But Deliver Us from Evil Page 5

  ‘God won’t kill you for thinking that. There’s no god, at least not the white one the missionaries try to make us believe in. There are our ancestors waiting for us, assisting us to talk to Tsui-//Goab, who protects us from evil. John Anderson was evil. We were assisting Tsui-//Goab, so he will be happy.’

  Kamogelo considers that. ‘Then we’re fine, I think.’

  ‘Yes, we’re fine.’

  As Beatrice’s clothes are drying, she and Kamogelo cut and reshape the clothes she stole from the missionary to make a dress for her. It’s not as difficult as Beatrice had thought it might be because Kamogelo is an expert tailor. She puts on the dress made out of one of John Anderson’s thick linen shirts.

  ‘It looks good,’ Beatrice says.

  ‘This might be the best dress I’ve ever worn.’

  Neither of them mentions that Kamogelo is wearing the shirt of the man Beatrice murdered. Beatrice sees only the cloth made into a dress for Kamogelo.

  They eat some of the dried meat Beatrice stole and they discuss their plans.

  ‘I think we should walk along a road if we find one. We should walk west. When a wagon passes, I’ll ask for a lift,’ Beatrice says. ‘They’ll think I’m a white girl. I’ll tell them I’m going to my parents at the coast, that you’re my servant.’

  Kamogelo laughs. ‘Your servant?’

  ‘Just for the story, just to get a ride. They’ll feel sorry for us, alone in the bush, two girls. I’ll say I was staying with my uncle, my cruel uncle, and I need to get to my parents. I’ll cry a bit.’

  ‘What’ll we do at the ocean?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I think something’s waiting for us there. I can feel something, ever since you told me your dream. And I still need to get my father from Robben Island. It’s a prison out in the ocean. Maybe then I can get back to the Gariep. I want to go back to the islands. You’ll come with me. I know how to survive there – it’s my home.’

  Kamogelo looks at Beatrice. ‘You’re crazy, Beaty. There’s no going backwards, life is just for going forwards. You took a big forward leap last night. It’s better we keep heading that way; backwards didn’t work out so great for either of us. There’s nothing good back there.’

  Beatrice thinks about Kamogelo’s words. Maybe she’s right. Anyway, for now they only have forwards, so forwards they will go. They walk until afternoon when they finally find a well-used sand road. They follow it westward and on the third day a wagon with a young Afrikaner family stops.

  ‘Where are you heading, my girl?’ the young man says to Beatrice from the seat. ‘It’s not safe out here all alone.’ He can’t see Kamogelo. For him, Beatrice is alone.

  His even younger wife, not much older than Beatrice and Kamogelo, sits next to him holding a baby. She smiles at Beatrice.

  ‘To the coast,’ Beatrice says.

  ‘Well, we’re heading to Saldanha Bay, if that will work.’

  Beatrice smiles. No crying is required after all.

  ‘That’s exactly where my parents are … waiting for me … for me and Kamogelo … my maid.’

  ‘Then climb up at the back. We’re the Pienaars: Jacques, Marie, and baby Ade. We’ll be happy to help. It’s a long ride.’

  It’s nearly two weeks before they arrive in Saldanha Bay. Beatrice climbs down from the wagon, handing Kamogelo their makeshift bag.

  ‘We’ll be off then. Thank you,’ she says and heads confidently down the road as if she knows exactly where her fictitious parents live.

  The Pienaars are a nice couple and have helped them quite a bit, but the wife especially is too curious. Beatrice has answered her questions in a vague way that unfortunately doesn’t bring them to an end. They need to get away before Mrs Pienaar digs deeper and finds the truth.

  ‘We could take you to your parents,’ Mrs Pienaar says.

  ‘No, we’ll be fine,’ Beatrice says, still walking, Kamogelo following, creating more space between them and the woman.

  ‘Bye then … best of luck!’ Mrs Pienaar shouts after them.

  They disappear around the corner and head out of town along the beach. Beatrice is surprised that her mind pictures have returned properly on the way. At the mission she had that one flash of red, warning her of what was happening to Kamogelo, but then nothing more. Now it is nearly like before.

