NURSE THEMBENI
CHAPTER 14
MENZI
Bingelela restaurant is located just outside Bergville, an hour away from Manzana. I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant. I just need to execute a plan before going in there. I stay in the car with the engine running. I should’ve thrown the pill out the window on the drive here. I should’ve told Baba no, but I didn’t, I never do. That’s the problem.
A few tables are still occupied outside, a waitress is moving between them. She spots me as I approach the entrance and her face changes in an instant, then her gaze drops respectfully. It’s what people do when they see me, I might not rule past Manzana, but I’m recognized where ever I go.
“Sawubona, Nkosi,” she says, her voice full of that tame reverence that always makes me feel like a fraud.
I force a small smile.
“Sawubona, sisi. Can I have a quick word with you?”
She sets the tray on a nearby empty table, and follows me without asking why. We walk to my car, far from the lights.
She stands with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes on the ground.
“How can I help you, Nkosi?”
“There’s someone coming to meet me tonight. I need you to serve us, and when you bring our drinks, drop this in his.”
I pull the pill from my pocket and hold it out on my open palm.
Her eyes flick to it, then back to me. A tiny frown creases her forehead, I can only imagine what is going through her mind
“What is it, Nkosi?”
“It’s just something to make him tired. He has an important meeting tomorrow morning, and I need him to miss it, that’s all. It will look like he had one too many drinks, no harm done.”
She stares at the pill for a long moment. I can see the questions in her eyes, she’s terrified and doubtful.
Relief washes over me as she nods, and takes it from my hand. I dig into my pocket and hand her a bundle of notes.
“This is R2000.”
It’s not much, but for a waitress it’s equivalent to a million. She takes the money with a smile.
“I’ll do it, Nkosi.”
“Thank you.”
She slips the pill into her apron pocket and walks back inside.
Regret is eating me slowly. What am I doing? Walking in here with a plan to kill an innocent man, all because Baba told me to end this tonight. End what? A cousin I barely know? A life that’s already haunted by too many ghosts? Or the last shred of whatever decency I have left?
Now I’m here, about to sit across from the one person who could take it all away, with a pill that could make sure he never does.
Mehlo’s is already here, he’s sitting at a corner table tucked away from the bar area. He looks up as I approach, his face is relaxed, nothing like the raging storm inside me. I slide into the seat opposite him, my heart thudding so loud I swear he can hear it.
“Menzi,” he says.
“Mehlo.” I nod, keeping my hands visible on the table because if I shove them in my pocket now, he’ll know something’s off, that I’m nervous as hell.
The waitress comes over quick, it’s the same young woman I bribed. Her acting is so bad. Why is she looking into my eyes? The damn girl even looks nervous, I keep my gaze on Mehlo. Thankfully, the waitress just caught his attention.
She asks what we’ll have. I order a beer without thinking, something to steady my nerves, and he asks for whiskey. She nods and vanishes.
“So you dragged me out here. What’s so urgent you couldn’t text?”
I don’t know him from anywhere but pictures and stories my father told me growing up. We knew he survived the fire, that one day he would come back for the throne, to rule as our forefathers commanded. Mehlo’s expression has not changed since I sat down. He’s holding my gaze, it makes me very uncomfortable.
“Leave Thembeni out of this, she’s got no place in our mess.” He says.
This confirms it, he knows my wife.
“How long have you known her? What is going on between you two, Mehlokazulu? Have you touched her?”
He suddenly looks angry.
“Stay away from KaMajola.” He repeats.
I feel a laugh bubble up, but it dies in my throat because part of me agrees. God, do I agree. Thembeni deserves better than being pawned between us like some trophy for the winner. But I can’t say that, not to him.
“You think you get to call the shots? Decide who marries who? I don’t need your permission to keep what’s mine, Mehlo. The throne is mine. KaMajola’s part of that now.”
His eyes narrow, just a fraction, but it’s enough to send a chill down my spine.
“Yours? You really believe that story Ngiyabonga’s been feeding you? You’re not the true king, Menzi. You never were and you know why. The ancestors won’t let you rule past Manzana, not after what your parents did to mine. They even stripped you of wealth. They remember the fire, every night, they whisper it in the wind. You can sit on that chair all you want, but it’s hollow, and empty.”
Feels like I have been punched in the face, because I’ve heard the whispers too, not from ancestors, but from the elders who look at me sideways, the ones who mutter about “true blood” when they think I’m not listening.
I laugh anyway, a forced laugh, because if I don’t laugh I’ll choke on the truth of it.
“Ancestors? Come on, Mehlo. That’s old talk, it’s nothing but superstition for people who can’t handle the present. Everything will change once I marry Thembeni, the royal wealth will flow back to the house. I’ll rule all of KwaZulu-Natal, not just some dusty corner.”
“So you’re stealing her, just like you stole the throne? You’re twisting prophecies and lying to her face, all for a crown that was never yours.”
He calls it stealing? Is that what this is?
“I’m not stealing anything, I’m the one on the throne right now. That means I marry her, she belongs with me, with the life I can give her.”
Mehlo’s jaw tightens, and for the first time I see real anger flash in his eyes.
