman out in the bush and brought her along just in case you may be interested.’
“No. The victim has to be alive.”
Dumani decided there and then that they had a problem.
Mothusi had always been a devout believer in fate. And it didn’t fail him this time. When those fools had kidnapped him earlier, he had kept telling himself that this was part of fate.
That was why he had resigned himself to it. You can’t change fate, or at least that’s what he believed. That’s why he had along the way given up all attempts to escape.
What he had really thought fate had in store for him this time was something grim. Death, most probably. Not a free ride to his very destination. This was more than what he had expected.
As soon as Dumani and Thabang left, Mothusi stood up and limped over to where the old man was still standing, watching the van as it slowly limped into the darkness.
As he approached him, under the moonlight, Mothusi could see the old man had a smile on his face.
“I have what you sent me for,” Mothusi said. “Let’s go inside the house so I can see it.” The two retreated into the interior of the house,
the old man leading. Mothusi was aware that you could never trust people when it came to such things. There could be a ritual killer waiting for him inside the house. He goes in there and the next thing the ritual killer pounces on him. But then that would be fate. And you can’t change fate.
Mothusi didn’t know the old man enough, but from the look of things he used to be rich. Mothusi could feel the fading wealth. Everything in the house was dilapidated. The sofas had holes in them. The chairs were old. Potholes dominated the floor. There was the smell of death within the house. Mothusi knew the smell. He had a grandmother who’d died after a prolonged period of immobility. Her hut used to and still had the smell.
“Wait here. Let me get the candle,” Damon said, disappearing into the inner recesses of the house. Mothusi’s heart was beating fast. Could the old man have gone to alert a ritual killer that the victim was here? Or he could be the ritual killer himself having gone to find the appropriate weapon?
Mothusi thought of bolting. But where would he go? This was in the middle of nowhere. They would find him long before he could even go beyond the gate.
He would have to let fate take its course. You can’t change fate anyway.
He heard the old man knocking over something. It broke. He cursed and blamed his clumsiness on old age.
“I just broke my favourite mug,” he said to himself.
“Sorry to hear that,” Mothusi answered. He had become more alert. What if the breaking was part of the plan, intended to alert the actual killer that the victim was here? The hairs on his neck stood on end and he looked around, ready to fight.
You can’t fight fate but you can always at least try.
Luckily the old man came back into the sitting room, alone. In his right hand he carried a lighted lantern. He put it on an old coffee table, beckoned to Mothusi and said, “Let me see.”
Mothusi approached him tentatively and handed him the bottle of mayonnaise. The old man took off the lid and a smile cracked across his face as he examined the contents.
“And this is from the right woman?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Very good,” said Damon, looking up at Mothusi with glassy eyes.
“So what’s next?” Mothusi asked expectantly.<
br />
“I’ll need to speak to The Boss.”
Mothusi hadn’t been told about The Boss. He had thought the old man was the boss. He was promised wealth the minute he delivered the brain material.
The old man was about to disappear back where he got the lantern from when Mothusi said, a triumphant smile on his face, “I believe the woman’s body is the one those two guys were offering you.”
“So they saw you kill her?”
“No. They found the body and took it. But somebody saw me.”
The old man froze and peered into Mothusi’s face with those glaring eyes. For a moment he thought the old man was going to cry.
“Somebody saw you?” he said incredulously.
“Yes.”
Damon assumed a stooped posture, obviously saddened by the news. He walked back towards the coffee table and sat on the sofa. Mothusi thought he saw what could be tears glittering in the old man’s eyes.
“You were not supposed to be seen. That was rule number one. Rule number two was, you were supposed to dispose of the body soon after you had collected the brain material, while it was still fresh. I’ll have to speak to The Boss about this. Can you wait outside while I do?”
“Okay.”
Mothusi went to wait outside. He remained alert just in case. He sort of expected somebody to pounce on him from the darkness. He couldn’t understand why an old man like this would choose to live on his own in such an isolated place. There must be more than met the eye.
Hyenas howled and owls hooted, accentuating the eeriness that already dominated the atmosphere.
If the old man came back to tell him his work was to no avail, he would track, find and kill that man who saw him. In fact, regardless, he had to find him.
Just then Damon called him back into the house. He was sitting on the sofa when Mothusi entered the house.
“I just spoke to The Boss,” he said, his head bowed.
Mothusi didn’t say anything in answer. He just stood there, the rate of his heart going up by the minute. He didn’t expect good news, based on the old man’s posture.
“There is good and bad news,” the old man continued. Mothusi stayed quiet. “The good news is that the brain can still be used.
The bad news is that it can’t be used until you locate the person who saw you kill the woman and bring him to us, or, if you can’t bring him here, kill him. It would be preferable to bring him in, if you can.” Only then did the old man look up.
Mothusi’s heart sank. He just nodded, his mouth too dry to say anything. His mind was suddenly flooded with thoughts. He was wondering where the man who saw him could be. Yet at the same time the guilt of having killed the woman was still devouring him. At least he took comfort in the fact the brain tissue was still useful, even though only if he found the witness. He had no intention of bringing the man here if he found him. He would hack him to death just like he had the woman.
As if reading his mind, the old man said, “Do you think you can find him?”
“Yes. I know him. I’ll make sure I find him. How much time do I have?”
“A week. Or else the brain tissue will become useless to us, unless you’re prepared to kill another woman?”
”I’ll find him.”
“And, like I said, it would be best to bring him in. You’re allowed to injure him to make him docile if you have to. Killing him should be a last resort.”
