hundred thousand a year, although with no medical aid, car or cellphone allowance. She would not receive any dividends from her shares, though she owned twenty per cent of the company according to the company papers registered with the Department of Trade and Industry.
For the first time, Ludwe addressed Ganyani directly. “Our people need electricity as soon as possible,” he began in a concerned tone of voice, his eyes pleading with Ganyani. “You have built houses in Elim, so you know what our people’s burden is without electricity. Our power at Eskom is very bad, comrade.”
Ganyani cast his eyes down briefly as a sign of respect to Ludwe. “I’m with you, comrade. We just had a black Christmas with no electricity at Elim,” he said.
“Exactly my point,” Ludwe said. “This 2007 is already showing that our country is facing a power crunch, with the demand for electricity having begun to outstrip the supply.”
“I fully agree.” Ganyani nodded, his Adam’s apple rising and falling.
“There is a major shortage of electricity,” Ludwe said, with a look of deep contentment on his face. “That is why our government is ready to increase the supply of this cheaper electricity from coal.” He paused. “So far, as you know, only Eskom, which is government-owned, supplies this cheaper electricity. Billions of rand are set aside to construct new power stations to meet soaring demand.” He looked around the table.
“I hear you, comrade.” Ganyani nodded again.
“A proposal that sets out deliverable targets by teaming up leading companies like George’s TTZ, which has a great history and valuable connections in France, with local companies that can create jobs for our people will convince the department that you are the right people for the job. I can guarantee it. As for the department, we’ll not only give you the coal tender but also resources for infrastructure development, upgrading of railway lines and dams,” concluded Ludwe, searching everyone’s face for signs of mutual understanding.
Ludwe looked at Ganyani’s amused expression and smiled. It was not because he felt there was anything worth smiling about; it was simply a tactic he always used to buy the confidence of people he wanted on his side.
“Well, it seems I don’t have any option, do I?” said Ganyani, smiling as if it was obligatory to do so. “I guess the seven per cent that you are offering is final.”
“We are afraid so, chief,” confirmed Kimathi. “Sometimes in life you have to surrender before you win.”
Kimathi pulled at his jacket sleeve to look at the Rolex Yacht-Master II on his left wrist. It was twenty-five minutes before midnight, South African time. The Breitling on his right wrist showed New York time. According to him, it was necessary to wear both watches at all times so that he knew when to call his American business partners. He was definitely not showing off.
“I have to go, comrades,” Kimathi said, yawning. “I haven’t slept properly since I came back from my New York trip a month ago.”
“I’m playing golf in Kyalami tomorrow,” said Ludwe as he stood up. “So I should also get some rest.”
“Oh, before I forget, here is your parcel,” said Kimathi, handing a large brown A4 envelope to Ludwe. “It’s exactly a hundred grand.”
“Thank you very much,” said Ludwe, smiling as he took the envelope. “I’ll make sure that everything is in order.”
Kimathi grabbed the keys to his X5 and wove his way out of the Park Hyatt bar. He ran his tongue around the inside of his cheek several times to remove pieces of food stuck there. Realising that the action was unsuccessful, he looked around before inserting his forefinger into the corner of his mouth. Having removed the food, he licked his finger and swallowed. In the lobby, he stopped and exchanged a few words with the receptionist, who was wearing large silver earrings. Pulling a wad of rolled-up banknotes out of his jacket pocket, he gave her a generous tip before he exited. The receptionist smiled broadly at the unexpected gift.
“With that smile, baby, I’m sure you won’t sweat finding a rich man like me,” Kimathi said in a self-satisfied tone as he staggered towards the door like an overfed penguin.
It had started to rain while Kimathi had been in the hotel, and the air outside smelt of wet soil, probably from the construction site for the Gautrain. Kimathi inhaled deeply, enjoying the moment, but as he did so, the streetlights went out and the whole neighbourhood was enveloped in darkness. He had completely forgotten the announcement he had heard on the radio earlier that day about the power being cut off from sometime around midnight for about four hours.
Kimathi limped towards the parking lot. Although it was drizzling, he decided not to run to the car. His left leg had been weaker than the right ever since he had been injured while fighting UNITA rebels near the Kwanza River in Angola.
As he pressed the “open” button on his car key, Kimathi heard an owl hoot from the top of a nearby tree. The sound scared the breath out of him. Since childhood, Kimathi had hated owls, as they were regarded as an omen of witchcraft in his culture.
As he started the car, his headlamps picked up the bird as it flew away. In his whisky-addled brain, he was sure that the owl’s eyes looked straight through him as he drove out of the parking lot.
Chapter 9
Driving south along Oxford Road, Kimathi put on his favourite CD by the Branford Marsalis Trio, The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born. He had bought it to console himself after his divorce from Anele. Since their split, which had happened about two years earlier, Kimathi had started to get treatment for bipolar disorder. It was this condition that had led to their separation in the first place. During several manic episodes, he had spent huge amounts on his credit cards on gambling and prostitutes, which had made his wife suspicious. When he became delusional and started having sleeping problems, Anele asked him to consult a doctor. However, before he’d had a chance to get properly diagnosed Anele had found him naked in their bedroom with their domestic worker, Moliehi. This was the main reason for their divorce. Although Kimathi pretended to have forgotten Anele, the screen in his mind was filled with her image each time he was drunk and craved sex.
It started to pelt with rain as Kimathi came to a stop at the Bolton Road traffic lights by the Engen garage and McDonald’s. The asphalt ahead of him shone, the headlights reflecting off the water on the road. The area exuded wealth and exclusivity during the day, but became something different at night because of the prostitutes. Kimathi watched with keen interest as his headlights picked up some women running towards the 14th Avenue bus shelter. He hungrily ogled one lady wearing a tiny dress as she tried to flag down a car coming from the opposite direction, savouring the shaking of her enormous behind.
Oxford Road was the only street in the country where Kimathi got an erection every time he drove along it. Just reading the graffiti got him horny. Good Lord, she looks younger than the Glenfiddich single malt Scotch in my bar, he thought as the sight of the lady’s huge ass brought on an erection. He put his left hand inside his trousers and twiddled the short hairs around his pubic space.
He was still admiring the lady’s assets when a car behind him hooted. Only then did Kimathi realise that the Bolton Road traffic lights were not working. As he drove slowly across the intersection, he saw what looked like an owl flying in front of him. It was as if the bird was guiding him home.
On the side of the road just before Cotswold Street, some prostitutes waved at Kimathi. They were standing at the bus stop next to the Nelson Mandela Children’s Foundation building. Although he was a regular
