—
IT WAS ELECTRIC LIGHT, great banks of bulbs running off a generator that contributed to the clamour. Frank Albemarle had bought the kit in Butterworth, to keep his men productive beyond the hours of daylight. He had listened with satisfaction to the Barols’ shouting match, and suspected that the man who removed Stacey from this hateful forest would win much acclaim in her eyes.
He had not felt adequately compensated at the furniture manufactory whose production lines he had supervised in Johannesburg, and the wood of the Ancestor Trees ignited a blinding greed. He was sharp enough to acknowledge the brilliance of Piet’s designs. That same sharpness told him that with this wood, and those designs, he could set up a profitable concern on his own—with no need to make nice to a Kaffir lover. Albemarle’s own opinion of himself had taken a few sharp knocks in recent years, and the chance to restore himself in his own eyes, by snatching opportunities (and perhaps a woman) that Fate had sent his way, was a strong spur. While Piet worked on his bed, oblivious to all around him, Albemarle had the Ancestor wood chopped and planed into long planks. With Stacey’s permission, he loaded the lorry, which made the first of many return trips to Butterworth.
—
AT LENGTH, Noni told Nosakhe and Bela to sleep. They would be useless without their strength. She sat up late, listening to the savagery, and woke at daybreak to find that the sounds continued. For three days they went on, Albemarle’s men sleeping in relays. In those days, Piet’s feelings, too complex to articulate, flowed through him, were released by his fingers as a creeper of jasmine, so lifelike he could almost smell it.
“I tell you,” said Ntsina, “they were fighting about us.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know it. See how she won’t speak a word to us, not even to tell you to make her coffee.”
Luvo said nothing.
“It always comes to this with Strange Ones. You give them a lake, they want a sea. You give them a sea, they must have an ocean. So much for one tree.” Behind them were great piles of wood. All around were the smaller branches of the Ancestor Trees, their leaves still turned to the sun, hopelessly resisting their fate.
“So what do we do?” Luvo asked the question with a heavy heart.
“It is time to make sure we have the gun, not them.”
This was more easily achieved than Ntsina had anticipated. Most of Albemarle’s men were working furiously. Those who were not were sleeping. When Stacey went to wash, Ntsina stole into her shack. Blessing saw him, but made no sound. Ntsina still had a key to the gun chest, given him by Piet long ago. He opened it. There was no weapon in it, but there were two shiny pink stones. He took them without hesitation and continued his searches. He found the gun in the cabinet by Stacey’s bed, where she could get at it easily. He had never used a gun before, but he had seen a gun’s impact. He put it in his lambskin pouch and felt better. Back in the hide, Luvo said: “You must make sure not to kill anyone.”
But the weapon was already exerting its Dark Magic on Ntsina, who said: “Then they must not resist too hard.” He sat down. He was conscious of the two glittering stones, and of a strong impulse to keep them both for Bela. How well they would look in her ears. But he had already betrayed one set of sacred obligations, and the thought of cheating his friend was insupportable. He produced the stones. “One for you, one for me.”
Luvo leaned back from them, as if they were poisoned. “Those are diamonds,” he said.
“Pulled from the ground by our poor toiling brothers.”
“We cannot take them.”
Ntsina put his hands on Luvo’s shoulders. “If you had let me steal some riches in Johannesburg, we would have saved ourselves much trouble. And this forest much destruction. She wishes to cheat us of money that is rightfully ours. Think of this as a fine for bad behaviour.”
Luvo looked at the jewels. “The minute you try to sell them, you will be arrested.”
“I have no intention of selling mine.”
“You must give them back.”
“Don’t ‘must’ me.”
Now a daring possibility struck Luvo, and he seized what might be his last chance. He threw himself at Ntsina and pulled him to the floor, grappling for the diamonds. His friend, taken unawares, fell on top of him. The hide creaked with their exertions. Luvo would not let go. As he fought for the jewels, his legs twisted between his friend’s, their cheeks touched, they rolled on the hard floor, bruising each other and themselves. And finally, for one glorious moment, Luvo was on top of Ntsina, holding him in his arms, staring down at his face.
