In a corner of one of the half-completed huts in a half-completed street
of the new village of the Place of Kings squatted Yabolo and other chiefs.
As Sakamata was up in the fort serving Eyes-in-the-hands they could talk
freely, yet in low tones and with wary eyes for the interstices of the
unfinished wall. More than one chief had been thrashed but none as high in
rank as MYalu; moreover, those that had been severely punished had been
taken in fair fight or had attempted to escape, whereas MYalu had done
nothing that they considered to merit punishment. The growing detestation
and hatred smouldering within all of them against the new ruler had burst
into flame at the first hint of the news vibrating upon the moist air.
Later had come another drum message bidding them await new words of Tarum,
and forty-eight hours afterwards the messenger sent by zu Pfeiffer to
summon Moonspirit, who squatted in the group, whispered word for word
Birnier’s message on the phonograph, adding further instructions from
Bakahenzie that the signal should be another message upon the drums: “The
Fire is lighted.”
Warm banana wrapped in leaves, which a slave had brought in, was placed
before the chiefs while the messenger related the gossip of the village in
the forest. Later, while lolling through the mid-day heat waiting for the
time of audience, he produced from his loin cloth the magic charm which
the son of the Lord-of-many-Lands, the King-God, had sent to
Eyes-in-the-hands and repeated the prophecy that he should trumpet like
unto a wounded cow elephant, eliciting many grunts of admiration and awe.
Then he inquired for Sakamata and MYalu, and upon hearing the account,
reported that they were both traitors and had been condemned to die by the
magic of Bakahenzie and Marufa.
Each and every chief felt that he had been betrayed by Sakamata. Even
Yabolo, his relative, particularly because his visionary schemes had come
to nought, was against Sakamata. Sakamata had heard the message of the
drums, “The Fire is lighted.” But of the details of the return of the
Unmentionable One and of the new King-God he knew nothing, although every
other Wongolo man, woman, and child, knew it. The terror of the tabu, of
the power of the Unmentionable One, was more overwhelming than his fear of
Eyes-in-the-hands, wizard and ex-member of the inner cult though he be.
The Unmentionable One had returned, a miracle! In a thousand signs of
birds and beasts, twigs and shadows, Sakamata saw omens of evil. He knew
that he was an outcast, that his fellows were plotting; that they knew
something that he did not; yet he dared not tell Eyes-in-the-hands lest he
be killed on the instant, not by Eyes-in-the-hands but by the mystic power
of the Unmentionable One.
Farther down the line, in a small hut, lay MYalu motionless. His mind was
a whirling red spot of rage and pain, obliterating the image of Bakuma,
his ivory, and everything. From the base of the spine to his neck he was
criss-crossed with bloody weals administered with a kiboko (whip of
hippopotamus hide) by one of the black giants who formed the door guard at
the tent of Eyes-in-the-hands. More stimulating to his anger even than the
excessive pain was the indignity, that he, MYalu, son of MBusa, a chief,
had been flogged like a slave before all men! Could he have gotten free he
would have leaped upon zu Pfeiffer, god or no, and torn him to pieces with
hands and teeth. But he could scarcely move. Never had such an act been
conceived by MYalu. The native dignity and reserve was shattered. He lay
upon his belly and glared with the eyes of a maddened and tortured animal.
The yellow glare in the open doorway was darkened, but MYalu did not stir.
The figure of Yabolo, a short throwing sword in hand, moved towards him
and squatted down, muttering greetings. MYalu made no response. Yabolo
repeated the message from the spirit of Tarum.
“Let thy spear be made sharp, O son of MBusa, that we may make the jackal
who would command the lion to eat offal!” MYalu grunted. “The son of
Bayakala saith that it will be soon, so that thou mayest yet eat of thy
defiler ere thou art gone to ghostland.” MYalu turned his head. “The son
of MTungo and the son of Maliko,” explained the old man, “have made magic
upon the parts which thou didst foolishly leave within thy hut.”
Again MYalu merely grunted and turned away his head. But that dread news
had quenched the white flame of anger. The spirits were wroth; even had
they caused him to eat the dust before all men. Conviction in the efficacy
of the magic for which he would have bought Marufa to make against Zalu
Zako was as absolute as his faith in the death magic made against him by
the two powerful witch-doctors, and intensified by the miraculous return
of the Unmentionable One against whom he had committed sacrilege. He
recollected the cry of the Baroto bird on the night on which he had
kidnapped the Bride of the Banana. The spirit of Tarum was wroth. The
mighty new King-God of the Unmentionable One was about to eat up all the
enemies of the land. MYalu was convinced that he was doomed; certain that
Yabolo knew that he was doomed; that every man knew that he was doomed.
For ten minutes the figures, squatting and lying, remained as motionless
as bronzes. Then MYalu rose to his knees and said calmly: “Give me thy
sword, O son of Zingala.”
Silently Yabolo handed him the sword which MYalu placed beneath him and
laid down again. So quietly he died.
From the sacred hill blared the harsh cry of the yellow bird, as the
natives called the trumpet, announcing that the august presence was in
audience. But instead of the usual crowd of immobile figures squatted
almost under the shadow of the pom-pom within the gate of the fort, sat
only the messenger. Sakamata, knowing that something portended and yet not
exactly what, was so scared that his skinny limbs quivered as if with an
ague. Although he desired to warn Eyes-in-the-hands in order to save
himself, he dared not attempt to do so lest the august one visit his anger
upon his person; vague ideas of redeeming his treachery by delivering
Eyes-in-the-hands over to his countrymen were stoppered by terror of the
wrath of the Unmentionable One.
So it was that the pomp of the Son-of-the-Earthquake and the glory of the
soul of the World-Trembler with many charms upon his breast was reserved
for the humble messenger who entered escorted by Sakamata. After bowing in
the prescribed manner the messenger squatted at zu Pfeiffer’s feet and
addressed himself to the corporal interpreter.
“The son of the Lord-of-many-lands, that is the King-God of the
One-not-to-be-mentioned, sends greeting to the son of the World-Trembler,
called Eyes-in-the-hands, and this message: ‘Say unto the man of many
tongues as well as many eyes that the jackal follows the lion that he may
feed on the leavings; the voice of the hyena is loudest when he eateth
offal!’”
“What does the animal say?” demanded zu Pfeiffer, impatient of the native
preamble.
“He says, Bwana,” said the interpreter, “that the white man is sick and
cannot move, but that he will come as soon as he is well.”
From the folds of his loin cloth the messenger was dutifully extracting
something wrapped up in a banana leaf, which he handed to the interpreter
as he finished the message:
“And by his slave he sendeth that which is mighty magic; such magic that
he who toucheth it shall trumpet like unto a wounded cow elephant.”
“He says, Bwana,” continued the interpreter glibly, “that he sends to the
mighty Eater-of-Men a small present,” and with the words the corporal
guilelessly proffered the small package. Zu Pfeiffer took it and tore off
the covering.…
Then was the magic of the new King-god of the Unmentionable One made
manifest to all men, and particularly a group of chiefs hiding in a small
thicket beneath the hill, for indeed did the Son-of-the-Earthquake trumpet
like unto a wounded cow elephant at the sight of an ivory disc on which
was written:
“Amantes—Amentes!”