Little Suns (17 page)

What convinced Malangana that Mhlontlo had decided to lead the men to war was that he was armed, though as a man in mourning he was not supposed even to touch arms of war. He had with him an assegai and a double breech-loading gun, both of which were weapons that he took out only on very special occasions.

Malangana walked away in disgust, but Gxumisa called him back.

‘Where do you think you are going? The king needs you here to interpret.’

‘
Nank’uSunduza; akaxakwa ngulomsebenzi
,’ said Malangana.
Here is Davis; he does not find that job difficult
.

‘
Uyay’qond’intok’ba uJola ufuna nincedisane
,’ said Gxumisa, holding him back by his blanket.
You know that Majola –
the king’s clan name –
wants you to help each other
.

Davis stayed out of the argument. He was well aware that Mhlontlo always wanted his own interpreter present to ensure that the white people were not saying things behind his back. He and the other white people had often joked about it, and the shortcomings of the said interpreter in mastering the intricacies and inconsistencies of the English language.

The festive mood of the people belied the sombre mood of the elders surrounding the king and the four white men with them. There was plenty of laughter and song and eating and drinking. Then Tsitwa, the chief army doctor, and two soldiers came rushing to the elders and the white men and announced that the men were ready to be enrolled for the military and to be given their marching orders. He, Tsitwa, had performed his duties of doctoring them in readiness for the war.

Hope was a bit startled when one of the soldiers caught his beard and playfully caressed it, saying, ‘You’ll see what we’re going to do to the enemy today.’

‘They can be like children sometimes,’ said Hope, chuckling and brushing the soldier’s hand off.

Mhlontlo and Gxumisa gave the soldier an admonishing stare while Warren, Davis and Henman tried to hide their embarrassment with uneasy smiles.

‘Where is Mahlangeni?’ Malangana asked Tsitwa about his son.

‘He was with me when I doctored the troops. He must be somewhere here.’

Hope turned to the other white men and said, chortling, ‘Let’s go, fellows. Carry your revolvers and carbines. I believe our throats are going to be slit today.’

The three white men laughed nervously at his joke. Davis did not interpret it to Mhlontlo and his entourage. Nor did Malangana. Perhaps he had not heard it. His mind was too preoccupied with the betrayals that were gnawing at him.

Mhlontlo and Gxumisa led the way, followed by Malangana. Hope limped behind on his uneven legs, followed immediately by Davis, Henman and Warren. And then the rest of the amaMpondomise elders walked gravely after them. The crowd gave way and ululated as Mhlontlo’s praise poet came forward in his regalia of jackal and leopard skins reciting genealogies of his family and the landmark deeds of some of the characters in that line.

Malangana’s eyes were darting all over the crowd looking for the men he considered like-minded, who would hopefully put him at ease about the events of the day. And there among the maidens carrying clay pots of beer on their heads was the puny figure of Mthwakazi. His body was suddenly seized by spirits that could not be anything but evil for they transported him back to the bushes by the river and to that moment of lawlessness. He had to battle very hard to return to the present. He had to turn his gaze away from the maidens and focus on the soldiers who were dancing in their various formations. This was the beginning of the
umguyo
dance.

He told himself he had no business being angry with Mthwakazi. Mthwakazi could only be Mthwakazi. And who could say if he had been there for the night he would have changed the path of history, would have dissuaded the hard-headed and cowardly elders from going along with the plans of the white man? No, it could not be Mthwakazi’s fault. Mthwakazi could continue to weave whatever magic she was weaving around him for it was gratifying. He should be strong enough to look at the maidens and be transported to the bushes by the river and bask in the pleasurable memory. But when he did look again the maidens were gone. The soldiers had danced themselves into a semicircle and there were hundreds of them. Perhaps up to a thousand or more. They were all armed with spears and shields. A few also had guns and rifles.

