Chapter 11
The doom pronounced by the Council of Witch-Doctors was to Bakuma and all concerned as a Bull of Excommunication in mediæval Europe. MYalu was the one who exhibited the most emotion. Had he not paid seven tusks of good ivory to have the object of his passion placed under the most terrible tabu? Against Marufa, who had seemingly betrayed him, was his anger directed. But the rage of MYalu was tempered with fear. A man had not merely to kill an enemy: he had also to appease his justly wrathful ghost; and who knew what the disembodied spirit of the most powerful magician in the land, save Bakahenzie, could do! Moreover, no other wizard would give him absolution in the form of the magic of purification. A chief though he be; he dared not slay a magician. He sought Marufa and found him as usual squatting on his threshold contemplating infinity in a mud wall. He saluted Marufa politely, choking back words of bitter recrimination, for if he even offended him, the wizard might cast a spell upon him instantly. Marufa returned the greeting as courteously as ever. When at length MYalu reproachfully reminded him of the seven tusks which he had paid apparently to secure his love’s terrible fate, Marufa replied uninterestedly:
“I have done that for which thou hast paid.”
“What man buyeth a bride for another?” retorted MYalu.
“When I did make magic upon ‘the things’ did I place in the power of the spirits the owner. Behold, hath not the owner of ‘the things’ been accursed?”
“Ehh!” gasped MYalu. “But how may that be? Didst thou not thyself take the paring and the hair?”
“I bade the One who is tabu to bring them that he might be bewitched to her girdle. She thought to deceive me by bringing that which was of herself.”
“E—eh!” muttered MYalu, impressed at the awful effect of deceiving a wizard. Marufa continued to stare. MYalu meditated ruefully.
“But the tusks,” murmured MYalu at length dismally.
“It is not I who have two tongues,” responded Marufa indifferently.
And with that MYalu had to rest content. Marufa indeed had no interest at all in the passions of Zalu Zako, MYalu and Bakuma. Merely the time had come for the witch-doctors to choose the victim for the Harvest Festival: Bakuma was young and good looking, a dainty morsel that should please the taste of the officiating doctors, and her owner and uncle was a man of no importance: so accordingly he had made known the sin of her name through the divination.
In the solitude of his own hut upon the hill Zalu Zako sat and pondered sulkily. His young and fierce temper was stimulated and the seed of rebellion against the domination of the priesthood was quickened by the fate of his new love; although the masonic secrets of the craft were denied to him, he, as son of the royal house, was suspicious of the powers of the [pg 128] Unmentionable One and the priesthood, as many an one had been before him; yet in spite of that the verdict was absolute, for he was too crushed by terror of the consequences to permit of any hope of annulling it.
The fiat not only doomed Bakuma to a terrible death at the third blooming of the moon, but from that very instant the tabu came into force; for being thus accursed by the possession of two sounds of the sacred name, she was deemed unholy. Her half-sisters and their mother, with whom Bakuma shared the hut, fled to another and were exorcised by the wizard, which, as everybody knows, is an expensive ceremony; gourds and pots, spoons and utensils of all sorts, were left to the sole use of the unclean one and would be burned upon her demise. A magic line was drawn around the hut out of which the soul of the girl as she slept could not escape to bewitch anybody. Neither her name nor anything that had been hers would be ever mentioned again; any word of a household article or any thing or beast which had one syllable of the name “Bakuma” was changed, lest the user be accursed and bewitched.
For the whole day, in this isolation, sat the girl Bakuma, Marufa’s useless love charm clutched in her hand, as bewildered as if the earth had suddenly turned inside out under this fact so stupendous and stupefying. She did not weep. She squatted in the door, her eyes staring with the glazed inquiring expression of a dying gazelle, a bronze question to Fate. At the feeding time her mother threw her bananas into the circle. Bakuma looked at them as they flopped near to her as if she did not realize what they were. She made no stir to cook or prepare them. The cool twilight came [pg 129] and passed like a blue breath. Above the insectile chorus of the night beneath the crystal stars came the faint thrumming of a drum from MKoffo’s hill. The sound of music and dancing reminded Bakuma of her ambitious dreams. She could neither weep nor wail; she merely emitted a faint gasping sound. But her mind began to work jerkily, yet more fluently. Visions of the form of Zalu Zako were weaved and spun in the darkness: the lithe walk of him, the haughty carriage of the head. Slowly greened the sky until the banana fronds were etched in sepia against the swollen moon. The dismal croak of the Baroto bird shattered the black cocoon of Bakuma’s mind.
“Aie-eee! the foul bird of my despair!” she wailed, and at last wept. Then she rose and flitted like some green ghost into the plantation and across to the place of water where her lover had first spoken her sweet, recking naught in her mist of despair of spirits of the night nor of the breaking of the magic circle. The moon spattered the squatted form with blue spangles and turned the falling tears to quivering opals. Bakuma broke into wild lament.
“The black Goat hath cried three times in my hut!
My soul hath wandered and been caught in a trap!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
A wizard hath stolen a hair from my head!
The beak of Baroto pecketh my gall!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
A rival hath lain in wait for my love!
