The Other Four

by Nsununguli Mbo

  "What about the blood on your ear?"

  Not again.

  I told her I fell. I was tempted to tell her about the murder because right then she was the only person who seemed to believe me, even if only slightly.

  An array of feelings washed over me, running the gamut of loneliness, despair, frustration and anger. I knew I wasn't going to sleep, but at least I felt a lot safer here than I would have at home. I didn't think those goons would have the guts to follow me here.

  As expected, I had no sleep. I got up at the same time as my mother, which was 6 am.

  She had always had a fixed routine which began with her sweeping the yard as soon as she got up. I wandered around the yard, confused. I walked over to where she was sweeping the yard down at the corner and said, "I'm going to find my wife and children."

  She stopped sweeping, stood up and said, "Where?"

  "I don't know. I'll figure something out."

  "Why don't you have breakfast first?"

  I might as well, having not eaten in two days. Not that I was feeling hungry, but I knew I had to eat. I'd need food to be able to think, and I had to be able to think to find my family. Father joined us for breakfast at 8. Breakfast consisted of homemade bread and black tea. My father had this angry look on his face and wouldn't maintain eye contact. I could tell he didn’t trust and was angry with me.

  As soon as he finished eating, he stood up and said he was going off to the farm. He was addicted to the farm, which was located in some isolated bushy area.

  He had a four bedroom house there and for some reason that’s where he preferred to spend his time.

  I wouldn't say my parents' relationship was the best, and I believe my mother had grown to accept that by spending his time at the farm was my father's way of keeping whatever remained of the relationship stable.

  I had just finished eating, and was about to stand up and head off God knows where in search of my wife when an SMS came into my phone. I frantically fetched it from my pocket, hoping it would be my wife. But it wasn't. It was an SMS that would forever change my life.

  We have evidence that you killed someone. We are going to the Police. Meet me near the dam and we can discuss. Or you can ignore this SMS and I go report you to the Police. It's your choice.

  I read the SMS over and over again, unable to believe what I was seeing. I paced up and down, clenched my fists and cried.

  "Are you okay?" asked my mother. Should I tell her? Should I tell her I had witnessed a murder and now I was being blackmailed? It was my belief that the "someone" referred to in the SMS was the woman I had witnessed getting killed. And I could only think of one person who would want to blackmail me: the killer himself.

  "I'm frustrated mother. I miss my wife and children."

  "What time is the search party heading off again?"

  "9 am. But I'm not going."

  "What?"

  "No one seems to believe me, so I might as well look for them on my own."

  She looked at me with something hovering between disbelief and suspicion. I didn't care anymore. Not much mattered anymore, except that I had to find my wife and children.

  I replied to the SMS.

  Whoever you're, you know I killed nobody. I'll be going to the Police to show them this SMS. They'll find you. I'm not meeting with you. They will.

  I was walking home, hoping I'd find my wife and children. I'd thought of going by the chief's to ask for someone to tag along with me. But right now I couldn’t trust anyone. How was I to know the blackmailer hadn't already lied to the chief that I'd killed someone? The blackmailer didn't reply. I wasn't sure if I had enough credit in my phone to make a call. I tried anyway. The blackmailer's number went straight into voicemail. The level of my frustration climbed a further rung up. I kept trying the number, with the same results. I literally sprinted across the village. My phone rang. Blackmailer calling back? I retrieved the phone from my left trouser pocket. Unknown number.

  "Hello," I said.

  There was silence at the other end at first. Then, "You have an hour to get here."

  I was about to open my mouth to spit out venom when the caller hung up. My phone rang almost immediately. Without looking at the screen, I pressed the SEND button and yelled, "You pig! I'm not coming. I'll make sure you pay for this. I didn't kill her. You did!"

  There was silence at the other end. I looked at the screen. The number was showing. But it wasn't the same number from which the SMS had come. I put the phone back to my ear and said, "Hello."

  A sigh. Then, "Ngano, this is the headman. You're needed here urgently. We will be reporting you to the Police if you don't come here immediately."

  My heart seemed to stop. But only for a minute. Then it started pounding against my chest. The fear was unbearable. The blackmailing had just taken a wrong turn.

  "Why?"

  "That's what we need to find out from you. You just said a woman got killed and it's not you who killed her. Am I right in believing that the woman in question is your wife?"

  I can't describe how I was feeling right now.

  "No. It's not my wife. Somebody is trying to blackmail me. I witnessed the murder yesterday, just after those two men tried to abduct me. I saw the person who killed her, but I couldn't identify her."

  "Your story has changed. You didn't tell me — or anyone for that matter — that you witnessed a murder."

  "I was going to tell you. But I didn't know who I'd say I had seen getting killed. Besides, I wasn't sure anymore if I might have been dreaming or what because the body was missing."

  "Missing?"

  "After I witnessed the murder, the murderer chased me. I outran him. I returned to and identify the woman. Then the two men came and tried to take away the body. That's when they saw me try to take away in their van. They dropped the body and chased me. But when we returned to the scene with the search party, the body was missing."

  "You led the search party to the area where you had seen the van."

