The Death of the Mantis (37 page)

Wilmon gave a big smile, patted his son on the shoulder and took
his leave.

♦

Kubu had hardly had time to become bored again when Mabaku
arrived.

“How’s the dehydrated hippo today?” Mabaku’s idea of humour,
thought Kubu, trying to smile.

“I’m fine. Get me out of here, Director. There’s a lot of work
to do.”

Mabaku hesitated. “We’ll have to be careful. You’re involved
personally again. Sometimes I think we’d have half as many cases if
I just gave you to the South African police.” He laughed to be sure
Kubu realised he was joking. Then he sobered. “And there’ll have to
be an inquiry about Tau. You know that.”

Kubu nodded. It would be a formality. Tau had disobeyed him, a
senior officer. But that doesn’t change the reality, he
thought.

“That reporter wants to see you. I told her to wait.”

Kubu was surprised, but he had no doubt which reporter Mabaku
was talking about.

“Have they caught Khumanego?”

Mabaku shook his head. “He vanished. Joined up with his Bushman
friends after he abandoned the Land Rover, I’d guess. He’s not
alone in all this, I’m sure. But don’t worry, we’ll get him. We’ve
got Wanted posters everywhere; his face is all over the newspapers.
Sooner or later someone will recognise him. We’re watching his
apartment building in Lobatse too, just in case, and we’ve applied
for a search warrant. It’s only a matter of time.”

“I’d like to be in on the search. Knowing him and what to look
for might help.”

Mabaku hesitated again. “Kubu, you need to take it easy. Get
your strength back. I’ve spoken to the doctor. It’ll be at least a
week before you can come back to work.” Kubu spluttered with
indignation and started to cough again. Once he’d swallowed some
water and had calmed down, Mabaku continued. “I’m not saying you
must stay here. You can be at home. And I’ll take charge of the
case myself while you’re away. I’ll get your input and keep you up
to date with everything.” Kubu had to be satisfied with that.

Then Mabaku wanted to go through the whole story of the fateful
reconnaissance trip into the desert step by step. He asked
questions and noted all the details. At last he relaxed. “Well,
that’s the story then. Pretty straightforward.” He could see that
Kubu was in the clear. At the same time, one of his detectives had
died in the line of duty; that was not easy to accept.

“I’ve got some other news for you, Kubu. The breakdown of the
vehicle out there was part of Khumanego’s plan. It wasn’t a
mechanical failure at all; he disabled it. He must have known a
thing or two about Land Rover Defenders.”

“What did he do? He didn’t have a chance to get at the engine,
and we tested the fuel flow and so on.”

“It was very clever. There’s a feedback pipe from the fuel
injection, as well as a supply pipe to it. Both come from the fuel
filter, which is easy to get to from behind the back wheel. He
switched the pipes around. Takes a minute. So no fuel went to the
fuel injection. It took the mechanic hours to work it out,
though!”

Kubu nodded. “So Khumanego was planning this all along.” That
hurt.

“Probably he hoped you would give up and go back to Tshane.
Perhaps he would’ve disabled the other vehicle as well if we’d just
sent out a replacement, but he decided he had to kill you once he
realised you would never give up.” He thought for a moment, then
added more kindly, “I think he was trying to scare you off, Kubu. I
don’t think he wanted to kill you.” He paused. “But I’m not taking
any chances. I’ve ordered that you are to have a police guard at
your house until Khumanego is caught. And one will be with Joy
whenever she leaves the house.”

Mabaku got to his feet. “Well, that’s enough for now. Mustn’t
tire you out. Do you want to see that woman?” Kubu nodded. “I’ll
tell her on my way out,” he growled.

♦

“Oh, Kubu, we were all so worried about you. Are you okay now?”
Cindy appraised him. “You look drawn.”

“I feel fine. They’re just keeping me here to finish the
Kalahari’s work and bore me to death, I think.”

Cindy smiled and settled in the chair next to the bed. “Do you
want to talk about it?” Kubu shook his head, and she laughed. “I’m
not looking for a story. Actually, I just wanted to see that you
were okay. And to say goodbye. I’m leaving for Nigeria soon. It’s
big and bustling and exciting, and there’ll be lots to write about.
But I’ll miss Botswana. And I’ll miss you.”

