The Death of the Mantis (41 page)

Khumanego stared at her back. “He’s not alive,” he shouted after
her. “He’s dead! He must be dead. You understand?” But the woman
ignored him and kept on walking.

♦

Khumanego had to know for sure. He walked through the dusk to
the edge of town, to the corrugated-iron shack he sometimes used
when he was in Hukuntsi. His motorbike was inside, locked to a
heavy U-bolt that protruded from the wall. He unlocked the bike
and, ignoring the risk, rode to the Kgalagadi Filling Station. He
approached the man serving there. A man he knew, and who knew
him.

“Piscoaghu! We haven’t seen you for a long time…” The man
stepped back, his voice scared.

“Where’s Willie?”

“The police took him away. They said he was involved with
murdering Detective Tau.”

“The detective died?”

The man nodded.

“And the other one?” Khumanego’s voice rose.

“The other policeman? They found him and took him to the
hospital.”

“But he died there!” Now Khumanego was almost shouting.

“No, no, he was okay. He came to Detective Tau’s funeral. He
cried.”

Khumanego lost control. “You lie! You lie!” he screamed.

“No, it’s true…” The man backed further away, now terrified of
the mad Bushman.

Khumanego was breathing hard, but he realised the man was
telling the truth. He pulled himself together. He had very little
time. He needed to move quickly and disappear. Soon the police
would be searching for him in the town and nearby.

But he wasn’t really worried. Disappearing was something he did
well.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

K
ubu sat in his
office, frustrated and angry. Somehow he felt that if he’d been
with the team that had gone to Haake’s
koppies
the previous
week, things might have worked out differently. They had needed to
look beyond the obvious, to see as a Bushman saw. Maybe he wouldn’t
have been good enough to do that either, but at least he could have
tried. What chance did a SWAT team have? They’d never look beyond
the obvious threats, noisily attacking empty caves. Khumanego would
never let himself be trapped that way. Now he was sure that
Khumanego had linked up with a Bushman group and was living
perfectly camouflaged among them in the Kalahari. There had been no
trace of him since he had driven off in the Land Rover, leaving
Kubu and Tau to the sun and thirst of the Kalahari. He thumped his
desk with his fist, and noted with approval that the telephone
jumped. More impressive, it actually started to ring. He grabbed
it.

“Assistant Superintendent Bengu.”

“Kubu, it’s Mabaku. Get up here right away.”

No questions were to be answered; Kubu was left with the
dialling tone. But Mabaku had sounded excited. Kubu lost no time
heading to his office.

Mabaku wasted no time on pleasantries. He waved Kubu to a chair
and said: “Khumanego’s been spotted in Hukuntsi. Hukuntsi! Amazing,
after all these weeks. Not a trace of him, and then he’s in
Hukuntsi bold as you please, pretending to be Piscoaghu and pushing
people around.”

Kubu leant forward, excited. “Did they catch him?”

Mabaku shook his head. “He questioned a garage attendant – not
Willie; we’re still holding him. He wanted to know about you. He
seemed upset that you made it.” Mabaku grimaced. He knew this news
would hurt Kubu to the quick. “Then he disappeared. The local
police are scouring the area. But one of them was smart. He asked
about motorbikes. Sure enough, a man on a bike was seen heading out
of town to the north. The witness didn’t think it was a Bushman,
but he was wearing a heavy jacket and helmet. So it could have been
anyone. I’m pretty sure it was Khumanego.”

“When did this happen?”

“This afternoon. Lerako phoned through a few minutes ago.
They’re still searching, but they won’t find him.”

Kubu nodded. Now Khumanego had disguised himself as a
cross-country biker. A leather jacket and helmet. No one would
realise he was a Bushman. But where would he go? Back to his people
in the desert? Probably, but they couldn’t take the chance.

“We should set up roadblocks. Reinforce the border post alert.
He might make a run for it now. He must know how close we are.”

Mabaku nodded. “Get on to it right away. I want him behind bars,
the bastard. I won’t forget Tau’s parents breaking down at the
funeral. They deserve revenge for this. I want them to have
it.”

