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Authors: J.L. Powers

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BOOK: This Thing Called the Future
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“I still don't understand why they would
kill
it,” Zi says.
We've reached home. Little Man says goodbye even as Zi runs through the yard and bangs through the door. “Mama! Mama!” I hear her calling.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” I tell Little Man, and run after her.
Zi is already sitting beside Mama's bed, holding Mama's hand and chattering like a little monkey in a tree. “And they were going to
kill
the chameleon, Mama, with sticks and stones,” she babbles. “Isn't that terrible?”
Mama is sitting upright in bed, drinking water from a small plastic
cup. “People have been killing the chameleon for thousands of years,” she says, shrugging. “It's just part of the harshness of life in South Africa.”
I look at Mama in surprise. She sees me glancing her way. “I'm simply telling the truth, Khosi,” she says.
“But the chameleon is just an innocent animal,” I say. “It's not the same thing as killing a poisonous snake, which might harm you.”
“They're frightened of its magic, that it can change color,” she says.
“Shouldn't we do something to stop them?” Zi asks.
“What should we do?” Mama asks. “How can we stop people from doing what they will do?”
I'm shocked by her attitude. “But killing is wrong.”
“The lion kills the eland because it is hungry,” Mama says. “The human kills the lion because it is frightened it will be the lion's next meal. How is it wrong?”
“But there's no point to killing the chameleon,” I say. “Nobody eats it. And it doesn't harm anyone.”
“I am just saying that people kill to survive.”
“People do a lot of things to survive,” I say. “That doesn't make it right.”
“I would do what I had to, for you and Zi,” Mama says. “I would do whatever it took to make sure you survived.”
“You wouldn't kill,” I say.
“To defend you, yes, I would.” I am surprised at the firmness in her voice.
“But you wouldn't steal.” I'm whispering, thinking about our neighbor's accusations.
Mama sets the plastic cup by the side of the bed and Zi knocks it over. I grab a towel and begin mopping up the water while I wait for Mama's response.
“To put bread on the table, yes, I would,” Mama says. “I would not—
could
not—let you starve.”
I hand the sopping wet towel to Gogo, trying to hold back tears.
Gogo, too, looks upset. She holds the towel and water drips on the floor. “But how is it you would rather steal than trust in God to provide?” she asks.
“We blacks have been trusting in God since the missionaries arrived,” Mama says. “And we have starved and been beaten and enslaved—all in the
name
of God. I do not believe God wishes us to preserve our morality only to make us starve to death. How is that right?”
Gogo motions to usher me and Zi out of the bedroom. “You should rest, Elizabeth,” she says. “You don't know what you're saying.”
As we huddle outside the bedroom door, she whispers, “Your mama is not herself…”
But I think about what she said. I understand what she is saying. God is important. He is the most important. He is the head. He's like Baba. He loves me, but he is too far away to really help in anything day-to-day. And though I pray to him, I do not really expect his help.
But I do not agree with her that it is okay to steal or to kill. It is like this sickness has invaded her mind and is eating up the mama I know and love.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CONFRONTATION
Some few days later, Inkosikazi Dudu is outside when Zi and I leave for school, sweeping her yard, staring at our house, muttering under her breath. A
sangoma
stands in the yard with her, watching us.
Mama has told me that, no matter what Inkosikazi Dudu says, I'm supposed to be respectful, so I call out “
Sanibona
” to greet them and nudge Zi until she, also, says, “
Sanibona
!”
The last few times I've done this, Inkosikazi Dudu has ignored me. But this time, she and the strange
sangoma
step over to the fence separating our houses.
Zi hides behind me. I put my arm out in front of her, like I can protect her.
“
Ninjani?
” I whisper, my voice getting softer as they come close.
“We are well,” Inkosikazi Dudu spits at me. She grips the fence with one hand.
The
sangoma
moves to stand beside her, her red beaded plaits clanking together. One of her eyes is clouded over with cataracts. She gazes at me with her one good eye.
