Chapter 4 : The Deal
538 Words
Bushbuck Ridge was quiet in the way only the bush can be.
During the day there were birds and the wind in the trees. At night there was nothing but frogs and the occasional call far off in the dark.
The lodge sat alone. No neighbors. The nearest staff quarters were a ten minute drive down a dirt road. The cook came at 7 AM and left at 6 PM. After that it was just Siya, Nomvula, and the bush.
On the third morning, a man arrived.
He didn’t come through the main gate. He came in a dusty Land Cruiser with no markings. He parked behind the staff shed and walked up to the deck like he owned the place.
Because he did.
“Mandla,” Siya said when he saw him. He stood up from the table.
Mandla Khumalo. 58. Owner of Bushbuck Ridge Private Reserve. Broad shoulders. Gray beard. Eyes that didn’t smile even when his mouth did.
He and Siya went back. University. Business. Old favors.
“Siya,” Mandla said. He hugged Siya. Then he turned to Nomvula. “Mama Dlamini. It’s good to see you.”
Nomvula smiled politely. “Thank you for having us, Mandla.”
Mandla stayed for lunch. He ate with them on the deck. He talked about the rains. About the elephants that had been breaking fences. About business in JHB.
He never looked at Nomvula for too long.
After lunch, Siya walked him to the Cruiser.
They stood in the shade of a mopane tree. Out of earshot of the lodge.
“You sure about this?” Mandla asked quietly.
Siya nodded once. “It has to look like an accident. Nothing that brings police. Nothing that brings the kids here.”
Mandla scratched his beard. “The waterhole. Slip. Hippo. Croc. People believe that out here.”
“Yes,” Siya said. “That’s good.”
“And the story?”
“We were out looking at the stars. She went too close to the edge. I tried to grab her.” Siya’s voice didn’t shake. “You’ll find us in the morning. You’ll call it in. You know the rangers.”
Mandla was quiet for a long time. Then he nodded. “For old times, Siya. But this is the last one. I’m too old for this.”
“It’s the only way,” Siya said. “Clean. Quiet. The foundation stays in the family. No mess.”
Mandla got into his Cruiser. Before he drove off, he looked back at the lodge. Nomvula was inside, washing tea cups. She looked small through the window.
He drove away without waving.
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That night, Nomvula couldn’t sleep again.
She stood at the bedroom window. The moon was high. The waterhole below was black.
She thought about the way Mandla had looked at her. Like he was sorry.
She thought about the way Siya had touched her back two nights ago.
The deck wasn’t wet.
In Hyde Park, the mansion was dark.
Zinhle was asleep. Sanele was on call. Lihle was reading in bed.
No one in Johannesburg knew about Mandla.
No one knew there was already a story written.
An accident. At Bushbuck Ridge Private Reserve.
- Writer
