can see traces of familiar features.
‘You were once at Sulenkama, weren’t you?’ he asks.
‘That was another age, another world,’ says the old man chewing loudly.
‘I knew that I saw you there,’ says Malangana.
‘And what were you doing there when you saw me, lest you reveal my scandals to these young people,’ says the old man and breaks out laughing. ‘I’m asking you a silly question. You did say you are Matiwane’s son from Iqadi House.’
‘I looked after King Mhlontlo’s horse,’ says Malangana.
The old man rubs his eyes as if willing them to see. They won’t.
‘You are the boy who looked after Gcazimbane? What happened to you, now that your bones rattle like the ankle-shells of a dancing diviner?’
‘I fought a war and lost.’
‘You are the boy who hankered after a Bushman girl.’
Malangana winces and beads of sweat break out on his brow.
‘You knew about that?’
He wipes his brow with the back of his hand and wonders how his body is able to produce some moisture despite the rivers that flowed from it last night.
‘Everybody knew about that. I was one of the diviners who tried to heal the queen and failed. We joked about you.’
‘I don’t see white beads on your wrists and ankles,’ says Malangana.
‘The ancestors retired me. I lost my sight and my calling.’ And then he bursts out laughing again. ‘You were like a puppy sniffing around for a lost bone. We teased the Mthwakazi about you loitering at the Great Place pretending to be looking after Gcazimbane, and the girl giggled coyly. Obviously she was flattered to be sought after by the king’s groom. We could see she was playing for time . . . she wanted you too. How did you manage to lose her?’
‘How do you know I lost her?’
‘You’re not with her now, are you?’
‘You’re right, I am not.’
‘And you were not with her the last time I saw her.’
‘I am looking for her,’ says Malangana. He is trying hard to suppress the edge in his voice. ‘I am here because I’m looking for Mthwakazi. The last time you saw her? Where was that?’
‘In the streets of Tsolo,’ says the old man.
She was a beggar-woman there.
‘And you saw her? How did you see her when your eyes cannot see?’
The old man laughs and says, ‘I see with the eyes of a boy, man. The boy who guides me when I go to town to beg as all blind men must do, so that I can buy my own snuff without bothering anybody for their money and pay my tax and avoid jail.’
‘You spoke to her? You actually spoke to her?’
‘The boy who guides me said, “There’s that Bushwoman who wears golden earrings.” And there she was indeed. Yes, I spoke to her. The kinship of beggars. Once in a while she’s seen in the streets of Tsolo. She used to be seen in Qumbu as well, but that was many years ago.’
He had not seen her for almost a year when he met her in Tsolo recently and she told him she had just escaped from employment at some mission station fearing arrest by Government since her identity as the former nursemaid to the Queen of amaMpondomise had been exposed.
‘She has no reason to be a fugitive,’ says Malangana.
‘I told her so. She has done nothing wrong.’
‘I am going to Tsolo,’ says Malangana. The old man is struck by the urgency in his voice.
‘Now? At this time?’
‘I will walk through the night. I must find Mthwakazi.’
The old man will not stop him. He listens to the bones as Malangana hobbles away until the rattle is swallowed by the night.
Monday October 4, 1880
The night of the new moon. A prolonged drought scorched the land and Mthwakazi sat flat on the ground at
ebaleni
, the clearing in front of the Great House. With her legs stretched out and a diviner’s drum between her thighs she beat it with her hands in a slow tired rhythm. This went on for hours until the ears of the people within its range became accustomed to the lamentation and could hear it no more.
She heard a loud moan from the house,
‘You were once at Sulenkama, weren’t you?’ he asks.
‘That was another age, another world,’ says the old man chewing loudly.
‘I knew that I saw you there,’ says Malangana.
‘And what were you doing there when you saw me, lest you reveal my scandals to these young people,’ says the old man and breaks out laughing. ‘I’m asking you a silly question. You did say you are Matiwane’s son from Iqadi House.’
‘I looked after King Mhlontlo’s horse,’ says Malangana.
The old man rubs his eyes as if willing them to see. They won’t.
‘You are the boy who looked after Gcazimbane? What happened to you, now that your bones rattle like the ankle-shells of a dancing diviner?’
‘I fought a war and lost.’
‘You are the boy who hankered after a Bushman girl.’
Malangana winces and beads of sweat break out on his brow.
‘You knew about that?’
He wipes his brow with the back of his hand and wonders how his body is able to produce some moisture despite the rivers that flowed from it last night.
‘Everybody knew about that. I was one of the diviners who tried to heal the queen and failed. We joked about you.’
‘I don’t see white beads on your wrists and ankles,’ says Malangana.
‘The ancestors retired me. I lost my sight and my calling.’ And then he bursts out laughing again. ‘You were like a puppy sniffing around for a lost bone. We teased the Mthwakazi about you loitering at the Great Place pretending to be looking after Gcazimbane, and the girl giggled coyly. Obviously she was flattered to be sought after by the king’s groom. We could see she was playing for time . . . she wanted you too. How did you manage to lose her?’
‘How do you know I lost her?’
‘You’re not with her now, are you?’
‘You’re right, I am not.’
‘And you were not with her the last time I saw her.’
‘I am looking for her,’ says Malangana. He is trying hard to suppress the edge in his voice. ‘I am here because I’m looking for Mthwakazi. The last time you saw her? Where was that?’
‘In the streets of Tsolo,’ says the old man.
She was a beggar-woman there.
‘And you saw her? How did you see her when your eyes cannot see?’
The old man laughs and says, ‘I see with the eyes of a boy, man. The boy who guides me when I go to town to beg as all blind men must do, so that I can buy my own snuff without bothering anybody for their money and pay my tax and avoid jail.’
‘You spoke to her? You actually spoke to her?’
‘The boy who guides me said, “There’s that Bushwoman who wears golden earrings.” And there she was indeed. Yes, I spoke to her. The kinship of beggars. Once in a while she’s seen in the streets of Tsolo. She used to be seen in Qumbu as well, but that was many years ago.’
He had not seen her for almost a year when he met her in Tsolo recently and she told him she had just escaped from employment at some mission station fearing arrest by Government since her identity as the former nursemaid to the Queen of amaMpondomise had been exposed.
‘She has no reason to be a fugitive,’ says Malangana.
‘I told her so. She has done nothing wrong.’
‘I am going to Tsolo,’ says Malangana. The old man is struck by the urgency in his voice.
‘Now? At this time?’
‘I will walk through the night. I must find Mthwakazi.’
The old man will not stop him. He listens to the bones as Malangana hobbles away until the rattle is swallowed by the night.
Monday October 4, 1880
The night of the new moon. A prolonged drought scorched the land and Mthwakazi sat flat on the ground at
ebaleni
, the clearing in front of the Great House. With her legs stretched out and a diviner’s drum between her thighs she beat it with her hands in a slow tired rhythm. This went on for hours until the ears of the people within its range became accustomed to the lamentation and could hear it no more.
She heard a loud moan from the house,
Similar Books
![Her Wanton Ways [Notorious Nephilim 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/589215/thumbs/152x264/her-wanton-ways-notorious-nephilim-4-siren-publishing-menage-amour.png)