My chest tightens. It's the witch, the one who threatened me. Now I wish I could be Zi, with somebody older protecting
me
from this woman.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. There's a noise in my ears, way back—ocean waves far, far in the distance.
“Is that any way to greet an old woman?” she asks. “I've come to
see you, Nomkhosi Zulu. I've come to see how you and your family are doing.” And she laughs.
I can't meet her eyes. What will I see if I look? Will I see my own death? Will I remember something better left forgotten? Will my eyes lock on some evil, until I'm unable to turn my head away, until it eats me alive, like a fire consuming a house from the inside out?
I focus on the beaded earrings dangling from her earlobes, noticing the oval-shaped shadow hovering just above her headscarf, like she has bad spirits about her. She grins at me through the fence, her gold front tooth glinting in the sunlight.
“Haven't you seen me in your dreams?” she asks.
“
Hapana
, absolutely not,” I say, feeling some small desperation to convince her. Does this mean she's sending me the dreams, and not the ancestors?
“
Hhayi
,” the
sangoma
exclaims. “I never thought the child would lie.”
“It's my experience that this family always lies,” Inkosikazi Dudu says, her face flushing. “Liars and thieves, all of them.” Her eyes narrow.
The
sangoma
whirls back around to face me. “
I've
seen
you
in your dreams, Nomkhosi.” Her words escape through a tight grin. “We've met there before. Someday soon, we'll meet there again and you will never leave the dream. You'll be locked in there with me, forever.”
My heart beats sudden hot. The whispering in my ears is becoming a furious roar, shouts of confusion and fear.
Zi tugs at my hand, urgent. “Khosi, come on, let's go to school.”
I shake Zi's hand off and carefully control my voice. “You aren't in my dreams. And you never will be.” My voice cracks on the last word.
And now our eyes finally meet through the wire fence. “Oh!” I cry out, hand flying to my mouth as I see the evil leaping up and out of her eyes and coming towards me. Coming
for
me.
My tongue, like a lizard's, flicking in and out, wetting my lips. Hand. Sweat. Heat.
She knows I know. She steps away from the fence, smiling, satisfied.
“What? What? What?” Inkosikazi Dudu swivels her head from the witch to me and back again, her words a sharp staccato. “What are you
talking about? I invited you over to help me with my problem and now you are talking about dreams?”
My mouth, so firmly shut before, is wide open. “Run, Zi,” I say. “Now.” When she doesn't move, I shout, “
Now
now.”
Zi's whole body shakes behind me but still she doesn't move. Even though I want her to go where she's safe, I'm glad I don't have to face this evil woman alone.
The witch is enjoying herself now, malicious because I've revealed my fear.
A voice emerges out of the cacophony of whispers. Babamkhulu's voice.
She's playing games with you. You must be smarter and stronger than she is.
“No matter what I have seen in my dreams,” I say, determined to sever our connection in both the dream world and the real world, “I have powerful ancestors and they are on my side. I hear them speaking just now, all around us. Don't you?” And finally my voice is firm.
Inkosikazi Dudu is getting impatient. “What is this stupid conversation you are having? I want to know what your family did with my money.” She leans forward, her eyes bulging out as she glares at me. “You tell your mother I know she stole from me. And I'll do whatever I need to do to get it back.”
“My mother was just trying to help you,” I protest, glancing at the witch posing as a
sangoma
. Inkosikazi Dudu has no idea the evil power she has unleashed on my family. Or perhaps she
does
know and that makes it all the worse.
Zi tugs on my hand. I bend down so she can whisper in my ear. “That lady is scary,” she says.
It's time to go
, that voice urges me.
“It's time to go,” I tell Zi. Keeping my eyes on the two women, I back up, holding Zi's hand. We back up all the way to the door until I can open it. Then we back up inside.
“
Hawu!
