—
“IT IS TIME,” said Bela’s father. And her mother did not disagree with him. They dressed Bela in fresh blankets, she not uttering a sound, and Zandi saw to her hair. For three days Bela had not spoken, and at last they had ceased in their efforts to make her speak. The light had gone from her eyes, but her beauty remained. Zandi, who had many times before been asked to dress her sister’s hair, took more care than she had ever done, and Bela’s back and shoulders were as smooth and elegant as before. The family bade their aunt farewell and made their way back towards the village and the escarpment that led to the Zinis’.
Their appearance caused a sensation. As always, it was the children who could not maintain a discreet reserve. It was known that Bela had walked into the kraal, and then disappeared, but none of the children knew why, for the adults of Gwadana kept their own counsel. Every child who saw her ran to tell another, and then to tell an adult, and the result was that Bela’s passage through the village was observed by many pairs of eyes. Zandi knew they were peered at through windows, from behind cloths. Bela herself seemed oblivious. She, so used to attention, moved through this hidden crowd unseeing.
The look in Bela’s eyes fixed her closest friends to the spot. Like every child in Gwadana, these girls had been raised on tales of wicked spirits stealing a person’s soul. It was clear from Bela’s look that something in her had been taken away, and it made them afraid. They did not move, and Bela did not look at them as she passed by. That night they cursed themselves for their treachery and sought the counsel of their grandmothers, who told them that they had done right.
Up the hill Bela went, and the wind stung sharply and the clouds gathered. Nosakhe was at the top of the cliff, seeking Ma’s aid, hurling the bones of the cow who had not cried to discern the goddess’ meaning in the swoop of the gulls who dived for them. Sukude’s defiance had shocked her. Her grandson’s absence left her weakened and confused. She could see no pattern in the movement of the gulls, hear no message in the eagles’ cries. She knew that action was required of her, but what this action was she did not know. For the first time in her life she did not trust her instincts, and without them she was powerless.
Watching from the window of his hut, Sukude could not believe the graciousness of his Ancestors, who were returning to him the woman he had spent so long yearning for. In the absence of his son, he had every right to sex the bride Ntsina had not sexed. Sukude had been many years without tenderness, and his hasty, drunken spending in Bela was not at all the way he had wished to take his pleasure. As he watched her climb the hill, he decided he would not force her again. A woman who comes willingly is a better mate than one compelled. He went to the gate and waited, like a great lord, as Bela approached.
—
PIET LEFT THE FOREST, light-headed with adrenaline and hunger. He had been up since dawn learning by far the longest speech he had yet attempted. He now knew almost two hundred words of isiXhosa, which gave him a far-greater understanding of what he was saying. As he walked through the trees, he thought of the stories he had been told in his youth: of a carpenter in Nazareth who was the Son of God and had died on a cross; of the prostitute who had befriended Him, and cared for His abandoned body. Piet had a strong sense of forces unseen, but did not see why this particular narrative was truer than the ones the Xhosas had devised about ancestors who live in trees, or the ancient Greeks about their pantheon of bickering deities, whose temples now lay in ruins.
At the edge of the trees he stopped, nerving himself against the pain he was shortly to inflict, for he was a man of tender feelings. If Bela and Ntsina were to live happily, their only salvation was money—and he was their only source of it. This truth allowed him to skirt his own compelling interest in the coming events. “In an hour you must follow me,” he told Luvo, who nodded gravely.
Luvo had bargained a heavy price for his compliance, but now that the moment had come to bear false witness, even in the cause of liberating his people, he hesitated. His keen mind combed his biblical recollections, and lighted on the injunction to give an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A lie for a lie. He watched as Piet rolled in the mud at the side of the stream, willingly bruising his body on the rocks, allowing their sharp edges to scratch his hands and face. There was a thorn bush growing nearby and Piet considered running through it, then decided this was unnecessary. It would do him no good to blind himself. He ripped his shirt open and picked up the bust of Ntsina.