Kubu was silent. Revenge was a harsh word and shouldn’t be in a
policeman’s vocabulary. But he had spent an anguished time with
Tau’s family describing the young man’s last days. He had told them
that Tau had set off to get help, knowing that Kubu wouldn’t be
able to keep up. That he had taken the best chance. That bad luck
had prevented him finding the others, but that he was a hero. Kubu
hoped he’d been convincing.

“I’ll do it at once, Director,” he said, climbing to his
feet.

♦

As expected, they found nothing. A man on an off-road bike had
bought fuel in Kang. Had he been a Bushman? The fuel attendant
doubted that, because Bushmen didn’t ride nice motorbikes.

Kubu stared at the topographic map he had used to link the
murders with the
koppies
, thinking of Mabaku’s pictures of
the gems, the paintings and the funeral sites. One day I must go
there, he thought. Then perhaps I’ll understand. But I’ll never
understand Khumanego. These murders don’t make sense. He sighed.
They don’t make sense to me, but they must to him. That’s the
tragedy.

He glanced at his watch. It was getting late. Perhaps he would
just check if Mabaku had heard anything and then head home. To
supper with Joy and Tumi. That thought made him feel better.

But Mabaku seemed in a mood to chat. He invited Kubu to sit, and
asked after the family. He commented on his wife’s interminable
shopping. Clearly there was something he wanted to say, but he was
taking a long time to get round to it. Kubu felt uncomfortable. He
didn’t want to be late for dinner. At last Mabaku came to the
point.

“I share your concerns about the Bushman cultures, Kubu. You
know that. And those
koppies
were absolutely spectacular.
Unbelievable. But there’s a problem. Perhaps Khumanego was living
mere. Maybe protecting them even, in a strange sort of way? But now
there’s no one. And that gem I picked up
was
an amethyst. If
someone unscrupulous gets wind of those…” He let his voice trail
off. “It’s a human treasure, Kubu. Those paintings weren’t made by
today’s Bushmen, who, I admit, do some interesting work, but it’s
modern art. Nothing like what I saw. We have to save it for
everyone. Not just a few Bushmen who know about it and venerate it
as a relic of the past.”

“You spoke to the museum people.”

“Yes, I told them about it, and I showed them some of the
pictures. They were amazed and wanted to know all about it. I told
them it was a police crime scene. I didn’t tell them where it was.
So no one is going there any time soon. And I suggested that they
tell the Minister of Youth, Sports and Culture about it. That he
should make a plan to protect the place and preserve it. Not turn
it into another tourist attraction. They agreed. I said I’d let
them know when someone could go there. Let’s see what they come up
with.”

Kubu sighed. Perhaps this was the only way. Preserve the past,
do your best for the present, ignore the future. “I think you had
no option, Director. I hope one day I can see it for myself.”

Mabaku looked relieved. “Yes, I hope so too. Once Khumanego is
safely behind bars.”

But first we have to catch him, Kubu thought.

Mabaku checked his watch. “Well, we best be getting home. It’s
late.”

Kubu nodded, and said good night. It
was
late, and he was
hungry.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

I
t was nearly dark
when Kubu drove up to his gate. He was tired and discouraged. He
knew how easy it would be for Khumanego to hide in a nomadic
Bushman band. After all, that was how he’d grown up. Unless they
got lucky, the police might never find him.

As he swung the gate open, he was surprised that Ilia wasn’t
there to greet him. But that happened sometimes these days. Whether
her sensitive ears couldn’t pick up his arrival over Tumi’s crying,
or whether she stayed with Joy to provide moral support, Kubu
couldn’t say. Or perhaps she was just having her supper. Kubu hoped
the latter was the explanation.

However, when he wasn’t greeted by the police guard, who was
normally at the gate, Kubu stopped. He’s probably having coffee
with Joy, he thought. But I’d better make sure. He pulled out his
mobile phone and called his own landline. After a few seconds, he
could hear the phone ringing inside the house. It rang and rang,
but no one answered. Then he tried Joy’s mobile phone. It went
straight through to voicemail.

A chill spread through Kubu. Something was wrong. Had Khumanego
returned to finish his work? He dialled Mabaku’s mobile number. It,
too, went through to voicemail. Kubu left a message explaining the
situation and asked Mabaku to phone him back as soon as possible.
Then he tried Edison, who answered immediately.