“Why are you leaving so suddenly?”

“There’s a big issue around oil and the local people. It’s hot
news now.” She paused and looked down. “I’m very upset about
Khumanego. In a way, I feel responsible. Perhaps my pressure put
you all on the wrong track. Now four people are dead. And it could
so easily have been five.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s more than four.”

“Why did he do it, Kubu?”

Kubu shook his head. “I’ve no idea. But I’m going to find him,
and I’m going to find out.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Cindy got ready to
leave. They said goodbye, and she leant over and kissed him on the
cheek. At that moment, Joy came in carrying Tumi. Why do these
things happen to me? Kubu thought. I’ve been suffering on a diet
all year, more dead than alive in the Kalahari, and now Joy has to
choose this precise moment to arrive. Why me?

But Joy was trying to keep Tumi entertained, bouncing her on her
hip. So when she looked up from the baby, she saw Cindy just
standing next to the bed. She stopped, and her face was not
happy.

Kubu tried to rescue the situation. “Hello, darling. Bring Tumi
over here. I’m dying to hold her. Oh, this is Cindy Robinson. She’s
the newspaper reporter who was following the Bushman case. She was
just leaving. Cindy, this is my lovely wife Joy, and my beautiful
daughter Tumi.” He hoped he wasn’t laying it on too thick.

Joy passed Tumi to him and shook Cindy’s hand, but without
enthusiasm.

Cindy rose to the occasion. “I’m actually leaving the country
shortly, Mma Bengu. I just had to come and thank the assistant
superintendent for his help. He’s been very patient with my
questions and keeping my reports accurate. It’s just terrible what
happened to him in the desert. I’m so relieved he’s okay.”

“Yes, we all are,” Joy responded coolly. Kubu kept himself
occupied with Tumi, holding her above him at arm’s length and
making faces.

“Your daughter’s lovely, Kubu,” Cindy said to him. “Get well
soon. Now I must be going.”

“Goodbye, Cindy. I wish you all the best in Nigeria. It should
be an interesting time for you.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Goodbye now.” She waved to Joy,
and headed for the door.

Kubu held his breath.

“That was the reporter you told me about?” Joy asked.

“Yes.”

“She’s very pretty. Nice figure, too.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Have you started planning the engagement
party for Pleasant? Did you know that my father helped with sorting
out the
lobola
?”

Joy brightened. “Yes, and did very well! Pleasant told me.” Soon
she was explaining the plans for the party and the outline for the
wedding. Tumi chortled and smiled. Kubu breathed a silent sigh of
relief.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

K
humanego had been
walking for three nights. He was grateful that the moon would soon
be full, making travelling easy. And the nights were cold, so it
was good to walk hard and keep warm. In the early morning and late
evening he would search for the cactus-like
hoodia
plants.
Once, he found
tsama
melons, which he collected and carried
with him. After foraging, he would find one of the thicker bushes
and hollow a spot under it where he could sleep and conserve water
during the heat of the day.

Most of the water he’d taken from Kubu’s vehicle in a large
plastic Coke bottle was gone. He’d hoped to find a seep in an old
watercourse, which he knew was about a night’s walk from where he’d
abandoned the Land Rover, but it had been hard-dry. He could have
dug for water, but at that point he had three quarters of the
bottle left, and the
hoodia
plants had been plentiful.

Apart from the water bottle, nothing of the Westernised man
remained. He’d removed his shoes at the vehicle and carried them a
short way into the desert, where he’d buried them along with his
shirt and shorts. Now he wore only a Bushman leather loincloth and
carried his hunting kit over his shoulder. When he met another
Bushman group – as he would – he’d be one of them.

Sometimes he thought of Kubu and Tau. The other policemen would
be fine; they had food, water and shelter. He felt he had been
weak. A quick poison added to their food would’ve killed them all
and made a dramatic statement. But all along he’d hoped to persuade
Kubu to turn back, to abandon his search, to let the frenzy die
down. There would’ve been no more deaths for a while, and after
that he would have had to deal with Lerako. He would have enjoyed
that. But Kubu wouldn’t back down. And more vehicles were coming,
coming to attack The Place and its lone guardian. He’d had no
choice.

