“Wha…what do you mean?” If at all possible, Mary’s face seems even more drained than before.
“There has to be something…something Brutus wants from you. I mean, if I’m right, he removed Boggel from Rolbos – let’s call a spade a spade and mention the word kidnapping – and one is left with the obvious: some demand or ransom.” She lets out a sarcastic guffaw. “And anybody who demands a ransom from us Rolbossers, must be crazy. We may be happy, but we’re not rich. Soo…it can’t be about money, can it?”
“But…but why do all this?” Mary sweeps a trembling hand toward the door, as if Brutus and Boggel were standing there. “Why not just contact me?”
“Ha! And after he was the cause for you spending time as guest of the Brazilian government? He set you up, you know it…and you probably hate the guy. Credit the man with some intelligence, will you? He knew the chances that you’d welcome any contact with him, were zero. He had to find a way to get your cooperation – and that’s why Boggel was abducted.”
All eyes now bore into Mary as a tear streaks over her pale cheek.
“Come on, Mary.” Precilla fishes out a Kleenex from her purse. “Didn’t Brutus give you something before you left for Rio? A box, an envelope, some other documents…anything?”
“N…no.” Glancing up when Servaas approaches with a steaming mug of bush tea, she manages a thankful smile. “Oh…he gave me presents, yes. Personal stuff. Flowers and lingerie and some costume jewellery – but nothing that would warrant…this.” Again her hand flutters aimlessly in the air. “I…I don’t understand.”
“There must be something,” Gertruida won’t let up.
Mary holds the mug with both trembling hands as she brings the hot, sweet liquid to her lips. Then she looks up suddenly. “Maybe he wants to…get rid of me.” She ignores the surprised looks. “Yes, that could be it…”
During the months she spent with Brutus, they became what is socially known as an item. They were seen in all the right places – theatres, restaurants, parties, even church. And they visited friends…lots of friends.
“Jail gave me plenty of time to think – there wasn’t anything else to do, after all. After realising that I had been only a convenient link in a drug smuggling chain, I naturally wondered where Brutus got his supplies from, what he did with the drugs and who the other people in this…business…might be. So I played this mental game, see? I tried to recall the people he introduced me to, where we went and who he met there. Who, I wondered, might be his contacts?
“And then I remembered a very specific man, an extremely rich guy, living in Hout Bay in one of the biggest mansions I’d ever seen. Amongst everybody I met in that time, he stand out by a mile. We visited him at least once a week – sometimes for supper, on weekends for a picnic in the huge garden, and sometimes just to have a drink. That man! I remembered the Dom Perignon, the caviar, the massive parties – and the yacht.” She closes her eyes, calling up the images from an apparently carefree era. “And I remembered how I wondered about his wealth. How did he get so stinking rich? That’s when I started thinking this man must be the big boss. the kingpin.Then there was a man that often phoned – late at night. Never knew who he was, but Brutus always gave him legal advice…or so Brutus said. He once remarked – Brutus did – how politicians can be so ignorant. But…those two came to mind when I sat in that prison – and that’s all I can think of. Brutus, I realised, had been very careful not to make me suspicious while he was dating me.”
“That’s a possibility,” Gertruida says quietly. “You remember that Beetge woman: the one who was locked up in Brazil as well? Your time there must have overlapped with hers. And she, I may tell you, had been a drug mule for Sheryl Cwele, the former Director of Health and Community Services. Used to be married to nobody else than the Minister of State Security, Siyabonga Cwele.
“Now, I’ve always held the opinion that she was only the tip of the iceberg – the rot in our government runs deeper than one individual. It is entirely possible that some people might want to wipe out any traces of wrongdoing – especially involving dealings with Brutus – by eliminating those involved with your trip to Rio.”
Gertruida sighs – the possibilities have suddenly increased dramatically! Brutus seemed a logical choice for the kidnapper, but now Mary has opened a huge can of worms. But, she thinks, her theory still holds water. Boggel was abducted as bait. Mary has something – or possibly some knowledge – which somebody considers dangerous. And yes, if she knew who Brutus’s contacts were, that knowledge might quite conceivably put her life in grave danger.
“O-o-o-kay then,” she says slowly, “then we simply must find them. Only…we can turn the tables when it comes to baiting. If we can get Brutus to know that Mary is here…?”
Vetfaan gets up suddenly, his face shining with excitement.
“We’ll use the bushman-telegraph! That’s how we’ll find them.”
One of the unexplained phenomena of the Kalahari, is the extraordinary way in which one Bushman clan will know what is happening in other families. It’s uncanny, to say the least. Bleek and Lloyd, in their famous book (Specimens of Bushman Folklore, George Allen and Co, London, 1911), describe the apparent extrasensory perception in the San people. Laurens van der Post expands on this idea in The Heart of the Hunter. Although the people of the Kalahari rarely talk about this (who can explain it, anyway?) it is something they are very much aware of. Last year for instance, when Vetfaan discovered his prize ram missing, he called on Dawid Loper, the Bushman he had once helped when a child developed an illness the herbs won’t cure. Oudok removed a very sick appendix from the infant, thus causing a bond between Dawid and Vetfaan. To cut a long story short, Dawid ‘felt’ the ram at a specific spot – and that’s exactly where Vetfaan found the animal.
Oh, there are many myths about the San people of the Kalahari. Can they really change into animals? Is the ‘tapping’ which Van der Post so vividly describes, not just romanticising the abilities of these men and women we like to view as primitive? Do the men ‘feel’ the babies inside their wives, and do they really grieve even before the tidings of death arrive at their circle of simple huts? The answer isn’t easy. If you live in Cape Town or New York, it is all too easy to scoff; but here, in the Kalahari, there is a deep-rooted respect for the small, yellow men and women who manage to survive where even animals cannot.
“Is Dawid Loper around?” Gertruida looks up sharply. This is one possibility she has overlooked.
“He actually arrived at my farm yesterday night, Gertruida.” Vetfaan shakes his head: another coincidence? “I thought he just came to see if he could beg some sugar or meat…but now I understand…”
Mary allows her head to sink onto her hands. When she starts sobbing again, it is Smartryk – and not Boggel – who lays a soft hand on her shoulder.
My pretty little poppy
You’re like that lovely flower, so sweet and heavenly
Since I found you
My heart is wrapped around you
And loving you it seems to beat a rhapsody
The pretty little poppy
Must copy its endearing charm from you
How I long to hear you say, “I love you.”