Free The Death of the Mantis by Michael Stanley Page A

rheumy eyes. “What is this
place?”
    “Please, old man. I need to talk about The Place. I am sure that
you know about it. I have questions that I must ask.”
    Gobiwasi rocked backwards and forwards and closed his eyes.
    “It was soon after I killed for the first time,” he whispered.
Khumanego had to lean forward to hear. “I shot a springbok and ran
after it for many hours, waiting for the poison to work. My father
followed me. I remember that the animal smiled as I pushed my spear
into its heart. My father watched and said I had become a man.”
    Gobiwasi paused for a long while, dragging memories from deep
within.
    “We skinned the animal and cut it into pieces. When we had
finished, my father took hold of my right hand. He told me he had a
great honour to give me. I didn’t know what he was talking about.
He told me of a place near where the sun sets; a hill where the
spirits live. The spirits who guide our lives, who look after our
people, who provide food and water for us. He said they are the
spirits who rule the world, who control our destiny. It is they who
judge each of our lives, whether we have lived well or not. He said
that this place is known only to a few.”
    Another long pause.
    “I did not know what to think. I wondered if The Place was more
sacred than Tsodilo, the birthplace of mankind, which I thought was
the most sacred of all places. To be revered and respected. That is
where the first spirit knelt down near the top of the Male Hill and
blessed the earth after he had created it. I have been to Tsodilo
and seen with my own eyes the marks in the rock where the spirit
prayed. I have seen the Female Hill, where most of the spirits
live, where they rule the world. Could this place be as great even
as Tsodilo?”
    “Did you find out?”
    Gobiwasi continued to rock, but said nothing, his eyes still
closed.
    “Were you successful?”
    “What is success?”
    “Old man, I need your help. I need the benefit of your wisdom. I
have many questions.” There was urgency in Khumanego’s voice.
    Gobiwasi opened his eyes and stared at him. “I have said too
much. I swore not to talk of these things.” He took a deep breath.
“I see you are eager, but you must be careful and let the spirits
guide you. If you do not, the ancestors will be angry.”
    He struggled to his feet. Khumanego followed suit, many
questions unanswered. Together they walked slowly back to the
waiting group.
    ♦
    Khumanego said a few words to the Bushmen, then walked to the
Land Rover. Kubu and Lerako followed. Kubu didn’t know whether he
should wave to the group, so he turned and touched his forehead.
There was no response.
    They tumbled into the Land Rover, Lerako hesitating only to mark
the spot on his GPS. “Shit! We’re only about a kilometre from where
the body was found. It seemed much further than that.”
    Kubu strapped himself into his seat and prepared for another
bout of torture. For the next twenty minutes, they followed
Khumanego’s directions, Lerako’s mood deteriorating with each
passing moment as he wrestled with the steering wheel. Eventually
Khumanego told them to stop. They climbed from the vehicle and
carefully made their way to a calcrete ridge. Khumanego searched
around, but the ridge appeared solid and unmarked.
    Lerako was hot and irritated, and he lost his temper. “This is
all a complete waste of time! There’s nothing up here. They just
wanted to get rid of us! Let’s get out of here.” But meanwhile,
Khumanego had walked some distance up the ridge, and now he shouted
for them to join him. He was pointing at the ground.
    There, between two ridges of hard calcrete, was a small island
of sand. In it were two prints, clearly of a hiking boot or
something similar. They were pointed away from where Monzo had been
found – about two hundred metres to the east.
    “Could they be Monzo’s?” Kubu asked.
    Lerako shook his head regretfully. “The print of the sole is
different. Monzo’s boots had a