Shaka the Great (72 page)

“Because this man was one of her clan.”

Now it's the Induna who has to squeeze his wife's hand, so that her angry “What?” remains trapped behind her shocked expression.

“Did she tell you his name?” he asks.

Her head bowed as though the shame is hers as well, Thaki nods.

“Who was it?” says the Induna. “Was it Jembuluka?” Snatching at this man's name because the alternative is far worse.

However, Thaki's head comes up and she even manages a scornful laugh. “Smelly Jembu? Hai, we barely saw him on the road.” Sadness clouding her eyes once more, she says, “No, it wasn't him.”

“Who, then?” asks the Induna. “Who was it?”

“Mbopa, have you seen Ndlela?”

Mbopa bows before Mnkabayi. “My apologies, Ma, but I have not!”

“Cha! It is as if he seeks to avoid me!”

“Oh, I think not, Ma, if I may be so bold. Like you, he is highly esteemed by the King, and with the First Fruits upon us he has many additional responsibilities.”

“Very well, then, I shall have to make do with you.”

Another bow. “I am yours to command, Ma.”

“Do not worry, I will not detain you for long. I would only know if what I hear is true.”

“What have you heard, Ma?”

“That a young girl has been murdered within the precincts of Bulawayo.”

“It was in the temporary settlements erected for the First Fruits.”

“But that is terrible!”

“It is being attended to, Ma.”

“You seem dismissive.”

“These things happen.”

“But during the First Fruits?”

“As I said, Ma, the matter is being attended to.”

“You haven't answered my question.”

“My apologies. I wasn't aware you'd asked one.”

“Very well, if you would behave like a child, let me be more precise. Doesn't the very fact that this crime should have taken place during the First Fruits strike you as significant?”

“Why should it, Ma? It has surely nothing to do with the First Fruits.” There have been other deaths since the gathering began: three old-timers, a woman in labor (along with her baby); two children drowned, the one while trying to help the other. Such things are to be expected, and the inyangas know to be ever vigilant for any signs of disease. “These things—”

“They happen, yes, so you say. But I tell you this: there was a time when everything that took place during the First Fruits was seen as having something directly to do with the First Fruits.”

“Perhaps that time has passed, Ma.”

“I hope not, Mbopa, for I have also heard that the family of an Uselwa Man is involved. And yet you say this has nothing to do with the First Fruits?”

“That's not quite what I said, Ma. I do not believe this has anything to do with the First Fruits, but the induna investigating the matter has nevertheless been instructed to consider that possibility.”

“As unlikely as it might seem.”

Mbopa inclines his head. “Indeed, Ma.”

“Understand that I raise this matter because these First Fruits are special.”

“As is every First Fruits, Ma, but your meaning is clear. The presence of the White Men bothers you.”

“As I think it bothers you, too, Mbopa. Have you not often said we must be wary of these creatures?”

“Other barbarians have attended the First Fruits, over the years.”

“Cha! Speak you of the Mthetwas and Khumalos, and others who have allied themselves with our King?”

Mbopa nods.

“Oh, come now! I know some were made uneasy by the presence of those creatures, but I was never one. You know, as well as I do, they have attended the First Fruits as Zulus. These Long Noses from the sea, though, they are another sort altogether.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps, he says!”

“Well, Ma, I must be honest. I cannot see how these deaths have anything to do with the White Men. You are surely not saying they're somehow responsible.”

“I may be old, but I'm not senile. I'm not saying anything of the sort. But perhaps it is the ancestors who are speaking, and seeking to warn us.”

“Then they have chosen a particularly brutal way.”

“Your sudden fastidiousness isn't becoming, Mbopa. But if they have chosen a brutal way, perhaps it's because we haven't listened to their other warnings.”

“Other warnings? Yes, well, I can see how one might be inclined to misconstrue Shaka's many victories on the battlefield as evidence that the ancestors favor him.”

“Make light of these things, if you will, Mbopa, but I think I detect unease behind your glib dismissals. And you have once again avoided my question. Have you yourself not often said we must be wary of these savages?”

“I still believe that, Ma.”

“I hope you do, Mbopa. I hope you do.”

“No, Nduna! Please, no!” His head bumps against the thatch as he tries to move his throat away from the tip of the Induna's spear. “Nduna, please! It wasn't me!” Wide owl-eyes now trying to catch a glimpse of the iklwa, now meeting the Induna's gaze to plead for mercy.

“Please!”

The Induna and Gudlo stand in the afternoon sunlight, the latter
pressed up against a hut, while Njikiza, the udibi and Jembuluka look on.

“Did you pester her? Was her
no
merely an invitation to try harder?”

“No! I beg you, Nduna … No!”

The Induna lowers his spear and brings his face close to Gudlo's. “Do not lie. Do not try my patience. Cease your cringing and just tell me!”

