Part 5 (1/2)
His foot was in the waiting canoe when he heard the harsh sound of the explosion.
The devil in the black egg had spoken as only a devil can speak when the incautious N's.h.i.+mba released his grip of the Mills' bomb which Bones had pressed into his hand.
A NICE GEL.
Because Terence Doughty was possessed of an immense fortune, was unmarried, and had neither sister nor brother, it was a delicate matter to chide him. At least, so thought his aunts and cousins and other likely beneficiaries of his will.
He was thirty, a little pompous in a reserved way, exceedingly good-looking, and learned to such a terrifying degree that ordinary people cleared their throats before they so much as remarked to him that it was a fine day.
He had written a text-book on Arabic, and he spoke most modern languages. It was a chance reference to the irregular Bomongo verbs, that he read in Notes and Queries Notes and Queries, that decided him upon taking up the study of native dialects. It happened that there was in London at that time (on sick leave) a missionary from the great river, and from this gentleman Terence learnt, with his usual facility, enough of the language to induce in him a desire for an even further acquaintance.
He announced his scheme to the one aunt who did not stand in awe of the bachelor-millionaire scientist.
”Rubbis.h.!.+” she snapped. ”I've never heard such nonsense! The idea of going into Central Africa to learn verbs! You're either a poseur poseur or a fool, Terence. You had much better find a nice gel and settle down in England.” or a fool, Terence. You had much better find a nice gel and settle down in England.”
Mr Doughty shuddered. ”Gel” always made him shudder.
”My dear aunt! Nice gel!” he mimicked. ”I have been looking for that nice gel these ten years! Unfortunately I am cursed with the possession of ideals. These ladies you and the rest of the family have been good enough to choose for me my G.o.d! They are dreadful! There isn't one that doesn't shock all the aestheticism in me.”
”What kind of gel do you want?” asked Lady Morestel, curiously.
Lying back in his deep chair, his eyes half closed, his fingertips touching, Mr Terence Doughty enumerated the desirable qualities.
”She must be pretty, of course, that kind of delicate, spiritual prettiness that gives to a woman her most precious mystery. She must be intellectual, yet womanly, in a wistful way. I must be able to love her mind. Refinement of speech and thought, impregnability of ideals these are amongst the qualities that I seek but do not find.”
”You'll not find them in Africa,” said her ladys.h.i.+p grimly, and Terence smiled.
”I shall be looking for verbs in Africa,” he said. Two months later, Terence Doughty poised himself on the gunwale of the surfboat, his hand upon the bare, brown shoulder of a rower, and, watching his opportunity, jumped almost dry-footed to the yellow sands. One of the crew threw a new suitcase after him.
”Thanks,” said Terence.
He was tall and fairly athletic, his face was thin and tanned, his appearance suggested the patronage of a good colonial tailor. Stopping only to light a cigarette, then picking up his grip, he walked toward the residency. Sanders came to meet him.
”Mr Doughty,” he said, and Doughty lifted his helmet.
”I'm afraid you hate my coming, sir,” he said apologetically.
”I have a bad reputation along the coast,” smiled Mr Commissioner Sanders, ”and I suppose it is justified. I do not like traders, and I am not, as a rule, enthusiastic about scientific explorers.” He walked by the side of the visitor. ”What is your itinerary?” he asked.
”I intend going up as far as the Akasava country, then, striking across the French territory to the Congo, follow the river as far as Stanley Falls. After I reach Stanley Falls I shall decide whether I go by rail to Tanganyika and on to Rhodesia, or whether I push across Uganda to the sea. There is one point on which I wanted to speak to you, Mr Sanders, and it is this: I have no timetable, I am moving at my leisure, and it is likely that I shall stop over in certain villages for months at a time. So that if I disappear, I hope I shall not give you any uneasiness.”
”You will,” said Sanders promptly. ”I do not think there is any danger, for the tribes are very quiet just now, but in this land 'to-morrow is a different day,' as the saying goes.”
Mr Doughty was introduced to Hamilton of the Houssas, and to Lieutenant Tibbetts, whose other name was Bones, and whilst tiffin was in course of preparation he went down to the quay to examine his heavy baggage that had come on before him, and to try his missionary Bomongo upon the crew of the big canoe which had come down from the Akasava country to take him up river.
”Deuced nice fellow,” said Bones thoughtfully. ”I've often wished, as you'll bear witness, dear old officer, to make a complete study of these jolly old verbs what about sending me up with the doughty old Doughty to look after him?”
”I'll say this for you, Bones,” said Hamilton, ”you're never at a loss to find an excuse for loafing. You stay here and study the jolly old verbs and the payroll and the stores account. And you might give the men a few days' field exercise; they're slacking fearfully.”
Bones sighed and abandoned his dream.
So Mr Terence Doughty went alone, and after a month's idling along the river, came in the dark of an evening to a beach.
”We will sleep here tonight,” he said, and the headman of the boat grew unexpectedly agitated.
