In the village of Bakahenzie was discontent.
The desertion of Sakamata, Yabolo, and three chiefs, had corroborated his
suspicions of the unfrocked priest. That Sakamata had been preaching open
sedition he had known, yet Bakahenzie was in the situation of many a
president or prime minister; he had feared to put his own position in
jeopardy by having the offender removed expeditiously. This treachery,
which synchronised with the time when MYalu should have either returned or
sent a messenger, implied another grave error. All the information he
could gather was that MYalu had returned through the village by the river
with the girl Bakuma, some prisoners and some of the white man’s
equipment, on his way to the north-east; but no one apparently had seen
Zalu Zako, Marufa nor the white man.
Bakahenzie was at a loss to discover a plausible theory to account for
MYalu having kidnapped Bakuma, who could not be of any political
importance to him in going over to Eyes-in-the-hands, but would rather
prejudice him seriously with the rest of the tribe for the sin of
sacrilege in taking the Bride of the Banana. Shrewd judge of his
compatriots though he was, the possibility of a love motive never occurred
to Bakahenzie. A dominating passion in an individual for any particular
female was rare in the native world; attractive wives or concubines were
chosen and bought as one buys a goat or an ox. Bakuma, in her capacity as
a sacrificial victim, was to him merely a good-looking girl, well selected
by Marufa for the orgy of the Harvest Festival.
Bakahenzie was distraught. He feared that he had not the authority to
prevent further desertions; he did not know how far Sakamata’s propaganda
had permeated; he could not guess what Zalu Zako, Marufa and the white man
were going to do. As many a wise statesman before and after him he adopted
a policy of “wait and see.” To provide an exciting distraction to keep his
constituents amused and from thinking too much, he borrowed another
political tactic of abusing some one vigorously. He called a meeting of
the faculty and the warriors. There he solemnly denounced MYalu as a
traitor and accused him of the crime of having abducted the Bride of the
Banana, and consequently as the cause of the continuance of the
misfortunes of the tribe.
The move was successful, inasmuch that it afforded discussion and absorbed
wrath for two whole days. Various chiefs proposed as many plans. But none
was taken. Everybody was discontented and quarrelsome, as fearful of
Eyes-in-the-hands as he was of his tribal god; many were impressed by the
propaganda of Sakamata and Yabolo and the impunity with which Yabolo and
Sakamata and company had quietly gone over to the enemy. Meanwhile
Bakahenzie squatted in oracular silence, murmuring incantations that were
prayers to the Unmentionable One interlarded with promises of the things
he would accomplish for the said Deity, with solemnity and sincerity, for
he felt that the result of Marufa’s intrigue with the magician Moonspirit
would mature very shortly. What that would be he had no notion; only he
strained every nerve to be alert when the crisis came to snatch from
Marufa the advantage that wily old man had gained.
On the third day two more chiefs followed in the wake of Yabolo.
Bakahenzie made no comment, but he realised that before long, unless the
unknown happened, he would be unable to retain any of his followers;
realised that his one chance lay in procrastination. In his despair he
began to contemplate an alliance with Marufa, even if he had to take a
subordinate rôle—which would at any rate give him his only ally, time, to
help checkmate his colleague.
On the next day yet another chief and his men departed. Bakahenzie knew
that they were like a herd of goats and that to stop the stampede he must
adopt desperate measures. To quell the restlessness which murmured
ominously throughout the camp he called another meeting as soon as the
news had come of the last desertion. While the drum tapped out the summons
Bakahenzie sat muttering his most impressive spells alone, endeavouring to
discover a plausible excuse for some sort of excitement to distract the
public mind.
Slowly and sulkily the remainder of the brethren of the craft and those
lay chiefs that were left, assembled within the circle of fires. Squatted
in the prescribed order they eyed the figure of Bakahenzie in his red and
green feathers mumbling incantations with doubt and disfavour. Indeed
Bakahenzie seemed to them the symbol of the fallen god and a past régime;
impotent and as mistaken as they were. In each and every one of them were
suspicions and fears growing like weeds in tropic rain that he had made an
error in not propitiating the new god in time, an impulse which required
but a few hours’ growth to propel them out to the north-east after
Sakamata and the others.
As they watched in silence Bakahenzie was aware of the state of their
minds towards him and grew the more perplexed in his search for an
entertainment sufficiently stimulating to postpone the effects of their
discontent. Sapiently he decided that any more messages from Tarum would
be unwise in the present atmosphere. An idea of a revelation by divination
to appoint a substitute for Bakuma as the Bride of the Banana and thus
thrust forward a reason for a feast, as there was now no Yabolo to object,
was abandoned because such an orgy was exclusive to the craft and would
serve to exasperate the lay chiefs.
His resource suggested a method. Suddenly he uttered a piercing yell and
fell sideways as in the manner of one about to receive a communication
from Tarum; but instead of the habitual seizure and cries and groans he
lay rigid and silent. The divergence from the usual distracted the doubts
of the audience.
The fires flickered and danced to the insectile anthem as for twenty
minutes or more he lay there as one dead. But at the first flutter of
inattention among the doctors he sat up with closed eyes and called out in
a loud voice:
“That which is and must be, shall be!”
Intuitively he had followed the precept of witch-doctors the world over of
saying nothing at all in such a way that as many interpretations may be
deduced as there are listeners. Each and every doctor and chief
accordingly saw in these mystic words, as Marufa had done in the chance
phrase of Moonspirit, that which he was most urged to do. Bakahenzie had
accomplished his temporary object. Once more he cried out:
“Let the children of the Banana be as the wild-cat at the fishpool that
that which I have prophesied may come to pass!”
The charging of the air with the familiar suggestion of magical doings
gripped the audience and forced from them the conventional grunt of
assent. Bakahenzie began again to mutter incantations. He had, he knew,
averted the immediate danger for at least another sun, or perhaps two. Now
was there only to wait and see. But Bakahenzie, as all great men, had the
distinct vein of luck that follows the bold. Even as they squatted there,
thoroughly worked up for the reception of a miracle, came a rustle among
the leaves. Every head turned as one to see once more the mystic gleam of
eyes in the gloom as the voice of Marufa cried:
“Let there be a new fire!”
From the cavern of the undergrowth emerged a white man bearing upon his
shoulders a burden which, as he staggered into the gleam of the fires, was
seen to be in form and in shape that of the burned idol. Then did
Bakahenzie leap to his feet and in one stroke recover his lead and fetter
his most dangerous enemy by proclaiming in a loud voice:
“Behold! The bearer of the Burden of the World even as Bakahenzie hath
prophesied!”
And as Birnier set down the idol, from warrior and wizard, with the chief
witch-doctor’s declaration, “That which is and must be, shall be,” echoing
in their ears, came the deep grunt of acceptance of the new King-God of
the lost Usakuma, the Incarnation of the Unmentionable One.