Читать книгу The Tree of Life - Charles Beadle - Страница 3

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A VEIN of platinum on a jade ring was the river Mfunyaballa flowing through the forests of the French Congo. Above the place of a thousand islands is a slight rise of ground like a furry tongue protruding from the cavern of the forests, brown with the huts of the village of Basayaguru.

On a hot afternoon, when the only moving things were the scraggy goats, lazily scratching, open-beaked native chickens and chromatic lizards, a faint throb vibrated on the sulky air like the pulse of a distant drum. A yodeling cry from the steamy cavern of the forest caused the village to swarm with lithe ebon figures whose heads were decorated with frizzly hair, built a foot high above the forehead, streaming with long-bladed spears in their hands, like a flood of ants, to a point upon the riverside. Again came the cry from the forest from down the river. The distant throb grew into the "Eh! Ahh! Eh! Ahh! Eh! Ahh!" of the chant of paddlers. Presently around a bend appeared a canoe. As the host of natives squatted in silence, came stalking solemnly a tall figure with an ivory comb like a dagger stuck through the head-dress of hair and carrying an Express rifle. In the midst of his people he sank upon his haunches, gazing from a masklike face down the river with the eyes of a repressed child. The strange canoe hugged the far bank of the river, indicating by neglect of the rowers to avoid the sweep of the stream that they were uncertain of their reception.

Amidship of the leading canoe was a hood of woven grass from which protruded the helmet of a white man. When the canoe was immediately opposite the village, the paddlers backed water, and a tall man garbed in white calico with a green turban after the Arab manner stood up in the bow and chanted rapidly in a loud voice. The mob of natives watching gravely on the beach listened in silence. When the stranger had ceased, one cried back and was again answered by a chant and a signal made with the right hand raised.

Immediately the tall chief with the Express rifle rose to his feet, cried out imperiously and sat down. The canoe continued up-stream for fifty yards, swung round, came diagonally across the current and nosed its way through a flotilla of small and large canoes upon the village strand.

From the canoe sprang a short slender man clad in weather-worn khaki and wearing a small dark beard. The chief rose to his feet as the white approached and raised one hand, murmuring the Arabic word—

"Salaama!"

"Salaama!" responded the white.

As he raised his hand in the salute, his quick dark eyes were upon the Express rifle.

Solemnly the chief turned and led the way through the mob of his people up the hill to an open dusty space littered with goats, chickens and calabashes, where stood a thatched roof upon half a dozen poles, the palaver-house. Opposite to each other upon carved wooden stools, with the white man's interpreter in the green turban beside him, they began the formal palaver.

After more greetings and the solemn sniffing by the white man of the snuff proffered in a tiny gourd, the young chief indifferently accepted presents of several bales of cloth and a Snider rifle with cart- ridges. During the interview the white man's sharp eyes were unobtrusively noting details. The interpreter informed him that the chief had graciously permitted the strange white man to camp in the open space of the village.

The white recalled the topographical surroundings, and after swift reflection he consented, knowing that, except for field clearings in the dense forest, there probably was no other ground suitable for a camp. These matters having been arranged, the chief intimated that he would present the credentials to his august father, Basayaguru, which entailed the presentation of another Snider rifle. As the young chief rose to depart, the white man eyed the Express as the warrior handed it to his superior.

"Notice that .450, Ali?" he commented to the interpreter as they continued to sit in the shade while their equipment was brought from the canoes. "D'you think there are any white traders round here?"

"Allah is all-wise," responded Ali Mohammed. "Perhaps the person has traded it from the South, sir."

"South!" exclaimed the little doctor briskly. "These people are not nomadic, are they? I've understood from the agent at Kavaballa's that no whites have yet been here; district only touched by occasional countrymen of yours. Isn't that right?"

"Allah is all-wise," repeated Ali monotonously, blinking both eyelids. "But my countrymen are not disposed to carry weapons of that kind, Doctor."

"Um. Um," muttered the little doctor. "Hi!" he shouted in broken Kiswahili, pointing his cane. "Make those men clear up this ground before you pitch the tent. Fahamshi? Tell 'em, Ali. This ground is nothing but a bug-preserve."

He took out a cigar and lighted it. "What's the particular pet superstition here, Ali? Same as below or a new pope or something, eh?"

"Allah is——"

"I asked you what you think?" snapped the doctor.

"I do not think, sir," returned Ali imperturbably. "The savage think many things that they dream."

"Dream! Dream!" He glanced at Ali and grinned like a friendly terrier through his short beard. "Um. You're right All this ju-ju business is merely the projection of a dream."

"In my country that is what our wise men say."

"Do they, begad? Then they're a —— sight wiser than ours! Um. Um. Ali, do you know what particular legend they have, here?"

"No, Doctor," admitted Ali. "I do not. There are many strange and mystical things in Africa."

"Mystical tommyrot!" snorted Dr. Herdwether. "I don't believe you know much about it all."

"Only Allah knows the truth."

"I didn't bring you here to know Allah's opinion upon every —— thing from yarns to folklore. As soon as you possibly can, get them to talk."

"They will not tell us," said Ali, "for these peoples always seek to hide their cult from the infidel eyes of strangers."

"Um. Um. Well, try, confound it, try!"

The energetic little man jumped to his feet, inspected the tent, sniffed disgustedly and walked with short nervous steps to the outskirts of the village with the object of seeking another site free from native garbage and the ubiquitous flea. But there seemed no hope, for the up-river side was as unpromising as he had observed the down side to be.

The river swirled around the small peninsula and away on its main course, leaving a series of flat swamps and tiny creeks, crocodile invested, worming into the dense forests in all directions; from the land side of the village was a vista of regiments of tree-stumps in native fields hewn out of the primeval forest, fields in which women—many with babies wrapped in skins upon their arched backs—worked diligently with the small native hoe preparing the ground for the annual sowing. Away high over the sullen edge of the forest soared lazily a pallid halfmoon.

