Those Who Love Night (36 page)

“Well, we came for this matter of these missing people.”

“No. Abigail came for that reason. Why did you come?”

“To assist her.”

“Is she paying you?”

“No.”

“Are you her lover?”

Now Yudel could see no sign of amusement in the other man, but he did see the smallest weakness in Chunga's defenses. “No.”

“What are you to her?” It was clear that this was something Chunga needed to understand, and that it had nothing to do with the dead
CIO
agent.

“I can't describe it exactly. I can't even describe it inexactly.”

“Give it a try.”

“No.”

“You refuse to describe your relationship with her? Why?”

“I prefer not to examine it. I choose not to.”

“I see,” Chunga said, only to correct himself a moment later. “No, I don't see at all.”

“You know that my wife is with me here?”

“Of course, but that tells me nothing. So there is nothing sexual in your relationship with Abigail?”

“Not overtly.”

“Not overtly?” Chunga had said it thoughtfully, seeming to weigh up the meaning of the words.

“I'm aware that I would probably not have had this relationship with her if she had been a man. But our relationship is not typically that of a man and a woman. Of course, I like her company and she is both a brilliant and a good-looking woman. The picture of her that
The Herald
carried does not begin to do her justice.”

“No, it doesn't.”

Yudel could see that Chunga was thinking and that it was probably about Abigail, possibly realizing that Yudel was no threat to his need for her. “So you came for Abigail, because you have this unusual connection with her?”

And at last the opportunity had presented itself. It was a slim one, but he had to take it. “I also came because of my fascination with Tony Makumbe.” He only saw the reaction in Chunga because he was looking for it, but it was clear and it had been immediate. The eyes had narrowed and the face had tensed. “He suffers from a form of schizophrenia that interests me.”

“You have no schizophrenics in South Africa?”

“Of course we do, but none that I know of who write beautifully. And none that I know of who have been plunged deeper into their illness by the suicide of his sister.” Again Yudel thought he saw a reaction, a tensing of the face, no more than a muscular twitch.

“You seem to know a great deal, Mr. Gordon.”

“Not as much as I would like to.” This was the time to press forward. Whatever the dangers, if he wanted to know the truth, this was his opportunity. “Especially one who had that reason for suicide.”

Yudel waited for the response he knew would come. “And what was that reason?” It had come slowly, but his eyes had never left Yudel's face.

“She couldn't face Wally, her father, going over to the side of the government who had murdered her mother.”

Chunga's face turned away from Yudel with an expression of disgust. “What the fuck do you know, Gordon? Wally never went over to the government's side. He died the night Tony's mother died.”

“Not according to my information.” Yudel prodded the matter a little further. “I've been told that Tony's father hated his son's homosexuality.”

“Where do you come up with this shit?”

“Few heterosexual men are at ease with a homosexual son.”

“Christ, Gordon, what the hell are you talking about? The man died when Tony was two or three, a small child. Wally could know nothing about his homosexuality.” Chunga was looking at Yudel through disbelieving eyes.

It was time for Yudel to backtrack. “I can't vouch for my sources.”

“You're damned right you can't.”

“I also wondered if the manner of his mother's death had caused his schizophrenia,” Yudel said.

Chunga had turned his head slightly to one side, so that he had to look at Yudel out of the corners of his eyes. It was an expression that said that he had overestimated this man. He had been dealing with a fool all along. “I have to hear this. Please enlighten me.”

“Well, I understand that Janice Makumbe was a beautiful woman. Some would say an irresistibly beautiful woman.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” And yet he seemed to be agreeing.

“I think that may have added to the horror of the way she died. How Five Brigade killed Tony's mother in front of him and raped the dead body while he was watching.”

“Jesus Christ.” It was with an effort that Chunga stopped himself from rising. “What the fuck are you talking about? Nothing like that ever happened.”

