THE DEEPENING MYSTERY
With one bound Bomba was across the room and looking at the picture
with all his soul in his eyes.
Yes, it was the same beautiful face, girlish and appealing, the soft
hair waving back from the broad forehead, the half-smiling lips, the
eyes that were dark and melting. And the eyes looked down at him now
as they had looked at him in the hut of Sobrinini, full of love and
tenderness, while the lips seemed ready to murmur words of endearment.
What chords of memory did that face stir in Bomba’s heart? What
recollections, faint and dim as some far off strains of music, were
tugging at his consciousness? What vague memory told that desolate lad
that he was looking at the pictured face of his mother?
His mother! The mother who perhaps had sung to him the lullaby that
Sobrinini had crooned, who once perhaps had caressed him, kissed him,
called him Bonny, her Bonny!
A passion of tears welled to the boy’s eyes. His heart was stirred to
its depths.
But he dashed the tears away. A native might enter at any minute and
might attribute them to weakness, to fear at the situation in which he
found himself. Above everything, he must remain master of himself.
How came that picture in the dwelling of Japazy, the half-breed? Why
had a similar picture been in the hut of Sobrinini? What mysterious
link was there between the lovely original of that picture and
Sobrinini, the witch woman, Japazy, the master of Jaguar Island,
Jojasta, the medicine man of the Moving Mountain, and Casson, his
friend and former protector? Somewhere, some time, those residents of
the Amazonian jungle had known the mysterious Bartow, his wife, Laura,
and perhaps the little child named Bonny. How had fate brought them
together? And how had fate torn them apart?
The door of his room opened, and a boy appeared, bringing a tray of
food. It was savory and abundant, and Bomba ate it with a relish.
The boy, who seemed to be about twelve years old, stood by, watching
him with black, beadlike eyes. Curiosity was in the eyes and awe, awe
of this bold stranger, only a little older than himself in years, but
vastly older in strength and experience, who had dared to take his life
in his hands and come to ask questions of the dreaded Japazy, the lord
of life and death on Jaguar Island.
“What is your name?” asked Bomba, who took a liking to the youngster.
“Thy servant’s name is Solani,” answered the boy. “He is the son of
Abino.”
“Solani has a good father,” said Bomba diplomatically.
“Yes,” answered the boy proudly. “There is no one so wise on the island
of the big cats as Abino, except Japazy himself.”
“Has Solani ever seen ghosts or demons?” asked Bomba. “It is said that
there are many on the island.”
The boy looked about fearfully.
“There are many here,” he answered. “They keep Japazy from harm. But no
one can see them except Japazy. His eyes see everything.”
“Bomba saw some lights on the river,” said the jungle boy, determined
to draw Solani out, for he saw that he was in a responsive mood. “Bomba
did not know but what the lights were the campfires of the ghosts.”
“The lights are burning brushwood,” explained Solani. “They are thrown
out from the earth when Tamura, the mountain, is angry and his anger
breaks great holes in the ground.”
“Is Tamura often angry?” asked Bomba.
“Many times he speaks in thunder and throws out rocks and rivers of
fire that eat up whatever they touch,” replied Solani. “Tamura has
killed many of our people. The old men say that he will not be silent
until some stranger is offered up to him. Then he will be satisfied and
make no more thunder.”
As Bomba, as far as he knew, was the only stranger at that time on the
island, there was something decidedly uncomfortable in this information.
At this moment Abino entered, followed by several old men whom Bomba
took to be the chief advisers of the tribe.
Abino motioned to his son to take away the empty dishes and what food
remained, and then he and his companions squatted on their haunches in
a semicircle and gazed fixedly at Bomba.
They said nothing, and their stare persisted so long that Bomba became
restless and himself broke the silence.
“It was good of Abino to send Bomba food,” he said. “There was much
food and it was good.”
“The stranger must not starve until Japazy hears what words the
stranger has to say to him,” replied Abino.
“They will not be many words,” replied Bomba. “They will not make
Japazy shoot lightnings from his eyes. Bomba comes in peace and his
words are good words.”
“What are the words that the stranger would speak with Japazy?” asked
one of the most aged and wizened of his visitors.
Bomba hesitated. Would Japazy resent his confiding his mission to any
one but himself?
On the other hand, he had already gotten some useful information from
Solani. The mention of human sacrifices, for instance, had put him
on his guard, if, in the future, any such thing should be attempted.
Perhaps in conversation with these elders of the tribe he might learn
something else that might be of value to him.
Moreover they had asked him the question, and any lack of frankness on
his part might deepen the suspicion they already entertained as to his
motives.
He decided to answer.
“Bomba would ask Japazy who are the father and mother of Bomba and how
he can find them if they are still alive,” the lad stated.
Bomba caught the quick glances that passed between the Indians at this
announcement, and he was not unaware of the look that Abino flashed at
the picture of the lovely woman on the wall.
“Why does the stranger think that Japazy can tell him who his father
and mother are?” asked Abino, after a pause.
“Sobrinini told Bomba that Japazy knew,” returned Bomba.
“Sobrinini!” exclaimed one of his auditors. “She is the witch woman who
dwells on the island of snakes. To go to that island is death. How,
then, does the stranger say that he has had speech with Sobrinini?”
“Bomba’s tongue is not forked,” replied the lad. “Bomba went to the
island of snakes and had speech with the witch woman. Then he took her
away from the island and gave her shelter in the hut of Bomba and the
good white man, Casson.”
“Why did not Sobrinini tell the stranger of his father and mother?”
asked his questioner incredulously.
“Sobrinini tried to tell, but the gods had put clouds on her mind and
she could not see through them,” answered Bomba. “But she could see
Japazy through the clouds and she said he would know. So Bomba is here.”
The promptness and sincerity of his answers evidently had some effect
on his visitors. They looked at each other uncertainly. Then the eldest
of them spoke.
“There is much gold on the island of the big cats,” he said slowly.
“Strangers have come here before, and their words were as smooth as the
skin of the baby and as sweet as honey in the comb. But they said one
thing with their tongue and another in their heart. The demons that
guard Japazy told him what word was in the stranger’s heart; and that
word was gold. The strangers did not go away again from the island of
the big cats.”
“Bomba has not two ways of speaking,” answered the lad. “The words from
his lips are the same as the words in his heart. Bomba does not care
for the gold of Japazy. He would not know what to do with it if Japazy
gave it to him. May the gods lay their curse on Bomba if he is not
speaking from a clean heart!”
Another long pause ensued.
“Is it true that the stranger does not even know the name of his father
or that of his mother?” asked one of the group.
“Bomba does not surely know,” returned the lad. “But when Sobrinini
saw Bomba she called him Bartow. And Jojasta of the Moving Mountain
called him Bartow. They thought Bomba was Bartow or Bartow’s ghost. So
if Bomba looked so much like Bartow, it may be that Bartow was Bomba’s
father. And Sobrinini spoke of Laura. And Casson spoke of Laura. It is
in Bomba’s heart that that may have been the name of his mother.”
Was it fancy, or did Abino again steal a glance at that picture on the
wall?
“It is well,” said the oldest of the group as he rose to his feet, an
example followed by the others. “We will think over what the stranger
has said.”
The old men went out of the room silently, in single file. But the
silence persisted only until they had gone some distance down the
corridor that led to the large hall. Then they broke out into excited
speech.
Bomba would have given a great deal to know what they were saying, but
they were too far away for him to hear them distinctly.
After they had gone out of the door of the building, however, their way
led them under his window. They were still talking excitedly, and, as
he strained his ears, these words floated up to him:
“Bartow! Was not that the name of the man Japazy killed?”