  "That was where the body of the murdered woman had been also."

  For a moment the chief was silent. Then he said, "This is a case for the Police. I'm calling off the search party."

  "I'm telling you the truth. I know the man who killed the woman."

  "Who is he?"

  "I don't know his name. But he is one of the prophets at Tsebeyatonki Church of Christ."

  "Bye. The Police will take it from here."

  "Please, I need..."

  But the chief had already rung off. I called him back but he hung up without answering.

  Mothusi decided to just go along with fate. There was no way he could pull away from the hands of fate, and right now fate was telling him to be brave and approach the chief, and tell him something. By the time he got to the chief's yard, fate had concocted a nice little story to tell the chief. But as he approached the chief’s yard, he realised there were a number of the villagers loitering around. Fear suddenly attacked him. What if that man had already reported him and a search party was being organised to go find him and hand him over to the law? But fate pushed him on. If fate wanted him to hand himself over to people who were looking for him, so be it.

  He limped towards the gathering crowd and located the chief. Some people eyed him suspiciously. Maybe they were not looking for him after all? If they had been, at least one of them would have said, "There he is," as soon as he appeared. The chief was busy talking to one of the locals, so Mothusi tapped him lightly on the right shoulder to grab his attention. He whirled around. There was anger on his face.

  "What's wrong?" he blurted. It wasn't the norm to disturb adults when they were talking, especially someone as important as the chief. But in this instance fate had urged Mothusi to break norm.

  "I need to tell you something."

  "What is it?"

  "Can we talk in private?"

  The chief looked around suspiciously, and then

  led Mothusi towards the kraal. When they were out of earshot, Mot
husi said, "I witnessed a murder." Shock shot through the chief's face instantly.

  "Murder?"

  "Yes. I saw a woman getting killed."

  "When and where?"

  "Last night out in the bush. I couldn't call anyone as the area has no phone reception. After the man killed the woman, he dragged her away and I suspect he buried him or something. He realised I saw him and chased me with an axe. I think he was going to kill me, but he only managed to injure my foot and I got away."

  "And who is this man?"

  "I don't know his name. He was wearing a blue tee shirt and a brown pair of pants. I know he is from here, for sure."

  The chief contemplated for a while. Mothusi could guess from the look on his face that the chief must have an idea as to who the man might be.

  Mothusi had done what had to be done. Once again fate hadn't disappointed him.

  Now he just had to go on to step two of his plan.

  The man's name was Modiri. I've known him since I was twelve. I was living with an aunt in Lentsweng at the time. My father was working at the mines in South Africa and my mother had gone to live with him for a year. My aunt therefore agreed to look after me during that period. It was my first day at Blue City primary school and some of the children were making fun of me just because I was a rural boy. Modiri, being a bigger boy at the time — but not anymore — had protected me.

  That came with a price of course: on the occasions that I brought my own food to school, Modiri wanted half of it. I was okay with the arrangement as I preferred it to the bullying. Our friendship became more genuine when coincidentally Modiri moved to live with an aunt in the same area where I lived. We started hanging out more after school and on weekends, played on the swings and football together. When my parents finally returned from South Africa for good, I opted to continue schooling at Blue City and my aunt and parents were all okay with it.

  But then a year later my aunt got divorced and she became mentally unstable. She had to be taken to Itekeng Mental Hospital. Modiri's mother — a motherly and caring woman — offered for me to stay with them while my aunt was recuperating, reasoning that moving schools may result in a decline of my performance, especially since I was about to sit for my Standard seven exams. My aunt's husband was suspected and accused of having bewitched my aunt by various family members after it became public that he had been cheating on her with a married woman who lived on the other side of town. He was found hanging in the bedroom a few days after the accusations started.

  The initial idea had been to keep both the news about the infidelity and the suicide from my aunt, but somehow the news filtered through and found her. She couldn't take it. She managed to escape from the hospital and hung herself from a nearby tree. It was at this point that my parents decided that it was best for me to come home. I therefore went back to Tsebeyatonki Primary school two months before I was due to sit for my exams. I hadn't expected to pass, but I did. So did Modiri. We kept in contact.

  Back then cell phones were unheard of, but there was a landline phone at Modiri's house. Once in a while when I had coins, I would visit the local public phone and give Modiri a buzz.

  We both subsequently passed our Form two exams and proceeded to senior secondary school. As fate would have it, we both ended up at Shashe River School. Not only that, but we were roommates during the first year. We both had too unsatisfactory General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) to proceed to the university. I had thought of going to the teacher's college, but I wasn't accepted. While I went to Tonota Brigade, he went to some technical college in Lentsweng, but we continued to keep in touch.

  After I completed my course, I worked in town for a bit but down the line I decided farming was the thing for me. I packed up and left to come back to Tsebeyatonki. A few weeks after my arrival I met my now wife at the public water tap and we mutually liked each other at first sight. In fact, she seemed more interested in me than I was in her. She made the first move. It was as if she had been waiting for me all along and had been sent to lure me. Six months later, my father was pushing for me to get married. We got married a year later. Modiri was the best man. Four weeks later, I got a job with a Chinese construction company that was building a junior secondary school a few kilometres. Locals heard about his building schools and he started getting tenders from individuals as far as Thogonkope.

