Toziveyi’s ‘primary evidence’: Part 2

Toziveyi brought out a small phone and played what was on the voice recorder. They heard Gurokuro berating Nomad and calling him names. They heard him say something about going to the police. Gurokuro and the others were stunned. Only Mukakami stammered in surprise.

THE guilty are always too talkative and even just a little too fidgety for comfort, Toziveyi was thinking as he made his way over to the open space adjacent to where Nomad’s vehicle was parked. There was a lively fire going there now and the women had begun to sing and ululate in typical village fashion. Nomad had brought nothing special really, just little things to gladden village hearts. A few trinkets, lots of sugar and bread, cigarettes and pouch tobacco for those whose tastes demanded they smoke a pipe. The man had even remembered to bring some snuff along, and candy too for the little ones of the village and old women with a sweet tooth.

Toziveyi descended upon one imbibing group like a cloud of pestilence; no aroma could mask his distinct odour. But country people are very tolerant. If he should ever need an identity card his stench would do just fine. You could always tell if he had passed by, even an hour afterwards. His presence clung to blades of grass, tree trunks and pathways like a blanket of misfortune.

It worked very well for Toziveyi that people thought him harmless. They spoke candidly without reservation in his presence, never thinking that he might repeat any of what he heard. The anonymity suited him well; it gave him a special kind of hold over everyone.

The beers, spirits and wines were brought out and shared. There was even a bottle of vintage whiskey doing the rounds among those who claimed to have worked in some of the country’s major hotels. Of course, Toziveyi was blissfully ignorant of what whiskey was and just how much money had gone into buying the revered bottle. All he knew was it had a fiery taste on the tongue and spoke to you in hot tongues of liquid fire that steamed your chest.

The man with the coarse voice was gorging himself on bottles of traditional brew. That was his forte - drinking a lot of beer in very short spaces of time. It was the reason they called him Gurokuro. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple in moments like this was something to marvel at. It literally did a dance on his wind pipe, and while his fellow drinkers watched and gaped, he downed more bottles than anyone else in the group.

Next to Gurokuro was Mukakami, the one on whom stuttering had imposed a sentence of agitated silence. The man only spoke on occasion, and always to contradict someone. Toziveyi manoeuvred himself into very close proximity with the two. When the bottle came his way he took a small sip and passed it on. He needed to be alert. In the end, everything might depend on just how wide awake he was when it mattered most.

Someone said something about Nomad’s generosity. Another cackled and said there was always a reason for such generosity, especially these days when everyone was crying about how hard life had become. The speaker stopped in mid-sentence to pick a choice piece of roast chicken from the tray being passed along. “The primaries are on the way. He wants to be the next MP,” the man said.

“If he eats and we eat, all is well I would say,” said a man with a squeaky voice.

“Jesus said, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone’,” Toziveyi said. His unexpected words froze the exchanges. Suddenly, Gurokuro cleared his throat and let out a torrent of vitriol.

“Today we are going to see the backside of a snake,” he said in his usual uncouth way. People said he’d spent years away somewhere. Whenever opportunity came his way he made sure to dazzle everyone with strategic recourse to Ndebele idiom.

Toziveyi touched something in his pocket.

“Let us drink the beer before it is taken away,” Gurokuro said. “How can one man have all this? I for one, will not go to sleep and find that in the end I am accused of sharing a fire with a thief. This man is a big thief. So, I am eating and drinking as quickly as I can. Then it’s off to the police post. They will lock him up and throw away the keys.”

Toziveyi cleared his throat and called out to Nomad.

Nomad eased over. He had always been prompt to respond where Toziveyi was concerned.

“Puraimari evhidhenzi,” Toziveyi said. “I have mine. Let Gurokuro produce his.”

Toziveyi brought out a small phone and played what was on the voice recorder. They heard Gurokuro berating Nomad and calling him names. They heard him say something about going to the police. Gurokuro and the others were stunned. Only Mukakami stammered in surprise.

The village dunce had outwitted Gurokuro and his friend.