Then he ran, screaming, from the forest.
A young woman was the first person to hear him. She was in her family’s mealie garden, setting traps for rats. Piet’s shrieks made her jump. She turned to see the Strange One fleeing from the wood. She had twice visited King William’s Town, and seen Strange Ones conversing, doing business, shouting at their servants. She had never seen one running in terror. It was almost the strangest of the many strange things she had witnessed.
—
PIET RAN THROUGH the village. He threw himself onto the beach, covering the mud and blood with sand and rendering himself hideous, deranged. Then he took a deep breath and bellowed: “Help! There is a monster!”
He screamed so loudly that Nosakhe, standing on the cliffs far above, heard him. A cloud of nesting gulls rose to the heavens and soared away, over the waves, like the retreat of powerful saviours. The Chief heard him, and his wives, and Lundi, whose conscience, being blemished, made him fearful. “Save yourselves!” screamed Piet.
He hoped for a stampede. When no one appeared he thought for an agonizing instant that he would not be believed. He was caught in the no-man’s-land between advance and retreat—but Piet Barol had always advanced. He redoubled his efforts, and now his voice was hoarse and harsh and sounded otherworldly, which gave him confidence. In his mind’s eye he saw the creature he was running from, picked himself up and scrambled on. He passed the hut where, days before, he and Ntsina and Kagiso and Luvo had laid their plans, unified by common purpose. His shouts brought many running. Piet threw himself onto the rough ground beneath the Tree of Justice, and as good fortune would have it his cheek landed on a sharp stone, and the force of his body sent the gash deep, and blood flowed.
Noni heard the sounds and began screaming, and soon every baby in the village was crying, disturbed by their parents’ fear. The Chief had had a very bad day, and no sleep. He could not believe that further disasters were upon him—he who had always struggled to observe the laws of his Ancestors. He was aware that his wives thought less of him than previously, and in any case was no coward; so he strode forth from his hut, grabbing his leopard-skin kaross and discarding his ceremonial spear for a sharper one, made for battle.
Kagiso would have gone first, but he held back for his father. Seeing him speechless before the Strange One, he forgot the obligations of deference and took charge. “Take the Strange One inside and see to his wounds. Summon everyone in the village. Get them now.”
—
THE CROWD THAT GATHERED in the King’s Place was disheveled and alarmed. While they assembled, Piet lay hunched on the ground, holding the bust of Ntsina close to him without revealing the face. He did not wish to repeat the performance to come. Nosakhe’s entrance caused a sensation, because no one had seen her since the wedding but everyone had gossiped about her. Many were those who avoided her gaze lest she look into their souls and discern what they had said. Only Sukude was not there, since the steel door to his hut had prevented him from hearing Piet’s cries.
The Chief found his authority and sent for Sukude. After some minutes of confusion he entered boldly, facing his neighbours for the first time.
At last Piet stood and began the speech he had learned that morning.
Shaking and stammering, observing the impact of their own language on those listening, he told how he had followed Ntsina into the forest, to comfort him, how he, Ntsina and Luvo had chosen a bivouac near a stream. And then, settling into himself, aware that he held his audience spellbound, he described in
detail the monster that had slithered from the water as dawn broke—a creature with the head of a woman, the body of a mermaid, and the tail of a…snake. He spat this word out, emphasizing the slitheriness of its sibilance, and there was an audible intake of breath. “Luvo and I held back. But Ntsina was brave. He went to kill the monster, to protect this village as his great-great-grandfather once did.”
Piet stopped speaking. He had told his story so well that there was a lump in his throat. The pathos of what he described made tears well in his eyes—a horrifying sight to those who watched, who had never seen a white man cry.
“Where is he?” said Nosakhe.