A groom brought Saraband, Hope’s horse, for the magistrate was required to sit on it as he addressed the troops so as to have a view of all of them – both the inner and the outer circle – and be seen by all. Davis would stand next to him to interpret, and Warren and Henman would be seated behind.

Hamilton Hope sat on his trusty horse and surveyed the troops swaying like waves in front of his eyes. He lit his pipe and said to Davis, ‘I may as well have another smoke before my throat is cut.’

Davis was beginning to get worried. This was the third time the magistrate had made this silly joke. He hoped one man’s wit would not turn out to be another man’s premonition.

The
umguyo
continued in earnest as the men sang their war songs and danced their war dances, closing the circle with the king and his
iindwendwe
inside. The whistles and the drums and the screams sent shivers down Malangana’s spine. The ululations of the women could be heard in the distance. They were now far away, for
umguyo
was the business of men. The time for the feasting was over. Shields thundered as they struck against each other in time with the dance steps and spears sent flashes of lightning as they also clashed in the air. Legs flew high in the air and a thousand cowhide drums boomed as feet hit the wet ground all together at the same time. The earth shook and the white men’s eyes seemed about to pop out of their sockets. The tiny figure of Hamilton Hope looked very forlorn on Saraband.

‘If these warriors create so much fear simply by dancing can you imagine them fighting?’ Warren said to Henman. But he couldn’t hear what he was saying. He kept on saying ‘What? What?’ Warren said, ‘Never mind’ and watched the dance.

Suddenly there was a piercing whistle that went on for a few beats. It was followed by a sudden silence. Everyone stood still. Mhlontlo’s praise poet jumped into the centre and said the king will utter a few words before the big white man on a horse, who is nevertheless very tiny, gives his orders of war. The men chuckled but immediately fell silent when Mhlontlo stepped forward.

‘
Mampondomise amahle, amazwi am aphelile
,’ said Mhlontlo.
Beautiful amaMpondomise, my words are finished
. ‘This is your king whose orders you are now to take.’ He pointed at Hope as he said this, and then he continued, ‘He is the one who has closed the door against amaBhaca and amaMpondo, so that you are now fat and don’t have to sleep in the veld in fear of your enemies. You all know I’m still in mourning. I am mourning for my wife, the daughter of King Sarhili, and I had asked that Gxumisa, a general tested in many wars, should lead you. Yet Hope insists that I must go to war
ngenkani
. I did not know that I could be forced to go to war while mourning. But Hope has forced me to go. I am now going, but be careful of your new king, Dilikintaba, the white man. We must now obey the white king. He is the king and I am no longer one. I am nothing.’

Davis was interpreting to Hope what Mhlontlo was saying.
Dilikintaba
was the praise-name that amaMpondomise were giving Hope, as all kings should be greeted with one. It meant ‘the-one-who-demolishes-mountains’, not quite accurately translating the name. That would have been Dilizintaba.

The soldiers all shouted in unison: ‘A! Dilikintaba!’ in the manner that kings were saluted. It sounded like thunder.

‘I am only a Government servant doing Government work,’ said Hope. ‘I am glad you are going to lead your men to war. They are a formidable force under your leadership. Indeed, we would not go without you.’

Mhlontlo pointed at Hope and shouted, ‘There is your God; I am only a dog.’

Once again the soldiers shouted: ‘A! Dilikintaba!’ and bowed before Hope.

The white men, including Hope himself, shifted uneasily. But Mhlontlo smiled amicably and looked at each one of them as if to reassure them that he meant well.

‘We are Government people in the true sense of the word,’ he said. ‘The Government is our rock and our shade.’

Mhlontlo turned to Davis and said, ‘This child has no fault. He grew up among us. He is one of our blood.’

He then pulled Davis by the shirt sleeve.

‘Come here, Sunduza,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you privately. I have a secret message that I want you to convey to the magistrate.’

Mhlontlo led Davis out of the circle. Malangana hesitated at first because he was not sure whether or not he was supposed to follow. He decided to stay in the circle in case Hope was going to make a speech and his interpretation would be needed. But Hope was not making a speech. He was just sitting on his horse looking lost. There was some commotion at the far end of the assembled men.

