Bakahenzie had come to announce that the certain magic “things,” which a
messenger had brought from the white man’s country, had arrived. Although
he could not expect an answer to his letter to Lucille in Europe, there
might be others; and such an event as the receipt of a mail once in six
months is apt to be exciting. Birnier forgot his rôle for the moment,
leaped to his feet preparatory to rushing out to meet the runner, but a
grunt from Bakahenzie and an alarmed cry from Mungongo were just in time
to prevent him from jeopardizing the stability of the world and all that
he had won by violating the tabu by stepping beyond the sacred ground.
Other gods and emperors have indeed wrecked empires through a lesser
aberration. Even realization of the penalty was scarcely enough to hobble
his impatient legs, for the very suggestion of what the mail represented
melted the fetters of this native world as wax in the sun.
Indeed more effort of will was required to return to his god-like throne
upon the camp-bed, and to amble through the etiquette which discussion of
such an important matter demanded, than to carry the idol on his back
through the forest and bear the sound thrashing to boot. Then as a further
test, Bakahenzie slowly developed a dictum that the magic things could not
be permitted to enter the sacred enclosure until they had been disinfected
from the multitude of evil eyes through which they must have passed. At
that the god came near to swearing or weeping, he did not know which.
But as he fumed inwardly he recollected that at any moment Zalu Zako and
his troops might return; or if the battle had gone the other way, then zu
Pfeiffer; in the former case the excitement would still further delay the
goods and mail, and the latter event might entail the complete loss. As
well as the growing irritation caused by Bakahenzie’s interminable list of
tabus was the necessity of proclaiming, or rather gaining, his authority
before he could be of any assistance either to Bakuma, the white men or
himself. Indeed he had been waiting the arrival of these goods to secure
the subjection of Bakahenzie to his will. He determined that the trial
should be now. Merely to demand would, he felt, arouse the obstinacy of
the chief witch-doctor, who would never, unless compelled by force or
cunning, give up the reins of power which to him was the _raison d’être_
of his life. Birnier must attack through the line of least resistance.
With the carriers bearing the mail was a case of “imprisoned stars”
(rockets) and a special cinema outfit, so that Birnier felt that he could
afford to explode the last manifestation of magic which remained to him.
After a judicious interval, he said to Bakahenzie:
“O son of Maliko, is not my tongue the tongue of the Unmentionable One?”
“He who knoweth all things knoweth that which is white,” retorted
Bakahenzie.
“Verily. Therefore do thou cause to be brought that which is come, that
which the fingers of the Unmentionable One are hungry to touch. Thou
knowest his power of magic. Therefore are the evil eyes of the multitude
but dry leaves in the wind of his breath.”
“Indeed thy words are white, O son of the Lord-of-many-Lands.”
“Depart then that the hunger of His fingers may be appeased.”
“The drums speak not yet of the eating up of Eyes-in-the-hands. Hath not
the ear of the spirit of Tarum spoken upon these matters?” inquired
Bakahenzie in his favourite dialectical manner.
“The spirit of Tarum hath naught to say to thee,” replied Birnier, “but
the fingers of Tarum will to make thee to itch even as his fingers.”
Birnier called to Mungongo who brought and placed at his feet a fairly
powerful electric battery. Bakahenzie eyed the box; curiosity was keenly
awakened. He stared interestedly when Birnier raised the lid. Taking the
handles he said:
“These, O son of Maliko, are the hands of Tarum made manifest. He wishes
that thou shouldst feel the itch of his desire!” and with the words he
clapped one handle to the belly and the other at the base of the spine of
the chief witch-doctor. Bakahenzie convulsed as he was compelled to do.
Swiftly Birnier applied the shock to the shoulders, holding the handles
there as he remarked to a violently trembling Bakahenzie: “Behold! the
itch of the fingers of Tarum!”
But as he lowered his hands towards the spine again, Bakahenzie moved
rapidly and with no dignity.
Solemnly Birnier replaced the handles and closed the lid, and said
quietly:
“Thou hast felt, O brother magician, that the fingers of Tarum do itch
indeed?”
“Truly!” responded Bakahenzie with a celerity as unusual as the quaver in
his voice. “Indeed thy words are white, O mightiest of magicians. What are
indeed the evil eyes of savages against the power of thy magic, O son of
the Lord-of-many-Lands!”
And contrary to all precedent Bakahenzie rose and left. Within a quarter
of an hour his voice announced that slaves with the magic “things” were
without the palisade, and called upon Mungongo to go to the gate to fetch
them as strangers were forbidden even to look upon the King-God. Birnier,
by the light of a torch, opened the mail, sent a wad of letters and a
sheaf of telegraph slips on to the floor, and snatched a long green
envelope scrawled in French characters:
Monsieur le Curateur du Jardin des Plantes.