  She suspects that her mind pictures require her to be free. In her mind she sees them walking north from the port town to a place between the sea and the mountains. There she knows they’ll be safe. Because for now being safe is what matters. Kamogelo’s not doing well.

  Along the way she has had spells of doubt and fear. She’s certain the authorities will come looking for them. They’ll find out about what John Anderson did to her and decide there’s no burglar who killed the missionary – that they killed him. Beatrice might have a chance since they’ll think she’s white, but Kamogelo will be hanged. Kamogelo has been having horrible dreams that make her scream in her sleep. The nightmares and worries are wearing on her. They need a safe place to rest and heal. Getting to Robben Island and finding her father is not a priority now. The priority is finding a place where Kamogelo will be safe.

  They walk towards the sea. Kamogelo hesitates when she sees the mass of the water. Though Beatrice has never seen the ocean before she’s not afraid of its roar and its wild waves, but Kamogelo is.

  ‘It’s only water – what can it do?’ Beatrice says.

  ‘It can swallow me whole.’

  Beatrice holds out her hand. ‘Come, we’ll go together.’

  The girls walk towards the edge of the sea. The water is cold and tastes of salt. But it has no ill-feelings for them. They walk in the white surf and the fear melts away.

  ‘I like it,’ Kamogelo says after a bit.

  ‘Me too. It’s not a monster at all, it’s a blanket.’

  ‘Yes, a blanket blowing in the wind.’

  They walk north, following the edge of the sea, keeping it always in their sight. On the morning of the second day of walking, they see a young man on the beach. They walk towards him, but when he sees Beatrice he gets ready to run.

  Kamogelo calls to him, ‘Wait! We’re not here to harm you.’

  As they approach, Beatrice recognises him. He’s part of the group that they are heading towards, the people she’s seen in her mind.

  ‘Hello, I’m Beatrice. I’m from the Koranna of the Gariep, the Gemsbok group led by Riet Towenaars. This is Kamogelo, she’s Tlhaping. She doesn’t remember her other name. Her people left her behind. We’ve travelled from the north.’

  ‘I’m Nothando,’ he replies. ‘We have some of your people with us. Some of the Koranna from that side. I was afraid because you look white. That’s why I was running.’

  He holds a string of fish in one hand, a spear in the other. He looks a bit older than them, at that stage just before a boy becomes a proper man. Beatrice is excited to hear she’ll see some of her people. She hopes they’ll have news of her parents.

  ‘With you where?’ Beatrice asks.

  ‘In the mountains. We live in the mountains, a group of us. Us who have escaped … from places. Escaped … like you.’ He seems to understand more about them than they have let on.

  ‘Can we go with you?’ Kamogelo asks. ‘Is it far?’

  ‘No, not too far. Follow me.’

  The distance they covered from Saldanha Bay was barren, straight through the empty Karoo. They saw no one until they came across Nothando. This is why they are surprised that after a few hours’ walk from the sea through scrub land and then up into the low mountains they find themselves among a group of people, at least a hundred. They have set up a village of sorts, albeit a temporary-looking one. The houses are made of bent twigs and grass mats. A narrow river flows out of one of the mountains, and a group of women are washing clothes there. Cattle and small livestock, goats and sheep, are collected in a kraal at the back of the houses. They have a small patch of vegetables which shows that they have been there for some
time at least.

  ‘I must take you to our captyn first,’ Nothando says. ‘He needs to know you’re here. We must take care with whomever we let in. I can see you’re fine, but we’ll still need to see the captyn for permission for you to stay.’

  Beatrice looks around. The people here are a mixed group. She wonders where they escaped from. She suspects some may have been slaves. She spots a mixture of Bantu and Asian people, the Malay. She sees some Bushmen too. She wonders where the Koranna are.

  The captyn is sitting on a low stool in the shade of a tree braiding leather strips into rope. His face is intricately wrinkled, though likely more from hard work in the sun than from age; his eyes shine with a youthful spirit. He looks them over carefully.

  ‘Sit,’ he says. They sit on the ground in front of him. He nods to Nothando and the young man leaves them. ‘So, I am Basson. I’m captyn of this group. And you?’

