The Death of the Mantis (36 page)

“Go over there. I thought I saw some tyre tracks.”

The helicopter slid above the bushes to where the man was
pointing.

“There they are! They are tracks! Let’s follow them.”

The pilot noted the GPS co-ordinates.

♦

Kubu was talking to his grandfather – a wise old man who had
told him many things about their family and culture. Then his
grandfather was suddenly dead. And Kubu was talking to his mother,
who was crying and holding him close to her bosom. Now he was in
school, and big boys were pointing at him and laughing. Where was
Khumanego? He couldn’t find Khumanego. He needed to find him! Then
he was lying in the sun watching cricket, and the rich white boy,
Angus, came and called him Kubu. And he was embarrassed to be
called ‘hippopotamus’, but the white boy wasn’t teasing. He said
‘Kubu’ in friendship, and they became friends. Now Kubu was talking
to an important man in the police – the Director of the Criminal
Investigation Department. Kubu wanted to help his country. The
director said he should go to university and become a
detective.

♦

“The tracks fork up ahead!” The pilot pointed.

“Take the right fork. We can come back and follow the other if
we don’t find anything.”

The four men eagerly searched for signs on the ground.

“There’s a signal of some sort! Looks like clothing on a
bush.”

“And there are footprints going off to the right! About a
hundred metres. And coming back!”

“Land and let’s take a look.”

The helicopter landed in a clearing not far from where the
footprints went up a small hill. Mogale restrained the others from
running up the hill, and phoned Edison to tell him where they were
and what their intentions were. Only then did the policemen follow
the footprints.

“Three people,” Pikati observed. “Up and back.” But when they
got to the hill, there was nothing else to see. Whoever had walked
up the hill had turned and come back.

“We’d better take a good look around here,” Mogale ordered,
pointing the others in different directions.

♦

Kubu was sitting in the front row at university, listening
intently. There was so much to learn. And this teacher was
friendly, drinking a glass of wine, teaching Kubu to smell and
taste. And now he was being given his police badge. His parents
were so proud.
He
was so proud. His first case – he had to
go to the airport so a BDF helicopter could take him to the scene
of the murder. He’d never been in a helicopter before. Never flown
before. He heard the noise of the engines, getting louder, and
louder, and louder. Suddenly the noise stopped, and Kubu startled
to consciousness. There was still a noise, of rotor blades turning,
winding down.

Had they found him?

He didn’t really care.

♦

After a few minutes, Moeng shouted: “Come here. I’ve found
something.”

When they gathered around, he pointed to a single set of
footprints heading into the bush.

“Constable, follow them for a few hundred metres,” Mogale
ordered. “Then come back. We can follow them with the chopper if
necessary. The rest of you, keep looking around. See if you can see
anything.”

The policemen scattered again to search the area.

A few minutes later, Pikati found another set of footprints. He
followed them towards a clump of small trees. Not much shade, he
thought. Then he saw a dark mound. As he walked towards it, he
realised that it was a body. It had to be Kubu, judging by the
size. He shouted to the others and ran towards it.

“Kubu! Kubu! Speak to me!” There was no response.

Pikati felt for a pulse. It was very weak.

“Let’s get him to the chopper. Quickly!” he said as the others
came running up.

“Where’s the nearest hospital?”

“Hukuntsi,” Moeng said.

“Tsabong,” Pikati suggested.

The four of them struggled with Kubu’s bulk as they carried him
towards the helicopter. It was very difficult to handle a hundred
and forty kilograms of dead weight. But they eventually succeeded –
all dripping with sweat.

At the helicopter, Moeng soaked some bandages from the medical
kit in water and wrapped them around Kubu’s head. Then he tried
dribbling water into Kubu’s mouth, but Kubu didn’t swallow.

“Careful you don’t choke him,” Pikati warned.

“How are we going to get him into the chopper?” Moeng asked.

“We’ll just have to lift him. Come on, guys. We may not have
much time!”

With great difficulty they managed to get Kubu into a seat,
fastening the seat belt as tightly as possible to hold him in
position.