And Mothusi was going to make sure he found him, whatever that may cost. No way was he going to let wealth slip out of his grasp just like that.
What annoyed Mothusi was that he didn’t know where the man who witnessed the murder lived.
He had seen him around in the village before, but he had never really been acquainted with him.
The man was probably not a drinker because otherwise Mothusi would have bumped into him at one of the shebeens at some point. If he was a drinker, things would have been easier. Mothusi went up there sometimes to spread the Word, and had a deal with the shebeen queen whereby she would sneak out some booze for him once in a while. He didn’t want it known that he drank, though he suspected his wife knew and just didn’t want to talk about it.
But what if the man had already reported the matter to the authorities? They could be out and about looking for him by now, which meant venturing back into the village could be a risk he would live to regret.
But with the amount of wealth he had been promised if things went well, he was prepared to take the risks. If the cops nicked him while he was looking for that man, so be it. That would just be part of fate, which he couldn’t change.
Damon gave him a lift home. He drove an old Toyota Hilux that stalled when it reached slopes. He dropped him off at the periphery of Tsebeyatonki village. The old man didn’t want to be seen with him. Why? Because he was a crook. Whatever he needed the brain for was obviously shady.
Mothusi had to walk the rest of the distance. He was scared of his own footfalls, and expected to be attacked. What he had gone through in one day was too much. How was he going to explain his injuries to his family, or everybody else for that matter? People in this village were overly inquisitive. They’d want to know what happened to him. They’d speculate and add two and two together — that is, if that man hadn’t already reported that he witnessed the murder.
At first Mothusi had thought of trying to find the man in the middle of the night, but decided that would be a dumb idea. He had decided the men who abducted him were dumb. They’d probably wrongfully abduct him again if they saw him. So he decided to go to bed.
Sleep evaded him. He tossed and turned in bed as the night went on. He couldn’t wait until the morning so he could start looking for that man. If only he knew where he lived, he would simply ambush him with an axe at some ungodly hour, and do away with him straight away.
His wife slept peacefully next to him, unaware of how troubled he was.
It had taken a lot of trouble to explain to her the injury to his toes. He told her he was trying to chop firewood when the axe ricocheted off and landed on his foot instead, causing the injury in the process. The good thing was that when he had left earlier, his intention had been to go and fetch firewood. But she was unaware of the wealth that was coming the family’s way. It was going to be a surprise.
Then the thought of prison crept into his mind. That’s where he could be headed if he was not careful. In fact, it wasn’t about being careful. It was about fate. Fate could take him either way and prison was one of the possible ways, and it wasn’t appealing. He would eventually be found guilty and be hanged by the neck until he died, leaving his family behind without a bread winner. Poverty would strike them. Guilt consumed him just then. He draped his arm around his snoring wife’s waist and pulled her closer. She stirred in sleep and stopped snoring. He felt like crying. He wanted the best for his family. He wanted his daughter to grow up in wealth. She was ten and doing well in school. He never did well in school himself. He’d failed Form Two. He wanted the best for his daughter, and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure that she got it. Not just her, but his wife, too. He was going to steel himself against all the risks and do what he had to do, starting from tomorrow. He was going to make sure a week was long enough to effect his resolve.
There was no way I was going home. I didn’t care about it being late. After the attempt on my life, I was prepared for anything. I had no time to rest. Not until I found my wife and children. The fact that they were missing could only mean one thing: those goons knew where I lived. And the murderer may very well know where I lived. He could very well be the one that had taken my wife and children.
I was very much tempted to report the murder, but I feared the possible repercussions. I had a feeling the villagers didn’t trust me at the moment. I didn’t like the scepticism with which they viewed my story. The way three of them asked me about the blood on my ear, the way they didn’t seem to believe me when I explained how I got the injury on my ear. The residents of Tsebeya
tonki were inquisitive lot by nature. They’d speculate and dissect why I didn’t report the murder the first time. I would end up being the suspected murderer.
I would have to tell my wife’s family that she was missing. But that presented problems. A month or two ago I had a fight with her during which, out of anger, I’d said, “I’ll kill you!” I hadn’t meant it, but she took me seriously. She’d taken the children and ran through the village with them like a maniac, screaming, “Please help me!” as she did. The children, too, were scared. I stood by the gate, dumbfounded and angry, unable to believe that what started off as a small argument over what to eat for dinner had unleashed such an embarrassing event. I’d hoped she’d change her mind and come back. But she didn’t. For the first time since we got married, I’d spent the night alone at home.
The following day, distraught as I was, I took the risk and went to her family’s home first thing in the morning for I knew that’s where she would have gone.
As I approached, I saw her sitting in the veranda, surrounded by her aunts and her mother, the children playing in the corner of the yard. Her father met me at the gate, brandishing a knobkerrie, and promised to bash my head if I came any closer to her daughter. I told him I’d come to apologise for what I’d said to her.
“I love her to death. I love my children. I miss them all. I’d never hurt your daughter, I promise. I didn’t mean my words,”
I pleaded, standing a safe distance away from him. But my words seemed to drive his anger a few further rungs up. He stepped even closer to the gate and said, “I don’t think you heard me clearly. You’re not welcome here. Don’t force me to use this knobkerrie on you,” he said. I could tell from the expression on his face that he meant his words. He wasn’t smiling. “My daughter doesn’t want you anymore. Your own children are scared of you. Leave now if you don’t want your life to be cut short.”
The Other Four Page 7