“Aie! Aie!” he lamented at last, “what is there that I may do, for indeed she hath caught my soul in a trap. Aie! Aie!”
“If the hunter cannot make arrows, he may buy them,” remarked Marufa, who had been patiently waiting for this state of mind.
“Eh! The bowstring hath been costly but the arrows! Aie! Aie! What would’st thou?”
“The rich man payeth in his kind. Four tusks of fine grain.”
“Eh! Eh!”
“Maybe there are others whose hands are not withered.”
“Others than the Son of the Snake?” demanded MYalu quickly.
“Who knows? There are more fools than chickens,” muttered the old man.
MYalu stared disconsolately at the distant bananas. Perhaps, he reflected, it would be cheaper to pay the price the girl’s uncle demanded, yet—— MYalu had bought other wives whose unimpassioned charms had quickly staled. His soul, as he put it, had indeed been tempted into a trap by Bakuma; for he wished only that she should desire him as he desired her. Yet was he angry. Love seemed to be a costly business. Marufa tapped out snuff and sniffed delicately with the air of a connoisseur devoting himself to the pleasure of the moment. Replacing the cork of twisted leaves he stirred as if to rise.
“Canst thou procure then the nail and the hairs that are asked by the spirits?” inquired MYalu sulkily.