by Tony Park
‘Oh, Kenneth.’ The tears streamed down Philippa's cheeks as Paul wrapped an arm around her. Philippa reached out and took Kenneth's hand and when he clasped it she broke from her husband and encircled Kenneth in a hug.
32
Kenneth Ngwenya was feeling lightheaded from the three beers he had drunk with his friends Paul and Philippa and their family and friends. Fortunately he didn't need to drive, as one good thing his son had done for him was to hire him a driver when his eyesight began to deteriorate.
Maxwell, the driver, took him out of Bulawayo into the lowering sun and the countryside out towards the Botswana border. Paul and Philippa had said that as much as they wanted to return to the ranch immediately, all of their possessions were at Sharon's and would have to be reloaded onto trucks the next day to move back.
Braedan Quilter-Phipps, Paul's head of security, said he would make his way out to the ranch later in the evening. Kenneth thought it looked like Braedan wanted to continue celebrating and he seemed to be quite fond of little Natalie Bryant, who had grown into a fine golden-haired woman. Natalie made him think of Paul and Philippa's daughter, who had been killed in the war. They had all lost someone. Kenneth wondered, as he often did, what sort of man Winston would have become if he had had the chance to grow old peacefully. The war; the terrible killings in Matabeleland in the eighties; the farm invasions – his poor country had known too much sorrow.
But now he had a farm to run, for a short while at least. Maxwell stopped at the security gate and Kenneth introduced himself to Doctor Nkomo and told him the Bryants would be coming home the next day. ‘Mr and Mrs Bryant will continue to manage the farm, so even though I am here as the new head of the community trust you are to take your day-to-day orders from them. Understood?’
‘Yes, Mr Ngwenya,’ Doctor said.
‘Very good. There are going to be changes here. I will see to it that your staff numbers are increased. Every rhino here will have at least two armed guards with it or observing it twenty-four hours a day.’
‘That is good, sir. We have had so little money for so long.’ Doctor asked Kenneth to wait a minute while he ducked back into the small hut by the gate. When he emerged he handed Kenneth a walkie-talkie. ‘If you need me or one of the other guards, sir, just press the button and call. The radio is set to our frequency.’
Kenneth nodded and ordered Maxwell to drive on.
Kenneth's bank account balance was healthy – too healthy for a man of his age. He had made some shrewd investments, and Emmerson, for all his faults, had regularly deposited large amounts of cash into his father's account, especially when he was trading the ruinous Zimbabwe dollar on the black market. Emmerson had asked for some of that money back recently – his fortunes had clearly changed – and Kenneth had of course given some of the money back to his son, but now his wealth was going to be invested in something truly worthwhile: getting this ranch back on its feet economically and beefing up its security. Kenneth had a feeling in his bones that the battle over the future of the rhinos that lived among the kopjes of Kiabejane was only just beginning.
Kenneth's cell phone played the rap song one of his cheeky granddaughters had programmed as his ringtone. Maxwell laughed as he always did when he heard the phone and Kenneth mumbled about getting it changed. ‘Hello?’
‘Father, I need to see you.’
‘Emmerson … where are you?’
‘I am not far from Kiabejane,’ Emmerson said into the phone.
‘What a coincidence. I've just arrived.’ Kenneth covered the mouthpiece and said to Maxwell, ‘Take me to the farmhouse.’ Maxwell nodded.
‘I'll be there in ten minutes.’
Kenneth ended the call. They pulled up out the front of Paul and Philippa's house. Kenneth walked though Pip's beautiful garden and when he opened the unlocked front door Kenneth felt like a trespasser.
The house was empty. A few sheets of discarded newspaper lay on the carpet, and the walls were bare, patched with pale squares where pictures had hung for decades. It would be good once his friends were back in their home; the gesture made him feel that he, and Thandi, had taken one small step towards what Kenneth hoped would eventually be a nationwide movement of reconciliation between the races. Politics as well as colour had split the country and he hoped, too, that one day his son and daughter could again speak to each other as loving siblings rather than bitter enemies.