“We’ve found him! We’ve found him,” Mogale shouted into the
satellite phone. “He’s alive, but unconscious. Should we try to
find Tau as well? Or should we take Kubu to Tsabong?”

Mabaku came on the phone. “Spend a few minutes flying around the
area where you found Kubu. If you don’t see Tau or Khumanego in
five minutes, head to Tsabong. Then come back and search for the
others.”

“Okay. Please have an ambulance and doctor meet us at the
airport.”

The pilot took off, but five minutes seemed far too long to stay
in the area, so after one loop he turned towards Tsabong, gained
altitude and headed south as fast as he could.

♦

“Joy? It’s Mabaku. They’ve found Kubu! He’s alive, but
unconscious. They’re taking him to the hospital in Tsabong. We’ll
know more in an hour. It looks as though he was left in the desert.
Must have been there for several days without food and water.”

“Will he be all right?”

“He’ll be in good hands any minute now. He’ll be fine.”

Joy put down the phone and burst into tears.

♦

Kubu was walking in a graveyard. In front of him was a
gravestone with the name ‘TAU’ engraved on it. Underneath were the
words ‘KILLED BY KUBU’.

Kubu put his head in his hands and cried. It
was
his
fault.

“Wake up. Wake up.” Kubu felt a hand gently shaking his arm.
“You’re safe now. Wake up.”

Kubu opened his eyes, and a white room slowly came into focus. A
smiling face was looking down at him. Kubu blinked the tears from
his eyes, but the image remained. Was it real? Was he indeed
safe?

“Where’s Tau?” he croaked.

From his side a male voice answered, “They’ve gone back to look
for him. They’ll find him quickly. His footprints are quite
visible.”

Kubu turned his head to see Lerako smiling at him.

“You’re in Tsabong. We’ll fly you to Gaborone as soon as we can.
Thank God you’re okay.”

“Get me a phone, please,” Kubu said weakly. “I need to make a
call.”

“No. We’ve already phoned your wife. You can speak to her
tomorrow. You need to sleep.”

But Kubu tried to sit up. “It was Khumanego. He must be one of
the murderers. He tried to kill us. Drove away and left us there to
die. With nothing. In the desert.”

“We’ll catch him. You can be sure of that.”

“And once, he was my friend.” Kubu’s eyes burnt with tears.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

For the Mantis will not let the man sleep

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

O
n Friday morning,
Kubu woke up at the Princess Marina Hospital in Gaborone feeling
more like his usual self. The dizziness and incoherence of the
previous days had faded, although he still felt lethargic, and a
headache threatened in the background. Trying to roll over, he
jerked at the drip. There was no option: he had to open his eyes
and face the world. Then he saw Joy.

Vaguely he recalled seeing her the evening before, between the
flow of doctors and nurses. Had Mabaku been there too? He couldn’t
quite decide, but he thought so. Joy was sitting on the bedside
chair, as lovely as always. But her mouth was tight, and she looked
stressed. He could see that she’d been crying. For a moment he felt
a mixture of guilt and fear. Had this pushed her too far? Then he
relaxed. Despite it all, she was here.

“How are you, my darling? I love you more than anything.”

She smiled. “I’m fine, my love.” Then she was out of the chair
and trying to hug him around the combination of his bulk, the
blankets and the drip. After a moment they were both laughing,
which made Kubu start to cough.

Joy was immediately concerned. “Are you all right, Kubu? Shall I
call a nurse?”

Kubu shook his head and motioned for his water glass, which she
filled and held for him. The coughing subsided.

“I was so worried. When Mabaku called me on Saturday to say they
hadn’t heard from you, but they had two Land Rovers on the way, I
was beside myself. In a way, I wish he hadn’t told me then, because
I was worried sick the whole time until they found you, but I’d
have killed him if he hadn’t!”

Kubu tried to decipher this, but soon gave up. “It wasn’t fun,”
he said simply. Then he remembered clearly that Mabaku had visited
yesterday. He’d tried to avoid Kubu’s questions, saying they would
talk later. But eventually he’d told Kubu what he needed to know.
Now he remembered every word.

“Detective Tau died out there,” he told Joy. “They followed his
footprints. But after a while they looped back and crossed each
other. After that they became erratic. He must’ve known then what
had happened. And what was going to happen.” He turned his head
away, and tears ran down his face.

