The Death of the Mantis (42 page)

“The Place is sacred. No one goes there and lives, unless I
permit it. People must learn that The Place is cursed. They will
learn to keep away. Otherwise they too will die.”

“Why didn’t you explain this to me before?”

“Explain? Then you would go there. Like the team you sent there
last week! They desecrated that sacred ground! I watched them:
firing bombs, insulting the ancestors, angering the gods! You
wanted me to explain that this shouldn’t be done?” His voice was
raised in anger.

Kubu tried to calm him. “I thought you would go back to the
desert. Back to your people who still follow the old ways. I
thought we would never find you.”

“They have also been corrupted. All of them! They get water and
food from the towns, then pretend they live from the desert. They
are not worthy of the Mantis! Not worthy of me!”

“So why did you come here?”

“It
was you
who led the defilers to The Place. You were
responsible. And you were meant to die in the desert. To be a
sacrifice for The Place. But they found you too soon.”

“So you have come to finish what you started? Is that how it
is?”

Khumanego said nothing.

“Let Joy and Tumi go, my friend. They have nothing to do with
this.”

Khumanego hesitated, and for a moment Kubu thought he might
agree. But he shook his head sharply. “They stay. But if you
co-operate, I promise I won’t harm them when it’s over.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Again Khumanego didn’t answer, and Kubu felt a surge of hope. He
has come to kill me, but he cannot say it. He doesn’t really want
to do it. How long since he had phoned Edison? Fifteen minutes?
Twenty minutes? Longer?

“They found nothing at The Place, Khumanego. And nothing was
damaged permanently. It can become a national heritage site – like
Tsodilo – preserved forever for your people and your culture. We
can do this together. I’d like to help. To make amends.”

“Like Tsodilo? Become a place of amusement for gawking tourists
with their digital cameras? And of research for academics who’ve
never even met a real Bushman?” Khumanego shook his head. “You
don’t understand, David. This is real. It is not about culture. The
gods are real. The ancestors are real. You remember Gobiwasi?”

Kubu nodded. “I spoke with him recently. His spirit lives. And I
hear the words of the gods. I have been accepted into their world.
The world of the Mantis. It is a great honour.”

“I want to help you. Help you preserve this place.”

“You can help, David, if that is what you really want. You need
to complete the sacrifice. If you do it willingly now, the impact
will be greater. The gods more pleased. And your family will
live.”

“I’m no help to anyone dead.”

“That’s only your perception of life. In your world, I’ve been
dead for a long time.”

There was silence. Kubu had run out of things to say. He thought
he might be forced to accept Khumanego’s deal – his life for that
of his family. If he held out his arm now for Khumanego’s poisoned
knife, it would be over. That’s what he wants, he thought. He wants
me to do this willingly, or to resist physically. He finds it hard
to kill me in cold blood. Because of the past. Two boys learning
about life together a long time ago. And that is my only chance. I
must do nothing. I must wait for him to gather the courage to make
the move. If he can.

The silence was broken by the telephone. Kubu let out a breath
he hadn’t known he was holding. “I think I should answer that,” he
said, and was on his feet and had grabbed the phone before
Khumanego could object. Joy and Khumanego stared at him, hearing
only his side of the conversation.

“Yes, it’s Kubu.” He listened.

“Yes, he’s here with us.” He listened again.

“We’re all right. We’re talking things over.” Kubu listened for
a few seconds more, then said to Khumanego: “It’s the police. They
have the house surrounded. There’s no way out. They want to talk to
you.”

Khumanego was already on his feet, the knife in his right hand,
moving the edge of the curtain to peek out. At first he saw
nothing, but then he realised that there were cars blocking the
street at each end. And there were men assembling floodlights. The
first one came on as he watched.

He turned to Kubu, pointing the knife in his direction. “You
phoned them, didn’t you? When no one answered the phone here. That
was you, wasn’t it? I heard you arrive. Now you will all die. That
is what you have done.” He started to move towards Joy.