But you seem to know so much about what did happen, Yudel thought. And where were you at the time? “Perhaps her death was what they call bad karma. She was not faithful to Wally, you know.”

This time Chunga could not stop himself from rising. His eyes were blazing with both fury and panic. He had snatched a sheet of paper from a tray on his desk. “Here, this is for you.” He handed the sheet of paper and the thousand dollars to Yudel. “Now get the fucking hell out of my office and out of my country,” he roared.

From the door, Yudel looked back. Chunga was swallowing down his whiskey. The hands that held the glass were shaking. His own half-tot remained untouched.

46

Chunga had been wrong, perhaps deliberately, about Abigail being at the hotel. She was waiting on the pavement, next to the hired car. At last the rain had started. It was still only a scattering of big drops, though, not yet enough to bring real relief to the dry Zimbabwean earth. High above, a bolt of lightning crackled and roared through a late-afternoon sky which, under dense cloud, was already in deep twilight.

Abigail waited for Yudel to approach, as if she might not be sure of a friendly welcome. She was clasping her hands together. “I didn't desert you. I didn't. They escorted me out of the township and…”

“And since then you've been making a nuisance of yourself. I know. Our friend, Director Chunga, told me.”

“Our friend?”

Yudel had his sheet of paper in one hand. He waved it at her.

“What's that?”

“Notice to leave the country in twenty-four hours.”

As she read the order, a few large drops of rain splashed over it, causing some of the ink to run. She handed it back to him. “So it's over, then.” And yet, looking into his face, she saw an excitement that did not fit the circumstances.

“Perhaps not,” he said.

“What is it, Yudel?”

“We have to go somewhere now. Immediately.”

“Where?”

“To old Loise Moyo.”

“Why?”

“Just do this with me.”

Abigail drove quickly through the city streets, skilfully dodging the uneven places. Something in Yudel had conveyed to her this unexpected urgency. “Has something happened? Have you learned something?” She had to repeat herself to break through the barrier of thought that had suddenly enclosed Yudel. “What have you learned?”

“Not yet. The old lady first.”

By the time they reached the building where Loise Moyo lived, the rain's intensity had increased, but Abigail found parking right in front of the door. They had to avoid children playing in the lobby and on the stairs, but the old woman's door stood open. She was sitting on the edge of her bed and singing softly to herself. The young woman and her children were nowhere to be seen.

“Mother…” Abigail began.

“Oh. I think it's my wealthy young friend again.” She looked in Abigail's direction through eyes that could not focus.

“Yes, it's me.”

“Is your friend with you today, the one who speaks little?”

“Yes, Mrs. Moyo, I'm here. We want just one more thing from you.”

The old woman shook her head. “I hoped you wouldn't come back. Last night I could hardly sleep after your visit.”

“This time it's a small matter,” Yudel said. “We would like to see the photograph you have, the one of Janice Makumbe.”

She reached toward the pile of boxes next to the head of her bed and lifted the top one to put it on her lap. “I think I still have it. But I can't find it for you. My eyes…”

Abigail, who had been looking at Yudel as if he may finally have stretched her belief in him too far, took the box from Loise. “We will look, but how will we know it's her when we find the picture?”

“Don't worry about that,” Yudel said.

Abigail unpacked the cardboard box carefully, placing each item on the bed next to Loise. The first was a plastic Madonna whose eyes were turned piously heavenward. After that, she removed a tin box with a hinged lid. The lid carried an advertisement for the toffees it had once contained. A tiny winged fairy, of the sort found in music boxes, was wrapped in tissue paper. A creased and battered school report card carried the name Katherine Makumbe. The last item was Loise's Bible, its cover cracked and its pages well-thumbed.

“There are no photographs, mother,” Abigail said, “none at all.”

“Oh my. I was sure there were pictures.” She turned her face toward the sound of Abigail's voice. “Have you looked inside the Bible, child?”