”Lord, we will go on to the city, which we shall reach by the morning. For though my strong paddlers are tired, they will be happy.”
”Why not here?” asked Terence in surprise.
The man tapped his teeth with his knuckles. ”Lord, this is a magic place. For here is the Tree of the World, and devils live in abundance, so that you cannot walk without treading on their tails. Now let us go on, for my men have fear in their stomachs.”
”Land me alone and my little tent,” said Terence, now thoroughly interested. ”In the morning come for me.”
He went ash.o.r.e on the flat beach and watched the hurried and fearful erection of his tent. They lit a fire for him (all in frantic haste) and paddled away.
Terence had brewed himself a cup of tea and was preparing a meal of canned chicken breast and biscuit, when, raising his eyes suddenly, he saw, standing in the light of the fire, a slim figure. For a second he was startled, and then: ”I am M'mina of The Tree,” said the girl simply, ”and I am a great friend of ghosts.”
”O woman, sit with me and eat,” said Terence, and she obeyed.
There is a tree in the Forest of Happy Dreams, which is in the Akasava country, that has stood from the beginning of time. It is the Tree of the World, and floated in the waters which, according to legend that is so splendidly confirmed by the Jeano-men, was the beginning of all substance. And to the bare roots of the tree came earth, and more earth, and rocks to keep the earth in its place, and mountains to hold the rocks, and so the world was made. It is a cedar of enormous height, which in itself is miraculous, for no other cedars grow in the Akasava. Its branches spread amazingly. Beneath, you may see the rotting stumps of other trees which in the course of hundreds of years have been cut down that the Tree of the World might grow. Some day, so the legend runs, that tree will wither, and on that day the world will begin to go back to the water. First the mountains will crumble and fall into the great river; then the rocks will go to dust, and lastly the earth will dissolve into water and there will be no more earth.
Near by the tree, in a large hut, lived Ogon.o.bo, the Keeper of the Tree, a wise old man, reputedly friend of devils and in the fellows.h.i.+p of ju-jus.
So potent was the mystery of Ogon.o.bo that even M's.h.i.+mba M'shamba, most ruthless and disrespectful of all great spirits, spared his house on the night of the great wind, when villages and cities were levelled and great gum-trees were plucked up by the roots as though they were corn-stalks.
Yet for all his magic and aloofness, Ogon.o.bo was no ascetic. He had taken to himself many wives, and each he had put away because none bore him children. Then he found a fisher girl of no great account and took her into his hut, and she gave him M'mina, a straight-backed, grave-eyed daughter. Some say one thing and some say another about this miracle of a daughter who came to Ogon.o.bo in his old age. Such is the Akasava love for scandal. That his wife had many lovers is true, but what woman of the Akasava is without lovers? Do they not say, ”This day I have married a woman who has three husbands” at every wedding feast? Be that as it may, M'mina was a fact, and when old Ogon.o.bo sold his wife to a petty chief this M'mina became the supreme woman of his house, tended his small garden, crushed his corn and cooked for him.
Such men as saw her, hunters who strayed into the ghost forest led by their quarry, feared her. One brought a story that he had seen M'mina sitting on the ground surrounded by thousands of parrots that squawked and chattered to her. And another had seen her in the company of many little birds that came to her when she whistled. It is certain that M'mina was a great charmer of birds, and at her whistle even the fierce hawks stooped and came with a beating of wings to her feet. This was her own peculiar magic.
Incidentally the spirit of the forest came to her, and she communed with devils. One day she came to the old man, her father, and told him.
”Ogon.o.bo,” she said, ”I saw a little yellow devil sitting under the Tree of the World. He had red eyes, and from his knees grew two hands that pinched me as I pa.s.sed.”
Ogon.o.bo said nothing. He took a long and pliant length of hippo-hide, and he flogged her until he could flog her no more, ”Now, woman,” said he, ”see no more devils.”
M'mina went through the days that followed as though nothing had happened. She slept in a small hut at the back of her father's house, and one night, having a pain in his head, he went to call her that she might boil water for him. She was not on her bed, and, spying, he saw her slip from the forest in the dawn hour and go straight to her hut. He watched her three nights in succession, and every night she went away into the forest and came back with the dawn.
Then he spoke to her. ”Woman,” he said, ”if you have a lover, let him come to me. But if you go in the night to speak to devils, that is bad. For a lover can give you nothing but life, but devils bring trouble. Tell me now, M'mina, which is true?”
”Lord, I go to see devils and one who is greater than all. For he lives in a tree and fire comes from his eyes when he speaks, and one day he will take me into his hut and we shall be happy.”
Ogon.o.bo went in search of his thong, and this time the flogging was severe.
”You shall bring no sons of devils into my house, woman,” said Ogon.o.bo breathlessly, for he was an old man.
M'mina got up from the floor, rubbing her whealed thighs. Her dark, grave eyes searched the old man's face, and she said: ”This night your arm shall die.”