Now Piet revealed Ntsina’s bust. He was met with absolute silence. And then, as one, a wailing from the women and girls—for Ntsina had many friends, and to see him turned to wood was more than they could bear. The expression on the figure’s face could easily be construed as that of a brave man facing a monster. Its anguish had the ring of truth. No one saw the rough rendering of certain details. They looked into the lifeless eyes, saw the nose, the mouth parted.
And they believed.
Nosakhe heard the wailing of the women, as though from a far distance. She could not speak. Finally it was Kagiso who said: “Where is the rest of him?”
This was the last of the answers Piet had prepared, but the exertions of his performance, and the pain of its reception, wiped his brain clean. He looked at Luvo, who was watching Nosakhe, stricken. There would be no aid from that quarter. He held the silence, calming himself, and as he did so the tension in the room rose in direct proportion to his hesitation. He had sat many examinations in his life and learned many pieces of music and three languages. He searched through all this knowledge for the phrase he had learned that morning, and if he could not have it all, then for the first word of it; if not that, its first sound. He thought of Stacey and Arthur, of Ntsina and Bela, of the wood he felt destined to conquer. And then he said: “Mermaid stream snake wrapped tail dragged.”
But Piet Barol was a perfectionist, and his clumsiness annoyed him. All at once he found the phrase, whole and perfect. “The mermaid snake wrapped her tail round him and dragged him into her stream.”
—
THE CHIEF’S MESSENGER FOUND Fezile the witch doctor just where Lundi had told him to look: in the Sunrise Tavern in King William’s Town. The young man had not yet been circumcised, and like other well-brought-up young Gwadanans knew nothing of alcohol save the sips of homemade beer he was allowed on the great festivals. He therefore saw nothing remiss in the way Fezile swayed when his name was called, causing the beads of his headdress to jangle.
Fezile and Lundi had made each other’s acquaintance in just this tavern. The riches of the Gwadanan villagers were legendary, and stories of them glowed brighter since the dispossession of the Bantu the preceding winter. The natives of King William’s Town were not as badly affected as those in the rest of the country, for the town lay within one of the small parcels of land where natives might still buy and sell property; but the flood of refugees had been a great inconvenience—to everyone but the sangomas, to whom desperate individuals turned in their hours of need.
At first, Fezile had done a thriving trade in the provision of amulets and charms against further disaster. But by the time the second and third waves of refugees reached him, they were so poor they had little treasure to offer him. Besides, the casting of so many spells led to the disappointment of as many; and desperate people who have parted with their last goods in exchange for magical assistance are inclined to grow violent when such assistance is not forthcoming. All in all, it suited Fezile very well to absent himself from the scene of his labours for a period. He knew that in Gwadana the grain barns were still full.
Unlike Nosakhe, whose belief in the power of her magic was total, Fezile knew himself for the sham he was. Though he had an elaborate story about being called to the service of the Ancestors as a young boy, by a spirit who beckoned him into the forest, the truth was that he had won the robes of a sangoma from a very drunk witch doctor in a game of dice in a brothel at Butterworth. These robes gave him stature. By nature theatrical, he had no difficulty devising showy rituals and incantations, and had found that alcohol was an effective guard against the development of sympathy for those he defrauded.
When the Chief’s emissary explained the urgency of the crisis at Gwadana, and asked whether they might return by flying carpet, Fezile told him that such a mode of transport was forbidden to uncircumcised boys. He went back to his dwelling place and collected the empty skin of a great lizard, as well as several vials of powders and potions and the preserved embryo of a baby baboon. He packed these and his finest regalia in a bag and gave the bag to the boy to carry, and together they set off towards the great forest. They took the shortest possible route, and when the ground was flat the boy rode the bicycle in a standing position and Fezile wobbled on the seat. In the course of their journey, by subtle questioning, he obtained a complete and accurate picture of the complex web of family relationships at Gwadana, and learned of the scandal of Bela’s entry to her new husband’s kraal. He heard of the cow that had not cried, and of a conflict involving Ntsina Zini and his father, though his young guide was too embarrassed to speak of sex.
