Two Hangmen, One Scaffold Book I: Baiting the Hangman

Chapter 5

49 C Chapter 5 atipa had no idea how long she sat on the bed trying to gather her senses, but instead stared blankly at her reflection. Several times, she heard Mr Emedhi begging her to come out. She thought of her husband. Akar often said he was a matador, and Peza was a banderillero, the bullfighter found in the initial stages of a bullfight. The preliminary fighter lanced the bull with banderillas, barbed colourful sticks skilfully placed in the top of the bull’s shoulders to stop the beasts from hooking to one side, which could gravely endanger a matador. Her husband, a satellite TV bullfight aficionado, told them a good banderillero ran as close to the bull as possible, lancing the beast in the shadow of death. Akar said the crowd judged these daredevil pacesetters, whose banderillas corrected dangerous tendencies in the manner the bull charged, on their form and bravery. Banderillas often became matadors, the main performing athlete and artist tasked with gracefully dispatching the bull in the final stage. Now with the matador dead, what use would be a banderillero? The family had often watched Spanish and Mexican matadors and banderilleros gored and disfigured during televised bullfights. The sport sickened her. Some matadors died in the arena. When he was home, she sat by his side and watched the fights for his sake. He was a man with a taste for violent movies and horrific films. If such movies weren’t obtaining on TV, he settled for sports channels that aired Russian and American wrestling bouts that drew blood and left some performers critically injured. With passion, he watched documentaries of rodeo tournaments shot in Spain and the Americas. Sitting on the bed, Matipa saw that his fondness for death and the deathly, including the grim spectacle of the Zulu ukweshwama ritual, fanned some malevolent fantasy in him, a fantasy she saw M 50 immediately after marrying him. Back then, she took it in her stride hoping it would be a short-lived infatuation. She came to accept him as a man who lived comfortably in two worlds; one dark and hidden, the other that of everyone in whose enterprise he was a father, loving husband and breadwinner. When throughout the years of their marriage his fondness for the macabre had stuck to him without signs of waning, she had hoped in vain his dark side would remain hidden to her and the community at Sakis Mine. Now her husband was finally dead, everything pointed to it. “Mrs Muja,” Mr Emedhi called outside, “The manager made it clear that I should come with you. I’ve been standing here for a long time now. I beg you not to make my life difficult.” “I’m no one’s prisoner, Mr Emedhi!" she shouted, her face livid. “I know where the office is. I’ll follow you shortly.” She heard his footsteps as he walked away, and wiped the sweat on her bow with the flap of her headscarf. To embolden herself, she finally muttered a prayer to Michael, the archangel of war and courage. Then she stood up, crossed herself thrice and walked towards the door. With the house locked and the key tacked in a cup of her brassiere against her breast, she walked away from the house towards the mill site. However, the noise of children playing soccer in an open space in the middle of the compound’s huts caught her attention. Pausing, she looked in the direction of the noise and saw Peza playing soccer with his age-mates. Like a jillion Buffalo, after creating elbowroom, Peza bulldozed his way through batteries of defenders to score spectacularly to applause from onlookers and Matipa’s admiration. Her son was the sole proud owner of a genuine leather Olympics-standards football, the latest FIFA World Cup replica. For that reason, he was popular among his peers. The boy loved soccer, which he played until he was bone-weary. At night, they heard him snoring like a cardiac patient. His idols were Kaká, Christiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi. However, to her 51 understanding, he didn’t play like any of the three, but like Samuel Etó-o, the Cameroonian. If his father were dead, then Peza’s dream of one day becoming an international soccer star in the European or Spanish League was kaput. She walked towards the heavy thuds of the mill...