Does a saviour in hairs thirst the blood of a King?
Aie! Aie!
Shall we hearken, O Chiefs, to the wish of the One?
Aie! Aie!
Or be shrivelled and die in the drought of His wrath?
Aie! Aie!”
Kawa Kendi, a man in early middle age, powerful and lithe-limbed, sat as motionless as the King, his father, staring, as did all, with the fixed stare of the anagogic.
Abruptly the drums ceased. Again came a hot silence as Bakahenzie paused in front of MFunya MPopo. Then with a piercing yell, the witch-doctor spun on his toes. The drums broke into an hysterical rhythm. Bakahenzie leaped high in the air; whirled around and around screaming hoarsely; leaped and spun continually.
The chiefs and doctors began to grunt; continued in [pg 33] crescendo until the whole body throbbed and grunted to the rhythm of the drums. Yet immobile sat MFunya MPopo.
Suddenly Bakahenzie changed the erratic course of his wild dance. He whirled and screamed in front of the King and fell headlong, as if in a fit, with eyes injected and foam upon the black tufts of beard. Bakahenzie clutched his belly and began to howl like a hyena at the moon. The drums stopped. Howl and writhe did Bakahenzie as if a thousand fiends were tearing out his entrails.