The Death of the Mantis (10 page)

“So when will you be home?”

“I’m sure it will only be a few days. What about getting
Pleasant to stay over till then? She can help. She loves Tumi.”

For the first time, Joy sounded enthusiastic. “Oh, Kubu, I’m
sure she would. Just for a couple of days till you come back. I’ll
ask her. I think she’ll come. She knows I’m struggling.”

“Then, when I’ve cooked a delicious Chinese meal – the whole
thing: sweet and sour pork with pineapple and rice with all the
trimmings, washed down with a Riesling perhaps – and I’ve cleaned
everything up while you put Tumi to sleep, we can go to bed. And
you’ll be fresh and enthusiastic. I’ve heard Chinese food contains
things that increase desire. We’ll have a wonderful time!” Kubu’s
mouth was watering. He wasn’t sure if it was the thought of Joy –
always tired lately – in his arms, or the sweet and sour pork. Joy,
too, sounded enthusiastic, and the conversation finished on a happy
note. Kubu sighed with relief. He was a little tentative about his
promises, though. The Riesling was fine, and so was the lovemaking
– more than fine, he thought rather smugly – but he had undertaken
to cook a full meal and clean up. More or less the day he got back.
And perhaps for several days thereafter. And get leave from Mabaku,
who was not in a particularly good mood at the moment. Well, I
should have paternity leave, Kubu thought, feeling a most liberated
man.

♦

When he returned to the Mokha Lodge, Kubu found Cindy waiting
for him. She wanted to say goodbye. “There’s nothing more to follow
up here, Kubu. I’m happy that you saved the Bushmen. I’ll put it in
the story.”

“Detective Sergeant Lerako will love that!”

“I want to thank you. For helping them. And for spending time
with me.” She leant forward seemingly to peck him on the cheek but,
turning her head, kissed him on the lips. It was a sisterly kiss,
but Kubu was surprised, yet not displeased. She wiped his lips with
her fingers. “Lipstick,” she said.

Kubu smiled. “Do you know anything about cooking Chinese
food?”

She laughed. Her laugh always seemed ready. “You’re going to
cook for your family?” Kubu nodded. How did she guess? Was she
related to Mabaku?

“Well, no, not actually,” she continued. “I’m not into Chinese.
But all you heed is a cookbook. And the ingredients. I’m sure you
can get those. Otherwise you’ll have to improvise.”

A cookbook! Of course. “Thank you very much. A cookbook. That’s
the answer.”

Cindy gave him her card on which she’d written a local mobile
phone number. “Will you call me when you get back to Gaborone?
Please. I’d like to see you again, Kubu.”

Kubu promised to do that, and held out his hand. She shook it
with a slight smile. Then she let him go.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

J
oy was delighted
that her sister could accompany her to see Kubu’s parents. It
wasn’t that they’d grown apart, but for the past three months she’d
been so tired attending to Tumi that they didn’t get together as
frequently as before.

Pleasant had jumped at the chance to visit Wilmon and Amantle,
Kubu’s charmingly old-fashioned parents, and insisted that Joy
drive so she could hold and pamper the baby.

After Joy had negotiated the maelstrom of traffic, people, and
animals that populated Gaborone’s streets, she relaxed a little and
felt able to give some of her attention to Pleasant.

“So, how are you and Bongani getting on?” she asked, twisting to
look at Pleasant, who was sitting behind her. Kubu insisted that
Tumi should always be in the back seat, which disrupted years of
habit for Ilia, who had to learn to sleep on the passenger seat.
Ilia still was unsettled by the change and occasionally sought
reassurance from Joy by jumping up and licking her on the ear. “I
hope you’re prepared for Amantle’s cross-examination! You know how
she feels about women your age being single!”

Pleasant laughed at the memory of previous visits. “I always
think I’m ready, but when I get there she finds all the chinks in
my armour. How about you? How are you doing?”

“Other than being exhausted all the time, I’m well. I just wish
Tumi would sleep through the night sometimes, but I suppose it’s
too much to expect after only three months. But even once a week
would be good. I need the sleep.”

“Is Kubu still not helping?”

“I really don’t know what to do. He says he wants to help, but
he never hears Tumi crying, and he’s almost impossible to wake. I
just don’t have the energy to get him up. It seems easier to deal
with Tumi myself. It’s beginning to affect our relationship.”

