Witch-Doctors Part 25

"They say he is a trader, Excellence, coming from the Kivu direction, but the savage cannot give any satisfactory description. It is the first white he has seen, he says."

"He won't be the last!" snapped zu Pfeiffer with a twitch of the left sentry moustache. "Saunders, possibly. If so he should be here shortly to report. Well?"

"The King and the few men left with him are in hiding, Excellence, in dense forest. They are demoralized and quarrel among themselves. Many are coming to surrender, for they say that you, Excellence, have eaten their G.o.d."

"Ach!" said zu Pfeiffer with satisfaction. "What did I tell you, sergeant?"

"Your Excellence was correct in every respect."

"Um! Pity I can't spare a company. That would settle them before they have a chance to reorganize. Ach, but they haven't the sense, the animals, to do that.... Parade, sergeant."

Schultz saluted.

"Ready, Excellence."

Zu Pfeiffer rose, took up his gold-mounted sjambok, and the two walked around the big marquee to the front where between the orderly lines of huts those askaris not on duty were drawn up for inspection. The sergeant barked. Bayonets flashed as they presented arms. Another bark and they ported arms. Zu Pfeiffer walked down the line inspecting b.u.t.tons, bolts, and rifles as meticulously as he had lighted his cigar. The fifteenth barrel he thrust away petulantly and flicked the askari's face with his sjambok. The muscles of the man's face twitched as the blow came and the eyes bulged, but he did not flinch.

"Twenty-five, sergeant!"

"Excellence!"

Zu Pfeiffer pa.s.sed on. When the inspection was finished he stood rigidly smoking, coldly watching Schultz dismiss the men. Then he stalked down the hill with Schultz slightly in the rear, followed by a big black Munyamwezi sergeant-major, towards the opposite hill, of MKoffo. But at the bottom of where there were some half-constructed huts he paused.

"The women, sergeant?"

"The large hut, Excellence. Two hundred as ordered."

"No women of chiefs?"

"No, Excellence. Those attending on the hostages are housed apart."

Zu Pfeiffer strode towards the hut indicated which stood near to the edge of a rased banana plantation. Two sentries without the fence presented arms stiffly and remained immobile. Within the compound were some sixty or more young girls, mostly having the black complexion of the slave type.

The chattering and giggling ceased as the tall form of the dreaded Eyes-in-the-hands stood in the gate. A slight smile flirted his lips.

From the deep violet of the hut interior darted a young girl into the sunlight. At the sight of the white men she poised on her toes, one foot forward and hands extended as if about to whirl into a dance, staring with the curiosity of a fawn.

Tall for a native maid, the light bronze of her immature b.r.e.a.s.t.s revealed that she was of the Wongolo ruling caste. Around her slender neck was a circlet of bright blue beads. As zu Pfeiffer stiffened and stared she wheeled and fled into the hut.

"Gott im Himmel!" he muttered. "The body of Lucille in Carmen!"

"Who is that woman?" he demanded of Schultz.

"I don't know, Excellence," replied the sergeant and spoke to the black sergeant-major. "She is the daughter of the chief Bamana, Excellence, visiting these other women. I will have her removed."

"I will not have the sense of caste abused," said zu Pfeiffer, gazing into the hut. "That is not policy. Have her sent to the fort, sergeant, and placed under guard."

"Excellence!"

Zu Pfeiffer swung on his heels and strode out and up the hill of MKoffo.

The inspection was more hurried than usual that day. Then he returned to the hill of Kawa Kendi to hold court in the big marquee tent. After a lunch and a long siesta in the heat of the noonday he strolled around the village superintending the rasing of huts and the staking out of the new village which was to rise upon the ashes of the old one, a concrete example of the wisdom and power of the new lord, Eyes-in-the-hands.

Under squads of askaris gangs of prisoners, criminal and political, bound by a light chain about each neck, laboured at clearing away charred stumps and debris, while other natives portered in saplings and loads of gra.s.s, each village which had submitted sending its allotted quota.

Trumpets blared. The keepers of the coughing monsters made magical dances with their fire sticks up on the hill of Kawa Kendi. The black, white and red totem of the conqueror fluttered to earth like a wounded bird. Night closed like a black lid placed upon the steaming cauldron of the sun.

After dinner zu Pfeiffer sat in his private tent at the rear of the marquee drinking brandy. Upon a camp table covered by a violet cloth was the portrait in the ivory frame at which he gazed as he smoked. The blue eyes and the feminine lips softened as sentimentally as any s.e.x-starved Puritan virgin; perhaps not in spite of, but because of, a mediaeval code as senseless as the native system of tabu, for natural emotions suppressed find an outlet in some form.

From outside came the twitter and hum of the forest, the rhythm of frogs, the dim bleating of a goat and the distant wailing of the women's death lament. Zu Pfeiffer drank and smoked and stared at the portrait in the ivory frame. Once he slapped irritably at a mosquito which had escaped the double net over the tent door. A wave of emotion seemed to well within him. He looked as if he were about to blubber as leaning over the table he peered intently at the pictured face and whispered:

"Nur einmal noch mocht ich dich sehen, Und sinken vor dir aufs Knie Und sterbend zu dir sprechen: 'Madam, ich liebe Sie!' ...

"Lucille! ... Ach, Lucille!"

He drew himself back with a jerk, drank his brandy at a gulp and called angrily:

"Bakunjala!"

The flutter of sand preceded a gasped:

"Bwana!"

Zu Pfeiffer gave him an irritable command. Four minutes elapsed during which he gazed steadily at the portrait. He turned at the slither of feet.

Bright blue beads glittered in the lamplight as the daughter of Bamana sank upon her heels.

CHAPTER 17

In his favourite seat by the door of his hut sat Zalu Zako waiting as patiently as only a native can to see the white man, symbol of a subconscious hope. The fact that Bak.u.ma had not been found by the emissaries of the bloodthirsty Bakahenzie evoked a sensation of pleasure which was expressed merely in a feeling of well-being. Of her in person he thought consciously little; his att.i.tude was much as a white lover who might discover his loved one to be a sister, and hence, by consanguinity, barred from him for ever, a terrible fact of fate; but, lacking the sentimental inhibition, Zalu Zako did not disguise the death wish because she was denied him. Desires are simpler in the savage, yet the driving motives are the same as in the "cultured" ex-animal overlaid with generations of inhibitions-tabus-which form complex strata making the truth more and more difficult to recognise. From that very obfuscation of motives arises civilisation.

Then from the blue depths of the humid green came a great outcry, answered by the ululation of the women in warning.

"Eyes-in-the-hands!" grunted Zalu Zako, voicing the perpetual fear of the camp, as he leaped for his gun which Moonspirit had sent him.

Above the medley of sounds arose an articulate shout:

"He has bewitched our souls! He has bewitched our souls!"

Zalu Zako paused and listened; replaced the gun and squatted, resuming his pose of dignity before the first man made entrance. For a few moments the shrilling of the women and the wild jabber continued. Then entered a slave followed by a warrior who, excitedly falling upon his knees, gasped out:

"He hath bewitched our souls! He hath bewitched our souls! Our spears were blunted by his magic! Our swords were turned by the wall of his soul! He is a mighty magician!"

"Of whom speakest thou, fool?"

As Zalu Zako put the question the tall figure of Bakahenzie stalked slowly into the courtyard. The warrior rose and fled at a command from Zalu Zako.

Bakahenzie greeted him gravely and very elaborately took snuff in order to show how casual the matter was. When he had meticulously restored the cork of twisted leaves, he announced slowly: