Entwined (3 page)

“Connie! Thank God!” He jumps up and comes to kneel at my side, peering anxiously into my face. “How do you feel?”

I sit up and look at him. “Hungry.” That Brufen has finally kicked in. The headache is gone. It’s a little strange actually, because now my head is clearer than ever, as if the headache never happened. But I’m used to strange occurrences so I brush it aside, kiss my dad on the cheek and get up to make some dinner. “I hate Thursdays,” I mutter. “Thank goodness it’s over.”

“Today’s Wednesday, Connie, not Thursday,” Dad says cautiously. “Maybe you need to lie down a while longer.”

What?
I swivel round to face him. “But… my headache!” I sputter in disbelief. From the moment I got up, the day had Thursday written all over it. How can today be Wednesday? I like Wednesdays. They’re good to me.

“Connie, let me make dinner,” Dad suggests, pushing me back onto the sofa. “You just stay here, OK?”

I should stop him because we both know no one can stomach his cooking, but I’m in shock. It’s not Thursday! For a second I’m relieved. Maybe all the bad Thursdays were just a coincidence. Maybe it was self-fulfilling prophecy. Or maybe…. My relief disintegrates. Maybe the headache was just a prelude. Maybe tomorrow is when the real trouble will begin. Ouch. I think I need another painkiller.

I wake up the next morning feeling rather bizarre. My head is fine, but it’s buzzing with thoughts and I can’t seem to keep it still. I need to speak to Black Lizard, and soon. I need to understand how he knew what was going on with me.

But I can’t just go up to the guy and ask him. I need to take my time and plan my attack very carefully. I text Lebz to meet me at school so I can stop by the library before registration. I’ll hang around for a few minutes and see if Lizard turns up.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” my father asks, frowning down at me as he rummages in his pocket. “Where the devil are those blasted keys? God, I hope she’s not getting sick, I’m lousy with illness… Her mother was the one who was good at these things. Where are those bloody – ah!” He locates the keys and pulls them out.

I look up from my breakfast in surprise. It’s not like him to be so vocal. “Dad, don’t worry. It was just a headache. Probably all the stress from that Business Studies test I wrote on Tuesday.”

“Maybe,” he mumbles doubtfully. “Take it easy today, OK? And call me if anything happens.”

I nod. “And you’re not lousy with illness, Dad,” I add softly. “You’re great.”

He gives me an odd look and backs towards the front door. “Um, thanks darling. OK… see you later.” He stumbles out of the house. Through the window I catch him looking back at the house with a bewildered expression on his face.

I wave, and as soon as his red Volvo disappears round the corner I jump into high gear. There was something about the way Lizard spoke yesterday that made me certain he knows more about me than he’s letting on. It’s almost as if he expected me to have that headache. The thought scares and intrigues me. If there’s something weird going on here I’d love to know what it is, and Lizard, like it or not, is the person who can tell me.

I wash the breakfast dishes, pack my bag and lock up, leaving the key under the doormat for Auntie Lydia. It’s already bright outside although it’s barely six-thirty. I pass a couple of kids from school and since I’m not with Lebz or Wiki, I don’t expect them to greet me. But almost as soon as they lay eyes on me they start whispering.

“… I wonder what it is about her… I just can’t figure it out.”

“It’s not rude to scratch if no one is looking…”

“… Just like my cousin…”

“I wonder if the gossip is true…”

“… I’m going to kill him. These people think they can….”

“I’m so late!”

I look around me, shocked by how loudly these passers-by are talking. Their lips don’t appear to be moving, but maybe they’ve realised that it doesn’t look good when strangers catch you talking to yourself.

The voices fade as I approach the school gates. The campus is quiet and almost empty. I head towards the library and sit down to wait. I scan the campus, but there’s no sign of Black Lizard. I sigh and open my bag. Might as well pretend to do some work while I wait.

I’ve been waiting for some time when I hear a familiar voice. I love Lebz, but this is one occasion when I’m not exactly thrilled to see her.

“Hey, Connie! What are you doing?”

“I wanted to go to the library,” I remind her. “Aren’t you early? What’s wrong?”

