“Ehh!” gasped Bakuma and flashed her teeth as she rolled the warm leaves around the sticky mess, “then will the scent of my body be more bitter than the flower of the fish-faced cactus!”
And so through the night did Bakuma nibble at anticipatory joys as she lay upon her reed mat on the slightly raised dais of the floor which was her bed, watching the smoke of the fire in the middle of the hut lose itself in the shadows of the roof, and listening in the hope of hearing some voice of the spirits whom Marufa was to invoke on her behalf. Save for the occasional bleating of a goat and once the harsh scream of the Baroto bird, which made her heart contract, for it is a bad omen, the night was still. [pg 100] However, at the hour of the monkey Bakuma arose to replenish the fire. As the western star was melting in the warm green she left the compound. On the outskirts of the village the tall figure of MYalu appeared from the shadows of the plantation.
“Greeting, daughter of Bakala,” said he, his eyes greedily devouring her.
“Greeting, O Chief!” returned Bakuma, as she politely stepped to one side to avoid standing on the vague shadow of the chief.
“The fawn seeks the pastures early,” remarked MYalu.
“Before the breath of the sun the grass is sweeter,” retorted Bakuma, edging away.
“Aye,” remarked MYalu, with a hungry glint in his eyes, “thou art eager to slake thy thirst? But in the valley will no buck walk this day!”
“Ehh!” gasped Bakuma, recollecting instantly the omen of the Baroto bird heard that night. “What meanest thou?”
“Maybe the soul of him hath wandered and been caught in a trap or maybe——” He paused to watch her closely—“maybe an enemy hath made magic upon the parts of him.”
“Ehh!” Bakuma started nervously.