For a moment he stared at it perplexedly, for there was no stamp or
cancellation.
“What in the name——” he muttered as he slit it open.
Entebbe,
Août 13, 19—
Mon petit loup, what have you been doing? Oû est tu? Comment et pourquoi?
Oh, I am cross with you, with Monsieur le Professeur! Why do you write me
so ridiculous a letter? I laugh, but always I laugh, so what good is that
to you? I will not reply to your letter, mon vieux—jamais. But I will tell
you so that you may know why I am here. Yes, parmi les animaux!
Birnier winced at the phrase which seemed to come back at him like a
boomerang from the lips of zu Pfeiffer.
I am to go for vacation to Wiesbaden with some very terrible peoples. Oh,
on me dégoûte! I have an engagement for the winter in Berlin as before. I
have engagement for Paris—eh! but—pouf! Figure me on the charming
_Mauretania_ and I am sitting on the deck where you once made yourself so
ridiculous. Rappelle toi? I am sick—No, mon vieux, pas du mal de mer! I
should not be for everybody to look at. Oh, no! I am sick, I tell you. Je
rêve de mon petit coco parmi les sales animaux! Je me dis: Zut! il est
fou! il est tapé! Mais en moi même je l’adore! Tout de suite I tell a
creature who brings me my books, my fan, un espèce de tapette, je m’en
vais là, moi! He ask me where? I tell him I go to look for mon amant in
Afrique Centrale! Mais oui! He thinks I am mad! I tell him so and I laugh!
How I laugh. But he is right, yes, je suis folle—de toi!
Alors I come to Marseilles and I catch a boat to Mombassa. Ouf! Je vais
mourir à cause de mon petit loup! La mer rouge! Quel cauchemar! Enfin I
still arrive what of Lucille is left and I ask for you, for Monsieur le
Professeur Americain, but no one knows you. On the boat I have attached to
myself trois mousquetaires Anglais. Tous les trois sont drôles! They bring
me on the ever so funny little train to here. Entebbe. Les Anglais sont
très polis, tu sais! Monsieur le Gouverneur stop drinking whisky politely
to tell me that Monsieur has been and has gone! Quelle horreur! You have
gone but three days! Pense tu! I ask myself what have I done that the bon
Dieu should be so unkind. Then quel malheur! I remember to myself that I
commence to come to you on _Friday!_ You laugh! Yes, I laugh too but—Quien
sabe? I commence to come to you on a Friday and you are gone three little
days!
Then my good friends, les trois mousquetaires, send for me a what they
call a runner—the red peas—C’est drôle! but the little pea black he did
not find you. He brings a message that you had gone to some place with a
terrible name.
Then come the two most ridiculous letters. I will _not_ reply to any such
ridiculous letters—jamais!
Birnier scowled. Two letters? he muttered. What letters?
You must come now. Immediately. I want you. I will wait here for you. You
must leave your ridiculous animals as I have left mes affaires for you.
Come to me. I wait for you.
Lower down on the same page, but written with a thick pen, the letter
continued:
Again I have read your absurd letter. Tu es fou! You make such a noise
because this foolish young man is jealous of mon mari and make you to go
round the detestable country, which you like so much, instead of straight
through to the ridiculous place you say you want to go.
Birnier smiled grimly.
Peuh! Écoute, mon cher, it is true I have met the young man in Washington.
Mon Dieu, are there not plenty of young men in Washington, Paris, Berlin?
He fell in love with me. Mon Dieu, they are as thick as the blackberries!
Perhaps I tease him pour faire la blague! Pourquoi pas? I give him a
photograph and I sign it, just as I sign plenty for amusing friends. But
then he become too ridiculous. He has no sense of humour comme tous les
Allemands. He wishes to fight all my friends, tes compatriotes si sombres
et graves! Figure toi! Then he make a challenge and naturellement it is
not the custom in thy country. Mon pauvre petit Dorsay refuse and this
person become crazy wild, as you say, and he strike him with his cane in
the street. Quelle horreur! Quel scandale! He run away of course. The
Embassy help him. Qui sait? That is the last I hear until I receive this
ridiculous letter, together with thy ridiculous letter. I send him to you.
How drôle that you two should meet all among les animaux. It is so funny
that he did not kill you, this monstre allemand! Tu es en cross encore
avec moi? Zut! mon vieux it is not my fault that everybody goes mad after
me except mon petit mari! Leave the ridiculous garçon where he is. But why
do I talk so much about a cochon? Because you are ridiculous! Tant pis
pour toi! Now sois gentil and come to me _immediately_—unless you love
your sales animaux plus que moi! If you do not come I will never never,
jamais de ma vie, give you one single baiser again! No! Mille baisers!
Mais comme je te deteste!
LUCILLE.