Hope looked at his pocket watch. It was 1:05 p.m. Time had been wasted already. He began to make his speech, just when Malangana was pushing his way out of the circle wondering whether to follow Mhlontlo and Davis.

‘Men of the Pondomise,’ Hope began, ‘you are today men of the British Government.’

Before he could go any further a man had jumped on his horse and grabbed him by the beard. Others threw him off the horse. Mahlangeni, the leader of the assassins, stabbed him with his assegai. Warren and Henman tried to defend themselves but were not given the opportunity to fire their pistols. Mahlangeni’s men fell on them with their assegais and stabbed them over and over.

Malangana saw Mhlontlo holding Davis in a tight grip, trying to stop him from returning to the circle. He did not go up to them but returned instead to the circle to see what the commotion was all about. He was too late. The white men were already dead and Mahlangeni was standing over Hope’s body, his assegai dripping blood.

Malangana’s chest expanded to bursting point as he wailed, ‘Why did you leave me out of this? Why? Why? Why?’

‘Where were you?’ asked Mahlangeni. ‘On top of a Bushman girl?’

Malangana lifted his assegai and stabbed Hope over and over again. He was going to kill him again even though he was already dead. He aimed for the heart. No one was going to deny him the opportunity to kill Hamilton Hope.

The assassins began to strip the white men naked. Mahlangeni took Hope’s coat and wore it, though it was too small a size and was bloody. The rest of the white men’s clothes were too tattered to be of any use to anyone. But their body parts would be useful as war medicine. Mahlangeni hollered for his father Tsitwa, the head of the war doctors. In no time three war doctors were there, and later Tsitwa joined them. They were particularly keen on Hamilton Hope’s testicles which would make strong war medicine.

Malangana went back to join Mhlontlo and Davis, brandishing his bloody assegai and singing his own praises. Davis was sitting flat on the ground, weeping with his head buried between his knees. Between the sobs he accused Mhlontlo of provoking the Government which was a dangerous thing for amaMpondomise. This made Malangana very angry.

‘He must shut up, or does he want us to kill him too?’ he said.

‘He’s just sad because he has lost his friends,’ said Mhlontlo. ‘We must protect Sunduza. We’ll hand him over to the school people who’ll take him to his mother.’

In the commotion that followed the white men’s servants tried to escape. However they did not want to leave empty-handed; they first went to the wagons to rescue whatever they could. That was where some of them met their fate. amaMpondomise soldiers were waiting there. This was their booty and they meant to protect it. Malangana got a shirt from an escaping policeman’s back. He also came out of Henman’s tent with a pile of blankets. Three of Hope’s servants were frogmarched to Mhlontlo at assegai-point and gun-point. They asked Davis to plead for their lives to Mhlontlo, but he was too busy crying for his fallen comrades.

‘I am not killing you,’ said Mhlontlo to the policemen. ‘I am only killing this little lame man and the white men from Mthatha who were forcing me to go to war against my will. Davis is our child. We would be sinning if we killed him.’

He ordered that the servants be released.

There was the matter of Saraband, Hope’s horse.

‘He is your horse now that you have defeated his master,’ said Malangana. ‘It is part of the loot.’

‘No,’ said Mhlontlo. ‘I cannot in good conscience ride this horse. It must be returned to the man’s wife in Qumbu.’

Davis wept even more at the mention of Emma Hope, widow of the late Hamilton Hope, who did not yet know of her new marital status.

‘Don’t worry, Sunduza,’ said Mhlontlo. ‘We have already summoned
amakhumsha
. They will be here soon to accompany you to your mother.’

Hamilton Hope had finally been vanquished, Malangana thought. amaMpondomise had finally learned the lesson. If any white man came to subjugate them again, they would fight and defend their land. Now he could go and look for Mthwakazi. The journey to the top of the mountain could begin.