Bumi
Page 24
To her right, she noted a larger clearing as the trees became sparser, but the grass was longer alongside the track which had now widened.
“Hmmm” she tapped her bottom lip. “I wonder if this path is used by the arseholes that were supplying Kobus, et al, with their murderous loot.”
She pulled away from it and cautiously steered the truck toward a low outcrop of granite boulders and into the shadow of a lone false marula, its bark scraped and scarred by elephants. As she did so, a cloud of dust rising about a quarter mile to the east caught her eye. “Look.” she said, pointing at it, “Could be ellies or buffalo. Either way, if you’re going to get out, do it now, quickly, and hang the water bottle back on its hook.”
Angela, handed her the baby and scrambled out, walking quickly to the rear of the truck. She replaced the bottle, urinated in the dirt and was back in the truck in a matter of seconds.
“Fastest wee-er in the west! Jislaaik!” Devin grinned at her. “Good thing too! Look over there.”
The cloud of dust raised by the massive pounding hooves of a herd of buffalo floated in their wake as they emerged from the mirage, heading west. “They’re looking for or heading to water,” Devin remarked. “See how focused they are?” Hell, I hope it’s Jhombe or the Umfuli. If we’re that close, then we’ll be in Gokwe by sunset. “Let’s wait for them to get well past, and then we’ll start back on our trek. I wonder how fat old Kobus is doing?” She grinned and Angela grinned right back.
“If I had a dime, I’d hand it to you and say, ‘Here’s a dime, call someone who cares’,” Angela retorted and then laughed out loud. “You know what? He got everything he deserved, and Lord, please forgive me for that, but those men were absolute monsters!”
36.
Kobus had watched the lorry pull out of sight, in the back his life savings and ticket to paradise on Durban’s south coast, fading, fading from sight. He wept loudly, sobs wracking his body along with the sting of the bullet holes in his buttocks, calf and thigh. He waited until he could no longer hear the rumble of the lorry before reaching out with his bound hands and grabbing the Castle dumpy. He would have to open it with his teeth. He was used to that, and managed to pop off the cap without breaking the lip of the bottle or any of his peglike, yellow teeth. He chugged the beer leaving about half in the bottle, then attempted to rise from his sitting position, but the pain of his gunshot wounds, and his girth, in concert with the rough bark of the tree to which he was tied, all conspired to thwart that.
He stared at the single cigarette with one match that that fucking tokoloshe[27] looking woman had left him. He ground his teeth and swore, “Hoer[28]!” But an idea began to form. If he could get the cigarette lit, he might be able to burn through the bindings around his wrists. He tested the air, lifting his nose like a mangy township dog. If there was a breeze, which way was it blowing? Only one match! Damnit! And it was only then that he found he had an audience.
Their approach had been abnormally silent, unaccompanied by the yip-yip-yipping he had heard so many times before. Wild dogs. They appeared not to notice him as they ran in ever dwindling circles, closer and closer to him, encircling and tiring out their prey. But he could see no prey, no young impala or dik-dik or anything else for that matter, just the dogs. Bugger that bloody smell! he muttered to himself in Afrikaans, drawing his knees closer to his chest, wincing as the motion pulled at the bullet holes in his backside, just as one of the dogs darted in and nipped at his bare ankle rising like a hairy, thick limb from his veldskoen.
He screamed, “Voetsak!!” and kicked out at the bared yellow teeth. The dog backed off, only slightly, and the others continued their diminishing circle, unfazed by this outburst. A miasma born of the stench of fear enveloped him. The dog licked its lips and snarled, then darted in again and bit hard into his ankle. He screamed again, to no avail. “Shit!” he howled. Then once again began to pray, loudly, sobbing, swiping at the snot pouring from his nose. “Asseblief, God, asseblief!! Verlos my![29]”
He reached his bound hands for the matchbox and the cigarette, struck the match and applied it to a wad of nearby, dried grass presently absorbing blood spurting from his ankle. The grass caught quickly and as the flame blossomed he applied the end of the cigarette to it. He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out. The dogs backed off, yip-yip-yipping and at that instant, Kobus heard the throb of helicopter blades. He could not tell where they were coming from. His elation was quickly replaced by fear. He had lost a whole load of ivory and lion and buffalo bits and pieces to a skinny, crazy goblin. If it is Karel and Vasco, the Angolan chopper pilot, I am fucked! At least though, he pondered, they would not eat him alive. If he was lucky, they would just shoot him and dump him in with the carcasses in the gomo.
Keeping his eyes trained on the lead dog who seemed to be considering another attack, he piled small sticks onto the little fire, trying to work up a good blaze, singing his fingers in the process. Then he began to apply the lit end of the cigarette to the bindings across his chest and upper arms, burning small holes in his shirt and skin as his hands shook and missed their target. Slowly, the bindings began to melt and then snap and he was soon able to stand up. As he did, the dog ran in yet again and attacked his other ankle opening a grievous wound that spurted copious amounts of blood. He got an artery! Kobus sobbed and kicked out with his right foot, catching the animal in the side as it maneuvered for another attack. It yelped and widened the circumference of its circling maneuver, while a smaller, female dog, teats hanging, ventured, teeth bared, into the attack zone.