  ‘I am Beatrice Towenaars and this is Kamogelo. We were in the Zak Mission along the Gariep. Things were not good. We escaped. I’m Koranna – my father is Riet Towenaars. Kamogelo is Tlhaping. We’re looking for a safe place to rest for a bit.’

  The captyn’s face changes. ‘Daughter of Riet Towenaars, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He nods, then speaks reluctantly. ‘There was a problem at that mission you mention – we heard bits and pieces. A missionary was murdered; two girls were kidnapped. Do you know anything about that?’

  Kamogelo starts to speak but Beatrice lays her hand on her arm to stop her. ‘No, we know nothing.’

  Basson looks at the girls, then back at his work. Some moments pass. ‘We keep secrets here – there’s nothing to fear. Some here are escaped from prisons, the illegal prisons of the Cape that are filled with our people. Some have run away from slavery. Some just ran and found themselves here because they could no longer stand the place where they started from. Most here just want to be left alone, to live their life as they see fit.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ Kamogelo says.

  ‘You can stay as long as you help with the work. As long as you respect the people here, as long as you respect our rules. Nothando can help you find a place to live or maybe you want to see some of your people first.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Beatrice says.

  Nothando reappears like magic. As the girls get up to follow him, Basson takes Beatrice’s hand. ‘Your colour may cause problems. A white girl living with us could bring dangers we don’t need. Don’t let outsiders see you.’

  ‘I’m not white; I’m Koranna.’

  ‘Yes, but few can see that. To them you look white. You must take care. You could be dangerous to us.’

  Nothando shows them a small hut. ‘This was built for my brother, but he’s left to Saldanha. He’ll be out on the ships for at least a month. You can stay here until then. Leave your things and then I can take you to the others from the Gariep islands.’

  The girls do as they’re told and then follow Nothando to a group of huts. Beatrice recognises an old man. He’s not from their group on the Gariep, but she knows him. He sometimes went on raids with her father and the other men.

  The old man greets them.

  ‘I’m the daughter of Riet Towenaars,’ Beatrice says.

  ‘Yes, I thought you looked familiar. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? For what?’ Beatrice asks.

  The old man looks at Nothando for help but the young man remains quiet. ‘I … I thought that’s why you were here … because you’re all alone now.’

  ‘Alone? No, they took me to the orphanage. The rest are in prison. My mother … I think my father is on Robben Island. That’s what they said … that day they arrived, the white man, that’s what he said. That they would be taken to prison.’

  ‘Yes, they took them from the islands, cleared them all out. But something went wrong. On the way … the soldiers said that Riet and the others tried to escape. They killed all of them. I’m sorry, it’s not news I want to tell you.’

  ‘Not all of them … my father is on Robben Island!’ Beatrice is shouting now. ‘My mother … they didn’t kill my mother …’

  The words he’s spoken slowly sink in. Was that why her father disappeared from her mind? Was he really gone? Could something as weak as a bullet put an end to Riet Towenaars?

  Kamogelo takes her arm and leads Beatrice away from the old man. ‘We’re tired. We need to rest.’

  Beatrice looks up at Kamogelo. ‘You’re all I have. You’re my only family in the world now.’

  Kamogelo nods in agreement.

  Chapter Eight

  They’d already been in Ntsweng for four years. Nthebolang and her mother live at the mission house now, in the servant’s hut at the back. They are the servants of the missionary and his family: Dr Johnson, Mrs Johnson, Rachel, and Matthew. The move and the work have pulled Mma Nthebolang from the dark place she’d been in since their arrival in Ntsweng. She’s almost back to normal, except for her desperate hold on the Christian religion of the missionaries and King Sechele. She believes that people who do not accept the existence of witchcraft, as these Christians have pronounced, are the right ones to keep company with. She had both herself and Nthebolang baptised, and only then believed they were safe and she could return to the living world where Nthebolang was waiting for her.

  ‘I’m going to the tree for lessons,’ Nthebolang tells her mother.

  ‘Did you pick the spinach for dinner?’

