“Thy praise is more refreshing than the morning dew to a thirsty flower.”
“And by thy figure am I made more drunken than by the wine of the Soka palm.”
For a full minute they stood, a study in light bronze against the dappled green foliage. The shrill chatter of the other girls approaching startled Bakuma into action. She swayed to one side.
“The spirits of the cooking pot cry aloud for me, O Chief.”
“Who is thy father, little one?” he demanded.
“I am Bakuma, the daughter of Bakala, O Chief.”
“There has been a veil before my eyes that I have not seen thee before.”
“The mountains see not the tiny brooks amid the mighty forests,” murmured Bakuma and sped up the path.
Zalu Zako stood motionless watching her form melt into the green, and as he turned towards the river he met Bayakala and the other women who shrank aside from the path to allow the Son of the Snake to pass in silence. Yet at the ford he paused. He had forgotten the omen of the banana eater and the purpose for which he had come.
As Bakuma sped along in a gliding lope the amulet swayed rhythmically to the whispered praises of the power of Marufa, mixed with ardent prayers to the spirits to provide the fat goat with which to propitiate the spirit of the woods; for had not the love charm already manifested its wondrous power? As she hastened through the banana plantation she could not resist diverging a little in the direction of the magician’s hut. As she passed, she saw him seated on the threshold of the compound gathering inspiration from his favourite wall. But Marufa observed her demeanour, and being something of a student of men, he deducted that the charm had already begun to work.