“Very funny,” she says, clicking her tongue in mock annoyance. “Where’s Kelly? Not here yet? Hmm. I hope my hair looks OK.”

I roll my eyes. Looks like I’m not going to talk to Lizard, after all. “Your hair looks fine.”

“What?” She stares at me in horror.

“I said, your hair looks fine. And you shouldn’t care what Kelly thinks, anyway.”

Lebz blinks. Her mouth opens and closes a few times.

“What?” I shove my book back into my bag.

“That’s not cool,” she whispers. “I mean… at least you could have told me.” Then she walks off in a huff, leaving me completely stumped.

I have no idea what I’ve done to offend her. What I said about Kelly, maybe? She does get a bit sensitive when it comes to the topic of her idol. I spot Wiki coming through the gates and wave, but Lebz intercepts him before he reaches me. They have a brief intense conversation, then Lebz glares at me and stalks over to where Kelly’s second in command, Botho, is sitting. Wiki approaches with caution.

“Lebz is not happy,” he announces.

“I noticed. What did I do now?”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “She has some crazy idea that you can read her mind and forgot to tell her. Ah, girls have strange problems. I should really get some reading done.”

“Read her mind?” I laugh. “Seriously, where does she get these things?”

“Reading Lebz’s mind wouldn’t be all that difficult, actually,” says Wiki, glancing at his watch. “I really need to get some reading done…”

I swat him. “Hey, be nice! You’re supposed to be the referee.”

“What do you expect me to do?” He shakes his head. “Just talk to her and reassure her that you haven’t betrayed years of open, honest friendship. Ah, women. Maybe I should make friends with some guys for a change.”

“But Wiki – ” I pause mid-sentence, suddenly struck by an alarming revelation.

“The library’s open. I have about ten minutes before registration. See you later.” He hurries away.

I have just realised that half the time Wiki was speaking to me his mouth was closed. Wiki is many things, but not a ventriloquist. He spoke to me without saying a word, and when I think about it, I realise this has been happening all morning. Before I can make sense of it, I see Black Lizard slithering past. He glances my way and keeps walking, headed behind the old Science labs. I wait exactly ten seconds before following.

I find him leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Oh!” I say in exaggerated surprise. “Hi. I didn’t know there was anyone here.” I clear my throat. “I was just looking for a quiet spot to… um… Well, I’ll just leave you alone.” I turn around, preparing to walk away.

“Conyza, wait.”

Success! I turn back to face him. My heart is racing. There’s a bit of an adrenalin rush associated with standing behind the lab with the infamous Black Lizard. I feel like an undercover agent. “What’s up?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.

He hesitates. “How are you feeling? Is the headache gone?”

“What’s it to you?”

He shrugs. “I’m just making conversation.”

“I’m fine. It was just a headache.” I wait for him to contradict me. He doesn’t, and I’m disappointed. “Well, see you.”

“Conyza.”

“Connie.”

“Right. Connie.” He peers at me. “So you’re back to normal now? No side effects? Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Should there be?” He knows something.

His shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug. “No. I mean…”

I fold my arms across my chest and put on a haughty tone. “Well, if you must know…” Honestly, I’m dying to tell someone. “It’s probably my imagination.”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“It seems as if I can hear what people…” I stop, my natural defences kicking in.

“Are thinking?” he concludes for me, his forehead creased.

I get a chill when he says it out loud, but one of us had to. Now I know for sure that he knows something, and I feel a little safer discussing this delicate subject with him. He’s a stranger, says my common sense. I ignore it out of habit. “Something like that. But of course it’s impossible,” I add hastily.

“No, it’s not.” A slow smile spreads over his face. “You’re a telepath!”

I don’t like words like that. It’s the kind of label my grandfather would use, a word that turns an ephemeral possibility into a fact. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” He frowns at me. “I’ve heard that you can do a lot of unusual things.”

My guard goes up immediately. I’ve worked hard to keep a low profile since I came to Syringa, and it’s not easy. I can’t control the things I experience, and sometimes I can’t control how I respond to them. At first it didn’t occur to me to be discreet, but when other kids started avoiding me I realised it was better to keep my eyes open and my mouth shut. After a while, most people forgot about me. Then Ntatemogolo came home.