“Too tired even for sex?” Pleasant’s eyes twinkled.

“Yes, and I miss it. But more important, we don’t have the same
relaxed time together in the evenings. If I’m not dealing with
Tumi, I’m too tired to listen to Kubu like I used to. I’m not sure
what he’s up to any more. And I don’t tell him much about what’s
going on at the school.” Joy took a deep breath, feeling tears
welling up. “And I feel resentful when he has to go away. I know
it’s not true, but I feel sometimes that he’s happy to go away to
get some peace for himself.”

“Kubu wouldn’t do that! He’s the most devoted husband I’ve ever
met.”

“What if he meets someone on one of his trips? It seems like
ages since we had sex.”

“Kubu never looks at anyone else. You’ve got to trust him.”

Joy didn’t respond, but focused on the road ahead, trying to
banish the tears and the doubt.

♦

Pleasant loved the stalls that populated Botswana’s roads, with
their creative names. As they drove down Kgafela Drive in Mochudi,
only a kilometre or two from the Bengus’ house, they passed the
More and More Tuck Shop, the Taliban Haircut and Car Wash, and the
dubious Jailbird Security Company. She laughed out loud, startling
Ilia, who uncurled, stood up and looked out of the window. Suddenly
her stumpy tail wagged furiously.

She knows where she is, Pleasant thought. She knows she’s about
to be spoilt.

They drove into a poorer part of the town and pulled up in front
of a small house. Ilia bounded out of the car, up the steps to the
Bengus’ home, and into the lap of Wilmon, who was seated on the
veranda as usual, awaiting his visitors. Amantle stood at the top
of the stairs, beaming. She loved Joy as her own daughter and
frequently chided her son for taking so long to marry her. You are
very lucky she waited, she often said.

Amantle hugged Joy, then Pleasant. She had long ago adopted the
more informal Western form of greeting. Wilmon struggled to his
feet, tipping a disgruntled Ilia to the floor, and was likewise
hugged by both women. Joy knew that this caused turmoil in the old
man. His upbringing demanded a more formal greeting – a handshake
at most – but he couldn’t refuse the intimacy of a hug.

“
Dumela
, Joy.
Dumela
, Pleasant. You are welcome at
my house,” he said. “How are you both? And how is Tumi?”

“We are all well, thank you. You, too, are looking well.”

“I am fine, even though I am feeling old these days. Please sit
down.”

“I know Amantle wants to spoil Tumi, so I’ll put out lunch. I
didn’t have time to cook, so I bought cold meat and salads. Not as
fresh as your vegetables, my father, but they look tasty.”

Wilmon was proud of his herb and vegetable garden at the back of
the house, which he tended with loving care. The previous year’s
crop had been spectacular, but he was concerned for this year’s due
to the prolonged drought.

Joy handed Tumi to Amantle, who sat down and immediately started
gently rocking the sleeping baby. Joy smiled and walked into the
small interior of the house. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.”

“Where is my son?” Wilmon said, looking around.

“Wilmon, I told you he was away on business.” Amantle’s voice
had a hint of irritation. “You must get your ears checked again. He
is somewhere in the south.” She rocked Tumi a little more
vigorously, which fortunately didn’t wake her.

Wilmon didn’t respond.

“He is with his old friend Khumanego. Do you remember him?”

“Of course I do,” Wilmon replied. “He and David used to play
together around our house when they were children. He was one of
those Bushmen. From the desert. I never understood why he was at
school. He and David looked strange together – one big and one
small.”

Wilmon seemed taken aback by the length of his speech,
particularly in front of only women, and sat down, patting his lap
for Ilia, who needed little encouragement.

For the next few minutes, Amantle and Pleasant admired Tumi’s
features. Amantle exclaimed how much Tumi looked like Joy.

“But she looks like you,” Pleasant said, pointing to the baby’s
nose and mouth.

Pleasant could see that Amantle was pleased.

“Lunch is ready!” Joy shouted.

Ilia’s hopes for having a prolonged tummy scratch were dashed as
Wilmon stood up again.

♦

Lunch was delicious and enjoyed by all. Ilia gave Wilmon another
chance to spoil her and sat panting next to his chair. This time
she wasn’t disappointed. A steady trickle of morsels fell from the
table, which she immediately gobbled up.

