CHAPTER THIRTY TWO –
GATSHENI TELLS HIS STORY
Mthoko pondered again as they rested for a second night, at the fervour with which the old man tracked his prey. It seemed strange that in this day and age, anyone would wish death on another simply because of superstition and old beliefs. He had become a cynic even at such a young age and believed that no one did anything that would not further their own cause in some way. Altruism, he had decided long ago, did not exist in the truest sense; everyone wanted something for themselves.
So what was it that drove Gatsheni, he wondered? What could be so important to him that he would travel halfway across the country and then raise an army to track two tourists into the bush? He was old after all, not a young “warrior” as he liked to think of himself, and it must be hard for him, spending days on the move, sleeping rough in the veld, constantly alert. He decided that he would find out and find out soon. He had become increasingly worried that this old man would double cross them, that he wasn’t all that he seemed and that the deaths of the white couple was not merely to stop them doing whatever it was they were doing, but that there was something more to it than that.
In the morning, he accosted the old man, demanding that he tell them what he was after. The old man simply nodded, sat down, and stared at the ground before he answered.
‘You are young and your life has got long to go. You will achieve many things in your time, or maybe you will not, but you have the choice. Your father may be proud of you or not, but he has the choice of what he feels, what he sees in you.
Mthoko frowned. ‘I don’t understand, what are you saying?’
‘I had a son, like you, tall, strong, with his life ahead of him. He was to be the one to take the secrets forward, to his son and so to his son’s son. But he is gone. He was young. He had no choices and I have no choices.’ Gatsheni almost whispered the last few words so that the others had to strain to hear what he was saying, but they heard the unmistakable sound of anger there, of grief and fierce anger.
‘These two killed your son?’ The witchdoctor asked the question, sure that the white man could not possibly have been old enough to kill the son of this aged induna.
‘Not him, no not him.’ He replied quietly. ‘She is the guilty one, guilty through her father and her mother. The daughter will pay for the sins of the parents: that I have promised.’
Mthoko looked at the witchdoctor, who in turn stared at the old induna, with pity and with sadness that his life had been dedicated to the destruction of another.
Later, Mthoko pulled the witchdoctor to one side and whispered into his ear. ‘We cannot be part of this anymore. These people are guilty of nothing and to kill them would be against all laws. If it is found that we killed white tourists, then we will be hunted down and killed too. It is a bad thing we do here, we should leave and let the old man do what he must.’
‘Do you not think it would be better if we stayed to perhaps save these people?’ The witchdoctor replied. ‘It is maybe our duty to protect them against this madman.’
‘No, it is not our business to be here. We should go now and leave him to make his own mistakes.’
‘I think there is something more to this than just revenge for the loss of his son.’ The witchdoctor turned to gaze at Gatsheni, who was staring out over the veld for any sign of the other car. ‘I think we should stay and see what that is, it may be to our advantage.’
‘What else could there be?’ Mthoko asked.
‘I think it is big, but I know no more than that. We should stay.’ His words broached no argument and after a pause, Mthoko nodded briefly in agreement.
Later that day, the three men caught sight of the 4x4 up ahead in the distance. It seemed to be following the course of the river, slowly making its way along the bank where it was possible and only turning away from the water when the ground became boggy or sandy or the banks became low cliffs. They kept their distance, mostly using the occasional dust clouds thrown up by the chunky tyres of the vehicle in front to mark where they needed to follow. It looked anyway as if they could keep close just by following the riverbank too, so there was no chance of losing them.
‘They seem to be looking for something.’ Mthoko pointed out as they watched from a safe distance. ‘They are moving much more slowly than they need to here.’
‘What might they be looking for Gatsheni?’ The witchdoctor asked. ‘What might be out here that could interest them?’
Gatsheni was silent, refusing to answer, but alarmed that these two might become more curious as time wore on.
‘Is it the same thing that interests you perhaps?’ The witchdoctor pressed him, trying to get a reaction. He managed to do just that and Gatsheni turned sharply to look at him, masking the nervous look in his eyes just too late before the others noticed it.
‘What they seek is of no interest to you. It is of no value to anyone except the people of the Matabele.’ He talked smoothly, hoping to cover up the feelings he held inside. Whatever happened, these two must not find out about the diamonds, they would turn on him instantly if they knew the value of what was hidden here. Again he promised himself to ensure that the two men would die as soon as their usefulness was at an end.
As darkness cloaked the African landscape, Mthoko moved silently towards the tourists’ camp. Barefoot and naked except for a pair of black shorts, he was almost invisible in the blackness. He could hear the voices of the white people and fell to his belly, slowly crawling closer until he could make out what they were saying, only a few short yards from them now. He stayed there until the couple had gone into their tent, waiting for long enough for them to fall asleep before carefully making his way back to the bakkie, some two kilometres away.
‘They have maps and papers there,’ he told the others when he returned, ‘I think that whatever it is they are looking for, they will find soon. They talked of going to the other side of the river and they talked of the great cross in the sky too, using it as a guide to find their way back to the hiding place.’
What Mthoko was saying got Gatsheni thinking, but he let him continue for the moment.
‘I say that we do not have to wait for them to find whatever it is they are looking for. I say that we should take their maps and papers from them and find it ourselves.’
It made sense Gatsheni thought, with one slight change. They would lure them to the killing ground first and once they had been disposed of, he could seize the papers and take his time over finding the stones. It would be so much simpler.
He must make contact with the other indunas, who together with the amadoda would be waiting for them a short distance from here by now.
‘I will go and find the impis,’ he told the pair, ‘you must go to them tomorrow and lure them to the valley. We will be waiting for you to arrive.’ He showed them where the valley was on a large-scale map similar to the one James and Tara had bought and then disappeared into the darkness, confident that his revenge was close at hand. Soon, both the white man and woman would pay the price for the actions of others of their family.
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