Zulu Read Online Free Page B

charities.
    Biko Street. Neuman parked beside the electricity meter, from which a spider’s web of wires spread out toward the houses. The number 124 was painted on a tin can stuck to the front of the door. No name, no letter box—no one in the township ever received mail. He knocked at the plywood door, which almost fell on his feet as it opened.
    A woman appeared in the doorway of the shack, wearing a satiny acrylic dress most notable for how little of her body it covered. The lines at the corners of her eyes spoke of constant misfortune and lots of sleepless nights. She had clearly just gotten out of bed.
    â€œWho is it?” a man’s voice called from behind her.
    â€œLet it go, King Kong. You wouldn’t measure up.” She had a smile that went well with her skimpy dress.
    â€œI’m looking for a woman,” Neuman said. “Nora Mceli.”
    â€œNope, not me. Pity, isn’t it?”
    â€œThat depends on what’s happened to her. Nora was still living here in 2006 with her son Simon. It seems she left the township a few months ago.”
    â€œCould be.”
    â€œNora Mceli,” he repeated. “A local
sangoma
.”
    The woman, standing there on the earth floor, wiggled her hips.
    â€œWho the hell is that?” the voice behind her called.
    â€œTake no notice,” the woman said, with a confidential air. “He’s always in a bad mood when he’s been drinking the night before.”
    â€œStop wiggling your ass and answer me!” the man shouted. “This is my house!”
    Neuman walked past the woman, her eyes now like cold embers. She made no attempt to stop him. A black of about thirty, wearing nothing but a pair of shapeless shorts, lay on a straw mattress that took up half the room, drinking a beer. The floor was strewn with cigarette butts, underpants, and beer cans. Part of an engine stood in the kitchen sink. The woman was only passing through.
    â€œI’m looking for Nora Mceli. The
sangoma
who used to live here.”
    â€œShe’s not here anymore,” the man replied. “What are you doing in my house? This is private property!”
    Neuman flashed his badge at the man’s crumpled face. “Tell me what you know, or I might decide to take a look around.”
    The man shrank in his soccer shorts—the place stank of
dagga
, the locally grown weed.
    â€œI told you I don’t know her. I took over the house from my cousin, Sam.” He made a gesture with his head. “You’ll have to ask him. I don’t know anything. I’m not even sure when I was born!”
    The woman chuckled, and the man followed suit.
    â€œHe’s telling the truth!” she assured Neuman, calmly.
    She was still swaying in the doorway. Pepper and honey—that was what her skin smelled of. He remembered that he hadn’t told Maia he was coming.
    Â 
    Fortunately, Cousin Sam was more forthcoming. Nora and Simon had left about a year earlier. The
sangoma
wasn’t well liked in the neighborhood. She was accused of making
muti
, magic potions, and casting spells. People even said that was why she had fallen ill, her powers had turned against her. As for her son Simon, he remembered a taciturn, sickly boy distrusted by everyone for reasons of superstition.
    â€œThey’ve never been back,” Sam assured him.
    â€œDidn’t Nora have any family?”
    Sam shrugged. “She sometimes mentioned a cousin on the other side of the railroad tracks.”
    The squatter camps.
    The sun was chasing away the noon shade. Neuman was walking to his car when he got the call from Dan Fletcher.
    â€œAli. Ali, you’d better get over here.”
    Â 
    The clouds were flowing like liquid nitrogen from the top of Table Mountain down to Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. Neuman walked along the path without a glance at the bright yellow and white flowers in the borders. Dan Fletcher was waiting under the trees, his