Lula birds, crows, boubous and mousebirds were dotted around the clearing, feasting on the grubs and worms exposed by the destruction of the Ancestor Trees. They took flight as the hairless apes fought, but as soon as the creaking in the hide stopped they flew to earth again, and resumed their excavations.
Luvo’s determination to prevent the breaking of a commandment allowed him to enjoy this fight to the full, without conscience or regret. He got Ntsina in a tight hold and tried to prise his fingers open. He dug his elbow into Ntsina’s ribs. It had not occurred to him that his friend might be ticklish, but he was. Squeals of laughter ensued, and as he laughed Ntsina lost his strength and his fingers flew open and one of the diamonds was flung onto the floor of the hide. It rolled as far as a small hole, bored long ago by beetles, and fell through that hole. In the course of its descent to the forest floor, the light flashed from it and caught the attention of several birds. The bravest of these, a crow, risked the proximity of the hairless apes and swooped low. The crows at Gwadana are larger than the crows in a city garden, and this crow’s wingspan barely fitted between the wooden supports of the hide. It required nifty aerobatics to navigate them, but she was known for her mastery of the air. With an elegant dip her beak found the sharp shining fruit and she soared into the air with it, shouting a song of daring and jubilation.
—
WHEN THE FOREST GREW QUIET, Bela was seized by a painful foreboding, worse than any she had known. While the battle still raged, she knew Ntsina lived and was fighting. The ominous calm spoke of finality. One side or another had won, and no matter which way she worked the odds, she could not satisfy herself that victory was Ntsina’s. She shared her fears with Noni, but not with Nosakhe, for she knew that a spell of Reincarnation cannot be repeated. If Ntsina had died again, his grandmother could never rescue him. What point was there in troubling her?
Noni tried to reassure her, but she heard no peace in the radio waves and could not refute Bela’s logic. In the end she fell silent, her first silence in days, and though she tried very hard to stay awake, sleep abruptly claimed her. Bela looked at her prostrate form and sensed Dark Magic. She carried Noni down the hillside, to the shelter of her mother’s arms, the child strapped to her back.
The Chief’s wife saw at once that something was wrong, and invited Bela in. When they had laid Noni on the mat, she said: “I am acquainted with sorrow, my sister. Tell me what ails you.”
Out it all came. Bela told her of Ntsina’s miraculous appearance, of their trysts in the forest, of the battle that had raged for three days and of the fear that silence had brought with it. This account made sense of many things to the Chief’s wife. “What do you fear?” she asked, when Bela was finished.
“That he is dead. Or gravely injured. Lying somewhere in the trees with no one to care for him.”
Her confidante nodded. This seemed likely. She hesitated. She had a secret of her own, known to no one outside her immediate family. At last she said: “There is one thing more powerful than Death.”
“What is that, sister?”
“Love.”
The Chief’s wife told Bela the circumstances of Noni’s prophecy on the night of her wedding. As she did so, both women realized that Noni had been right about the Strange One from the beginning. She had ordered his execution. Had she been obeyed, the wicked queen could never have enslaved him, nor made him turn against his friends.
Bela stood up. A fiery energy took hold of her. She paced up and down the ample hut.
“I made a pact that night with my Ancestors,” said the Chief’s wife. “They demanded a final sacrifice before the gift of Farsight was confirmed.”
“What was it?”
The older woman raised her pretty right hand. The tip of her little finger was missing. She usually kept this hand in a fist, or in the folds of her eland-hide skirts. Bela stopped pacing.
“Should I cut mine?”
“I do not advise it. The pain is quite terrible. My point is only that Ntsina may need you, and if he does, nothing will heal him better than your Love.”
“How can I prove it? What should I do? Guide me, sister.”
“I know what I would do if my husband lay injured on the field of battle.”
“What is that?”
“I would find him.”
13
Once, in his final year at the Mission School, Luvo had given way to the pleas of the boys in his dormitory and taken from the kitchen the provisions for a midnight feast. He had hidden them in his trunk, and all through that day had known a terrible fear of discovery. That was nothing by comparison with how he felt as he waited for Stacey Barol to discover that her diamond earrings were missing and that Ntsina had her gun.