BACK through the village, noting the square hut of Arab influence surrounded by a small palisade with a large wild fig in the center, the little doctor tramped, batting at the myriad flies. As, perspiring and hot, he plunged into his green canvas chair, his personal boy emerged with whisky and a sparklet siphon. Each gesture of making, drinking, striking a match, lighting a cigar and the tones of the voice irritably demanding the preparation of his rubber-bath was observed solemnly by the circle of boys and warriors tickling their curiosity while their wives, mothers and sisters toiled in the blazing sun in the fields.

As the purple shadows elongated, came a procession from the hill, led by the tall chief, Basafingu. Advancing to within three feet of the while man, he squatted down. His followers plated before him two elephant tusks of great weight and good condition. According to the etiquette of a great chief the little doctor pretended not to notice their presence. For some minutes he continued to smoke his cigar, interested in the swelling of the sun as it sank within the humid atmosphere above the trees.

As silently and abstractedly sat Basafingu and his ebon retainers. From another green tent, the replica of the doctor's, emerged Ali in the green turban and a green gown and, stalking with much dignity, sank upon a stool beside the doctor without as much as a twitch of the eyelid to acknowledge the presence of the young chief. In impressed silence the audience of warriors and boys and children watched the statuesque poses of the actors. At last Ali gravely permitted his eyes to rest upon Basafingu and, turning very slowly, observed quietly:

"There appears to be some of the savages bearing presents for you, Doctor. Probably it would be as well to observe them now."

"Probably it would," assented the doctor. "This sort of thing gets on my nerves. You bargain and begin the debate, Ali."

"Permit your eyes to see them, and I will speak."

The doctor accordingly turned his head and regarded the gathering with a bored stare. After some five minutes of formal greetings Ali observed:

"The chief, Basayaguru, the father of this person, sends you these unworthy and trifling presents. Nod your head with the utmost carelessness, Doctor. Perfectly admirable, sir. He intimates that he will be pleased to receive you in audience upon the morrow before the sun is yet high. Nod again if you please, and I will dismiss these savages."

Ali made the set reply, whereupon the young chief, apparently impressed, responded and rose. But, when the bearers of the tusks had departed in his wake, there remained an old man whose head-dress was not so high as those of the young men and was like a bunch of greasy white wool. The face was wizened and as finely networked with lines as knitted black silk; on each side of the tufts of white wool which was his beard swung lumps of quartz as big as a walnut, suspended from the distended lobes; skeleton arms and limbs protruded from his robes of wildcat skins. He bent his head after the manner of an Arabic salaam until he revealed the scraggy wrinkles on the back of his neck; then he spoke, mumbling toothlessly——

"This exquisitely wrinkled person," observed Ali, "intimates that he is a doctor, sir."

"Not of divinity, I trust?" queried the little man with a twitching lip.

"It is injudicious to exhibit levity in the presence of the ignorant," admonished Ali gravely.

"Perfectly correct, Ali, perfectly correct. But what may the creature want?"

"He is, I deduce, the tribal medicine-man."

"Oh. A brother witch-doctor, begad! Um. Er—just the beggar we ought to make friends with, eh, Ali? What does he want?"

"As ever in this world among the infidel, he wishes undoubtedly a present of worldly goods of some denomination."

"Talk, man, for heaven's sake, talk," snapped the little doctor, "or I shall have to go into the tent to laugh. Ask him what the current ju-ju is."

"The moment is most inopportune." retorted Ali woodenly. "With your permission I will instruct Yamagulu to present him with two knives and a small bale of cloth and your most august respects."

"All right, but add a Snider to the respects. And find out how much we can buy him for?"

"The time is most injudic——"

"Never mind; try him."

"As you wish, Doctor."

After commanding the head man, Yamagulu, to bring the presents specified, Ali engaged the witch-doctor in polite conversation regarding the exalted status of the white chief, all that appertained to him and the imaginary objects of the expedition. The rifle and goods were brought and placed at the feet of the old man, who apparently remained unaware of them. At length Yamala, the witch-doctor, made his adieux and rose, leaving the presents upon the ground to be collected by his people.

"Well, what did he say?" demanded the doctor.

"In this case, Doctor, I have considered it inexpedient to obey you."

"—— you!"

"I wish to remind the doctor that I have lived and traded among such savages as these for a period of fifteen years; therefore it is to be presumed that I may possibly be permitted to be better acquainted with them and their minds than the doctor."

"Possibly, Ali, but—well, this confounded beating about the bush irritates me."

"The doctor will permit me to remark that, if he persists in applying the Occidental attitude to the Oriental mind, the chance of gaining the desired information, economical and social, will be considerably diminished thereby."

"You're a dear!" exclaimed the little doctor, showing his teeth in a grin. "But—all right, Ali, go your own way, but for heaven's sake don't mull it."

"As Allah wills!" observed Ali and turned his bronze Arab-Somali features toward the two tusks, appraising them with bright expert eyes. "Have you remarked, Doctor, the exceptional generosity of the chief? These tusks are considerably over one hundred pounds each and therefore, at the present market-price, of value considerably over one hundred guineas. Never have I known any of these savage chiefs to recompense a stranger so disproportionately to the value of the present bestowed. Never, Doctor."

"All right, Ali; so much the better for you. Keep 'em, my boy; only don't forget to pump my ancient medical colleague."

"A thousand thanks to you, Doctor," said Ali, salaaming. "I will assuredly endeavor to recompense you to the best ability."

"Oh, shut up, Ali. I like you, but you're a bore sometimes. Hi, Yamagulu, whisky soda. Upesi!"