their failure to evoke another rabid outburst. But with a disgusted shake of his head Shozi sent them to their quarters, instructing only Setlaba to stay.
‘The guard was incompetent,’ said Shozi going back and forth on the porch. ‘If I hadn’t seen the Xhosa I might now be a corpse.’
Setlaba held himself abjectly. ‘He’ll not escape,’ he said defensively. ‘At first light we’ll scour the valleys. He was badly hurt.’
Shozi chuckled scornfully. ‘He was one of those guerillas. His friends would’ve been nearby. By now they’ll be far from here.’
Chapter 19
Malakazi township , KwaZulu
Ngubane was still asleep when his comrades rose half-an-hour before first light and rolled up their bedding. His breathing was deep and harsh as his body fought valiantly against the damage inflicted on it and waged war on incipient infection. They cleaned and dressed the wounds, liberally applying antiseptic lotion and binding the tissue in a casing of white bandage.
‘He needs a doctor,’ said Nofomela soberly, poignantly reminding himself of t he slow deaths of his friends, long since deceased, the victims of lesser wounds incurred in the bush.
‘Dhlamini.’ Ngwenya buttoned his shirt, his thoughts jumping ahead to the mayor in Malakazi. ‘His brother’s a doctor.’
Nofomela frowned. ‘We gave our word we wouldn’t go to him again.’
‘The Zulu’s life is already under threat,’ intoned Ngwenya without feeling. ‘The true test of his loyalty is now.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Nofomela, finding no fault with his comrade’s reasoning. ‘Besides, Ngubane’s in urgent need of help and we don’t know of anyone else in these valleys.’
They ate some stale food from their bag , then hoisted their drowsy friend and began the trip to Malakazi, along the path they’d taken earlier. It was an arduous journey and they traveled slowly, most of the time bearing Ngubane’s full weight and finding it difficult walking three abreast on what was strictly a single track. Ngubane stirred periodically and they noticed with alarm his rapidly worsening condition. At mid-morning they reached the outskirts of the township and laid Ngubane in the long grass.
‘I will go to Dhlamini.’ Ngwenya surveyed the shacks imperiously. ‘If he doesn’t help us I’ll kill him.’
‘Be patient,’ said Nofomela. ‘Although he is a weak man he was a friend when we wanted one. Ngubane can’t travel much further before he needs attention. He has to be seen by a doctor.’
Ngwenya set off through the grass, going in a circle before coming up to Dhlamini’s house from behind. He knocked on the kitchen door hoping the mayor wasn’t at the store. Dhlamini’s wife answered and wrung her hands when she saw the guerilla.
‘What do you want?’ she asked in Zulu, her posture unwelcoming. Her husband had told her the three were about to move on and she hadn’t expected to see them again. As far as she was concerned they would only bring death.
‘I want to see your husband,’ Ngwenya replied. ‘It’s a matter of urgency.’
She was going to lie, but she changed her mind, guiltily reminding herself that men like Ngwenya were allies, part of the black consciousness movement of which she’d been a member since a child.
‘I’ll get him,’ she said, leaving him on the doorstep.
Dhlamini was soon there and he drew the Xhosa into the kitchen, closing the door conspiratorially.
‘It’s not good that you come here to my house,’ he said fearfully. ‘I can’t be associated with you. Inkatha’s spies are everywhere in the townships.’
Ngwenya held him on the arm. He detested the mayor’s lack of spunk but did not show it. ‘I must speak to you privately,’ he said, irritated by the presence of Dhlamini’s wife.
Without addressing the woman directly Dhlamini told her to leave and didn’t speak until he and Ngwenya were by themselves. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Early this morning Ngubane entered Shozi’s
‘The guard was incompetent,’ said Shozi going back and forth on the porch. ‘If I hadn’t seen the Xhosa I might now be a corpse.’
Setlaba held himself abjectly. ‘He’ll not escape,’ he said defensively. ‘At first light we’ll scour the valleys. He was badly hurt.’
Shozi chuckled scornfully. ‘He was one of those guerillas. His friends would’ve been nearby. By now they’ll be far from here.’
Chapter 19
Malakazi township , KwaZulu
Ngubane was still asleep when his comrades rose half-an-hour before first light and rolled up their bedding. His breathing was deep and harsh as his body fought valiantly against the damage inflicted on it and waged war on incipient infection. They cleaned and dressed the wounds, liberally applying antiseptic lotion and binding the tissue in a casing of white bandage.
‘He needs a doctor,’ said Nofomela soberly, poignantly reminding himself of t he slow deaths of his friends, long since deceased, the victims of lesser wounds incurred in the bush.
‘Dhlamini.’ Ngwenya buttoned his shirt, his thoughts jumping ahead to the mayor in Malakazi. ‘His brother’s a doctor.’
Nofomela frowned. ‘We gave our word we wouldn’t go to him again.’
‘The Zulu’s life is already under threat,’ intoned Ngwenya without feeling. ‘The true test of his loyalty is now.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Nofomela, finding no fault with his comrade’s reasoning. ‘Besides, Ngubane’s in urgent need of help and we don’t know of anyone else in these valleys.’
They ate some stale food from their bag , then hoisted their drowsy friend and began the trip to Malakazi, along the path they’d taken earlier. It was an arduous journey and they traveled slowly, most of the time bearing Ngubane’s full weight and finding it difficult walking three abreast on what was strictly a single track. Ngubane stirred periodically and they noticed with alarm his rapidly worsening condition. At mid-morning they reached the outskirts of the township and laid Ngubane in the long grass.
‘I will go to Dhlamini.’ Ngwenya surveyed the shacks imperiously. ‘If he doesn’t help us I’ll kill him.’
‘Be patient,’ said Nofomela. ‘Although he is a weak man he was a friend when we wanted one. Ngubane can’t travel much further before he needs attention. He has to be seen by a doctor.’
Ngwenya set off through the grass, going in a circle before coming up to Dhlamini’s house from behind. He knocked on the kitchen door hoping the mayor wasn’t at the store. Dhlamini’s wife answered and wrung her hands when she saw the guerilla.
‘What do you want?’ she asked in Zulu, her posture unwelcoming. Her husband had told her the three were about to move on and she hadn’t expected to see them again. As far as she was concerned they would only bring death.
‘I want to see your husband,’ Ngwenya replied. ‘It’s a matter of urgency.’
She was going to lie, but she changed her mind, guiltily reminding herself that men like Ngwenya were allies, part of the black consciousness movement of which she’d been a member since a child.
‘I’ll get him,’ she said, leaving him on the doorstep.
Dhlamini was soon there and he drew the Xhosa into the kitchen, closing the door conspiratorially.
‘It’s not good that you come here to my house,’ he said fearfully. ‘I can’t be associated with you. Inkatha’s spies are everywhere in the townships.’
Ngwenya held him on the arm. He detested the mayor’s lack of spunk but did not show it. ‘I must speak to you privately,’ he said, irritated by the presence of Dhlamini’s wife.
Without addressing the woman directly Dhlamini told her to leave and didn’t speak until he and Ngwenya were by themselves. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Early this morning Ngubane entered Shozi’s
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