  Shortly afterwards, Modiri too got married to a woman who, coincidentally, was from Tsebeyatonki. She convinced him to move to Tsebeyatonki and do farming. Our friendship prospered. But then the relationship with his wife started declining. He blamed her for making him leave his job in town to come and live in a village that had nothing to offer him. A divorce became inevitable and it occurred a few months after the strain in the relationship had started. Modiri packed up and left. Although I wouldn't say we remained the best of friends after that, we kept in contact. I hadn't spoken to him in three months or so now. But I had to, today. He was the only person I could think of right at this minute.

  He answered on the second ring.

  "Hello," he said. He sounded groggy.

  I had to control myself, or else I was going to

  start bawling. Talking about my predicament only served to remind me that this was reality, not a dream like I wished it to be.

  "I need your help."

  "Tell me."

  "I can't talk over the phone. You're the only

  person I can trust right now. Two people tried to abduct me. And now my wife and children are missing. My life is in danger."

  He suddenly sounded alert.

  "Ngano, are you serious?"

  "Yes. Can I stay over at your house for a few days?"

  There was some hesitation at the other end of the line, and then Modiri said, "Sure. When are you planning to come?"

  "I'm at the bus stop as we speak. The bus, as you know, should be there by 2pm."

  "Okay. See you then."

  “We’ll need another car,” Dumani said. They had slept in the van, right in the middle of nowhere. Dumani had had a maximum of two hours of sleep. He possibly would have had more had it not been for Thabang’s snoring. Now it was the crack of dawn and Dumani was cranky. Not just cranky, but hung-over and angry as well. He had woken Thabang with a shove on the shoulder.

  “Then go and steal one,” Thabang said rudely. Dumani looked at him for a long time, rubbed his eyes and said, “Look, Thabang, we’re not children, so stop behaving like one. We need to start cooperating with each other. We need a new van, and only you between the two of us know how to steal one.”

  Thabang cleared his throat and spat thick stuff out through the window, looked away, clumped his gums together repeatedly for whatever reason and said, “But there are no cars around here.”

  “Obviously we’ll need to go back to town.” “How do we get there?”

  “What other suggestions do you have?” Thabang was silent for a while before saying, “I

  know a guy.”

  “So? We all know…”

  “He can bring us a spare wheel.”

  Dumani shook his head violently and said, “No, no, no, Thabang, we don’t need a third individual. This whole deal should be kept between the two of us.”

  “Who said I’m going to tell the guy what we’re up to?”

  “How well do you know the guy?”

  “None of your business.”

  “How do you get him here then?”

  “I’ll call him,” said Thabang, searching the left side pocket of his trousers at the same time. The hand came out with his phone, a large, old model Motorola. He looked at it and his face immediately assumed a frustrated expression.

  “There is no network,” he said.

  In answer, Dumani took out his iPhone from his pocket and looked. No network either. He thought for a while.

  “I think we can at least drive this car to a decent location. Somewhere where there is network,” Thabang said.

  Dumani looked at Thabang like he had j
ust revealed he was considering marrying a baboon, then said, “Are you kidding me? By now our victim will have told the whole village about us. The whole village is probably out there looking for us. We’ve very little time. I know how villagers think. They won’t go to the Police first. They’d try to find us first, and if they do, take the law into their own hands. If they can’t, then they’ll report us to the Police.”

  Dumani started the van. It purred, coughed and stopped. He tried again with the same results.

  “I think the battery died.”

  “How?”

  Dumani peered around the steering wheel and said, “Shit! I left the lights on.”

  If looks could kill, Dumani would have died instantly.

  “Sorry man. I was very tired. I thought I switched them off,” said Dumani. What he’d really wanted was to tell Thabang to fuck off, but then he thought there was no way he was going to win another fight against Thabang. Not when he was the way he was right now.

  Dumani said, “We’ll have to push the van.”

  Thabang ignored him.

  “I would push it, but you can’t drive.”

  Thabang grudgingly got out of the van and pushed it while Dumani kept on trying to start the engine. Finally it revved and the car lurched forward. Dumani was momentarily tempted to drive off and leave Thabang behind. He could imagine Thabang standing in a cloud of dust, gums exposed, and eyes squinted as he watched the van disappear down the dusty road. But then he knew he wouldn’t get far before Thabang caught up with the van, by foot for that matter.

  Thabang jumped in and Dumani drove off. The van was limping more than it was last night. But what choice had they? They just needed to get somewhere where there was network coverage.

  “This guy you’re talking about, do you think he could bring us another vehicle?” asked Dumani. He knew he was taking chances with Thabang.

  Thabang said, “From what I know, he doesn’t own a car dealership.”

  “I assumed because it sounds like he has a few spare wheels lying around, he may have a usable scrap of a car that he doesn’t really need.”

  Thabang ignored him.

  “The important thing is to get a new wheel, and then we have two options,” Dumani continued.