CHAPTER VIII
ROGALA'S WIFE'S PARROT—I USE IT AS A DECOY—PARROTS PROVE TOUGH EATING—THE NGOZOS GROW WARY—SHINSHOOKO DISCOVERS ELEPHANTS IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD—WE GO AFTER THEM AND KILL TWO.
Rogala's wife had a beautiful gray parrot with a bright red tail. The parrot could talk well and say many things. Every morning he would perch on a tree and call upon the flocks of parrots that were flying in every direction in search of food. Once in a while a flock of these parrots, attracted by his cries or rather speech to them, would come and alight close by, and they would hold a conversation together for quite a while. Poor Ngozo—such was his name—seemed then to regret much that his wings were clipped, for he wanted to go and fly with his wild comrades. One day I said to myself: "Andekko drives game to me; Ndova brings monkeys and finds fruits. Suppose I use Ngozo as a decoy. Old parrots are about as tough birds as one can taste, but young ones taste like pigeons."
So one morning I lay under a tree waiting for parrots to come. A few flocks passed over us, uttering peculiar sounds. What these meant I could not tell, but they were afraid to alight. Evidently they did not like the look of the house.
At some distance from Rogala's house near a grove of plantain trees was a tree bearing a red fruit which I knew parrots liked very much. I told Rogala to carry his wife's parrot under that tree and I would lie in wait there. So Ngozo was taken there by his master, and he began to talk.
Soon I heard above our heads a flock of parrots. They came down upon our tree and began to talk to our parrot and feed. When I saw three or four in such a position as to enable me to kill them all, I fired, and they fell, and the others, shrieking with all their might, flew away in affright.
I went after the parrots, which had deep yellow rings round their eyes. I saw that they were very old, but nevertheless I was glad, for I would have some meat to eat. I broiled one on charcoal. When he was cooked, he was so tough that I thought he must be over one hundred years old. It seemed as if I were biting an old piece of India rubber or a piece of leather.
In the evening, thinking that the others were as tough as their companions, I boiled them, and I thought that I was going to have a good parrot soup. The soup was not bad, but the parrots were so tough that I gave up trying to eat them.
The following morning we again put the parrot under the tree, and a flock alighted in the same way, and I succeeded in killing two of them.