She hath slain my bird in the nest of his breast!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
A porcupine dwells in the place of my heart!
The bird of my soul is fluttering faint!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
An ember of fire hath entered my mouth!
The milk of my breasts is curdled to-night!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
The strings of my bosom are tied with fine knots!
My belly is void! My nipples are dead!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
A monkey hath bitten the back of my tongue!
Hath stolen my breath to make magic by night!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
The blood in my veins hath turned to sour porridge!
My throat is choked up by the sudd of the Lake!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!
A grey forest rat hath swallowed my heart!
My thighs have been scratched by a poisonous thorn!
Aieeeeeeeeeee!”
As the last quiver of the wail blended with the anthem of the forest came from a figure squatted above the ford of the river, his spear a blue flame in the moonlight, an answer:
“My love hath been taken by a greater than I!
Her flesh will be tasted by a hungrier mouth!
Her flesh which is sweeter than honey and wine!
Her flesh which is softer than a newly born kid!
Ough! My spear is bent!
My love hath been taken by a greater than I!
Her breasts will be pillowed by a much broader chest!
Her breasts which do swell like a tender young gourd!
Her breasts which are as firm as the meat of the plum!
Ough! My spear is bent!”
And answered Bakuma’s wail:
“My love hath been taken by a greater than I!
Her chines will be gripped by a far fiercer hand!
Her chines which are smoother than elephants’ tusks!
Her chines which are as plump as the breast of a fowl!
Ough! My spear is bent!
My love hath been taken by a greater than I!
Her eyes will be touched by longer fingers than mine!
Her eyes which are like unto moons veiled by rain!
Her eyes which are like the starlit river at dawn!
Ough! My spear is bent!
Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
My love hath been taken by a greater than I!
Her scent will be drunk by nostrils broader than mine!
Her scent which is pungent and sweet like the smoke!
Her scent which slakes thirst more than driest of beer!
Ough! My spear is bent!
Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
My love hath been taken by a greater than I!
Her breath will be sipped by a thirstier throat!
Her breath which is hotter than the flame of a fire!
Her breath which makes more drunken than enemies’ blood!
Ough! My spear is bent!
Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
My love hath been taken by a greater than I!
Her voice will be heard by ears mightier than mine!
Her voice which is like unto burbling beer!
Her voice which is gentler than the rustle of fronds!
Ough! My spear is bent!
Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
A slight breeze stirred gently the trees. The crickets shrilled their perpetual chorus. A crocodile flopped in the river. Dogs yapped from a village down the river. Again Bakuma lifted up her voice:
“Mightier than elephants was the tread of my man!
Keener than a leopard was the flash of his eye!
Stronger than an oak tree was the strength of his arm!
Swifter than lightning was the stroke of his spear!
Enemies died!
Taller than the wine palm was the height of my man!
Broader than the temple was the span of his chest!
More graceful than antelope was the carriage of him!
More slender than saplings was the build of his legs!
Women lamented!
Sweeter than warm honey was the scent of my man!
Whiter than a spear flash was the gleam of his teeth!
Fiercer than scorpions was the grip of his hand!
Smooth and like stone was——”
A gale of yells and shots destroyed the song of Bakuma like a foot crushing a flower.
Zalu Zako leaped to his feet and stood for a moment listening intently. Across the river some strange beast spat spears of red flames. A little farther down another beast coughed violently like a hippopotamus. The sky seemed falling. Such volumes of sound he had never heard before.
As he raced with the speed of a koodoo through the plantation he saw the glow of fire ahead and heard the moan of some terrible monster near him. He leaped five feet in the air as the world appeared to crack in half beside him. He felt a sting like a brand of fire in his shoulder, but he ran on towards the village from whence fled dim figures on all sides amid shouts and screams and wailing.
Several huts were already blazing. The leviathan coughed and moaned again and once more the earth seemed to crash to pieces near him. Appalled and bewildered, choking with rage, he reached the outer enclosure where his fellow warriors were shouting and yelling that the white gods were attacking. Bakahenzie, gun in hand, was bidding them charge they knew not what. Then out of the clutter of the village broke line upon line of yelling figures clothed in uniform. Screaming the battle-cry, the warriors charged, led by Zalu Zako, Bakahenzie, and Kawa Kendi, who in the excitement had dashed from the enclosure. Howls and yells were drowned in the spiteful crackle and cough. Warriors were mown like weeds under a sickle. Scarce a hundred scrambled inside the enclosure at the rallying call from Bakahenzie.
Again came a short rush of those uniformed figures; [pg 134] again scarlet spears pierced the green moonlight like a hailstorm; small red flames rippled in a line resembling a forest fire as the soldiers charged through and over the palisade. Hand to hand was the fighting, spear and sword against bayonet and rifle around the idol, the askaris outyelling the warriors. The temple was on fire. In the light of the flames they saw a tall figure in white with a glow of fire in his mouth and magic eyes upon his hands, eyes which flashed rays of scarlet and blue as he cut and hacked at the base of the idol.…
“Tarum hath come!” screamed some one, and as the cry was taken up, the Unmentionable One tottered and crashed to the ground.
They fled, Zalu Zako, Bakahenzie and those that were left.