Читать книгу The Witch Doctor and other Rhodesian Studies - Frank Worthington - Страница 8

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Everything was ready for the hearing of the case. On the veranda of the Court House the Commissioner's table had been placed. Conspicuous upon it was the paperweight. On the ground in front of it lay the witch doctor's basket with its leopard skin covering. On the right sat Chiromo; he was still handcuffed, but without the rope round his neck. By his side stood Mokorongo. Immediately behind them were ranged the rest of the messengers attached to the Station. They, with the Court House, formed two sides of a square: the figure was completed by the crowd of witnesses seated on the ground.

Presently the Commissioner was seen approaching along the path which led from his house. The people began to clap their hands, which, in certain parts of Africa, is the native way of showing respect. As the Commissioner appeared on the verandah, the messengers saluted him by raising their right hands above their heads and ejaculating "Morena."

The Commissioner nodded by way of acknowledgment, the people ceased to clap; there was dead silence.

The white man looked across his table at the witch doctor. For a time he said nothing. Chiromo blinked and looked away. Glancing up and finding that unpleasantly steady gaze upon him still, he again looked quickly away.

"Unlock those handcuffs," said the Commissioner. Mokorongo produced the key from the pouch on his belt and freed the witch doctor's hands.

Addressing Chiromo, the official asked: "Is it true that you are the killer of people?"

"It is not true," replied Chiromo.

"Can you kill people by means of charms and medicines?"

Chiromo said he could not.

"Is that your basket?"

"Yes, it is my basket."

"What is in the basket?"

"I do not know."

"Are not the things in the basket yours?"

"No, they are your messenger's; he put them in my basket."

Mokorongo was indignant at the lie. The witnesses, too, were amazed at Chiromo's effrontery. But none spoke.

"Take the things out of the basket one by one and place them on the ground in front of you."

The witch doctor without hesitation began to do as he was bid. The skull, the arm, the weevils as large as mice, the chameleons, the stale offal: these Mokorongo had seen in the hut, but there were other things he had not seen. A necklet of human teeth, another of small antelope horns, yet another of rats' skulls. These were followed by the shell of a very small tortoise, a bush buck's horn containing a reddish-coloured paste, four discs of ivory strangely carved, commonly known as "witch doctor's bones," a small piece of looking-glass, a dozen or more little bundles of something tied up in scraps of rag, a piece of red clay, a length of snake's skin, several cartridge cases plugged with pieces of wood, the sun-dried paw of a monkey, the beaks of several birds, a feather ball or two, another set of "bones," a small knife with a wooden sheath, a little gourd covered with beads, some charms of various sizes and shapes to wear round the neck or wrist. There were many other bits of rubbish which, at a sign from his master, Mokorongo emptied out on the ground.

Under the direction of the Commissioner, Chiromo's possessions were separated into two heaps. The skull, the arm, the offal, and anything else of which there was only a single specimen, made one heap. The chameleons, and anything of which there were more than one, were carefully divided, half placed on one heap and the remainder on the other.

"None of these things are yours?" asked the Commissioner.

"None, save the leopard skin," said Chiromo.

"Those I shall want later on," said the Commissioner, pointing to the larger heap, "the rest you shall burn."

The witch doctor collected some dry grass, and some twigs and some larger sticks. The Commissioner produced a box of matches. Mokorongo lit the grass. The twigs crackled, the sticks caught fire and burned brightly.

"Put those things on the fire," said the Commissioner, pointing to the smaller of the two heaps.

Chiromo paused and looked round at the witnesses in a strange manner. As his eyes sought out those of each witness ranged against him, his personality made itself felt. Men quailed, women covered their faces, and children cried lustily. The witch doctor pointed suddenly to the sky, then at the ground, and then at the witnesses. Picking up a chameleon he dangled it over the flame; he did not drop it in the fire, but looked round again with a malignant grin. This was more than the witnesses could stand; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry them. Something dreadful was about to happen. When doctors engaged in a trial of strength, ordinary men were better out of the way. The messengers alone stood fast. They kept their eyes on Mokorongo who, in turn, watched the Commissioner.

"Bring back the headman," thundered the Commissioner; "two of you will do," as all the messengers started off.

The headman of the village in which Chiromo lived was quickly brought back, and stood, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Now go on with the burning," ordered the Commissioner.

The tone of authority was unmistakable, so Chiromo complied without further ado.

One by one the medicines, necklets, charms and other rubbish were dropped into the fire. After a while, the headman removed his hands from his face. It was evident that the white man was the stronger doctor of the two. Chiromo had looked very bad, it was true, but he had been able to do nothing. One by one the witnesses crept back and took their seats.

The Commissioner then sent for one of his house-boys and gave him an order in an undertone. The boy presently returned, carrying a carpet slipper.

"Hold Chiromo face downwards on the ground," said the Commissioner. The messengers obeyed. "Now, Mokorongo, beat him."

And Mokorongo did so, in the manner of a mother chastising her child—but rather harder.

Chiromo squealed, promising loudly never to offend again. Then someone laughed, then another and another; presently all were laughing—with the exception of Chiromo—even the Commissioner smiled: Mokorongo stopped beating and laughed too.

The messengers released their hold on Chiromo, who got up rubbing a certain portion of his anatomy. Everybody laughed again.

Laughter at a man kills faith in him. The spell was broken. From that day forward this witch doctor, once powerful in hypnotic suggestion, was as other men.

"And now," said the Commissioner, "we will hear the evidence."

The preliminary examination in the case of Rex v. Chiromo then began.