dunes.
And there are no footprints in the sand there. So where did he go
after that?”
There was a suggestive pause, and Kubu feared that there was
worse to come.
“The tracker is a good chap. Shows you can make something of a
Bushman if you get him out of the bush and train him. He went back
to the footprints the Bushmen found so conveniently for a more
careful look. He thinks they’re fakes. The weight isn’t distributed
the way you would expect if a man – a big man with big feet – was
walking along the ridge. And they are too close together for the
stride of a big man. He thinks the prints were deliberately set;
maybe the boots were just pushed into the sand by hand.”
Kubu’s heart sank. Mabaku was not going to be pleased with this
development. Had he allowed himself to be fooled into believing the
Bushmen were innocent because that was how he wanted it to be? On
the other hand, why would a murderer leave a few isolated boot
prints? If they were fakes, could it be misdirection?
But Lerako wasn’t finished.
“He headed back here yesterday afternoon and reported all this
to me this morning. So I got on to Vusi at the ranger station and
told him to send someone out to keep an eye on the Bushmen until we
could interrogate them again. He was irritated but eventually sent
someone out there.”
Kubu bit his lip. He guessed how this was going to end.
“They’re gone, Bengu. They probably left as soon as the three of
them were dropped off. There aren’t clear tracks either; obviously
they don’t want to be followed. We won’t catch them now. Monzo’s
killers have vanished into the Kalahari.”
∨ The Death of the Mantis ∧
Ten
T he group had
travelled far in the day and a half since the three men had been
released by the police. But they had gone carefully, avoiding any
unnecessary trace of their progress. Now they huddled around a
small pile of barely glowing ashes. Unlike most nights, when the
men told stories of great hunts or tales of the gods, this night
was without entertainment. Unlike most nights, usually filled with
jokes and laughter, this night was sombre.
It was a night to end an era, to mark a passing, to begin a
future.
“My people,” Gobiwasi said quietly. “Many times I have watched
the sun chase the moon from the skies. And seen the moon sneak back
and grow bolder, until it thinks it can challenge the sun. Only to
be chased away again. I have seen summers when I thought we would
all die, and times when Rain jumped on the ground and made the sand
green. The ancestors have smiled on me while I have been here. I
have enjoyed a good life and have a fine family.” He peered at the
figures around the fire, not able to distinguish one from the
other. All were quiet.
“But now I am old. I cannot hunt and cannot run, and I walk too
slowly. Today I could hardly keep up. I cannot provide for you. I
cannot provide for myself. I am a burden.”
Everyone stared into the embers, even the children knowing where
this was going.
“You will have many challenges ahead.” Gobiwasi cleared the
phlegm from his throat and spat into the fire. “The world is
changing too fast for our people. We cannot keep up, and when I
talk to the ancestors, they do not tell me what to do.”
The children huddled against their mothers.
“Our people believe the earth is for all, for humans, for
animals, and snakes, and insects, and plants. But those who came
after us believe the earth is for them. That it is there to be
owned. That they should not share the land with others. And so it
is that our people are treated like thieves and robbers. Because we
hunt to survive. And sometimes what we hunt no longer belongs to
the earth, to all, but to one man who has thunder in his head and
fire in his hand. And he hunts us, as we hunt the eland. Or he ties
us with rope and drags us to look after his animals, which he
treats better than he treats us.”
No one saw the tears leaking from Gobiwasi’s eyes.
The group sat
And there are no footprints in the sand there. So where did he go
after that?”
There was a suggestive pause, and Kubu feared that there was
worse to come.
“The tracker is a good chap. Shows you can make something of a
Bushman if you get him out of the bush and train him. He went back
to the footprints the Bushmen found so conveniently for a more
careful look. He thinks they’re fakes. The weight isn’t distributed
the way you would expect if a man – a big man with big feet – was
walking along the ridge. And they are too close together for the
stride of a big man. He thinks the prints were deliberately set;
maybe the boots were just pushed into the sand by hand.”
Kubu’s heart sank. Mabaku was not going to be pleased with this
development. Had he allowed himself to be fooled into believing the
Bushmen were innocent because that was how he wanted it to be? On
the other hand, why would a murderer leave a few isolated boot
prints? If they were fakes, could it be misdirection?
But Lerako wasn’t finished.
“He headed back here yesterday afternoon and reported all this
to me this morning. So I got on to Vusi at the ranger station and
told him to send someone out to keep an eye on the Bushmen until we
could interrogate them again. He was irritated but eventually sent
someone out there.”
Kubu bit his lip. He guessed how this was going to end.
“They’re gone, Bengu. They probably left as soon as the three of
them were dropped off. There aren’t clear tracks either; obviously
they don’t want to be followed. We won’t catch them now. Monzo’s
killers have vanished into the Kalahari.”
∨ The Death of the Mantis ∧
Ten
T he group had
travelled far in the day and a half since the three men had been
released by the police. But they had gone carefully, avoiding any
unnecessary trace of their progress. Now they huddled around a
small pile of barely glowing ashes. Unlike most nights, when the
men told stories of great hunts or tales of the gods, this night
was without entertainment. Unlike most nights, usually filled with
jokes and laughter, this night was sombre.
It was a night to end an era, to mark a passing, to begin a
future.
“My people,” Gobiwasi said quietly. “Many times I have watched
the sun chase the moon from the skies. And seen the moon sneak back
and grow bolder, until it thinks it can challenge the sun. Only to
be chased away again. I have seen summers when I thought we would
all die, and times when Rain jumped on the ground and made the sand
green. The ancestors have smiled on me while I have been here. I
have enjoyed a good life and have a fine family.” He peered at the
figures around the fire, not able to distinguish one from the
other. All were quiet.
“But now I am old. I cannot hunt and cannot run, and I walk too
slowly. Today I could hardly keep up. I cannot provide for you. I
cannot provide for myself. I am a burden.”
Everyone stared into the embers, even the children knowing where
this was going.
“You will have many challenges ahead.” Gobiwasi cleared the
phlegm from his throat and spat into the fire. “The world is
changing too fast for our people. We cannot keep up, and when I
talk to the ancestors, they do not tell me what to do.”
The children huddled against their mothers.
“Our people believe the earth is for all, for humans, for
animals, and snakes, and insects, and plants. But those who came
after us believe the earth is for them. That it is there to be
owned. That they should not share the land with others. And so it
is that our people are treated like thieves and robbers. Because we
hunt to survive. And sometimes what we hunt no longer belongs to
the earth, to all, but to one man who has thunder in his head and
fire in his hand. And he hunts us, as we hunt the eland. Or he ties
us with rope and drags us to look after his animals, which he
treats better than he treats us.”
No one saw the tears leaking from Gobiwasi’s eyes.
The group sat
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