But Kubu had been a long-time friend. Khumanego did not want his
death as he’d wanted the deaths of others. But now it didn’t
matter. He’d done what needed to be done. That was all there was to
it.

♦

By Monday, Khumanego had become very tired. The day had been
hot, but he’d tried to drink only a little water. He lay still and
watched gratefully as the sun set. He waited until the evening
cooled and then forced himself to go on. But when the moon started
to sink and the dark closed in, he collapsed on the ground,
exhausted. He needed guidance from the ancestors, but he was too
tired to dance, so he found the horn in his bag, swallowed some
white powder from it and closed his eyes to focus his thoughts.
Then he slept – or seemed to sleep.

When he woke – or seemed to wake – he was standing in the
desert. There was no moon, but the sky was full of stars, not
fixed, but moving slowly across the sky. There was only starlight,
but the desert sand and its plants seemed rich with colours – the
reds and greens and blues of much more verdant climes.

Khumanego looked down and saw himself lying on his back with his
arms folded across his eyes, as if trying to protect them from a
blinding light. He turned away and looked around the spirit world,
a world familiar to him from many visits, many revelations, but
also strange, always different.

He saw the body of an old man, lying at rest surrounded by his
few carefully arranged possessions – a bow, a hunting bag,
containers for poisons, arrow heads. Next to the circle, sitting on
a white-dry log, was a man past his prime but still strong. Despite
the years rolled back, Khumanego recognised him at once. He almost
laughed with joy at the opportunity offered here that had been
denied him in the grey world that people thought of as real.

He addressed the man in their common language in the most
respectful way. “Gobiwasi, I am honoured that you are here to help,
me, to guide me with my mission.”

“You sought guidance before. I was wrong to deny it. So I am
here. Waiting.”

“Are you not with the ancestors?” Khumanego indicated the stars
moving above them.

Gobiwasi shook his head. “I am here. Waiting.”

Khumanego didn’t ask why the dead man was waiting, nor for what.
Here was a man who would understand, a man who had walked the same
path in the grey world.

“I have tried to protect The Place – as you did.”

“The ancestors are angry with you. That was not your destiny.
You protected The Place through the deaths of others. That is not
the way of our people, not the way of the Mantis.”

Khumanego became angry. “You too protected The Place that way.
You too killed a man.”

Gobiwasi stared at him, neither accepting nor denying this
charge.

Khumanego persisted. “People know you did this. It is spoken of
quietly and in secret. It was about this that I wanted to ask
you.”

Still Gobiwasi stared, but now his eyes seemed to be following
the moving stars as if he’d lost interest in the discussion. “It
was necessary,” he said at last. “The white man was there, going
through the caves, taking things, destroying the paintings. He
would have returned, perhaps with many others.”

“I understand,” said Khumanego. “The man wanted to steal The
Place from us, desecrate it, anger the ancestors. You had no choice
but to kill him. All such men must die. It is necessary.”

“But now I have to wait.”

Khumanego was frustrated. This was not the encouragement he had
expected, needed. He’d had visions before of the ancestors showing
him the way. Leading and supporting him. Encouraging him.

“These others had to die too. We used the weapons of our people,
you and I:
knobkierie
, arrows, poisons. Soon people will
learn that if they go near The Place and trample our sacred ground,
they will die. Soon they will stop coming. Fear will form a fence
that no one will cross. A fence built of fear is stronger than
their fences of steel that can be kicked down. I am building that
fence around The Place. The ancestors will be greatly pleased.”

Gobiwasi looked down at his aged dead body, surrounded by the
possessions of the grey world. When he looked up, his eyes were
sad. “What about the Bushman you killed? Your own brother.”

Khumanego struck at him, but, of course, there was no contact.
“You are stupid, old man! He was the younger. He had no right! My
father sent me away to a school with the black people and showed my
brother The Place instead of me. How could he do that? The
ancestors were very angry, and soon my father became ill and died.
My brother wouldn’t help me, even refused to tell me where to find
The Place. But he would have shown it to others. You could buy him
for money. He was a worm. I crushed him with my foot! And I found
The Place myself, without him. The ancestors guided me, gave me
this mission.”