He used the cigarette to burn off the rope around his wrists, and climbed screaming up the msasa to which had been tied. Nearing about 10 feet off the ground, he tore off his shirt and vest and used the latter as a compression bandage on his left ankle, lying back gingerly on a flimsy branch and raising the leg well above heart level. Blood poured down his leg as the helicopter approached from the northwest and he immediately saw that things were not going to end well here: It was an Alouette III chopper, painted with the ubiquitous green and khaki splotches of RAF camouflage. It slowed as the pilot spied the toilet-paper adorned wag ’n bietjie. The door gunner was plainly visible to Kobus.
“Oooh, God in hemel!” he wailed. “Ek is so dood soos ’n mossie![30]”
The thudding of the blades slowed and the young pilot, Jimmy Gosford, brought the aircraft down in the clearing beside the gomo. Three soldiers jumped out, weapons ready, and sprinted toward the msasa. The dogs had scattered and vanished as if vapour into the bush at the base of the kopje. The men reached the tree and stared up at Kobus. One, Kevin O’Connor, a tanned, stocky white man with white-blonde hair flopped over a camo-painted face and dark brown eyes, his FN held almost casually in his left hand, asked, “What the hell you doing up there?” The other white, Mike Belson, a much taller boy with sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, watchful beneath a green and beige camo cap, glanced up at him briefly then returned his scrutiny to the surrounding bush. The third was black, Goodwill Manyika, dressed similarly to the two white men - camo short-sleeved shirt and shorts, sockless feet in veldskoens. He looked up at Kobus and nonchalantly brought the camouflaged FN rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at him. Kobus’ sphincter clenched and he prayed silently that he would not soil his pants.
Kobus pointed at his wounds. “The blerry dogs came at me. Tried to fokkin’ kill me, ek se!”
“Ja, well, no, fine, but what the hell you doing here anyway?” Sergeant Kevin O’Connor leaned back and looked up at the man in the tree. How the hell am I gonna get this fat oke out of this tree? he mused. Kobus remained silent. O’Connor grinned up at Kobus, his teeth starkly white in his tanned face. “Well?” he asked.
“I dunno!” Kobus ventured.
“What, you lost your mind and found yourself wandering around in a bloody op zone?” O’Connor took a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, removed one and lit it, inhaling deeply. “Listen, I’ve got a bloody good idea what you’re doing here
. Your name is Kobus, correct?” Kobus nodded, paling.
“I feel like I’m gonna faint hey! I have lost a lot of blood!” he whined. “That crazy fokkin’ goblin bitch shot me, then the damn dogs got me. Jislaaik, man, help me, please!”
O’Connor stared up at him. “A goblin shot you!” He grinned. “Ja, right. You climbed up the tree, arsehole, climb down and we’ll get you to Gokwe.”
“How do you know my name?” Kobus asked as he gingerly made his way back down the tree, falling the last four feet and landing on his assaulted butt cheek in the remnants of the little fire he’d set. He screamed with pain and rolled quickly out of the coals, beating at his backside in case it was on fire.
The soldiers laughed. “Get up, Kobus. I know your name because we have been having a little chat with your chinas[31] Karel and Fanie. You see they didn’t quite make it to Binga. All they told us about the load of rhino horn in the Landie was that you had killed the rhino and they were just ‘middlemen’, transporters. You see, Kobus, those twats sold you out. They stopped talking, so we got them locked up in a PV[32]. The DC will be through in about a week and he can transport them to Salisbury. So, Kobus, tell us again now: What the hell is going on?”
“I am going to vrek[33] from blood loss!”
“Ja, so hurry up and tell us, hey. What’s going on? And, Jesus! What is that stench?” The soldier turned and looked toward the gomo. “Mike?” he called to the other white soldier. “Go have a look down over there in that gomo. Goodwill, check that kopje over there.” Goodwill cautiously made his way toward the top of the hill. Mike followed the same path as Devin had, but walked across the lime-filled pit. He reached the death pit quickly and recoiled.
“Jesus Christ!” he yelled. “Dead jumbo and rhino, Sarge!” he called back. He felt as if he would vomit both from the stink and the sight of so many magnificent animals just slaughtered and tossed away as if rubbish. His father had for many years run a small conservancy down near Plumtree, taking in orphaned rhino and elephant, bushbuck, waterbuck, a cheetah, several lion and numerous smaller animals including a civet. He turned from the sight and walked back to the tree, this time gripping his weapon with such force his knuckles showed white. He spat on the ground in front of Kobus. “This twat has been very busy, Sarge.”
“Hmmm. OK, well, then, Kobus, it seems your chinas were right, hey! Get up and walk to the chopper.”
Kobus obeyed, limping on assailed, bloody ankles. “Listen!” he whined. “I am not the one who killed them all, hey!”
