Read Online The Death of the Mantis by Michael Stanley - Free Book Online Page B

from the trip. Khumanego seemed unfazed.
They walked to the edge of the trees. Kubu looked around. Surely
this was the wrong place? There was nothing here. No huts, no signs
of life, no people.
    “You still can’t see, can you, David?” Khumanego exclaimed. “I
thought you’d learnt all those years ago when I taught you about
the desert.” He shook his head. “You think nobody is here, that
we’re in the wrong place, don’t you?”
    Kubu nodded.
    “Open your eyes, black man! See that clump of grass over there?
Look carefully. See the scherm , the little grass hut? And
there’s another one a bit to the left.” Kubu stared, and eventually
saw what Khumanego was pointing at. It wasn’t a hut in any
traditional sense. A few reeds were bent to form an arch. Below
them the sand had been shaped to form a small depression. “That’s
where they sleep.”
    “What’s that?” Lerako pointed towards a tree where two sticks
were stuck in the ground on either side of another small
depression.
    “One of the group has marked his area. That’s where he sleeps.
The others will respect that space and not walk over it.”
    “Where are they?” Kubu asked.
    Khumanego shouted – a series of clicks and other sounds foreign
to Kubu’s ears. Their language is so difficult, he thought. I’ve
forgotten everything he taught me. As if by magic, seven figures
emerged from the reeds and huddled together thirty or forty metres
away. Two men, one very old, three women and two children.
    “Where are the rest?” Kubu asked.
    “This is everyone except for the three in Tsabong.” Khumanego
said. “The desert can’t sustain big groups.” He walked over to the
group and squatted on his haunches. The others did likewise. They
talked for about ten minutes, sometimes all the adults at once.
Eventually Khumanego returned.
    “They are very upset. They don’t know what has happened to the
men. Don’t know if they are dead, or if they have been stolen to
watch cattle on a farm.” He glared at Lerako. “It’s been very
difficult for them to find enough food with only one hunter.”
    He walked to the Land Rover and pulled out a plastic bag he’d
brought from Tsabong. He opened it and pulled out dried fruit, biltong and a large plastic bottle of water.
    “They are very hungry. The men you have in Tsabong are the main
hunters. These people haven’t eaten meat since you arrested
them.”
    Khumanego handed them the provisions. The younger man carefully
divided the fruit and meat into portions of different sizes and
handed them out, keeping the largest for himself. The smallest
portion went to the old man. Kubu wondered how the division worked,
but everyone seemed satisfied with their share. The man opened the
bottle, took a long drink and passed it to the old man, who sipped
sparingly. Then the women took the bottle, and finally the
children. Kubu noticed that more than half of the water was left
after all had drunk. The future was always in mind.
    “Please ask them if they have had any problems with the rangers
from the park.”
    After a brief consultation, Khumanego reported that Monzo often
used to come and shout at them. He would point to the north and
tell them to leave. They couldn’t hunt in this area, so they should
go elsewhere. But he had never harmed any of them.
    “The last time that happened was when the sun last chased the
moon away. That’s new moon to you. About three weeks ago. That’s
about two weeks before he died.” He paused and turned to Kubu.
“They want to ask you a question.” Kubu nodded. “They want to know
why you are holding their brothers and not looking for the man with
big feet.”
    “The man with big feet? Who’s that?” Kubu was perplexed.
    “The man who left his mark near where Monzo was found.”
    “They’ve found some footprints? Why didn’t they tell us?”
    “They found them yesterday. And how would they tell you?”
    Kubu turned to a frowning Lerako.
    “Did you check the whole area