Chapter 3 : The Waterhole
758 Words
The first night without her parents in the Hyde Park mansion felt wrong.
The house was too big with just the three of them. Their footsteps echoed down the marble hallways.
Lihle made vetkoek the next morning because the kitchen felt empty without someone cooking. Sanele moved his laptop into the study on the second floor and told Milpark he would be working remotely for two weeks. Zinhle drove in from Pretoria with a suitcase and told her firm she would be based at the family home until her parents were back.
None of them said it, but they were all listening. For a car at the gate. For a phone to ring. For anything.
Two days passed. No calls. No texts.
“That’s what Dad said,” Lihle said on Wednesday night as she set the big dining table. “No phones. No signal. It’s supposed to be just them.”
Zinhle nodded. She kept her phone face up next to her plate anyway.
On Thursday morning the house phone rang. It was the driver who had taken Siya and Nomvula to Lanseria.
“Just confirming,” he told Sanele. “Mr. and Mrs. Dlamini checked in. Private flight to Hoedspruit. Everything was normal.”
“Thank you,” Sanele said. He hung up and looked at his sisters. “They made it to Mpumalanga.”
Zinhle let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Okay. Good.”
---
Four hours east, the air in Bushbuck Ridge was hot and heavy.
The airstrip was dirt. A windsock. One small building. A ranger in green met Siya and Nomvula and loaded their two bags into a safari vehicle.
“Welcome to Bushbuck Ridge Private Reserve,” he said with a smile. “You’ve got the lodge to yourselves. Cook comes twice a day. Otherwise it’s just you and the bush.”
Siya nodded. “That’s what we wanted.”
The lodge sat on a rise overlooking a waterhole. Thatched roof. Wooden deck. A pool that reflected the sky. From the bedroom window, Nomvula could see trees for kilometers. No other houses. No other people.
It was beautiful. It was also the quietest place she had ever been.
The first day they kept to small talk. A walk. Lunch on the deck. Dinner with wine. Siya told stories about when they were young. He reached across the table and held her hand.
Nomvula wanted to believe this could work.
On the second night Siya knocked on the bedroom door. He was in a robe.
“Can’t sleep,” he said. “Come see the waterhole with me. The stars are different here.”
Nomvula hesitated. The path to the deck was dark. Only the moon and a few lanterns near the pool.
She followed him anyway.
They stood at the railing. Below them the water was black and still. Frogs called from the reeds. Far off, a hyena laughed.
“It’s peaceful,” Nomvula whispered.
Siya didn’t answer. He moved closer to the edge. The railing came up to his waist. The wood looked old.
“Look,” he said, pointing down.
Nomvula leaned forward.
A hand came to the small of her back. Not hard. Just pressure.
Her foot slipped on the deck.
She grabbed the railing. Her heart jumped into her throat.
“What—”
Siya pulled her back immediately. “Careful,” he said, gripping her arm. “The deck is wet. You almost went over.”
Nomvula was shaking. “I didn’t feel any water—”
“It’s okay,” Siya cut in. He put both arms around her. “I’ve got you. I’m sorry. I should’ve put a light out here.”
He led her back inside. He made rooibos tea. He sat with her on the couch until her hands stopped shaking.
Much later, lying in bed, Nomvula stared at the ceiling.
She had stepped onto the deck with dry feet.
Outside, something large slipped into the waterhole without a sound.
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Back in Hyde Park, Zinhle woke at 3 AM.
She didn’t know why. The house was dark. Sanele’s study light was still on. Lihle’s door was closed.
Zinhle went to the kitchen for water. The fruit bowl sat on the marble counter. Empty.
She ran her finger over the wood. There was a faint circle of dust. The exact size of the cream card her father had left.
She frowned and pulled her hand back.
Maybe I’m being delusional, she thought.
She went back to bed.
- Writer
