“The Lord Macumazana think this poor business and he right. Very poor business, any conjurer do better. All common trick”—here his eye fell upon Mr. Savage who was wriggling uneasily in the background. “What matter with that gentleman? Brother Marût, go see.”
Brother Marût went and freed Mr. Savage from two more snakes which seemed to have taken possession of various parts of his garments. Also, amidst shouts of laughter, from a large dead rat which he appeared to draw from his well-oiled hair.
“Ah!” said Harût, as his confederate returned with these prizes, leaving Savage collapsed in a chair, “snake love that gentleman much. He earn great money in Africa. Well, he keep rat in hair; hungry snake always want rat. But as I say, this poor business. Now you like to see some better, eh? Mameena, eh?”
“No,” I replied firmly, whereat everyone laughed.
“Elephant Jana we want you kill, eh? Just as he look this minute.”
“Yes,” I said, “very much indeed, only how will you show it me?”
“That quite easy, Macumazana. You just smoke little Kendah ‘bacco and see many things, if you have gift, as I think you got, and as I almost sure that lady got,” and he pointed to Miss Holmes. “Sometimes they things people want see, and sometimes they things people not want see.”
“Dakka,” I said contemptuously, alluding to the Indian hemp on which natives make themselves drunk throughout great districts of Africa.
“Oh! no, not dakka, that common stuff; this ‘bacco much better than dakka, only grow in Kendah-land. You think all nonsense? Well, you see. Give me match please.”
Then while we watched he placed some tobacco, at least it looked like tobacco, in a little wooden bowl that he also produced from his basket. Next he said something to his companion, Marût, who drew a flute from his robe made out of a thick reed, and began to play on it a wild and melancholy music, the sound of which seemed to affect my backbone as standing on a great height often does. Presently too Harût broke into a low song whereof I could not understand a word, that rose and fell with the music of the flute. Now he struck a match, which seemed incongruous in the midst of this semi-magical ceremony, and taking a pinch of the tobacco, lit it and dropped it among the rest. A pale, blue smoke arose from the bowl and with it a very sweet odour not unlike that of the tuberoses gardeners grow in hot-houses, but more searching.