Unravelled. Cheryl Ntumy S.

breathlessly.

      Oh, no. “Didn’t we talk about this? You’re not touching my hair.”

      “But –”

      “You’re not touching her hair,” Wiki interjects, dropping his books on the bench.

      “Thank you.” I shake my stiff halo of curls at Lebz for good measure. She pouts but doesn’t protest.

      “Can you ladies trade beauty tips later? We’re supposed to be going over that Maths past paper.” Wiki glances at his watch. He still insists on wearing a quaint, old-school leather-strap watch, even though there’s nothing wrong with the clock on his cell phone.

      We organise a few snacks from the tuck-shop and head to an empty classroom to work. Studying is not fun. Anyone who says otherwise is either a liar or related to Wiki. Nevertheless, I’m determined to prove to Rakwena, Dad and myself that English is not the only subject I can do well in. I have low expectations for Maths, but the others look promising. Let’s just say I might not be a C-average student forever.

      ***

      When I get home I find Dad sprawled across the sofa, dead to the world. He’s fully dressed and his briefcase and keys are on the armchair, so he must have headed straight for the couch when he arrived. Poor thing – he must be exhausted, but his neck is twisted at a terrible angle and I know if I don’t do something he’ll wake up aching.

      I approach quietly and shake him. “Dad?”

      After a few more shakes, he opens his eyes. “Oh…hi, love,” he mumbles. “You’re home.” He closes his eyes again. A second later he springs to life, leaping off the sofa and nearly knocking me over. “You’re home! What time is it?”

      I glance at the wall clock. “Just after five.”

      “Five?” he croaks in horror. “But…don’t you finish school at quarter to three?”

      I frown at him. “I have study sessions and clubs, remember? Are you OK?”

      “Right. Yes.” He removes his glasses and wipes them on his shirt, then puts them back on. “I just didn’t realise it was so late. I have a mountain of work to do.”

      “Have you eaten?”

      He thinks for a moment. “I don’t think I have, darling. I forgot all about food.”

      Poor Dad. “Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll make us something? Then we can sit down and talk.”

      “Talk?” He gulps. “Why? Are you all right?”

      “Yes, but you’re not.” I give him a stern look so he knows I’m not going to be dissuaded.

      “A shower sounds good,” he mutters, and shuffles off to the bathroom.

      I drop my things on a chair at the dining table and head to the kitchen to see what’s what. Sometimes Auntie Lydia cooks or sets things out for me to prepare, but today the countertops are bare. There’s some leftover pasta in the fridge, so I whip up a quick pasta and tuna salad and by the time it’s ready Dad is back in the living room, dressed in an old tracksuit.

      “Looks good,” he says with a smile, as I deposit a plate in front of him.

      “Thanks.” I curl up in the armchair and balance my bowl on my knees. “Feeling better?”

      He nods, his mouth full.

      “Good. What exactly is this big project you’re working on, anyway?” I take a huge bite and watch him expectantly.

      He swallows, then promptly stuffs his mouth again so he doesn’t have to answer.

      “Dad?”

      He swallows again. “It’s about, uh, indigenous knowledge systems. It’s an investigation of different indigenous plants and their properties, how they’re used traditionally, and so on.”

      My fork has almost touched my lips. I lower it back into the bowl and stare at my father. I can read him like a billboard; he’s dying to change the subject. “Do you have any help on this project?”

      “I have research assistants. Well, I will, once I find time to look over the applicants. The project won’t begin officially till next year, but there’s so much prep work to do. I’ll be working with people from Salinger, so I’m not entirely on my own.”

      “Shouldn’t you be working with the local traditional healers?”

      He gets a funny look on his face and decides to finish the last of his pasta before responding. Ah. I see it now; the little piece of information he’s trying to hide from me. If only he knew what an open book he is.

      I lean forward. “The Salinger Institute doesn’t expect you to do this alone. They expect you to find a local expert to help. Right?”

      He leans into the cushions, his plate empty. “They made…a recommendation. But since I have a bit of time before I’m due to start, I’m considering my options.”

      “Your options.”

      He knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Connie, I know exactly what you’re thinking – ”

      “I’m thinking you’re self-sabotaging!” I interrupt, exasperated. “You’ve been running yourself into the ground because you’re too proud to ask for help!”

      “I have no trouble asking for help,” he bristles.

      “Just not from Ntatemogolo.”

      Dad sighs. “The project supervisor at Salinger only spends a few months in Botswana every year – she doesn’t know how things work around here. If you’re somewhat well-known and well-respected, yours is the name that pops into people’s heads, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily the best person for the job.”

      Eish, sometimes I wonder who’s supposed to be the kid in this house. “Ntatemogolo is the best person for the job, and you know it. That’s why it’s taking you so long to consider your options.” I put my bowl on the coffee table. “He knows all the traditional healers, he knows about local plants and traditional medicine…I can’t believe you!”

      “Watch your tone,” he snaps, but he’s only irritated because I’ve caught him out. “Your grandfather is not a biologist, nor is he a traditional doctor, even if he wants to call himself one.”

      “Dad!”

      “Enough, Connie!”

      I can’t believe this. I know my father can be pig-headed when it comes to Ntatemogolo, but this is just ridiculous. “You’re cutting off your nose to spite your face, or whatever. You need him, and if the two of you work together you could get so much more done! This project could be great for both of you, and – ”

      “Conyza!” Oops. It’s his don’t-mess-with-me-I’m-your-father voice. “I am not discussing this with you.”

      “But – ”

      “You can analyse me when you have a degree in psychology, and not a moment before!” His jaw is twitching. He’s really angry now. “Go to your room.”

      I hesitate. “The dishes – ”

      “Just leave the bloody dishes and go to your room!”

      I get up in disgust, march over to pick up my school stuff and then storm across the corridor to my room.

      “And don’t even think about slamming that – ”

      I fling my door shut with a bang, drowning out the rest of his idle threat, then lock it just to piss him off. Ugh! I throw my bag on the floor, tug off my uniform and change into my pyjamas. I was planning to study a little, but I’m too upset to concentrate. Ray Bennett is the most unreasonable man on the planet! Hating my grandfather is one thing, but doing everything on his own because he’s too friggin’ proud to ask Ntatemogolo for