Joy took his hand. “Darling, I’m so sorry. I heard yesterday.
But you mustn’t blame yourself. If he’d stayed with you, he
would’ve been okay.”

“No, it was my fault. He didn’t want us to go into the desert in
one vehicle. He said it was a basic survival rule. He was right.
And I made him do it because I had a mission and nothing else
mattered.” And all the time, he thought, the murderer was sitting
next to us in the vehicle. I have to live with that too. I was
responsible for Tau’s death, and my school friend used me to help
him with his crimes. But why had Khumanego done it? What was behind
it? Had he acted alone, or was he part of something bigger? Kubu
felt a flush of anger. Whatever it was, he would get to the bottom
of it, if it was the last thing he did. And Khumanego would pay for
his crimes.

He sighed. There I go again. Thinking that nothing else
matters.

He turned back to Joy. “Where’s Tumi?”

“She’s at the crèche. I’ll bring her this afternoon.”

“I love you both.” Kubu smiled. “Nothing else matters.” Then he
drifted back to sleep.

♦

A pleasant surprise was in store for Kubu that afternoon. He was
bored and nagging the doctor to let him go home. So the doctor was
happy to escape when Pleasant, Bongani, Wilmon and Amantle came
into the ward, to much talking and hugging. Even Wilmon clasped his
son’s hand more firmly and for longer than a normal fatherly
handshake would dictate.

“How are you, my son? We have been concerned.”

“I’m okay. How did you know I was missing?”

Amantle interrupted. “When you were rescued, it was on the radio
and the television! Everyone knows about it.” She seemed to feel
this was some kind of achievement. Kubu nodded and smiled, but he
wondered how Tau’s family was feeling today. He knew so little
about the detective. Was he married? Did he have children? Living
parents? Siblings? He needed to find out and see them. Try to
explain the unexplainable.

“Well I’m fine now,” he said. “If only this doctor would let me
go home. It was a bad experience, but there’s nothing wrong with me
now. They’re wasting taxpayers’ money keeping me here!” Everyone
thought this was very funny, but Amantle gave him a critical look.
“You have lost weight,” she said accusingly. “I can see it in your
face. They have not been feeding you up after all the time in the
desert with no food. I will speak to the doctor.”

Kubu groaned. Losing weight was the one good thing that had come
from the gruelling time alone in the Kalahari.

There was much discussion, and Kubu had to explain exactly what
had happened. Everyone agreed that he’d done exactly the right
thing in the circumstances. They expressed regrets about Tau, but
they were the meaningless condolences of strangers – genuinely
sorry for the loss of others, but guiltily grateful that the axe
hadn’t fallen closer.

At last the talk died down, and Bongani said they must soon get
back to Mochudi to avoid the traffic. He had gone with Pleasant to
fetch Kubu’s parents in his car. Everyone agreed to this except
Wilmon. He nodded, but then said firmly, “I need a few minutes
alone with my son. Please wait for me downstairs.” The others left
without argument, as though this had been planned. Kubu was
intrigued.

Wilmon sat. “My son, Pleasant’s uncle and I have had discussions
with Bongani’s uncles. His father is dead, but the uncles are good
men. They don’t drink much, and they go to church each Sunday.” He
nodded firmly to emphasise the importance of this. “They were very
respectful, requesting Pleasant for Bongani by asking for her hand
in the traditional way. Of course, we explained that Pleasant has a
brother, and he must be consulted too. They understood completely.
But they made a reasonable offer for the
lobola
. We
discussed it back and forth, and I think we have a fair amount.
Then we had some tea.” The old man was clearly pleased; it seemed
he’d led a successful negotiation. Kubu was pleased too, especially
as Wilmon had seemed a little vague and uncertain on a few previous
occasions.

“How many cows?”

Wilmon leant over and whispered the number to Kubu, who
whistled. “That is very fair indeed! You have done extremely well,
Father. Pleasant’s family will be extremely grateful. And Joy,
too.” He said it graciously, but he was a little put out that the
number was two higher than he had raised for Joy.