It was Fezile’s luck to arrive at Gwadana at a moment of great drama, and to intercept the uproar occasioned by Piet Barol’s presentation of Ntsina’s wooden head.
He heard the wailing of the women as he left the trees, and hurried after the fleet-footed teenager. Knowing he would need his wits about him, he had resisted the temptation to bring a bottle of spirits with him. The result was that he felt unusually clearheaded and ready for anything. He flung open the door to the King’s Place as Nosakhe, cradling the bust of her grandson, sank to her knees muttering strange incantations. Every man, woman and child in the room jumped, as if the creature Piet had described so vividly might be upon them.
The Chief had never known such relief. He bade the witch doctor welcome and cleared a space for him. In the confusion of weeping and shouting, Lundi sidled to Fezile and assisted him with removing his cloak of eland hide. He was annoyed that there were so many witnesses to their greeting. “Make no judgement till we speak. Take only evidence.” And Fezile’s spirits rose, for he knew Lundi was a sharp thinker.
Watching Nosakhe, Luvo felt sick with shame. In vain he told himself that he had merely translated the Strange One’s lies; he had not told them himself. He had not thought beyond the performance he had helped Piet devise. Confronted by its impact, he knew the pain that lies in store for those who break the eighth commandment. He longed to tell Nosakhe the truth, but he lacked the courage to admit his own guilt before such a multitude. Nevertheless, he could not stand idly by. He went to her and squatted beside her. She was rocking over the bust, muttering. He tried to speak, but his voice was soft and she did not hear him. Finally he shook her, and loudly said: “You have not seen Ntsina for the last time. The creature cast a spell, but it can be broken. When it is, he will be flesh again. He may be rescued yet from death.”
Nosakhe looked at him. She heard in the strength of his voice the power of unseen spirits. She was astonished. The meek little boy who had visited her before the feast was incapable of pulling a rabbit by its tail, much less of confronting a monster and living to tell of it. But there was conviction in his face, and for the first time she felt fortified.
Sukude, standing against a wall, felt a stirring of pity for the woman who had made his own son love her—for anguish at the moment of death is the price that must be paid for love. He himself felt no such pain, but neither did he feel joy. Ntsina, after all, was his flesh, born of his loins. He wanted to take the bust, but he feared that some Bad Magic might attend it, and preferred to leave it clasped to Nosakhe’s breast.
“I have come to warn you,” shouted Piet above the clamour.
It was only Noni, alone of that troubled multitude, who heard a colour in his voice that was the same colour she saw
when she smelt a ripened lemon. It was a colour that connoted satisfaction, and indeed Piet was satisfied—for he had acquitted himself well. Noni began to scream for her father, and the Chief went to her and picked her up, holding her close lest a monster take her.
As soon as she was in his arms, she stopped crying. She put her little mouth to his ear, and clung tight about his neck.
“The Strange One is lying,” she whispered.
—
PROCEEDINGS WERE ADJOURNED for two hours, while Fezile the witch doctor was offered refreshment and water to wash. During this time, in the guise of assisting with his ablutions, Lundi acquainted him with all that had happened in explicit detail.
“But what of this mermaid in the forest?” Fezile did not like the idea of being asked to battle an actual monster. He had no doubt such things existed, and no faith in his chances against one.
“Monsters are best avoided,” said Lundi sagely. He told Fezile exactly what was expected of him, and hinted at the rewards that would flow. But Fezile was too quick to be bought with vague promises. In tight undertones they settled a great price, and it included accommodations in Gwadana for as long as Fezile might need them. He was in no rush to cross a forest in which a mermaid lurked whose gaze had the power to turn men to wood. “I will need twenty cattles, and boys to tend them.” He paused, looking at the pleasant beach and thinking how preferable this charming village was to the town he had just left, crammed as it was with stinking refugees. “And brandy.”
Who Killed Piet Barol? Page 19