Abigail lifted the Bible and shook it gently. A few photographs fell onto the bed. The first one she touched was an old and cracked head-and-shoulders of a beautiful young woman, perhaps in her early twenties. Her chin was raised in a way that gave the impression of haughtiness. She looked boldly into the lens of the camera. Neck and shoulders were naked. Abigail dropped the photograph and walked unsteadily to the door.

Yudel caught up with her on the stairs. “My God, Yudel, what does it mean?”

“Come. We must go.”

“Wait.” She was holding him. “That's me in the photo.”

“I know.”

She started unsteadily down the stairs with Yudel trying to steady her, then she stopped again. “Do you still have the thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Give it to her. Give it to Mama Loise.”

47

Abigail drove, distracted, through the Harare streets. Within a block, the car had gone heavily through more than one place where the tarred surface was eroded away. The rain that had been no more than a shower was now coming down with the intensity of a real African storm. Sheets of big drops swept across the streets, hammering on the roof and windscreen of the car. Visibility had been reduced to perhaps a block. The crowds that not long before had filled the streets had now miraculously disappeared. Only a few people remained, huddling in the doorways of shops or office buildings.

Abigail switched on the headlights. It did little to improve visibility, but at least the car could be seen from the front. Out of the corners of her eyes she could see Yudel, hunched forward in his seat. He still seemed unsure about how the welter of information they had gathered fit together. She felt rather than saw him turn toward her. “I pushed him too far. At that moment he didn't realize what I was thinking, but he is no fool. When he does realize—and it may be soon—I shouldn't be close at hand. None of us should be.”

“Yudel, tell me. You tell me now.”

“He's the father of both Tony and Katy. He was Janice's lover. Do you remember Mama Loise saying that Wally didn't have much manly strength?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And that the flame of being a woman was strong in Janice?”

“Yes.”

“I believe she meant he was impotent. As for Janice, she was drawn to Chunga in a way that she couldn't resist. They would both have been in their early twenties at the time. Remember, he was a policeman in Plumtree and she was just down the road in Bizana.”

Abigail knew that what Yudel was telling her was the truth. “And where do I come in?”

“He saw your photograph in
The Herald.
This is why he's been trying to be close to you ever since you got here. Any one of his men could have done what he did. He just wanted to be with you, and it was because you look so much like her.”

“My God, Yudel, you can't be sure of this.”

“You remember what Ephraim Khumalo told Freek about the way Chunga provided food to the starving community of Madikwe Falls? And old Loise told us she and the children were there. Now in the prisons, according to Mpofu, the seven have been eating better than the other prisoners, and this is not a country in which political prisoners are treated kindly. In each case a kindness … no, a father's caring … is camouflaged by helping others too. First the tiny community of Madikwe Falls, and now the other activists who were picked up with Tony. And all down the years, when money had come for the children, Loise had never known where it was coming from. On top of this, the Plumtree police brought the children to her. And Tony knew. I don't know how, but he knew. There's a passage in his writing that reads:
The corrupt seed, too, results in a harvest—but what is the value of such a harvest? Look only to the seed, for that is where the guilt lies.”

Yudel fell silent for a moment, still in thought. “Is there more?” Abigail asked.

“Jonas Chunga knew that Tony had planted the bomb at party headquarters. Freek told me how Ephraim Khumalo had said that the
CIO
had enough evidence to prosecute, but never did. Helena told us that someone had tried to kill Tony. Soon after that, seven of the group were picked up by the
CIO
. Helena would snort at the idea of the
CIO
protecting them. And she would be right. It was Jonas Chunga's way of protecting his son. Picking up the others as well masked what he was really doing. His daughter had already killed herself, at least partly because of his politics.”

Abigail had allowed the car to coast to a stop. “Yudel.” Speaking had become very difficult. The wheels scraped against the pavement in front of a marble-faced building, one of the city's few with corporate pretensions. “I need you to drive now.” The rain was thundering against the roof and windscreen of the car. She opened the door on her side.