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Chapter 8
- LANGAA RPCIG
- Chapter
- Additional Information
77 C Chapter 8 inga was determined to change his livelihood. He saw himself in the near future casting the axe into a tumultuous river. If the river failed to carry the axe to the Indian Ocean, at least it would dispose of its spirit. As he looked at Empress Mine below, the thought that he was on the brink of wealth motivated him. He studied the mine, hoping beyond reality he could find a way in and lay his hands on ingots. However, the odds weighed heavily against him. Though he felt he could tear several men apart with his bare hands, he wasn’t bulletproof. Binga frowned and clicked his tongue several times in anger and frustration. The security was a deathblow to his plans. The pangs of missed opportunities were starting to sting him when he shifted his gaze to the left where the mine’s compound lay less than half a kilometre away. Grocers’ shops lined a broad gravel road passing through the mine. The Gokwe-Kadoma road was ever busy with commuter omnibuses and haulage trucks, the latter ferrying coal from Gokwe Colliery. He would go there and catch a bus home. After all, he had enough gold to rouse a pleasant welcome. He skirted the lit area and came to the shops. At the retail centre though he walked and whistled casually, he was cautious not to mingle with the public in case he might bump into one of his recent victims and a fracas could ensue. He wasn’t a street fighter. He deplored fighting for no reward, especially when the object of the fight was already on his person. The majority of the people at the shops were drinking, noisy prostitutes. Assuming no one present carried a firearm, he would pray for time to stand still in order to route the scores of people in the area, should the community clamour for his blood. Matipa and Peza weighed heavily on his mind when he went to stand by the unlit side of the road. He had never missed them so B 78 terribly all his life. He suspected Matipa was doing some tricks with her apostolic prayers. If she were calling him home through prayer, it would be an unmanly weakness on his part to respond favourably. When an old, roaring convectional bus carrying farm produce pulled to a stop, hurling plumes of dust on him, he boarded and bought a ticket to Kadoma, which meant he was bypassing Sakis Mine. His wristwatch read 7:45 pm. He was the only one who bounded the bus. Tired and sleepy rural people in woollen hats were aboard. He speculated they were travelling from remote Gokwe to sell the produce in Kadoma. Because there were no standing passengers, Binga guessed they were chances he could find a seat and walked towards the back of the bus. He was lucky enough to find one, seemingly the only one left, on the same seat as a suckling mother whose baby was falling asleep. Suddenly the child opened its eyes wide, stared at him and began to cry with its eyes on him as though he were an apparition. Binga tried to look out the closed window nonchalantly, but only saw a reflection of his face in the pane owing to the darkness outside. The juju marks on his brow caught his attention. For the past nine days he had only felt them with his hands, now he had opportunity to see them. The cuts were ugly and conspicuous. From their symmetry, position and the apparent dark ground juju stuffed in them, an observer could tell they weren’t ordinary injuries. He turned away from the window and bowed his head in feigned occupation. Other babies began to cry too, the noise rising to an irritating orchestra. Elderly passengers looked about and blindly cursed people who used evil medicine. Nevertheless, the bus was already in motion. Not long after, and now crying more like the rest of the babies, the one beside Binga started to perspire. He glanced at the child. She was losing breath and stiffening, grasping for air dangerously and critically sliding towards death. The mother panicked and stood up, the yelling child in her hands. Numbed by fear, she looked helplessly at the child, glanced quizzically at Binga and appealed silently for assistance [18.232.62.134] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 07:41 GMT) 79 from the other passengers, tears welling in her...