Neither he nor his sergeants nor their men could speak the Wongolo tongue fluently, so that for interpreter he was compelled to employ one of the corporals. To employ any newly subjected race or tribe as soldiers or in any responsible capacity is unwise, for ties of blood are liable to lead to treachery; to trust to the idiosyncrasies and personal values of any native interpreter is equally impolitic. Zu Pfeiffer and his party were as unaware of the meaning of the phrases exchanged as they were of the message in the throbbing of that distant drum. Between the conqueror and the subjected tribe was a wall denser than any steel; the same wall of tabu of the craft that Birnier was finding so difficult to penetrate.
Every attempt to persuade any of the witch-doctors to disclose the secrets of their craft through the interpreter was doomed to failure; even had zu Pfeiffer been able to speak the dialect as well as Birnier he would never have accomplished it. Yet he tried the impossible. The answer was invariably a mask of ox-like stupidity or the retort that he, being a mighty magician, must needs know that he did but “tickle their feet”! At length, irritated by this persistence, he had Sakamata put to the torture and had for his pains a story in which the idol as the first man was the father of the tribe whom the people believed to have been eaten up literally, so that the conqueror had become the father of the people, having the idol inside him, and the chance that the tale had a faint resemblance to an account by a Frenchman of the superstitions of a West African tribe, convinced him. Implicitly he [pg 257] believed the ingenious yarn invented by a wily witch-doctor to save his hide and the perquisites of his job by placating the white man, the trap into which most white chroniclers have fallen. This conviction, which flattered his sagacity and lulled any suspicions, strengthened his arm in the delivering of punishment and reward.
Chapter 25
In the camp of Bakahenzie was the low mutter of the drums by day and night. The village had straggled farther through the forest in each direction save that of the sacred enclosure. Already were some five hundred warriors there and more were pouring in every day. Busy were Bakahenzie and wizards, great and small, in the preparing of amulets of the hearts of lions, livers of leopards and galls of birds, and the brewing of potent decoctions to be smeared with parrot feathers upon the warriors old and young against the evil eye and the spirits of the night. And dispensed by Bakahenzie and Marufa, from whom had come the original idea, was a special and rather expensive charm against the coughing monsters, which was made by, and invested with, the magic of the King-God himself, a can key. That morning had there been a special meeting of the craft and the chiefs before the sacred enclosure, where they had looked upon the sacred form of the King-God and heard the magic elephant’s ear give them instructions and a prophecy. Around and about a hundred fires, flickering mystically in the moist cavern of the forest, shuffled and chanted the warriors invoking the aid of Tarum, the spirit of their ancestors.
On the threshold of his hut squatted a sullen Zalu Zako. He had discovered that he had escaped from the river bearing him to the pool of celibacy to find that the bird had been captured by another. Although [pg 259] he had known that before attaining his desire he would have had to extricate Bakuma from the net of the tabu, yet, lover-like and human, that task unconsidered had seemed as easy as stalking a buck in a wood. But the joy of his own release had been dissipated as a cloud of dust by a shower by the news of MYalu’s abduction of the girl and his desertion. Zalu Zako was so obsessed by chagrin at this wholly unexpected appearance of a rival that he was inclined to regret that he had ever thought of the move by which he could escape his late doom and rescue Bakuma at the same time. The illusion of nearness to the desired object had served naturally to whet his appetite; the balked love motive dominated him almost to the exclusion of political affairs. What his official status was now that all precedent had been broken Bakahenzie did not know and had not decided, and Zalu Zako cared less.
Though his faith in most of the tribal theology was unshaken, he did not believe in the sanctity, or the necessity, of the marriage of the Bride of the Banana, because he had a defensive complex of desire for her that inhibited that belief. Towards MYalu, Zalu Zako’s natural reaction was revenge. The matter was how to accomplish that end. To reveal to Bakahenzie that he was the lover of Bakuma would be tantamount to admitting sacrilege in having a passion for the Bride of the Banana.
As Zalu Zako was unable to get at the person of his rival the most logical method to his mind was by witchcraft. To obtain some relics of the body of MYalu proved easy, as his wives and slaves being forced to flee, had been unable to burn the deserted hut, thus [pg 260] leaving in the customary place in the thatch some of the hair and nail clippings. Also to find an excuse for the cursing of MYalu was still easier. So at a meeting of the chiefs he rivalled Bakahenzie in denunciation of the absconding chief, insisted that a mighty magic be made against him and produced the necessary corporeal parts upon which to work. So it was that Bakahenzie and Marufa, a quiet watchful Marufa, brewed the magic brew and condemned MYalu by the proxy of his nail clippings to die, a process that took root in a very firm conviction in the mind of Zalu Zako and the others that die MYalu would.
After this satisfaction of the first fierce instinct Zalu Zako was more at liberty to consider other matters, which resulted in an effort to quicken the collective will to recover the tribe’s country and possessions, symbolised in Zalu Zako’s mind by the delicate figure of Bakuma.