Kenneth's footsteps echoed on the bare timber of the hallway.
‘Car coming, sir,’ Maxwell said from behind him. Kenneth heard the engine and when he looked out a window he saw a black Hummer pulling up the driveway. His son got out, dressed in black jeans and a matching long-sleeved T-shirt. That had been a lot less than ten minutes. He wondered if perhaps his son had been waiting for him, or if he had followed him out of Bulawayo.
Emmerson walked through the open door. ‘Leave us in private,’ he said to Maxwell. The driver looked at Kenneth, and Emmerson glared at him. ‘I pay your wage, fool. Leave us in private!’
Maxwell walked out, eyes downcast.
‘Was that necessary?’ Kenneth asked. He noted the chunky gold chain around his son's neck and the heavy rings on three of his fingers. Emmerson looked like an American gangster.
‘That meddling bitch Thandi has robbed me, but I want what is due to me.’
‘Don't use such language when you talk about your sister, Emmerson!’
‘She is no relative of mine. This ranch belongs to me, Father. I don't care what she or anyone else has said to you, I am the one who has been selected by the community to run this place.’
Kenneth was affronted by his tone and suddenly tired of making excuses for him. His son was a thug, pure and simple. ‘Your community is a bunch of unemployed criminals and party hacks too lazy to work for themselves. They have squandered the land already given to them and now they want to walk onto this place and strip it like a flock of vultures on a corpse. Well I am not going to let that happen. The Bryants are good people who have done a great service for this country and they are returning here tomorrow.’
‘What?’ Emmerson turned and slammed the front door shut. Kenneth shuddered. He never thought he would live to see the day when one of his children frightened him. Emmerson advanced on him, pointing a finger. ‘Listen to me … tomorrow you are going to call the Ministry of Land Redistribution and you are going to tell them that you are too old and infirm to head the community trust. You are going to tell whoever will listen that I am taking over this place.’
Kenneth took a pace back and folded his arms. ‘No, Emmerson, I will do no such thing.’
‘Why? Don't you trust me to care for this rich white man's house and all his precious animals? What do you think, Father? Do you think I am a poacher? Do you think I am a killer?’
Kenneth shook his head. ‘I don't know what to think about you, my son, but I am not going to sign this place over to you. The Bryants are going to return as managers and begin a program to train local people – real local people not out-of-town parasites from Harare – how to run this place in the future.’
Emmerson took another step closer until his face was just inches from his father's. His nostrils flared and Kenneth could smell alcohol on his breath. ‘If those rich boere racists dare to set foot on this land they will be signing their own death warrants.’
‘I will pretend I did not hear that.’ Kenneth reached out. ‘Emmerson, we have to do what is right in this world. It's not too late for you …’
Emmerson shrugged off his father's hand and pulled a cell phone from his jeans, opened it and dialled a number. ‘He said no. You know what you have to do.’ He snapped the phone shut and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
Kenneth stood alone in the empty house and started to shake. He was a strong, proud man who had seen much sorrow in his life, but now, for the first time in many years, he felt like crying.
He heard the Hummer start up outside and roar down the gravel driveway. Maxwell came
into the empty house. ‘Are you all right, sir?’
‘Of course. Do you have the walkie-talkie?’
Maxwell handed Kenneth the radio and he pushed the transmit switch. Doctor answered. ‘It is Kenneth Ngwenya here. Please let me know when my son leaves.’
‘Affirmative, sir. I will let you know when both vehicles leave, over,’ Doctor replied.
Kenneth wasn't sure he had heard correctly. ‘Please repeat … did you say both vehicles, over?’
‘Yes sir, there was Mr Ngwenya's Hummer and a bakkie with four other men in it, over.’
Kenneth thanked the guard and told him to call when both vehicles had left the property. ‘I'm worried, Maxwell.’
‘What would the other men be doing here?’