“She does not belong with you? Thembeni was chosen for me, she was chosen to be my queen. To rule alongside me, not you. You know that, your father knows that. She’s not some prize to claim, she’s the key to what’s right, and you’re perverting it all because of your greed.” He growls.
The waitress chooses this moment to return, balancing our drinks on a tray. She sets them down with a shaky smile.
“Enjoy,” she says and walks away.
My hand shakes as I reach for the beer. This is it, tonight, I will walk out knowing I’ve secured everything. But, what if he doesn’t drink? What if he does, and tomorrow I wake up knowing I poisoned my own blood? My stomach churns.
Mehlo picks up his glass, swirls it once, and takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. The whiskey goes down easy for him, I feel a wave of nausea hit me hard. God, what have I become? I’m sitting here watching him drink what could be his last, all because Baba thinks thrones are built on bodies.
“Let sleeping dogs lie, Mehlo,” I say, forcing my voice to stay normal even as my mind screams to stop this, to confess, or run.
“You can’t keep crying about the past, your family lost. Mine won, accept it. It’s not like you have anyone standing behind you anyway, no parents, no siblings, no real claim. Who wants a king who’s just an orphan scraping for scraps?”
The words taste bitter the second they leave my mouth. His eyes darken, annoyance flashes across his face. His fingers clench around the glass.
I brace for the storm coming, somehow, I want him to swing, but I’m also praying he doesn’t, because if he does I’ll have to fight back, and then what? More blood?
He sets the glass down.
“I’m going to say this one last time, leave Thembeni out of this mess. She’s not yours to drag into the dirt. Walk away from her, and I’ll let you keep your illusion of a throne. I will let you keep playing chief in Manzana. But touch her, Menzi…force her into this, and I’ll burn it all down, starting with you.”
His voice is commanding, like he’s already wearing the crown he claims.
Part of me wants to say yes, fine, take her. Thembeni deserves someone who sees her as a queen, not a key. Someone who doesn’t have to lie to keep her. But the other part, the part Baba beat into me since I was old enough to understand screams that weakness is death, that mercy is just another word for losing.
I’m the one sitting on the throne and I have gotten comfortable in it. I don’t like spilling blood like my father does, so for me, Thembeni’s the cleanest way to get what I want and I am not letting that go.
I force a nod, make him think I’m considering it.
“I get it, Mehlo, I do. Look, my father’s the one pushing this marriage. All for the throne, he doesn’t care about her, or about us, but I do. I won’t do it, I won’t trap her like that. I’ll make sure she’s out of it and safe from all this.”
He watches me, eyes narrowing, suspicion carving lines around his mouth. He doesn’t buy it, not fully but there’s a flicker, a tiny crack where doubt might slip in.
It’s good that he thinks I’m the weak link, the son who’s too soft to follow through.
“Don’t play with me, Menzi.”
“It’s fine if you don’t trust me, but I’m telling you the truth. One day you’ll realize it. I’m not the bad guy here.” I say.
He doesn’t respond right away but picks up his glass again and finishes the whiskey in one long pull. My heart stutters, did he notice anything? He would have stopped if he did. He sets it down, stands up without another word, and walks out.
I sit frozen for what feels like hours, staring at his empty seat. My hands won’t stop shaking now that it’s over.
.
.
I get back in the car and wait, minutes drag by and before I know it, staff start leaving, heading to their cars or the road. Finally, the waitress walks out alone, she’s walking fast toward the main road like she’s late for something.
I start the engine, roll down the window and drive slow until I catch up.
She glances over, sees me, and her face lights up. She smiles wide, almost dropping into a kneel right there on the gravel shoulder.
“Sawubona, Nkosi!”
“Sawubona, sisi. Where are you headed this late?”
“Dukuza, Nkosi. I’m going to wait for my transport by the robots.”
“It’s far and very late. Get in, I’ll drop you home.”
Her eyes bulge for a second, she looks shocked.
“Thank you, Nkosi.”
She slides into the passenger seat, and places her bag on her lap. I pull back onto the road and turn the music on low, some old maskandi track to fill the silence. My hands are sweating on the wheel, my heart won’t slow down, and every kilometer feels like a countdown I can’t stop.
We hit a long stretch of nothing, a dark road with no cars, or houses. Just the bush. I slam on the brakes and the car jerks to a stop.
She looks at me, confused.
“There’s a problem with the car, the engine’s acting up. Can you help push? Just a little to get it started again.”
She nods right away.
“Of course, Nkosi.”
She leaves her bag on the seat, steps out, and walks to the back. I watch her in the rearview, only now I realize how small she is. She puts her hands on the trunk, ready to push. I start the engine and reverse hard.
The impact is soft at first, then sickening. I hear a thud as I run her over with my car, it’s too late to back down now, I have to finish what I have already started. She’s the only witness to what I have done, and she might turn on me. I can see her body, twitching on the ground. I drive forward, right on top of her, in case she survives.
Her bag is on my seat, I throw it out the window, and drive off fast without don’t look back. I can’t, because if I do, I will have to admit to myself what I’ve done, and I don’t know how to live with that.
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Apologies, it’s short.