But there are those who look at him with compassion and mutter that the poor man’s cattle got finished when he educated his daughter right up to university level. This education swallowed even the money he had accumulated in his younger days when he worked in East London and Cape Town. And now the government is not even giving him any old-age pension, any nkamnkam.
“I think it is a wonderful thing that your daughter has built you a house, Tat’uBhonco,” says Dalton. “Don’t you think so, Camagu?”
“I agree,” rejoins Camagu. “You are truly blessed to have a daughter like Xoliswa Ximiya.”
Zim pierces them with his wounded eyes.
“Didn’t I hear of some man who was bought with the thighs of someone’s daughter?” he asks in a contemptuous voice.
“Are you insulting my daughter, Zim?” fumes Bhonco. “Are you insulting the principal of this village? Is it my fault that no decent man will look at your floor-scrubbing daughter?”
Dalton steps between the elders, and tells them that if they want to start their nonsense again they should do it elsewhere. Camagu suggests that now that they are all together it would be better to try to close the chasm that exists between Bhonco and Zim through dialogue. For the sake of the village it is better if the elders lead their followers into working together rather than pulling in different directions. He offers to mediate.
“You cannot be a mediator,” says Zim. “We all know about you and Bhonco’s daughter. We have heard already that you are going to be his son-in-law.”
“How can you say that when Dalton and I have eaten in your house, and have made it clear where we stand on these issues?” rebuts Camagu.
“Aha!” shouts Bhonco. “So I was right. You have chosen your side already. I defended you when the villagers were accusing you of taking the side of redness. When we heard of your decision to stay in this village we were happy. We said among ourselves, now here was an educated man who would see our point of view. . who would support the introduction of civilization to our lives. You disappointed many people when you joined the side of this child of Dalton and his Believers.”
Dalton makes a feeble attempt to explain that he is not a Believer. But Bhonco, son of Ximiya, has not finished with him yet.
“You — shut up! I am talking to this boy from Johannesburg who I doubt is even circumcised! As for you, Dalton, you can thank God that your father is no longer alive to see this shame. He was a man of progress, your father. He would be ashamed to see you dragging this village into darkness. He used to tell us every day that we were savages who needed some enlightenment. Now that enlightenment is coming to the village you fight against it!”
By this time a number of people who have come to the shop are surrounding the men. They heckle their agreement or disagreement with the speaker. It is clear that the majority of those assembled are on the side of civilization, as represented by the gambling resort and water-sports paradise. Dalton skulks away into the shop. Camagu thinks that this may be the opportunity to thrash out these differences. But it seems that each side wants to play to the gallery. Zim, for instance, is prancing about, mouthing invective against those hecklers who agree with Bhonco’s point of view.
“I do not see how you people can agree with these Unbelievers,” he says. “These are the very people who consort with white businessmen from Johannesburg who want to destroy our trees,” he says.
He has played into Bhonco’s hands. It is as if the elder was waiting for just that kind of stupid statement.
“It is clear that the Believers are mad,” he says. “It is foolish to talk of conserving indigenous trees. After all, we can always plant civilized trees. Trees that come from across the seas. Trees that have no thorns like some of the ugly ones you want to protect. Trees like the wattle and the bluegum that grow in the forest of Nogqoloza. You know that Nogqoloza is a beautiful forest because the trees there were planted in straight lines many years ago. Although we do not like white people for causing the sufferings of the Middle Generations, we must at least thank them for planting the forest of Nogqoloza.”
Most people agree that the Believers have gone overboard in their madness. Dalton, for instance, has been urging the chief to stop the boys from taking the eggs of birds from their nests. Whoever heard of such nonsense? Don’t all boys grow up doing that? From time immemorial? And this business of banning boys from hunting wild animals with their dogs, where does it come from? And what gives Dalton the right to change the ancient practices of the people? How dare he try to influence Chief Xikixa on such matters? And of course the headless chief is capable of bending to the slightest breeze, although in this case he has not been stupid enough to accede to Dalton’s exhortations.
“You have heard with your own ears, my people,” says Zim, seizing the opportunity to score a point. “This son of Ximiya says the very white people who took our land are wonderful people just because they planted bluegum trees at Nogqoloza. That is why he now wants us to consort with whites who plan to turn our village into a business from which we won’t benefit. He is a tool of white people, just like his forefathers who became tools of The Man Who Named Ten Rivers.”
“What is Zim talking about?” cries Bhonco. “Is he not the one who is working with the white man Dalton to drag our village deeper into redness?”
“Dalton is not really white,” says Zim in the trader’s defense. “It is just an aberration of his skin. He is more of an umXhosa than most of us. He was circumcised like all amaXhosa men. He speaks isiXhosa better than most of you here.”
The impromptu meeting degenerates into a free-for-all din. Everyone thinks he or she has something wise to share with the rest. And everyone wants to dispense this wisdom at the same time. All of a sudden Dalton and Missis rush out. Missis screams so sharply that everyone suddenly keeps quiet.
“This is not a beer hall,” she shrieks. “You can’t hold your meeting here!”
As he walks away, Camagu catches a glimpse of Qukezwa standing at the door with some of Dalton’s workers watching the show outside. He has not seen her since the morning she taught him how to harvest the sea, almost four months ago. He has passed Zim’s house, and has pretended to visit Dalton at his store, all the while hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He has taken lonely walks in Nongqawuse’s Valley, and has visited sacred cairns. He has looked longingly at the great lagoon, which on a clear day he can see from his seaside cottage. But Qukezwa has been nowhere to be seen. Perhaps all for the better, he convinced himself. All for the better. She is not the type of woman he should be associating with.
He has been too wary to ask anyone about her whereabouts, lest people question his interest in Zim’s daughter. He has continued his steady friendship with Xoliswa Ximiya, fueling further rumors in the village about the imminence of their marriage. And bringing further anxieties on Bhonco and NoPetticoat that they are going to lose their daughter to Johannesburg or America. Yet at the same time they are looking forward to a glorious wedding that will enhance their status in society and bring prestige to the rest of the Unbelievers. There is hope yet. The man has started a business with some village women. He may not take her away after all.