He spent the day in prayer, while Albemarle’s men loaded wood onto the trucks. Only the morning-room sofas, a writing desk and the great bed remained in the workshop. God answered Luvo’s prayer and Stacey did not discover the absence of her jewels or her weapon. When the lorry was packed, Albemarle said: “Time for a holiday, boys.” He was a great believer in alcohol and women to reward a man’s endeavour, and had promised his team plenty of both if they saw to things in double-quick time. He handed round bottles of brandy—one for the whites, one for the Bantu. Blessing, Wisdom, Grace, Brightness and Happiness drank swiftly, grateful for the abrupt change in the baas man’s mood. “Give me a cheque and I’ll pay them,” said Albemarle to Stacey.
Piet could not find it in himself to utter a word of thanks to the white men. He went to his Bantu band and compelled himself to go through the niceties. In isiXhosa he said: “I am sorry this man has badly so treated you. Large bonuses shall have you. Promise I.”
He did not know that Albemarle intended to dismiss every one of his black workers once they reached Butterworth. For this reason, he did not say goodbye to any of them.
“Perhaps he means to pay us,” said Luvo to Ntsina. “Let us at least give him that chance.”
Ntsina hesitated. It seemed unwise to resort to violence when he was so outnumbered. “Very well,” he said. “But I will take the gun.”
—
BEING A BEAUTY with a naturally pleasing disposition, the triumphs of youth had come easily to Bela. She had taken trouble, of course, had bathed her skin in the milk of pregnant cows and learned to cast beguiling glances at handsome boys. She had kept the secrets of her girlfriends and honoured her parents. But she had not suffered to acquire her position as the most popular girl in the village. Her suffering had begun on her wedding night, and in the months since she had acquired an inner steel that only hardship can bring. As she prepared herself to enter the forest, she did not feel afraid. Nor did she seek anyone’s permission. She did not want Noni or Nosakhe to try to dissuade her; or, worse, to join her and so risk all their lives in a dangerous undertaking. When she got Ntsina back to the village, he would need his grandmother in full powers to complete his recovery. She did not imagine that she, so newly acquainted with the magical arts, could cure him. But she did believe what the Chief’s wife had told her about Love, and she knew that her own was strong enough to prevail.
She considered taking Kagiso with her, as guide and protector. But there was a part of Bela, a proud part, that imagined her return to Gwadana with Ntsina—a return that would answer all those who still gossiped about her demonic possession. The intrusion of a third party into this scene, and the necessary sharing of her glory, was not pleasing to her. It is known that a woman’s hair holds great power, and she went to Zandi to dress it. Zandi was swollen now, and Bela itched to ask who the father of this child was. There was a new ease between the sisters, but when Zandi did not offer this information Bela did not pry. Zandi dressed her hair in two peaks, as she had worn it as a bride, but when Bela saw herself in the reflection of the rainwater trough she shook her head. “I look like the girl I was, sister. But I am a woman now.” Privately she added: “A warrior.”
So Zandi devised a new hairstyle, combing Bela’s hair up and out, setting it fast with lemon juice. It was magnificent. Bela embraced her. “When I was alone and forsaken, Zandi, you stayed with me. Whether I live or die, my spirit will watch over you. And your child.”
It was an enigmatic choice of words, and Zandi opened her mouth to question it, but Bela silenced her with a kiss. She kissed her parents, and her cat. She had intended to ascend the escarpment once more, and bid farewell to Nosakhe, but the day was moving on, the resetting of her hair had taken precious time, and she did not wish to be further delayed. Instead, she blew a kiss to a gull, and asked him to deliver her greetings.
Then she turned, and made for the forest.
She went first to the tree where Ntsina usually waited for her, hoping against hope she might find him there. She did not. She closed her eyes and begged her Ancestors to lead her to him. The forest was vast, but she did not doubt that she would meet him. The strange, constant light had told her where to look: the grove of the Ancestor Trees, the site of the mighty battle.
—
IN BUTTERWORTH, Luvo and Ntsina waited outside the bank with Albemarle’s men and the other Bantu. A white lady crossed the road to avoid the crowd of black men. “What will you bet on this?” said Ntsina.
Luvo didn’t reply.
