The Death of the Mantis

Michael Stanley

The Death of the Mantis

Detective Kubu #3

2011, EN

In the southern Kalahari area of Botswana –
an arid landscape of legends that speak of lost cities, hidden
wealth, and ancient gods – a fractious ranger named Monzo is found
dying from a severe head wound in a dry ravine. Three Bushmen
surround the doomed man, but are they his killers or there to help?
Detective David ‘Kubu’ Bengu is on the case, an investigation that
his old school friend Khumanego claims is motivated by racist
antagonism on the part of the local police. But when a second
bizarre murder, and then a third, seem to point also to the nomadic
tribe, the intrepid Kubu must journey into the depths of the
Kalahari to uncover the truth. What he discovers there will test
all his powers of detection…and his ability to remain alive.

Table of contents

Cast of Characters

Prologue: Sixty years ago

Part One

1
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2
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3
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4
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5
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6
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7
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8
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9
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10
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11
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12

Part Three

13
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14
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15
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16
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17
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18
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19
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20
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21
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22
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23
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24

Part Four

25
·
26
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27
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28
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29
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30
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31
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32
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33

Part Five

34
·
35
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36
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37

Part Six

38
·
39
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40
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41
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42
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43
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44
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45
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46
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47
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48

Authors’ Note

Glossary

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

W
ords in square
brackets are approximate phonetic pronunciations. Foreign and
unfamiliar words are in a glossary at the back of the book.

Botswana and surrounding countries

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

Sixty years ago

T
he desert glowed in
the dawn light. The Bushman boy woke from a deep sleep, still tired
from the exertions of the last days. His father was already up,
standing like a sentry, watching the sun creep above the
horizon.

“We must go on, Gobiwasi,” he said. “We will reach The Place
today. We must travel while it is still cool. Here, chew on this as
we go.” He handed the boy a chunk of
hoodia
.

For the boy it had been a journey of heat, of sun, of
exhaustion, as he tried day after day to keep up with his father.
But he had offered no complaint, and now felt the thrill of
discovery ahead. Today
he
would be at The Place! Very few
people had ever seen it or even knew about it! He gathered up his
few belongings, gnawed the root, and tried to match his father’s
easy pace.

After about an hour, his father stopped and pointed silently
ahead of them. Gobiwasi could see what appeared to be small hills
on the horizon. He looked up at his father, and the man nodded.
Then they set off again.

At last they came to the hills – a group of
koppies
rising out of the desert. They passed between them until they came
to one in the centre of the group – a solitary hill with a rocky
cliff facing them to the east, steep slopes to the west. It was
uniformly high north to south, showing caves and recesses from
bottom to top in the cliff. They rested in the dappled shade of a
scrubby acacia and ate and drank a little. Then Gobiwasi’s father
said it was time.

First they went to a large overhang in the centre. There his
father pointed out paintings of ancestors, men and women dancing,
thin-legged, watched by gemsbok, eland and springbok, gorgeous and
strange representations that left the boy awed and a little afraid.
Low down on the right, a lion, teeth unnaturally large, with a
black mane and a long tail, seemed to growl at him.

Then they climbed to a cave many metres off the ground. The
walls were black with soot, and on the floor lay a human skeleton,
bones picked clean. Spread around it in a spiral were the contents
of a hunting bag – spear, bow, delicate arrows, knife, cord,
sandals that looked as if they would fall from the feet at the
first step, leather-topped hollow root for holding the arrows, and
several horns that Gobiwasi knew had contained poisons. To one side
was a toy bow with small arrows – a child’s precious possessions.
And two necklaces of cocoons containing pieces of ostrich egg shell
that rattled in dance. A Bushman’s entire life lay on the floor.
The boy wondered whose life.

They climbed farther, Gobiwasi scared of the height, afraid of
slipping and falling. His father scampered up to the topmost cave,
almost perfectly round at the entrance and perhaps five metres
deep, and waited there. When the boy joined him and had caught his
breath, his father took him by the hand and led him past a crowd of
people, watching from the walls. Red people and brown people.
Adults and children. Animals watched too, and a strangely shaped
white fish that Gobiwasi did not recognise.

For the next few hours his father told him about the spirits and
about the ancestors, visiting different caves and pointing out
important paintings. Then they climbed down, and his father showed
him a hidden spring at the back of a small cave, from which they
drank.

♦

On the second day, his father said they must fast. No food, and
just a little water during the day. Gobiwasi must purify himself.
For that night he would come to know the spirits of The Place.
Gobiwasi was excited, scared, wanted to know more. But his father
would say nothing, and they spent the day resting in the shade.

When it was dark, and before the moon rose, they climbed to the
very heart of The Place. In the dark it was difficult, but the man
knew the way, and they went slowly. “You must remember the path,”
he said. “You will need to find it again a long time from now.”
After a while they came to an open place and rested. His father
gave him some white powder to swallow, and then he collected a
bunch of very dry grass from the previous summer or perhaps the
summer before that. “We will need fire,” he said.

At last they came to a huge dark mass with a gaping crack, as if
split by lightning or a supernatural power. They squeezed through
the crack into the deep dark inside. It was cool, and Gobiwasi
thought he heard whispers. It is the spirits, he thought, his heart
in his mouth. Is this what my father meant? His father sat, put a
wood block on the floor, and rolled the fire stick between his
hands. After what seemed an eternity, the grass flared.

Suddenly the cave became the night sky. Blinking lights set in
darkness. Lights of beauty that searched, probed, judged. He saw
the light flicker on his father’s face, saw that his eyes were
tight shut. He heard voices in his head, knew his father heard
nothing. He cried out.

Then it was over. The flame died. The lights were gone. The
beauty was gone. The voices were gone. He felt his father’s hand
dragging him through the crack in the cave wall, skinning his knees
in the process. The pain brought him back to his senses. He cried
out, gulping the cool night air, and feeling a terrible thirst.

“We will go now to the spring. You can drink. Then we will eat a
little
hoodia
. Then you will sleep and dream. For the
spirits have accepted you.”

Gobiwasi looked up at the stars and thought they were close
enough to touch. They are watching me, he thought, and watching
over me. Then he went with his father.

When Gobiwasi had drunk his fill, his father said, “You have met
the spirits. You have seen their home. The Place is very sacred and
very secret. You must take nothing. You must tell no one where to
find it except your own oldest son when his time comes. And you
must tell no one what you have seen here tonight, not even him. Do
you swear this?”

Gobiwasi nodded. “I swear.”

After that, his father showed him the ancestors in the sky,
bright-eyed and clearly seen. They spoke of these and other things,
until Gobiwasi fell into a drugged sleep.

At dawn he woke with his head full of vaguely remembered dreams.
His father was already up and motioned Gobiwasi to join him on a
flat rock facing the east. Together they watched the great sun
slowly lift itself from the desert to scorch another day.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

A presentiment is also like a dream which we
dream

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

I
t was so hot, the
jackal couldn’t stand still on the sand. It must be well over forty
degrees out there, Vusi thought, watching the animal trotting
towards the shade from the birdbath where it had been drinking,
shaking its paws comically when it stopped momentarily to sniff the
wind. He turned back to the others. Where the hell was Monzo? He’d
be the first to complain if anyone else was late, but he had no
problem keeping his boss and three colleagues waiting for a quarter
of an hour. He was probably picking a fight with someone or causing
other trouble. There’s always one on every team, on every one of
my
teams anyway. Vusi frowned.