The conversation was largely gossip: Amantle telling the
visitors what was going on in Mochudi, Pleasant talking about new
shops in Gaborone, and Joy describing how quickly Tumi was growing.
Meals were not the time for anything contentious.

While they were clearing up, Kubu phoned and Joy chatted to him
for a few minutes, smiling and happy. It seemed things were going
well in Tsabong, and Kubu was pleased the family visit was
proceeding smoothly. He sent his love to his mother and respectful
greetings to his father, and then said he needed to hurry to lunch.
Joy laughed and warned him to watch his diet. Then she served tea
on the veranda, and they all caught up on Kubu’s news.

But between nods and exclamations, Amantle was eyeing Pleasant,
who knew that her time was coming. And come it did, after the tea
things had been cleared away.

“My dear,” Amantle said, pulling her chair closer, “my heart
grieves and I spend sleepless nights worrying about what your dear
mother would be thinking if she were still alive. I am sure her
time in heaven is disturbed because you are still single.”

Joy slid her chair back to enjoy the bout. Wilmon’s eyes were
closed, as were Ilia’s, who snored gently on his lap, occasionally
twitching as she dreamt of catching snacks dropping from the
table.

“You are so kind to me,” Pleasant said, putting her hand out to
touch Amantle. “You are truly now my mother.”

Amantle shrugged the flattery aside. “Then it is my duty to warn
you that soon you will no longer be attractive to the right men.
You will be too old. They will think of you as a raisin, not a
grape. Men today want young women, who do not work. And you are no
longer young. And you do work!” She glared at Pleasant, daring her
to contradict. “What happened to the man you told me about – the
stupid man, who was too clever to appreciate your beauty, your
broad hips?”

“Bongani!” Pleasant replied. “I still see him. We still go
out – ”

“Still go out?” Amantle burst out. “How much longer will it take
him to make up his mind? You should tell him to marry you or leave
you. He is wasting your time.”

“We are getting closer.”

“Getting closer? You have been doing that for how long? Three
years? Even snails are faster than that.”

Pleasant capitulated. “I will tell Bongani what you have said.
You are right as always, my mother.” Joy managed to turn a snort of
laughter into a sneeze, then stood up and said it was time for them
to leave.

“Pleasant has a date with Bongani this evening. She has to make
herself even more beautiful than she is. He won’t be able to resist
her this time.”

Now it was Amantle’s turn to snort. “Call me on the telephone
tomorrow. I will expect good news.” She too stood up, nudging her
husband to do likewise. “I hope my son is being a good father? He
is providing enough for you?”

“He is. But he finds it difficult to feed Tumi at night. He
never wakes up when she cries.”

“Tumi is perfect. She has slept the whole time you were here.
And it is for the mother to feed a baby, not the father. And I hope
you will give up your job. Mothers should not work for five years.
That is what I did with David, and look how well he turned
out.”

Joy knew not to contradict Amantle in this mood. Wilmon had at
last managed to get to his feet, so Joy turned and hugged him and
Pleasant did likewise. A glimmer of a smile lit up his face, as
pleasure momentarily overcame reserve.

Amantle walked down to the car with them, handing Tumi to Joy at
the last possible minute. “Look after my beautiful granddaughter
and give my love to David. Tell him he shouldn’t work on Sundays.
God does not approve.”

Joy and Pleasant climbed into the car, Pleasant the driver this
time. They waved at the elderly couple as they drove away. Ilia
gave a single bark and lay down to sleep.

“They are so special,” Pleasant said. “You are so lucky to have
them.”

“Yes, but they always take Kubu’s side. He does nothing except
sleep when Tumi cries at night, and they think that’s just fine.
It’s the woman’s job, no matter what.”

“You’re not going to change them. Just be thankful they love you
so much.”

“I suppose you also think I should do all the work! Just wait
until you have kids – if you ever get around to it!”

“All I said was that Kubu’s parents belong to a different
generation. You can’t change them.”

“Half the time, Kubu thinks he’s a liberated New Age man –
drinks wine, loves opera. But when it comes to domestic things,
like work around the house and looking after Tumi, he’s as
traditional as you can get. It’s the woman’s responsibility. Very
convenient.”