“All things are possible to the son of MTungo,” asserted Marufa. “Four tusks, and these things are found; but of fine grain, for the others were old and coarse.”
“Ehh! How wilt thou procure these things?” demanded MYalu sceptically.
“The ways of the wise are not the ways of fools.”
“The tusks are thine,” said MYalu reluctantly, “if thou wilt tell me how thou wilt procure them.”
“Thy words are like unto the vomit of a dog,” muttered the old man.
“But how? My heart is not bound in clay.”
“Tch!” clicked Marufa contemptuously. “Every fool must needs see the spoor of the god which he cannot read. I have spoken.” MYalu regarded the old wizard incredulously. “Tch! Send the four tusks as we have agreed and so shall it be. Begone!”
Slowly MYalu rose, made his greeting, and departed more impressed than ever that the old man was a mighty magician.
During the hour when the soul is small and dwells timidly around the feet Marufa dozed in the cool of his hut; but later when it spread boldly out was he squatted once more in his favourite seat at the entrance to the compound, taking snuff and contemplating. The shadows grew from violet to blue; the small hens pecked for worms with avidity and the goats scratched with vigour in the cool. Patiently Marufa sat. At length that for which he had waited with a sound though primitive knowledge of psychology, came to pass. Bakuma appeared, apprehensive, but with yet an abandon which sang her happiness. Beside Marufa she sat so as to avoid the shadow of one foot protruding beyond that of the fence.
“O great and mighty magician,” she began eagerly, after the formal greetings. “Indeed all that thou hast said hath come to pass. Thy charm is infallible.”