The sun had set and it was gloomy in the house. Kenneth and Maxwell stood there, not knowing what to do. Kenneth suddenly realised that there was probably no bedding left in the house, although there was still a staff compound out the back of the farmhouse where the cook, maid and gardener lived, and there was a bigger compound elsewhere on the property where the labourers and security staff lived with their families. Both men turned at the sound of a knock.
‘Mister, mister …’ A boy, probably no older than ten, stood on the doorstep, his skinny chest heaving under his grubby white singlet. He was barefoot. ‘Bad men,’ he said in Ndebele. He was panting from the exertion of running. ‘They are at the rhino boma mister. They have guns.’
‘Slow down, boy. How many men did you see?’ Kenneth asked.
The boy held up three fingers.
‘Did they arrive in a car?’
‘A bakkie, mister. A black truck. They have tied up my father … he was the guard on duty, mister.’
‘Three men or four men?’ Kenneth asked. Doctor had said there were four men in the other vehicle.
‘No, three, sir.’
‘We have to try and stop them,’ Kenneth said.
‘I'll get the car.’
‘No, Maxwell, they will hear us coming.’ Kenneth turned back to the boy. ‘How far is it to the boma?’
‘Not far, mister. We can take the short cut, through the bush.’
Kenneth pressed the transmit switch again. ‘Come in Doctor, this is Kenneth Ngwenya. This is an emergency. There are armed men at the rhino boma and they have tied up one of your men, over.’
Kenneth waited anxiously for the reply, but there was no answer. He tried again, calling Doctor and repeating his message. Kenneth looked to Maxwell, who shrugged and said, ‘Perhaps they dropped off the fourth man, and he has control of the gatehouse?’
‘That is what I fear. Come.’ Kenneth motioned for the boy to lead them out into the darkening bush. ‘We must hurry.’
*
Tate had drawn Paul away from the celebrations earlier in the afternoon and the two men had had a brief conversation before Tate had taken the Bryants' Hilux and driven off.
Natalie had wanted to question Tate herself, about Braedan's theory that his brother had actually been the one who had darted and dehorned the rhino at the ranch. However, when she had asked her grandfather where Tate had gone he had cheerfully replied that Tate was heading straight back to Kariba. Now that Paul and Pip were going back to the ranch, Paul was keener than ever for Tate to embark on a fully fledged study, though still in secret, of the wild rhino he had found at Makuti. Perhaps, her grandfather had said, more than one rhino had survived poaching and the efforts of the national parks rangers to relocate all the animals back in the 1980s.
Natalie didn't know how to broach the theory of Tate's involvement in the poaching, but she assumed her father would do so.
Braedan sidled up to her, a near-empty beer in his hand. ‘I don't know about you, but I think the party's winding down and I could use another drink. Let's go.’
She looked around. He was right. Grandpa Paul and Grandma Pip were in cheerful spirits chatting with Sharon. Her father looked as dour as usual, although he was on to his third beer. She knew he wouldn't kick on much longer and the older people would probably be off to bed as soon as they'd had some supper. Natalie had had two glasses of sparkling wine and now that she knew her grandparents once more had a home she was feeling pleasantly relaxed. Braedan's offer sounded good, and he really was a fine-looking man.
Tate had, in his slightly dorkish and clumsy way, charmed her at Victoria Falls and she had been well on her way to sleeping with him before he had run out on her. Now here was his ‘evil twin’ asking her out for a drink with the confidence of a man unused to rejections from women.
Braedan was an arrogant man, but he knew what he wanted, and there was something very attractive in that. And if she was honest with herself she was also feeling a little bruised by the business with Tate. She knew he was tortured by his past, and she suspected his running out on her was linked to what had happened to her aunt, but it had been confronting for Natalie too, yet she had been prepared to deal with it.
She set down her glass on a garden wall. ‘Take me somewhere where we're not the ones lowering the average age of the crowd.’
Braedan grinned. ‘I know just the place. We'll stick out like geriatrics, but you'll love it. It's the worst place in Bulawayo.’
A shiver went down her spine. ‘I like the sound of it already.’