“Edison, I’m outside my house. The police guard isn’t here. Ilia
hasn’t come out to welcome me and Joy doesn’t answer my phone
calls.”

“Could they be visiting one of your neighbours?”

“I’m sure Joy would’ve let me know, and she wouldn’t have taken
Ilia. I’ve tried phoning the director, but he’s not answering. I
have, to check what’s going on, so I’m going into the house. If I
haven’t phoned you in five minutes, get hold of him immediately. No
matter where he is, whatever he’s doing. Tell him what’s going
on.”

“Are you armed?”

“No.”

“I think you should wait until I find him.”

“I can’t do that,” Kubu snapped. “Joy and Tumi may be in
danger.” With that he hung up and walked towards the house.

“I’m home, my darling,” he called, trying hard to sound
unconcerned. “I’m home. Where are you?” Then he heard Tumi crying.
At least she was alive. He took a deep breath and went in.

He found them in the dining room. Joy was sitting at one corner
of the table, rocking the baby, who surprisingly stopped crying
when she saw her father. Ilia was next to them, standing
aggressively on guard. And they were not alone. Khumanego was
sitting at the far end of the table, his hands crossed on the
surface. In front of him was a hunting knife, the blade partly
covered by a yellowish stain. The back of Kubu’s neck tingled.

“Hello, David,” Khumanego said. “We’ve been waiting for
you.”

♦

Kubu put his briefcase on the floor and sat down at the table
between Khumanego and his family.

Khumanego picked up the knife and pointed it at Kubu. “David,”
he said. “Put your handgun and mobile phone on the table. I don’t
want you trying something stupid.”

“I’m unarmed,” Kubu responded, as he slid his phone towards
Khumanego.

“Stand up.”

Kubu did so, and Khumanego patted him down.

“Sit.”

Kubu complied. Khumanego picked up the phone and turned it
off.

“What do you want, Khumanego?” Kubu asked quietly. “Why have you
come here?”

Khumanego frowned, but it was Joy who replied.

“He said he’d kill us if we tried to stop him. Kill Tumi… with
the knife with Bushman poison. I called off Ilia…” She was battling
to keep her voice under control. She and Ilia had seen off a man
with a gun in their time, but the horror of the slow-death poison
was more than she could handle. And there was the baby now. Kubu
nodded, but he kept his eyes fixed on the Bushman.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

“What do I want?” Khumanego mimicked derisively. “I want my
people to have their lands back, to have their dignity back, to
have their sacred places respected. I want the elderly to lead
decent lives – free in their traditional culture – not herded into
camps to die of disease and hopelessness. I want respect. I don’t
want to be laughed at. I want to be treated with dignity.” He met
Kubu’s stare. “That’s what I want.”

“I’ve always respected you, Khumanego. Why do you come here and
threaten my family? Of all places outside the desert, it’s here you
get the things you want.”

Khumanego shook his head. “There’s a line. A line you hold and
defend, that no one is allowed to cross. My line is The Place. No
one goes there. No one desecrates it. It belongs to me, and I guard
it for my people.” He hesitated. “I’m the Guardian. That’s what I
am. The Guardian of The Place.”

Kubu was worried that he was losing the drift of what the
Bushman was saying, and it was vital to keep Khumanego engaged.

“What place is this, Khumanego? Tell me about it.”

“It’s not
a
place. It’s
The
Place. The home of the
ancestors and the gods and the Mantis. I am its guardian.”

Suddenly Kubu understood. “It’s the
koppies
, isn’t it?
That Haake found? That we searched for together in the desert?”

Khumanego shook his head. “We didn’t search for it together. I
was there to stop you. I had to stop you. I’m sorry about that,
David. Because you’re not a bad man, and you were once my friend.
But you can’t go to The Place. It’s not permitted. I don’t permit
it.”

“And that’s why you left us to die of thirst in the desert? I
wasn’t looking for a place, Khumanego. I was looking for a
murderer.”

“You didn’t need to go so far to find him.”

No, thought Kubu. I didn’t.

There was a silence for a few moments. I must keep him talking,
Kubu thought. “Explain to me, Khumanego. I don’t understand. You
know I respect your people, that I’d do nothing to hurt them or
insult them. What did I do wrong?”