“Khumanego!” Kubu said loudly, moving in front of her. “I knew
you were here. That’s why I came in. I wanted to talk to you. To
see what we could work out together. To preserve what you have
achieved. To save The Place. To venerate the gods and the
ancestors.” He knew he was gabbling rubbish, but Khumanego stopped
and turned to him.

“Tell them we are leaving. All of us. They must bring a car, and
you will drive. We’ll – ”

But Kubu shook his head. “No, I won’t tell them that. That will
never work. They won’t do it, and if they do, it’ll be a trap. This
isn’t a movie, Khumanego. They’ll never negotiate on that.” He
paused. “But what we
can
do is arrange for you to turn
yourself in. I’ll say that’s why you came here. Then you can tell
your story. The press will interview you. They’ll see why you did
these things and write about it in newspapers around the world. At
the trial, you’ll be able to tell the whole world everything you’ve
told me. The world will support you like they did your people when
they were thrown out of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve. They
will force the government to change its policies. To give you back
what is yours. It’ll turn everything around, I promise.
Everything!”

He glanced at Joy. By the expression on her face, she almost
believed he meant it. Oh God, if only Khumanego thinks so too.

“Come, my friend, let’s sit down and talk about it. They’ll give
us some time, but not too much.” When Khumanego collapsed back into
his chair, Kubu carefully put the phone down without disconnecting
the line and sat down next to him.

♦

More than half an hour passed as they negotiated. Kubu was glad
that the phone line was still open; Mabaku would hear the
discussions and realise there was no need for immediate action.
There was to be a press conference. Various reporters were to be
there, including Cindy. Obviously Khumanego didn’t know she was no
longer in Botswana. Eventually Kubu promised everything Khumanego
wanted, but negotiated hard to appear convincing. In reality, none
of the details mattered. Kubu had to engineer things so that all of
them remained alive. And that would only happen if he could
persuade Khumanego that his cause would be best served by giving
himself up.

At last Kubu picked up the phone and spoke to Mabaku.

“We’ve made a deal,” he told the director. Then he detailed
everything, careful to cover every point, while Khumanego listened
to his side of the conversation.

“We’re not going to do any of that,” said Mabaku, when Kubu had
finished.

“Yes, I also think it’s fair,” said Kubu solemnly. “It’s
important for the Bushman culture, for all of us.” He gave
Khumanego an encouraging nod.

“Will he give himself up? Is he armed?”

“He’ll come out with me. He has a knife, but no gun or anything
like that. He’ll stick to his side of the bargain.”

“He comes out with his hands up. Not with you. Alone. No
weapons. No sudden movements. He walks slowly towards us in the
street. Then we grab him and handcuff him, and it’s over. Make it
clear to him.”

Kubu explained it to Khumanego, who looked dubious. “I don’t
trust them.”

“You have my word. We follow exactly what they say, and you’ll
be all right. Then we can work on all the other things you
need.”

Kubu picked up the phone again. “I’ve given him my word he won’t
be harmed. He’ll follow what you’ve said.” Mabaku grunted in
reply.

Khumanego was silent for several moments. “I want to talk to him
myself,” he said at last. With considerable misgivings, Kubu handed
him the phone. For the next few minutes, he listened to Khumanego
question Mabaku about the details of his surrender. At last the
Bushman was satisfied. “All right,” he said, and hung up the phone.
Then he turned to Kubu.

“You must come with me. I won’t go alone.”

Kubu hesitated. It was all wrong, and contradicted Mabaku’s
instructions. But if he agreed, at least Joy and Tumi would be
safe. He nodded, and heard Joy gasp.

“Very well. Now let’s go. Leave the knife on the table.”

Khumanego shook his head. “It comes with me. I’ll keep it in my
pocket. I won’t touch it.” The knife was still in his hand.

Again Kubu was tempted to let him have his way, but the knife
was deadly. If there was a scuffle, someone might be cut and die.
He shook his head. “The knife stays here. Someone might see it and
panic. It’s not negotiable.”

It was the wrong wording. Khumanego bristled, and Kubu could see
that he was overcome with indecision. He prayed that the Bushman
wouldn’t change his mind. But after a few seconds, which felt like
forever, Khumanego lifted the knife and stabbed it into the table.
It stuck there, upright, vibrating.