It was then that Sarge saw the hole in his shorts and the obvious evidence of a gunshot wound to the buttocks. His eyes shifted downward to the hole in the thigh where a tampon had been inserted, then to the hole in his calf, also sporting a tampon. “What! Wait!” he gasped. “You said a goblin shot you? Explain. Now!”
“I was tying down the tarp on the lorry and….”
“What lorry?”
“I had the lorry here,” he pointed to the flattened grass where the truck had stood, “and it was filled with ivory and…um….stuff…”
“Where is it now?”
“The fokkin’ goblin and her black bitch friend took it, but first she fokkin’ shot me!”
Sarge’s eyes glittered with excitement. It has to be them! It has to be them! he crowed inwardly. “Why would this goblin shoot you? Why not just ask for a lift out of the bush?”
“I dunno. Probably bloody terrs.” He limped faster, hoping the soldier was not going to change his mind and just leave him here. “I told you she was penga[34]. Shit, she just had on her underpants and a bra and she was wearing a piece of fokkin’ wood on her head! Jislaaik! Probably escaped from fokkin’ Ingutsheni[35].”
“You know where Ingutsheni is, Kobus?
“Ja. All of us know.”
“So, you’re a Rhodesian?”
“Ja, of course, how else would I know……” He trailed off into silence.
“Where did you come from, Kobus? What’s your last name?”
“Nuanetsi,” he admitted. “My last name is van Wyck.”
“Hmm,” O’Connor responded. “What about the other one, the black woman?”
“Ja, she didn’t talk too much, hey, but she sounded like an American. Ja, no, and she was carrying a um…pasgebore….um…newborn black baby, and she also had an AK.”
“You been smoking dagga, Kobus?” Kobus shook his head. “You mean both women were carrying an AK?” He nodded. “Now, where did the baby come from, Kobus?”
Kobus hung his head, refusing to answer to yet another crime that would for sure put him in Chikurubi Prison if not the gallows. Mike pushed him forward using the muzzle of his FN rifle as Goodwill trotted back to the scene. “Where did the damn baby come from, Kobus?” Sarge repeated.
“I can tell you that, Sarge,” Goodwill interjected. His accent was strong, but the words were clearly understandable. “First, let’s get this igwelegwele[36] into the chopper. I don’t want him to die until he answers to God and the police for the evil I have just found.”
Sergeant O’Connor and Mike stared at him. “OK,” Sarge agreed. The door gunner who had remained in the aircraft shifted slightly to the side as the three soldiers hoisted Kobus up and into the helicopter. Sarge spoke to another black soldier in the back of the aircraft. “Get the left ankle plugged, Shadrack. We’ve got to keep this arsehole alive.” Then, “Show me,” he instructed Goodwill, nodding at Mike to accompany them.
The three men climbed the kopje and Goodwill showed them first the blood pool where the ‘pig’ had been raped, then murdered. Devin and Angela had missed it. Goodwill, a highly trained tracker, had not. He took them down over the west side of the kopje and into the grisly panoply of violent death. “Jesus!” Mike exclaimed. He walked gingerly among the huge rocks and thorn brush to where the woman lay splayed and sprawled. Alongside her were the remains of Jan. The vultures had been busy, as had all manner of other opportunistic creatures, but the fact that the woman had been heavily pregnant at the time of her death was obvious. “It looks like someone did a Caesar on this one,” Mike muttered.
“Ja, but it looks like someone tried to disembowel her first,” Sarge answered, holding back his gorge as he looked more closely at the corpse. “Jesus!”
“I think this mabhunu[37],” Goodwill said, kicking at Jan’s body, “he is the one.”
“I agree,” Sarge responded. “And I tell you what, that twat Kobus knew all about it. Listen, it has to be the two missing from the Viscount. They must have come across these skabenga[38], seen or heard the whole thing with this lady and this piece of shit,” he too kicked at Jan’s bloating corpse, “and got the baby out. That’s bloody amazing!” He shook his head. “The white woman knows the bush apparently, and she and the Negro must’ve got together somehow. Shit, I’d love to know where they got AK-47s, though!” He grinned. “I reckon they played a bit of a hand in the death of this twat,” he spat at the corpse again.
“I reckon you’re right, Sarge,” Mike agreed. “Let’s go find out where they took the lorry. If they’re heading for Gokwe, we can radio ahead and maybe get a Pookie[39] escort for them.”
The men climbed back up the kopje and soon rejoined the rest of the stick in the helicopter. Kobus lay silently in the back, left leg elevated, tears of pain and terror coursing down into his hirsute ears. Shadrack had apparently managed to stem the flow of blood from the ankle.
“Which way did they take the lorry?” Sarge asked him sternly.
“West to the southwest a bit,” Kobus said, sullen now.
Sarge moved up behind the pilot and whispered in the man’s ear.
“No way, Jose!” Jimmy Gosford exclaimed. “Too good, too good! Shit, man, that is lekker!” He crossed himself, clasped his hands in a brief prayer of thanks, and grabbed the mike on the radio and began the call to Gokwe PATU[40]. Soon, the chopper was airborne, following the path its occupants felt that the two formerly lost survivors would have taken.
37.