Twin shouted after the policemen as they rode away with the boy and girl, “You will pay for this, Mjuza! The ancestors will punish you! Your own father, our great Prophet Nxele, will twist your neck for consorting with the conquerors of his people, they who have murdered the son of their own god!”
Mjuza only laughed at his empty words.
People remained asking themselves what had happened to Mjuza. He was the son of Nxele, the prophet who prophesied the resurrection of the dead in 1818! He who was known far and wide as a great anti-colonial militant! He who was a war hero, who burnt down a mission station in Butterworth in 1851 and was shot in the stomach by a colonial bullet! He who had announced at the beginning of the cattle-killing movement that his father was coming back at the head of the Russian army to liberate the amaXhosa people! Here he was today, a servant of his colonial masters, a hero of the Unbelievers! Indeed burning embers gave birth to ashes!
Meanwhile, Twin-Twin was happy to hear that the power of the prophets of Gxarha had finally been broken. He rejoiced even more when he heard later that Nongqawuse herself was finally routed out of her hiding place and arrested. And so was Nonkosi, the prophetess of the Mpongo River. They were all in the custody of Major John Gawler.
Perhaps now the madness will come to an end in the land and families will come together, thought Twin-Twin. But after all the pain inflicted on him by the scourge of belief, he would not forgive Twin. He would not forgive his own senior wife either. She who was once identified by Mlanjeni as a witch. She on whose behalf he had suffered the humiliation of flagellation. She who had defected to the Believers. His scars itched terribly at the thought of the treacherous woman.
The saddest thing about NoPetticoat’s defection to Camagu’s cooperative society is that no one scratches and soothes Bhonco’s scars when they itch in anger. Although the once-happy couple live in the same house, they don’t talk anymore. And Bhonco, son of Ximiya, is determined that he will not talk to her until she returns to her senses.
She, on the other hand, is determined never to come to any senses other than those that she has at the moment. These are the senses that made her long for her beautiful isiXhosa costumes of the amahomba after seeing the work done by MamCirha and NoGiant at the cooperative society; that made her defy her husband and daughter by joining the cooperative; and that have turned her into a traitor in the eyes of the members of her family, especially now that she sees the issues of development in the village with the same eye as the Believers.
To Bhonco this is the ultimate betrayal. The furrows on his face have become deeper and sadder. Once more the Believers have won a battle. Only a battle, not the war. The war is going to be a protracted one. The Unbelievers will win in the end, because civilization is on their side. Is it not written that victory shall be achieved over the forces of darkness? Light always overcomes darkness and banishes it away.
This thought brings joy to his heart. But instead of crying — it is his habit to cry for beautiful things — he bursts out laughing. He just melts into laughter. He has finally found it taxing to be grave and angry all the time. He walks all over the village laughing. The hadedah ibises retreat, unable to compete with his laughter. He is disgraced among his fellow Unbelievers. The story is relayed from one mouth to another. “Did you hear the latest? Bhonco laughed!”
The turncoat NoPetticoat is blamed for his debilitated behavior.
Bhonco laughs all the way to Vulindlela Trading Store. Here he finds Camagu pleading with Dalton to go with him to Zim’s to ask for Qukezwa’s hand in marriage. They suddenly stop their conversation. They are alarmed to see the elder laughing.
“I greet you, destroyers of my people!” says Bhonco cheerfully.
“Is something wrong, Tat’uBhonco?” inquires Dalton, looking at him closely.
“Should there be anything wrong, besides the mess you have all dragged us into?”
Camagu and Dalton observe that the laughter is only in his voice. His eyes are sadder than ever.
“Give me ityala, you son of my dead friend, and stop asking me stupid questions,” says Bhonco, waving his hands dismissively.
He demands that Dalton give him credit for corned beef and pipe tobacco. He must write it in his black book, because his daughter, the school principal, will pay. His name, he says, is Bhonco, son of Ximiya. He does not depend on his wife’s nkamnkam or old-age pension. He has educated his daughter precisely so that she could look after him in his old age. As far as he is concerned — and he indicates that he is saying this for the benefit of Camagu — his wife can eat all her money with the Believers who have bewitched her into their camp.
“Your wife joined the cooperative because she wanted to,” says Camagu, as Dalton puts the goods the elder wants on the counter in front of him. “No one enticed her there. It is for her own good and the good of her family. Soon she will be making more money than the nkamnkam she gets from the government.”
Bhonco bursts out laughing, takes his canned beef and tobacco, and walks out of the store. The two men shake their heads pityingly.
“Is the world coming to an end?” asks Dalton.
“There is nothing cheerful about that laughter,” observes Camagu. “It is the laughter of sadness.”
“You know, what you want me to do. . my wife will be very angry with me,” says Dalton, reverting to what they were discussing before the laughing elder walked in. “She does not understand what you see in Zim’s daughter.”
“Your wife will never understand. I know that even my friends in Johannesburg would never understand. Sleeping with her, yes. But marrying her! They would certify me mad.”
“This is highly irregular, Camagu,” says Dalton. “I am not your relative. Normally three of your relatives would go to ask for the woman’s hand.”
“I don’t have a relative here, John. So you qualify.”
Zim is sitting under his big tree with four of his male and female relatives when Dalton and Camagu arrive. The ululants and hecklers are not here today. No one knows why Bhonco has recalled them. He has been doing inexplicable things ever since he started this business of laughing.
After greeting the elders, Dalton says, “So you got the message that we would be coming to talk about the intombi—the young woman?”
“Are you the visitors we are expecting?” asks Zim incredulously.
“It is us, Tat’uZim,” says Dalton.
The relatives inspect them from head to toe. All the while they are puffing on their long pipes and ejecting jets of spittle onto the ground. It is a habit that Dalton hates, but he ignores it. He is a beggar here and he cannot dictate how people should behave. Two chairs are brought for them. The relatives are sitting on the ground. They look disappointed.
“We are listening,” says Zim.
“We have come to ask for the intombi,” says Dalton.
“Has the young man already spoken with our intombi?” asks one of the relatives.
“Please allow us to confer first,” pleads Dalton.
The relatives look at one another in amazement.
“Confer? This is a simple question. But we’ll allow you to confer,” says Zim.
Dalton and Camagu walk out of the relatives’ earshot.
“Have you asked Qukezwa to marry you,” asks Dalton, “and has she agreed? That is what the relatives want to know.”
“I have not. I could not,” admits Camagu. “They would not let me see her.”
“You have sent us here to make fools of ourselves. They will ask Qukezwa. What if she says no? Women don’t like to be taken for granted, you know?”