Kubu breathed a sigh of relief. “Come, my friend. We’ll go
together.”

Suddenly Khumanego seemed to lose interest. He started talking
in a Bushman language Kubu couldn’t follow, as though there was
someone else in the room with them. He paused from time to time, as
if listening to a reply or a question. At last he stopped and
turned to Kubu, relief in his voice. “They say that I will join
them now. They say it will be all right. Come, let’s go.”

Kubu gave Joy an encouraging smile and walked out of the front
door with the man who had once been his childhood friend.

At first all was well. But as they stepped off the veranda, the
floodlights hit Khumanego full in the face. For a moment he
staggered, then he recovered, and his face was transformed by joy.
He gave an ecstatic shout of greeting, threw his arms out wildly
and, eluding Kubu’s grasp, began to dance.

That was when the sharpshooters shot him. He never heard the
shots – the bullets came too fast – but Kubu heard them and threw
himself to the ground. And Joy heard them too, and screamed as she
ran out of the house to where Kubu was lying. He grabbed her and
pulled her down to the ground with him.

Seconds later, Mabaku ran up. “Kubu! Are you all right? Joy, you
should’ve stayed in the house!”

Joy began to sob. Kubu looked up at his boss, but said
nothing.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

K
ubu and Joy hardly
slept at all, spending most of the night on the sofa. It took Kubu
several hours to calm Joy to the point where she could talk
coherently. When she was eventually able to recount what had
happened, tears flowed down her face.

“He threatened to kill Tumi if I shouted for help,” she sobbed.
“He put that terrible knife under her chin. I was terrified.”

Kubu put his arms around her. “It must have been awful,” he said
softly. “You were so brave.”

“There was nothing I could do to warn you. I hoped you’d think
something was wrong when Ilia didn’t meet you at the gate. When I
heard the car, I held her so she couldn’t run to you.”

“Of course I noticed she wasn’t there, but I thought she was
eating her food. I was quite late.” He squeezed her tightly. “But
when the guard wasn’t there either, I suspected there was a
problem, and when you didn’t answer when I phoned here, I was sure.
That’s when I phoned Mabaku. I couldn’t reach him, but I told
Edison to find him unless I phoned again. Then I came in. I
couldn’t leave you and Tumi in Khumanego’s hands.”

Joy smiled weakly and squeezed Kubu’s hand. Words were hard to
find.

They sat holding each other for some minutes, rocking gently
back and forth.

“Kubu?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“When I heard those shots and saw you on the ground…” Joy’s
voice choked. She took a deep breath. “I thought they’d shot you.
That you were dead.” She buried her face in his chest, tears
pouring from her eyes. A few minutes later she whispered, “I can’t
imagine living without you.”

Now Kubu’s eyes grew moist.

He slowly detached himself from Joy and went to refill their
wine glasses. When he returned, he handed one to Joy, snuggled next
to her and raised his. “To us, my darling. You and Tumi are the
most important things in my life.” Their glasses clinked, and they
both took large swigs.

Joy turned away so Kubu wouldn’t see that she’d begun to cry
again. She said softly, “I was afraid you didn’t want me any
more.”

Kubu was astonished. “Dearest, whatever gave you that idea?”

“Oh, Kubu, I thought you no longer desired me. My body’s changed
so much with the pregnancy. Everything has drooped!”

Kubu held her and laughed. “My darling,” he said, “I’m hardly in
a position to begrudge you an extra kilogram or two.”

“But my stretch marks!”

“Every single one reminds me of the miraculous gift you’ve given
me – our adorable Tumi, the child we feared we’d never have.”

Joy was silent for a moment, taking his words into her heart. “I
thought you were seeing another woman,” she whispered.

“What?”

“That Cindy person. The reporter. You liked each other. I could
tell.”

Kubu knew that if he lied to her now, their marriage would
forever have a tiny crack in it. “Yes, but as friends only. Had I
been single, perhaps I’d have been interested, but Joy, you must
know how much I love you. I’d never look at another woman. You’re
my soulmate, my heart’s companion. I’ve never been unfaithful to
you and, on my honour, I never will.”