Unravelled (28 page)

He looks up at me. Thank goodness he’s OK. I don’t know what I would have done – but there’s no point in going there.

“I’m still angry,” I tell him. “You could have killed yourself.”

“You would have saved me.” He smiles, and I stare into his eyes. The blue spot in the irises is shrinking. I look beyond the blue, beyond the surface…and tumble into his thoughts.

No barrier. No black smoke, no shadowy corners. Just thoughts and emotions and ideas lying open before me. Gratitude. Frustration. Love. And fervent, desperate hope. I back out of there in a hurry, stunned. What happened to his natural drifter barrier? Is this a side effect of the antidote?

Before I have the chance to ask him, he doubles over and vomits on the mat, centimetres from my knee. Charming.

“Sorry,” he gasps, and promptly vomits again.

***

I head home later in the day to take a bath. It turns out Dad did come over with a doctor after all – that explains the voices I heard – but Ntatemogolo managed to get rid of them.

Dad’s waiting at the dining table when I enter the house. He doesn’t say a word.

“Hi, Dad.”

No answer. I sigh. He has every reason to be angry, but I’m too tired to deal with this now. My burns are covered by the sleeves of my jacket. I walk slowly towards my room.

“Conyza.”

Oh, hell. If he’s using my full name I must be in serious trouble. “Yes?”

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

I turn to face him, and the words come out in a stammering rigmarole. I stick with Ntatemogolo’s cover story – Rakwena unwittingly ingested some
muti
and is having a bad reaction. It’s a pathetic lie and I don’t expect Dad to buy it. I brace myself for an argument, but it never comes.

He just looks at me, his expression mutinous. “Anything else?”

“I…I’m sorry I went against your wishes. I was just scared, I wanted to make sure he was OK.”

“And is he OK?”

I nod. “He’ll be fine.”

Dad doesn’t say another word on the matter. His expression softens into a worried frown, and he dismisses me with a curt nod. I’m surprised and relieved. It’s not like Dad to back off so easily, not when it comes to Ntatemogolo, but I guess he doesn’t want to get caught up in our “mumbo-jumbo”. One thing’s for sure, though – whatever hope I had of bringing the two men together has faded completely. I can sense that Dad’s mistrust of Ntatemogolo has grown exponentially. I don’t know how this will affect their working relationship, and frankly I don’t care. I have more important things to worry about.

***

Over the next few days my life revolves around taking care of Rakwena. I was wrong about the antidote being responsible for my sudden access to his thoughts. The potion is something Ntatemogolo whipped up soon after creating the serum, just in case. Clever man. It’s powerful, but all it has done is flush the serum out of Rakwena’s system. The problem he’s having now is the withdrawal, and that’s what has weakened his barrier.

The vomiting was the first stage. Now he’s moved on to shivers and fatigue, and disorientation. He lies on the bed staring sullenly at the wall, and when he talks I can barely understand what he says.

On the third day, Ntatemogolo sends me to Rakwena’s house to fetch him some clean clothes and give Rre Sechaba an update. I stand outside, ringing the bell for a long while. I can tell Rre Sechaba’s home because I heard noises coming from inside, but the gate remains resolutely closed. I hold down the intercom button.

“Hello? Rre Sechaba, are you there? It’s Connie.”

I hear the shuffling sound of footsteps and the gate slides open a fraction. Rre Sechaba smiles apologetically at me through the narrow gap.

“Connie, how are you?”

“Fine, thank you. How are you?”

He nods solemnly. “Is he better?”

I frown. Why is he behaving so strangely? It’s as if he doesn’t want me to come in. “It was bad.” A small lump forms in my throat as I recall the way Rakwena’s body pulsed and twisted beneath the strain of his power. “But he’ll be OK. My grandfather wants to keep an eye on him for a day or two. I knew you’d be worried – I came to let you know.”

He smiles. “You are a good girl. Thank you. I’m sure you have things to do…”

“Um, I have to fetch a few things for him. A change of clothes, toothbrush.”

“Ah.” He glances over his shoulder, then gives me a pleading look. “The house is not fit for guests. Can you wait here?”

“But I’m not a guest,” I protest. “Rre Sechaba, what’s wrong? Is there someone in the house?” Panic grips me as I consider the worst possibility. “Is his father…?”