  ‘Ee, Mme. It’s in the pot, already washed.’

  ‘Good. You’re a good girl, my child. Go. Learn. Then you’ll know everything like Kgosi Sechele.’

  Nthebolang walks to the tree where Kgosi Sechele’s daughter teaches the children to read and write. Some children are there already but Nthebolang sits apart from them. She’s learned that’s how they like it.

  She digs her toes into the hot sand as she waits. She can hear the girls giggling but she ignores them. She leans over and writes her letters in the sand. She knows all of the letters and a few small words now. She practises writing them in the sand.

  ‘Did you eat any babies last night?’ says a girl who has moved near to her.

  Nthebolang ignores her.

  ‘Servant girl, have you no manners? I’m talking to you.’

  Nthebolang looks up. It’s Seabe, one of the worst of the bunch. Nthebolang looks at her but says nothing.

  ‘She’s stupid, leave her,’ says another girl from under the tree where they are sitting.

  Seabe kicks dirt over Nthebolang’s letters and words in the sand and walks away.

  After the lesson Nthebolang doesn’t go directly home. The missionaries’ children – especially the older one, the girl, Rachel – are very bossy. Rachel expects Nthebolang to do everything that she orders. To help her when she needs it, to play with her no matter the game. Nthebolang relents because in turn she gets what she wants: to learn English well enough to read Rachel’s books. If she is always nice and makes Rachel happy, Rachel will sit with her and read to her from her books while teaching her the words as they go along. Nthebolang will tolerate most things to get that chance.

  Today, though, she cannot be subservient to Rachel, at least not just yet. The incident before the lesson has upset her and she wants some time alone to get over it.

  She heads for her favourite spot, a collection of big stones that form a small koppie to the west of the village. She sits on the west side of a massive boulder and leans her back against it, its surface still cool in the shade since the sun has not yet fallen down towards the horizon on that side. With her legs pulled up and her head resting on her knees, she looks out into the bush.

  Sometimes elephants pass here and when she stays very still, they stop and she can watch them, something she enjoys very much. She’s not afraid of them, unlike her mother. They pass less often now, though, ever since Kgosi Sechele has allowed Europeans to hunt in his kingdom if they pay him enough. He needs the money. The Boers from the south are trying to steal
Bakwena land and they respond only to guns, and guns require money. King Sechele has no choice but to allow the hunters. But still, now and again, a few elephants pass if Nthebolang is lucky. She wishes today could be a lucky day.

  She hears a noise from behind and sits very still. No one comes out here. All of the times she has come to this spot she has never once met a person, and she can tell from the sounds behind her that it is a person who has found her here.

  And then he is there. Standing in front of her. He wears his leather skirt as boys do and holds a catapult in one hand with the other resting on the head of his brown striped dog, its tongue hanging out the side of its mouth as it pants in the afternoon heat. It’s a boy from the village, a relative of King Sechele; the boy’s father is a lower-level chief. His name is Motsumi. Nthebolang knows him.

  She lowers her eyes and waits to see what he wants with her.

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ he demands in a too-loud voice.

  ‘Nothing,’ Nthebolang says to the ground.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here. Only boys come out to hunt in the bush.’

  Nthebolang says nothing. She’s disappointed he’s found her here. She might need to find a new place to hide away.

  ‘Why don’t you speak? If you spoke, Seabe would leave you alone.’

  She looks at him. Was he watching Seabe tease her? She wishes he hadn’t seen that. It was bad enough to be humiliated, but worse if others were watching.

  ‘I don’t think speaking would help,’ Nthebolang says after some time.

  ‘Seabe is a weak, stupid girl. I know her. She’s my cousin. Ugly too.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll speak next time.’

  On the other side of the rocks there is a village of mongooses. Motsumi’s dog has spotted it and runs off barking. The two watch the dog as he pushes his nose into one hole after another finding nothing, while some feet away two mongooses pop out their back door and watch the dog looking for them. Motsumi laughs.

  Nthebolang smiles and looks down at the ground where she pushes a small pebble with her finger.

  ‘Why are you so different from the others?’ Motsumi asks.