” Gogo exclaims, coming out of the kitchen. “You girls should be on the
khumbi
already. You're going to be late.”
I'm still too nervous to explain so Zi tells Gogo what happened. “Inkosikazi Dudu keeps telling lies about Mama,” she says.
“That next-door neighbor,” Gogo frets. “I remember a time when she was my closest friend.”
“It's not just that, Gogo,” I say. “She had a witch with her. You know, that witch that lives in that big house at the top of the hill?”
“Witch?” Zi squeaks.
I take her hand in mine and squeeze, reassuring her, or maybe reassuring myself.
“Sho!” Gogo hurries forward while I pull aside the curtain to peek at the two women still standing by the fence, looking at our house.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
Gogo looks older than normal, her shoulders drooping and her face sagging in fear. “I do not know,” she says. “We'll go to our
sangoma
.”
“When?” My voice squeaks, I'm so nervous.
“Saturday, first thing,” she says. “We will go then.”
Zi and I wait until Inkosikazi Dudu and the witch have gone back inside. Shaken, we sneak out the back door and down the side path that runs beside our house.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE SPIRITS ARE FIGHTING EACH OTHER
That night, I have a nightmare that feels as real as anything that happens to me during the day. I watch as the next-door neighbor sneaks into our yard, carrying a large plastic bottle filled with mud. She creeps along the side of the house.
The contents of that bottle have been cursed and I have to stop her before she manages to place some of it on our house. But before I can rise to get out of bed, she reaches the bedroom window and rubs a long muddy streak just underneath it.
As she turns away to go back to her own place, I pass by, trying to reach out and stop her. But I'm moving so slowly, she slips right through my fingertips.
Like she's made of water.
Even as I look at the mud smeared on the wall, it changes to blood, dripping bright red onto the ground.
I wake up clutching a pillow, my heart beating, a river of dread flooding every crack and crevice of my mind. If only I could warn Mama—but even if I tried, she wouldn't believe me.
 
In the morning, Gogo finds a long streak of dirt rubbed on the side of our house.
“Do you think it's witchcraft
muthi?
” she asks, taking me around the corner of the house to show me.
The streak of dried mud is exactly where I saw our neighbor smear it in my dream.
I try to smother the uncontrollable noise my mouth is making but something deep inside is shrieking at me.
“What's wrong with her?” We both look at the next-door neighbor's house as I babble. “Mama was just trying to help her. If this kind of revenge is what comes of helping people, perhaps we shouldn't help people. It only results in jealousy and accusations and curses.”
“Khosi,
shame!
” Gogo cries. “You cannot pass by a hut and fail to tie a knot. We must always help people when they need it.”
I try to repair the damage of my thoughts. “But why should we help people if they just turn around and curse us?”
“Eh, if we have been cursed, we must do something about it,” Gogo says. “I will go see the
sangoma
today. We cannot wait.”
“Can I come?” I beg. She hesitates and I take advantage of it to add, “Please? School isn't as important as this.”
“Elizabeth will never listen to me, her old superstitious mother,” Gogo says. “You had better come so you can convince her that she needs to do something to stop this thing. She'll listen to you, her oldest daughter. We'll go when you've returned from school.”
I don't think Mama will listen to me. But it's becoming clearer and clearer that our neighbor is so angry, she's employed witchcraft against us. I can't sit by and pretend like nothing has happened, just because Mama doesn't believe it has any power to hurt us.
 
After Mama falls asleep that night, Gogo, Zi, and I sneak outside. We walk through Imbali to the
sangoma's
house in the growing darkness of twilight. As we climb the steep street, dogs come running out to bark at us. Young people stand in groups here and there, flirting with each other. Other mothers and grandmothers greet us as we pass.
My stomach cramps as we approach the tuck shop but the old man is nowhere to be seen. The bucket he sits on is upended, rolling in the dirt.
BOOK: This Thing Called the Future
11.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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