A fire smouldered in a circular hearth in the middle of the floor, but
the light from it was so dim that nothing more was visible. Mokorongo,
kneeling deftly, drew together the unburnt sticks and blew upon the
pile; the suddenness with which it burst into flame startled him. Then
he rose and looked round the hut.
Chiromo had walked over to his bed; he now sat watching.
The blackened walls were profusely decorated with rude drawings, done in
light clay, of men and beasts, with here and there a pattern such as one
sees on primitive earthenware vessels. From the roof, suspended by a
length of plaited bark, dangled the skull of a human being. Mokorongo
had seen many human skulls in his time, but, in such a place, this
ghastly human relic unnerved him a little. The skull spun slightly with
the air current which entered the open door, and ghostly eyes seemed to
peer from the empty sockets, first at one man, then at the other, as if
the lifeless thing were taking a lively interest in the situation.
Mokorongo pretended to scratch himself; what he really did was to shift
the paperweight until it rested under his left arm. In that position he
could press it to him without being noticed. The relief it brought was
great and lasting.
From a peg in the wall hung a mummified mass of what looked suspiciously
like entrails; whether human or not the messenger did not pause to
consider. The fleshless forearm and hand of a child protruded from the
thatch; the fingers were spread out as in the act of grasping. A pile of
mouldering skins lay on the floor, and beside it a little heap of dead
chameleons; one, more lately killed than the rest, contributed
generously to the evil smell which pervaded the hut. Just above this
carrion was a cluster of black and red weevils as large as mice; they
hung from a porcupine quill, each tied to it by a thin strand of twisted
sinew. The aimless movements of legs showed that some of the insects
were still alive. Here and there, propped against the wall, were gourds
and pots filled, no doubt, with strange nauseous mixtures brewed by the
witch doctor for his evil purposes.
Well-worn clothing and filthy rags hung from pegs thrust into the thatch
where the roof of the hut rested on the mud wall. The bleeding head and
slimy skin of a freshly killed goat lay on the floor at the foot of the
bed. Just beyond it was a large basket covered loosely with a leopard
skin; Mokorongo made a mental note of this.
If Chiromo expected his guard to show any sign of fear, he was
disappointed. Mokorongo drew a small stool towards him, and sat down;
with the exception of the bed, it was the only furniture in the hut.
The witch doctor was the first to speak:
"The gun is yours, father, and the money, when you untie my hands so
that I may get them for you."
"I have two guns in my village," replied the messenger, "and I also have
much money, for as I am a servant of the Government, I pay no tax."
"Can a man have too much money or too many guns?"
"I cannot say; but, as for me, I have enough."
"How many wives have you?" asked Chiromo.
The messenger did not answer. Such talk did not trouble him. He was a
simple African, whose one desire was to please his master; he was proof
against bribery in any form.
Chiromo tried other tactics.
"Yesterday, they say, I killed a man by charms. It is said also that
many men have died by poison. People fall sick, some say, when I think
of them in anger. It well may be that your master has fallen sick, for
my anger is strong towards him, and is rising against his servant, who
has tied me."
Mokorongo hugged the talisman, but did not reply. He glanced at the
skull which at that moment swung towards him, then at the hand which, in
the flicker of the firelight, seemed to reach out to grasp at him. He
looked at the chameleons, and spat on the floor as he became aware of
the stench arising from them; next, the aimless waving of the weevils'
legs attracted his attention, and then his glance rested on the basket
covered with the leopard skin.
Chiromo was about to speak again, but Mokorongo, springing to his feet,
interrupted him. His master had said: "Bring Chiromo back with you, and
bring his medicines." The basket must hold those medicines; moreover,
the prospect of listening to Chiromo until the morning, seated in the
midst of his evil properties, was unthinkable. He would feel more at his
ease walking through the night, although it was so dark and cold.
He went to the door and called. There was no reply. The village was full
of people, but they had a very real fear of what the witch doctor might
do. All had crept back to their huts. He called again, and in the name
of the Government, but still none came.
He shouted, that the whole village might hear: "I take Chiromo to our
Chief. Bring a rope, that I may tie him and lead him through the night."
Presently a woman appeared, bringing in her hand a stout rope such as
all natives use for trapping antelope. She handed it to Mokorongo,
volunteering the information that it was her son whom Chiromo had
killed. She did not actually say that he had been killed, neither did
she mention Chiromo's name--she dared not do this--but she did say that
before sunrise her son had been buried.
Mokorongo tied a slip-knot in the rope and passed it over Chiromo's
head. A sharp tug, accompanied by a peremptory "Stand, you!" brought
Chiromo quickly to his feet.
Indicating successively the horrors hanging from the roof and walls, he
said: "Put that, and this, and those into the basket."
Chiromo hesitated, but only for a moment; a tightening rope round one's
neck has an unpleasant feeling. With his manacled hands he picked up
each repulsive thing and thrust it into the basket.
"Bring the basket," Mokorongo commanded, moving towards the door.
Outside in the black night, and conscious of the paperweight under his
arm, the messenger's full courage and sense of authority returned to
him.
"Let all witnesses to this big case follow quickly to the Court; it is
the order of the Chief and the law of the Government."
Then, helping Chiromo to encircle the basket with his arms, he strode
off down the path leading from the village, his captive, securely
handcuffed and led by the rope round his neck, following tamely enough.