“No, no,” he replies in a terse whisper. He sighs. “He wouldn’t want you to see. He would be ashamed.”

Now I’m more worried than ever. “Ashamed of what? Please let me in!”

He hesitates, vacillating between loyalty to Rakwena and concern. He makes his decision, and the gate slides open a little further. I slip into the yard and stop dead.

I’m vaguely aware of the gate closing; my attention is focused on the devastation before me. It looks as if Mother Nature threw a temper tantrum and trashed the place. The beautiful garden that Rre Sechaba has tended to with such love is no more. The flowers in front of the house have withered and died, and what remains has been choked by weeds almost as tall as me. All around the yard plants have been uprooted and flung aside, and the big tree under which Rakwena usually parks the car has been split down the middle, one half blackened and dead, the other struggling valiantly to survive. The dead half is curled in on itself, the dry branches stroking the ground.

I turn to Rre Sechaba in dismay. “Rakwena did this?”

“He was in pain,” he says with a shrug. “It just happened.”

I gulp. I’m at least partially to blame for his pain. I gaze around me in horror. I glance at the monster weeds, my mind reeling, and a fragmented memory comes to me. Rakwena once told me he couldn’t work with plants because his powers killed them – except hardy weeds, which seemed to flourish. It was funny then. Not anymore.

“Come,” Rre Sechaba says gently, leading the way to the house.

I follow, dread settling in the pit of my stomach. When I enter the house I exhale. It’s bad, but not as bad as the garden. The furniture has been toppled over, but most of it is undamaged. The dining table is broken. Sculptures lie on the floor among scattered newspapers, magazines and CDs, and the shiny fragments of what used to be the coffee table. Even the home entertainment system and plasma screen are on the floor, scratched and dented.

I can see the evidence of Rre Sechaba’s attempts to clean up; a broom and dustpan lean against the wall, next to a pile of debris from the dining room. I glance towards the kitchen and notice that the floor is damp and a mop and bucket are standing in the doorway.

The only thing in the room that hasn’t been touched is Mmabatho’s portrait. I stare at her warm, bright smile and tears prick my eyelids. “Did he know what he was doing?”

“Sometimes. He was very angry.” The old man shakes his head. “I couldn’t even talk to him – he was just shouting and the power was coming out like a flood. But the garden…that one happened when he was asleep. I don’t know what he was dreaming about, but in the morning…” He shrugs.

We stand there in silence for a long time, surveying the damage. When he speaks again his voice is soft and wistful.

“I didn’t know he could be like this anymore. When he was a boy, it was difficult for him to control it. But since he started taking the medicine he’s been so good. So calm.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on him. It’s not his fault.”

“No. It’s mine.”

Rre Sechaba smiles sadly. “Not yours, either. This day was bound to come. No one can fight blood forever.”

I blink back the tears. “That’s true.”

“I was worried when I found out he was taking more of the medicine. Too much of anything is never good, you know.” He looks at me, and I sense his discomfort. “Please don’t misunderstand me – I know your grandfather is a wise man and I don’t blame him for what happened. He had his reasons for increasing the dose. Even wise men make mistakes.”

I frown, annoyed that he would jump to that conclusion, and feeling defensive on Ntatemogolo’s behalf. “My grandfather didn’t increase the dose. Ntatemogolo would never do something so reckless. He wouldn’t even have given Rakwena more medicine if he had known what was going on. Rakwena was the one who said he was travelling and didn’t want to run out.”

Even as I say the words, I can’t ignore the tiny fragment of doubt in my mind. Ntatemogolo hasn’t been himself. How do I know that he didn’t increase the dose? How do I know what’s been going through his mind?

Rre Sechaba regards me with an odd expression. It fades almost instantly, replaced by a mask of polite contrition. “Of course. I made a mistake; I’m sorry.”

“Is that what Rakwena told you? Did he say my grandfather instructed him to double the dose?”

“No,” he replies, but I know he’s lying to defend Rakwena. “I just assumed.”

I swallow my anger. Rakwena was in a bad place, and I want to understand where he was coming from. If I’d decided to overdose and got caught doing it, I’d probably also make up a story to justify it. It was the only thing he could say that would put Rre Sechaba’s mind at rest. After all, Ntatemogolo is the one who formulated the serum.

That’s assuming Rakwena was lying, a wheedling voice tells me. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe… No. I push that voice aside. No matter what is going on with my grandfather, he would never put someone in danger. It’s unthinkable. Strange behaviour is one thing, but deliberately making Rakwena sick? Why? It makes no sense. Ntatemogolo wouldn’t do something like that. Would he?

I take a deep breath. I’m tired of being angry and confused. It’s over now – the lies are done, the truth is out and Rakwena will be fine. That’s what matters. “I’m sorry, Rre Sechaba. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. Rakwena is getting better, and there will be no more of that medicine.” I walk into the middle of the room and start turning things the right way up.

“No, please.” He follows me, both hands held up in protest. “I will manage. You have to take his clothes to him.”

“He’s sleeping for now. Let me just help you with this room.”

He nods his approval, and together we try to undo the damage. After everything is back in its rightful place and the room has been swept, Rre Sechaba goes to get the vacuum cleaner while I go to Rakwena’s room.

I look around at the neat space and see a few tell-tale signs of Rakwena’s anguish. The cracks in the window, the shiny brand new desk. I spot his school bag on a hook on the closet door. I take it down, shake the contents out onto the bed and open the closet. I select a T-shirt, cargo pants and two sets of clean socks and boxer briefs. There is no awkwardness about it. Watching someone almost die tends to erase all that nonsense. He already has shoes with him, so I just grab a jacket and then head to the bathroom to find his toothbrush, razor and shaving cream. Upon returning I throw in his deodorant and fancy body lotion, then zip up the bag and head back to the living room.

Rre Sechaba has almost finished vacuuming. The living room looks as good as new. The only scar is the empty space where the coffee table stood. He turns off the machine.

“I’m going now. I’ll give him your best.”

He nods. “Thank you, Connie.”

“Sure.”

“Not for these small things.” He pauses, his voice cracking. “For saving his life.”

I want to tell him I owed it to Rakwena for all the times he was there for me, but that’s not why I did it. I love him. I couldn’t let him die.

There are no words that seem appropriate. I just nod, mumble my farewell and exit the house. The gate opens and I walk through, clutching the bag.

***

After a week Rakwena’s powers stabilise, and he’s strong enough to go home. The place looks almost normal. Rre Sechaba managed to clear away the weeds and dead plants, but the tree Rakwena sliced in half still looks like a prop from a horror film.

We’re sitting on the sofa, Rakwena devouring a massive plate heaped with food. I’ve avoided discussing the drifters so far. I haven’t heard from Temper and company, but I can imagine how anxious they must be.

“What are you going to do?”

He looks up quizzically, his mouth full. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being able to read him so clearly. It feels as though I’m taking advantage of his weakness.

“About your cell.”

His face drops. He finishes eating in silence, then puts the plate on the new coffee table Rre Sechaba picked out. “Do I have to do something?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “I don’t know, Connie. I’m still getting used to being off the serum; I can’t think about that now.”

“You have to think about it. What about the bond? I know you feel it.”

He winces. “I wish I didn’t.” He looks at me. “They came to your grandfather’s house, you know.”

“What? When?”

“When your grandfather went to fetch you. They knew something was wrong, so they came to find me, but I wouldn’t let them in and they’d never enter uninvited. There was nothing they could do, and your grandfather wouldn’t want them there, so they left.”

I reach for his hand. “You have to go back to them,” I tell him firmly.

He pulls his hand out of my grasp. “Forget them. What about us?”

Ah. That. I swallow hard.

“Try to understand why I didn’t tell you. I was scared that you’d hate me. I’m sorry.” His tone is plaintive, and that just annoys me.

“Don’t grovel,” I mutter, slumping against the cushions. “This isn’t about our relationship. It’s far bigger than that. It’s about who we are.”

He understands; I can see it in his eyes. But being the stubborn fool he is, he’s going to argue anyway. “I’m not a drifter anymore. The serum has changed me, don’t you get it? I haven’t felt an urge in years, and I can’t even remember my last conquest.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll always be a drifter. Even if you never conquer again.”

“I’m human!” His temper flares without warning. “Why do you think it doesn’t hurt when I touch you? I’m
human
!”