Once people make the connection between him and me, the speculation begins. The good thing is that very few people make the connection, and when they do they always seem perplexed. How can such an unimpressive girl be related to the great Lerumo Raditladi?

I glare at Rakwena, putting up my wall of ordinariness in case I have to defend myself against accusations of witchcraft, Satanism or just plain weirdness. “People love to gossip.”

“So it’s just gossip?” he prods. “You don’t have premonitions?”

I bite my lip and decide it’s safer not to answer. I’ve never admitted it to anyone beyond my dad and grandfather; Wiki and Lebz figured it out on their own.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Rakwena says softly. “I think it’s an incredible gift. If you were telepathic, I’d advise you not to cling to the thoughts coming into your head so you don’t get overwhelmed. But since you’re not…” He sighs. “I guess there’s nothing more to talk about, right?”

Damn it. Now he’s playing me. The idea of being able to speak freely about this sort of thing, with someone my age who understands, is so appealing that I’m tempted to tell him my whole life story. But he’s still the scary guy with the scar and tattoo.

“How do you know so much about this stuff, anyway?” I snap, frustrated by my indecision. “Are you some kind of… ghost buster?”

He laughs. “You didn’t realise your gifts would begin to mature around this age?”

“My grandfather told me,” I reply without thinking.

He grins. “So you
do
have gifts.” His eyes are twinkling. I wish they wouldn’t. “Then you also probably know that telepathy is common in someone with your abilities – empathy, premonitions – someone very sensitive to the people around her.”

That’s news to me, but I know better than to open my mouth at this point.

“Well, I just thought you might like to talk to someone who doesn’t think you’re a freak.” He moves away from the wall. “Take care, Conyza.”

“Connie!”

He shrugs. “If you insist on rejecting the things that make you unique, that’s your problem,
Connie
.” He slinks away.

Ugh! What an idiot. What does he know? I’m so angry I want to run after him and slam my bag against that big head. Rejecting the things that make me unique? That’s easy for him to say! As much as I love my father, I have never completely forgiven him for naming me after a weed. And as for telepathy… All my life I’ve dealt with people who made me feel guilty for being different. Now Black Lizard, of all people, has succeeded in making me feel guilty for trying to be normal! I don’t care what he says; I don’t
want
to be telepathic. I have enough trouble dealing with my own thoughts.

My grandfather sits on a stool on the front veranda of his small house in Bontleng, puffing a cigarette in thoughtful silence. I’ve become impervious to the smoke by now. I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor beside him, waiting for him to finish sorting through his thoughts.

He’s a very wise man. I don’t argue with him, I don’t talk back and I don’t speak to him with the same casual tone I use with Dad, because he’d soon put me in my place. He’s small and wiry, with a thick head of greying hair and a carefully trimmed beard. He looks like a university professor, which he was at one point. Nowadays he makes a living writing smarmy intellectual books about history and folklore.

Then there’s his other job. People come to him for advice on anything from nightmares to exorcisms. The local traditional doctors call him a charlatan because he doesn’t play by their rules. Their beliefs are steeped in culture and his are cosmopolitan and constantly changing. He’s equally at home discussing forest sprites and
thokolosi
, and that’s why he and I get along so well. We both straddle the line between two worlds.

I met him for the first time when he came for my mother’s funeral, but he wasn’t home for long. He’s spent years all over the world, studying the myths and legends of different cultures. The moment we met when he came home for good, we both knew we were in the presence of another not-quite-normal person. My father was baffled and, I think, a little jealous of our connection. He raised me alone for years, and all of a sudden this old man swept into our lives and took over. I used to wish they’d get over themselves and just try to get along, but it will never happen.

Ntatemogolo is wearing his usual black trousers and African-print shirt with brown suede loafers. He finishes the cigarette, drops it on the veranda and stamps it out with the heel of his shoe, then turns his steady gaze on me.

“You should have come to me,” he admonishes in Setswana.

“I’m sorry, Ntatemogolo,” I reply in English, and shrug helplessly. “But I thought it was just a headache until this morning.”

He grunts. “This boy who spoke to you; what is his name?”