“What madness is this, Nduna? They were brother and sister!”

“Tell him,” says the Induna, as Njikiza pulls Jembuluka away.

“Well, why not, Nduna?” says Gudlo, meeting Jembuluka's hiss of outrage with a grin. “It's not like we shared the same mother.”

“You fool!” shouts Jembuluka. “She was still your sister.”

“That we shared the same father—that was neither here nor there.”

“What, would you bring even more shame on this family?”

The Induna tells Jembuluka to be quiet. Then he punches Gudlo in the face.

At a nod from the Induna, the udibi helps Gudlo to his feet.

“Let me see that grin again, and you will feel real pain,” warns the Induna.

Gudlo wipes his nose. Examines the blood on his knuckles, looks at the Induna. “I do not understand this outrage,” he says. And the hint of a sneer is evident, but the Induna chooses to restrain himself.

“Why has nobody said anything about the shame
she
brought upon us when first she started fondling that savage! Hai, the day
that
started, she ceased to be my kin. And besides, I have always regarded her as a tasty morsel.”

After the udibi has helped him up a second time, and he has spat out a globule of blood, Gudlo remains defiant. “Beat me as much as you like, Nduna, but that doesn't change the fact I was doing her a favor. No one would touch her once they found out about her fondness for animals.”

This time the Induna's fist has Gudlo bending over, has him clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

“Leave some for me,” says Jembuluka, and he's sure that Zusi's assorted uncles and brothers would like their turn, too.

Still panting, Gudlo straightens up, favors Jembuluka with a glare that becomes another one of his sardonic grins.

But the grin has gone when he addresses the Induna once more. “As I say, you can beat me as much as you like.”

“You issue an invitation many are willing to accept.”

Another glance at Jembuluka. “This is so,” coughs Gudlo, leaning aside to spit out a tooth. “But,” he continues, “you surely do not believe that I killed my beloved little sister? Hai, we were still only at the courting stage. I had not yet …” He holds up a hand. “Before you hit me again, Nduna, let me say I mention this merely to point out I had no reason to kill Zusi.”

“Unless, of course, she threatened to tell your uncle,” says the Induna, indicating Jembuluka.

“Him? Why should I be afraid of him? Or his sister, for that matter. Neither had I anything to fear from Zusi. Who would believe her, after the shame she had already brought on this family? So I say again, Nduna, beat me, but you will not be breaking Zusi's murderer beneath your fists. No, if it's her murderer you're after, I suggest you speak to her lover instead.” He spits the word out.

“Her lover?”

“I mean Vala. And I say this knowing full well how you suspect Kholisa. Speak instead to that savage, who I believe has been taken into one of the King's regiments.”

Speak to Vala, he repeats, and ask him about the iwisa.

The stories told by Gudlo's friends tally. An all-night beer-drinking session had continued into the morning. Gudlo and his friends had not been the only ones present—many others had come and gone. At the time Zusi was last seen, their drinking was still going on.

“What say you?” asks the Induna, as the last of Gudlo's friends is allowed to stagger away.

“I say he contemplated a terrible thing, and bullied this poor girl, but I do not think he killed her,” says the udibi.

But what does the Induna make of Gudlo's mention of Vala? And the iwisa?

“Yes,” says the Induna, “that was interesting.” Especially since Gudlo was the one who'd found the murder weapon among Vala's meager possessions …

“But we won't know until we can speak to Vala himself,” he adds.

Unfortunately, it's too late now, and it might be a few days before they can get to see him. The First Fruits is reaching its climax, and tomorrow is the Calling of the King.

Ornamental fur ropes for wrapping around the upper body and headdresses such as the isidlodlo, a bunch of feathers worn at the back of the head, and the isiyaya, a circlet of standing feathers, are stored in a large earthenware pot. Hanging against the hut wall is a hollowed-out tree trunk, called an isambo: in this cylinder are kept the more precious head-plumes made from ostrich and black finch feathers. Amashoba and other “furry tails” are kept rolled up in a large rush mat, called an umbuma. The ends of it are tied close, to prevent the ingress of smoke, and then the rolled-up mat is hung horizontally from the wall. Carried on an udibi's head, the mat also serves as a suitcase to protect the warrior's attire if the wedding or feast he must attend is somewhere far off.

He sits, oblivious amid this finery, having sent his udibi away. And not just because he wants to be alone. Brave soldier, and veteran warrior that he is, he doesn't recognize this feeling—fear? terror? shock? horror? dread?—but it runs through his blood like a fever, and he feels that others need to be kept away, in case his very thoughts might be contagious.

She didn't come to him, simply because she knew he would have done everything in his power to thwart her plans—but if only she had. If only she had!

I would have told you why! No matter how long it took, I would have told you why you could not do this.