*
Despite his relative good health, at eighty-five years old Kenneth could not run. So the boy took his arm and led him at a brisk walk. Maxwell had picked up a discarded pick handle which was resting against the wall of a garden shed. ‘We need a gun,’ Kenneth said.
‘I know where there is one,’ said the boy. ‘My father has been looking after the AK-47 of a man who is on leave. It is under his bed, wrapped in a blanket. I am not supposed to know it's there, or to touch it.’
Kenneth ruffled the boy's head. ‘I don't think you will get in trouble this time if you take us to it.’
The first of the nightbirds were tuning up for their evening chorus. A tiny scops owl called a shrill brrr and its mate answered back a few seconds later. The young boy led Kenneth on a narrow but well-worn path through grassland and thorn bush. Even though the two of them were taking it slow, Kenneth was puffing after a few minutes of exertion.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ Maxwell asked.
‘I'm fine,’ Kenneth snapped. ‘I'm sorry, Maxwell.’ He paused for a breath. ‘Make sure, whatever happens, that the boy is not harmed.’ Maxwell nodded.
The boy put a finger to his lips and pointed to a trio of circular pole and dagga huts with thatched roofs. A pale light glowed inside the nearest hut. ‘That is my home,’ he whispered. ‘My mother is in Bulawayo. The rifle is inside this house.’
As they crept closer Kenneth could see, beyond the staff houses, the silhouette of the high tin roof that sheltered the boma from the sun and rain, the secure pens in which it looked like four of the ranch's thirteen rhino were currently being accommodated. Kenneth recalled that a number of rhino were always kept in the boma, either because they were undergoing health checks or had arrived from somewhere else, and it was these captive animals that visitors paid to come and visit. They tended to be animals that were well habituated to humans and not averse to being stroked and petted by strangers. Kenneth had visited the pens himself a few times over the years and he could remember the layout.
The staff houses blocked them from view from the boma and Kenneth, Maxwell and the boy filed into the small chalet. The boy got down on his knees and rummaged under an unmade bed. He dragged out a cardboard box and then pulled out the rifle, which was still swaddled in blankets. Kenneth took it from him, removed the magazine, checked it was loaded with bullets, then replaced it and cocked it. He had never fired a shot in anger during the liberation war, but he had trained in the bush with the freedom fighters and had fired the AK on rifle ranges.
They left the hut and cautiously moved closer to the boma. Kenneth raised a hand and when they heard a voice they dropped to their knees in the long grass. ‘That is my son,’ Ke
nneth whispered to Maxwell. Kenneth stood and was about to call out and signal their presence – after all, he knew Emmerson would not harm him. A burst of gunfire tore through the night. The bright muzzle flash of the weapon bounced off the roof and walls, illuminating the inside of the boma.
‘Stop!’ Kenneth yelled, though his voice was croaky. He turned to Maxwell. ‘Take the boy away from here, back to the farmhouse and the car.’
‘But, sir –’
‘Do as I say. If my son is involved in this he will not harm me. I have to stop him.’
Kenneth called again as Maxwell grabbed the boy by the arm and started back down the gentle hill through the grass towards the staff quarters. Kenneth's words were drowned out by another fusillade and he struggled on, stumbling on the uneven ground.
‘Stop!’ Kenneth reached the mown grass clearing at the edge of the enclosures and saw his son's Hummer and the other bakkie parked in full view. ‘Stop!’ he croaked again.
The rhinos that lived were keening a high-pitched cry. It was a sound he'd never heard and he wouldn't have expected such a squeaky, frightened noise to come from such big creatures. Although he had his back to him, Kenneth recognised Emmerson's broad shoulders immediately. ‘Emmerson!’
His son turned and looked at him, his face betraying no emotion. ‘Get on with it, Fortune,’ Emmerson said to a man standing next to him.
Kenneth forced himself to shuffle forward and watched, in horror, as one of Emmerson's men, similarly dressed in black, raised an AK-47 to his shoulder and slid the barrel between two of the heavy wooden railway sleepers that formed part of the pen's fence. The man pulled the trigger and he and Emmerson were lit up by strobing flashes of man-made lightning.