“Have you heard of Gqoloma?”
“No. What is Gqoloma?”
“It is a snake that lives in Nongqawuse’s Pool. It lives under the water. When Gqoloma goes out of the pool it causes a great storm. When it pays a visit. . moving from the pool at the Gxarha River to another pool at the Qolorha River. . it causes havoc in its wake, like a tornado. It destroys houses. It uproots trees.”
He is not sure if she has answered his question.
Gxagxa gallops on, climbing hills and descending hillocks. He gallops on the rough silvery rocks that dot the coastline above the silvery ocean. She bursts into a song and plays her umrhubhe musical instrument. She whistles and sings all at the same time. Many voices come from her mouth. Deep sounds that echo like the night. Sounds that have the heaviness of a steamy summer night. Flaming sounds that crackle like a veld fire. Light sounds that float like flakes of snow on top of the Amathole Mountains. Hollow sounds like laughing mountains. Coming out all at once. As if a whole choir lives in her mouth. Camagu has never heard such singing before. He once read of the amaXhosa mountain women who were good at split-tone singing. He also heard that the only other people in the world who could do this were Tibetan monks. He did not expect that this girl could be the guardian of a dying tradition.
For some time he is spellbound. Then he realizes that his pants are wet.
It is not from sweat.
Perhaps if he takes his mind off his dire situation, and sends it to dwell on Xoliswa Ximiya’s icy beauty, there might be some respite. She is so beautiful. Xoliswa Ximiya. So staid and reliable.
Qukezwa is not burdened with beauty. She is therefore able to be free-spirited.
7
Twin and Qukezwa sat all day long on the banks of the Gxarha River near the estuary. They watched the sun as it walked across the sky, while the amorous shenanigans of the waters of the river with the tides of the sea filled the couple’s idle lives with monotonous moans. They sat like that every day, hoping the sun would turn red, and other suns would emerge from behind the mountains or from the horizon and run amok across the sky and collide and explode and their embers rain on the earth and burn the hardened souls of the Unbelievers. But every day the sun rose as it had risen in the days of their forefathers.
Sometimes Heitsi would be with them, chasing locusts and fashioning inept flutes from grasses and reeds. He was growing up to be a handful, this Heitsi. At first he had enjoyed being with his parents all the time. But now he preferred to spend most of the day sprinkling sand on the heads of the Believers’ toddlers. If these were normal times, he would be chasing calves and lambs in the fields.
It was the middle of October. Blossoms scented the air.
Twin and Qukezwa sat and watched the sky. And watched the horizon. And watched the sand. He sat behind her, his arms covering her tightly. She sat ensconced between his sinewy thighs. She played the umrhubhe, the musical instrument that sounded like the lonely voice of mountain spirits. She sang of the void that the demise of Gxagxa, Twin’s brown-and-white horse, had left in their lives. She cursed the lungsickness that had taken him away. She spat at those who had brought it into the land. When she closed her eyes she saw herself riding Gxagxa on the sands of the beach, completely naked. Gxagxa began in a canter. And then gathered speed in a fiendish gallop, raising clouds of dust. Again Twin’s thighs were around her. He was sitting behind her, while Heitsi was wrapped in her thighs at the front. Gxagxa continued his wicked gallop until they all disappeared in the clouds. Through the voice of the umrhubhe she saw the new people riding on the waves, racing back according to the prophecies, and led by none other than Gxagxa and the headless patriarch.
The song of the umrhubhe creates a world of dreams.
Twin and Qukezwa sat and watched the sky. Their eyes were now inured to the sharp rays. From a distance they could hear a cry that was carried by the wind from the village. The cry floated above the tidal moans. Above the song of the umrhubhe. She stopped playing and listened carefully.
“It sounds like a war cry,” said Qukezwa.
“It does sound like the village crier. But it cannot be war,” Twin assured her. “There cannot be a war at a sacred time like this.”
He was wrong. It was a war cry. It came from the homestead of Pama, Nxito’s believing son who now acted as chief of Qolorha in his exiled father’s place. Men were beginning to gather from all corners of the village. When Twin’s ears had confirmed that it was indeed a war cry he ran up from the river to Pama’s Great Place and joined the men who had already gathered.
“All men must take up arms!” shouted Pama, addressing the meeting. “We are being invaded. The Man Who Named Ten Rivers has done what he has been threatening to do all along. You all know about the letters he has been writing to our king, Sarhili, making what we thought were empty threats. The threats were not so empty after all. A ship full of his soldiers has been seen entering the mouth of the Kei River!”
The mouth of the Kei was only a few miles from the Gxarha mouth. In no time, armed amaXhosa soldiers were at the banks of the river, watching the ship HMS Geyser sail slowly up one of the channels. More amaXhosa soldiers were arriving from other villages and chiefdoms.
Twin started a war song, and all the men joined in a fearsome unison.
The earth shook. And HMS Geyser stood still. The people in the ship lowered a boat to the river. But it overturned, and the men in it nearly drowned. One of the men refused to get back into the boat. He swam to the shore and ran away like a scared rabbit, to the guffaws of the amaXhosa soldiers. They did not chase him, though. They wanted him to reach East London safely, so that he could warn his masters that it was not the wisest of things to trifle with the amaXhosa people.
There were cheers among the villagers when HMS Geyser shamefacedly sailed back without attacking.
Twin started another song. The men joined in triumphal unison. Piercing ululation filled the air. Twin could hear a distinct howl. He knew at once that Qukezwa was among the ululants. She had never mastered the art of producing the sharp undulating wails that every umXhosa woman produced so well. He turned and looked among the women who were singing in the rear. Indeed there she was, with Heitsi at her back, singing in the peculiar manner of the Khoikhoi, now and then making her vain attempts at ululating.
“Why did you come?” asked Twin impatiently. “You are supposed to be looking after Heitsi at Mhlakaza’s, and not running around the war front.”
“We had to come, Father of Heitsi,” said Qukezwa sweetly. “We cannot let you fight a war alone.”
“I am not fighting a war alone! I am with the other soldiers.”
“Women must do their bit as well. That is why I rallied them from the village to come and ululate their men to victory.”
“Oh, Qukezwa,” pleaded Twin, “you shouldn’t have come. Men don’t understand our relationship. They will say I am under the isikhakha skirts of my wife.”
The victory over The Man Who Named Ten Rivers’ ship started a new frenzy of cattle-killing. It was a sure sign that the new people were powerful, and were about to show themselves according to the prophecies of Nongqawuse. The faith of those people who were beginning to waver was reinforced. A number of Unbelievers became Believers. Even those Believers who had long finished destroying their cattle, and were beginning to get hungry, gained more courage. Although Twin and Qukezwa had long finished destroying their cattle, they could not be counted among those who were hungry or lacked courage. They spent almost all their time at Mhlakaza’s, where they had all their meals. Some believing families who still had cattle and grain were taking them to Mhlakaza’s for the daily feasts.