“What dost thou here, O little one?” he whispered, for of course he knew nothing of her fate after the abduction by MYalu.
So horror-struck at her own temerity in approaching the person of the King-God was she that she dared not raise her eyes as she stuttered:
“A demon hath driven the bird of my soul into the net of thy wrath.”
“Still the black wings in thy breast, O Bakuma,” said Birnier, trying to soothe the child. “Come thou within and show thy father thy bosom.”
“Ehh! Ehh!” gasped Bakuma, quivering in greater panic than ever.
Aware of the danger Birnier stooped, took her by the arms and lifted her over the palisade, remarking the violent trembling of the frail little body whose limbs seemed like candles.
“Come thou,” said Birnier, moving towards the hut.
But she cowered where he had dumped her, covering her eyes with her hands so that she gazed not upon the sacred body. Mungongo stood like a tree, the whites of terrified eyes glimmering in the moonlight. Birnier picked up the girl and carried her into the hut, followed by a quaking Keeper of the Sacred Fires.
“Go, thou fool,” commanded Birnier, “and watch that none approaches!” Mungongo gasped. But he obeyed. “Now, little one,” continued Birnier, “bare thy bosom that I may know how to make the magic of healing.”
Squatting on the threshold, her emaciated arms still covering her eyes, Bakuma strove to obey. At length she faltered out the story of her double abduction. The capture by the askaris had made but little difference to her, for, as she phrased it, the beak of her soul was like unto the mouth of the crocodile. Her captor had thrust her into a hut in the village together with some other female captives, but as the man had had to continue his military duties, night had fallen before he returned, by which time she had bribed some of the women, whose captivity was not as loathsome to them as the pride of their race should have made it, with a powerful charm which Birnier had given her, a nickel-plated razor-strop. She had [pg 298] escaped. But more fearful of her doom as the Bride of the Banana than she was of MYalu or the askaris, she had hidden in the forest, living upon wild fruit and roots. Then had she heard the drums announcing the return of the Unmentionable One, and aware that Moonspirit had gone into the forest to seek Him, had guessed that he was triumphant. Away in the jungle she had heard the sound of the rejoicing at the homecoming of the King-God; had hesitated, and at last she had come to Moonspirit, in spite of his divinity, in the fluttering hope of aid, driven by a demon to break another tabu, the same demon which urges so many to break magic circles—the subconscious love motive.