Albemarle emerged from the bank and handed envelopes to each of the men. Luvo knew at once from the secretive way the whites looked into theirs that they had been paid more than the Bantu, though he and his kind had worked so much longer in the forest. “Thank you, boy. Thank you, boy.” Albemarle went down the line of his black workers, handing them envelopes. It made Luvo burn with shame to see how these men, who had done such fine work, bent their knees and said “Thank you, master,” with eyes downcast.
“Train for Jo’burg leaves in four days, by which time I expect you to be shaved and sober,” said Albemarle to his white crew. “We’ll be getting premises in the city. No more Kaffir living for us.” He wondered, as he spoke, whether this gamble would pay off. Stacey had told him to find a place in Butterworth, not Johannesburg. Still, the greater part of the wood was in his possession…Once it was on its way, closer to the customers, he felt sure he could persuade her to join it. Not so much her husband, but then Albemarle had no great desire to see her husband again. He had in his trunk ten of Piet’s notebooks, full of original drawings. Quite enough to keep his gang occupied. “You can come with us if you like. Your choice,” he said to the Indians. “You’re hard workers. I’ll give you that.” To the Bantu he said: “Thank you for your services. Good luck to you.”
From the thinness of his envelope, Luvo knew that it did not hold two hundred eighty-five pounds. He did not wish to open it, since opening it would destroy a fairy tale more precious to him than the one about Father Christmas: that Bantu and Strange One could make bargains on honourable terms, and stick to them.
He opened it.
There was five pounds in it.
“Mrs. Barol is giving you two something extra,” said Albemarle, drawing Luvo and Ntsina to one side. “Now don’t spend this all on liquor.”
He handed them each a one-pound note.
The effrontery of this gesture made Ntsina so angry he almost drew the gun in this public place. Only the thought of Bela stayed his hand. A husband in jail would be no use to her. “We will return to the forest tomorrow and make Piet do as he has promised,” he said to Luvo, in an undertone. “Meanwhile, let me put
this to good use.”
And he boldly entered the gentleman’s outfitters.
—
BELA HAD MADE many pilgrimages to the Ancestor Grove, and knew her way there. As she walked through the trees, her feet following the path laid down by three generations of Gwadanans, she looked for signs of magical conflict. She could not detect any. Wariness of the monster rose within her, but suffering had made her brave. Outside the forest, it was cold. Within, the trees kept the wind at bay and the light filtered through their leaves as she remembered. She had brought mealie pap for her lunch and ate it with her fingers, sitting on the trunk of a charred Mopani, severed by lightning. She checked for snakes, and finding none she lingered awhile there. The sounds of the forest were soothing. This trail was full of memories—of her parents, when she was little; more recently of her husband, and the wonders he had shown her. She had expected to feel afraid, but the rustling of the trees bestowed a deep calm on her, and she rose from her luncheon feeling happy. She knew that Love is a powerful shield.
Two thousand trees distant, Piet lifted a spray of jasmine and nailed it to the post of the bed he had made. He stepped back, took off his shoes and crept onto the base. Above and around him, all was nearly as he had wished. There was drama in the foliage and sweetness in the flowers—a happy drama. The creatures were playing and flirting, not killing one another. He had been tempted, for the sake of verisimilitude, to include a serpent slithering on a branch, and congratulated himself on resisting this impulse. The base was hard and unforgiving. A delightful idea came to him. He got up, put his shoes on and crossed the clearing.
Stacey was at her table, testing Arthur on his sums. She hoped to find fault with Luvo’s instruction, but Arthur knew all his times tables from 1 x 1 to 20 x 20. These prodigious feats contributed to a softening in Stacey’s mood. So did the absence of all others save her family.
Piet was relieved to detect this improvement. She glanced up at him, and gave him their secret half smile. He returned it, and a great contentment rose through him. “The bed is almost finished. Bumble Jug, do these sums for me, and if you get them all right you may stay up late and see the stars.” Deprived of Ntsina’s company, the forest was less beguiling than usual, and Arthur accepted this inducement without remark. Piet flipped towards the end of the textbook, looking for a tricky page. He wanted his son busy long enough for his parents to release all their anger. When Arthur was settled, he took an armful of blankets and pillows and said to Stacey: “I’ll come for you in five minutes.”
Who Killed Piet Barol? Page 33