Flower shook her head. “We don't try. We accept them both, as different ways of seeing history. The validity of one does not necessarily exclude the validity of another. It is the same with the stories of the first man, Woot, and his sister.”
“I have never understood that, either.”
“I'll try to explain it.” Flower concentrated, for this was very difficult material, that somehow seemed to make much more sense when Grandmother Ember explained it than when Flower thought it through for herself. “Woot was the first man, and his sister Mweel was the first woman. So they longed for each other, because there was no one else. Yet it was not right, and Woot was stricken with leprosy and had to leave the primeval village. His sister would not let him go alone, however; she went with him to live in the forest. Mweel tended him, and loved him, and became a wife to him, and so the children were born. From them sprang all the clans of the Kuba. Finally he became well again and they left the forest and brought the children with them. Then the Pygmies saw them, and asked how Woot could have an incestuous relationship with his sister. Woot was so ashamed that he fled upstream. But he was also furious, and he caused the primeval village to burn to ashes, and the streams around it to dry up and break open. The game animals who had been companions of man in this early paradise fled into the bush. Mweel stumbled against a burnt tree stump while fleeing, and felt a soothing tickling in the wound. She investigated, and lo, it was salt. In this manner she discovered salt, which has been of great value to mankind ever since. When Woot left, he took the sun with him, plunging the world into darkness. A spell lay on the country, and it was blanketed in perpetual night. Mweel could not see to tend her children. Twice she sent messengers to Woot, to plead with him to return and to bring back the sun, before he relented and restored light and fertility to the country.”
“Yes,” Mboong agreed. “That one I know. But—”
“I'm coming to that. There is also the story of Ooto, who was the sun, and Iselenge, who was the moon. They were children of one mother. They migrated with many people and came to the country between the Lulua and the Kasai rivers, south of our present country. All of them spent the night in a huge house, with the couples sleeping together and the unmarried men sleeping on one side and the unmarried women on the other side. But in the darkness Ooto quietly crossed and stayed instead with Iselenge. She would have told him to go away, but she did not wish to shame him, and so he slept with her. But the rats could see them together in the night, and a rat approached and said to Ooto: ‘You are a chief. Your sister is also a chief. How can you sleep with either your sister or another chief?’ The rat was giving him the opportunity to admit his error, and to retire to the side of the house where he belonged. But Ooto merely replied, ‘I have no other woman,’ and would not desist. The rat, seeing that Iselenge declined to protest, chided him: ‘This is evil of you.’ After a time Ooto felt the shame of it and went with other people across the Kasai River where the Pende people lived, pretending to know nothing of what had happened. Iselenge remained in the big house with their children. But they could not endure without the daily presence of the sun; they became ill in the arms and legs, and many died. So Iselenge sent a fly across the river to Ooto to plead with him to return, but he refused. Then she sent a dog to beg him, but he would not. Finally she sent a turtle, and Ooto sent the turtle back with the message ‘I will come tomorrow.’ But he did not, for the shame had not left him. A week passed, and Iselenge and the children continued to suffer. So she sent the dog back again, threatening to send the rat next, and this time Ooto replied, ‘I will come tomorrow, when the cuckoo sings.’ And, mindful of his sister's threat about the rat, who knew too much, Ooto did return on the morrow, and everyone became healthy again.”
“Yes,” Mboong agreed. “Woot and Mweel were brother and sister, and Ooto and Iselenge too. It is much the same story. But the details differ. Why should that be?”
“It is the same story. But through the two we can appreciate much more about the nature of history than we can from either alone. Because they are recognizably similar, yet different.”
He shook his head. “My mind feels like solid palm wood. Surely the two versions only generate doubt, because of the confusion.”
Flower cast about for a way to clarify the point, and suddenly had a notion. “Look at your eyes,” she said.
He laughed. “We must go to a pool to see our reflections, for that. I can only look from my eyes.”
He had a point. “Then look at mine. You see I have two.” She met his gaze. “Suppose I had only one eye. Would I be able to see as well?”
“No.” He closed one of his own eyes. “I can see all of you, but not quite as well.”
There was a sound nearby. Someone was approaching. Flower had to smile. “They will think we are staring at each other for love!”
“Then let's give them reason.” He closed the distance between them and kissed her.
Flower, caught by surprise, was not completely thrilled. Yet it was supposed to look like a romance, and she did want to marry him and be First Wife, so she took advantage of the occasion to give him the kind of kiss he might not have experienced before.
When the kiss broke, Mboong seemed somewhat shaken. She knew she had impressed him. But she did not want to appear eager. After all, the romance was supposed to be only a pretense, until she was able to make enough of an impression on him so that he would decide to marry her. So she returned immediately to business. “When you look at a tree in the distance, how can you tell how far away it is?”
Mboong looked at a tree. “Well, I have to know, because there might be an animal there I wanted to kill.” He brought out his shongo, which was the deadly throwing knife with blades projecting in a special pattern.
“But could you tell its distance with only one eye?” she asked.
“Why not?” He closed one eye. “It remains as far away as it is.”
Her nice analogy wasn't working. Flower tried again. “With one eye, could you tell which flowers on the ground are closer?”
“Flowers?” He closed one eye, and hurled the shongo. It neatly clipped a daisy from its stem. He walked down to recover both the knife and the flower. “Here it is for you,” he said, proffering the blossom.
“Thank you.” She took it and tucked it in her hair, and smiled winningly at him. “You have the accuracy of a great warrior.” Indeed, she was impressed. But her mind was distracted. How was she to make her point?
“What does this have to do with history?” Mboong inquired sensibly.
She tried again. “Close one eye and look at my hands,” she said. She put them together, one before the other, and stuck up one finger from each. “Which finger is closer to you?”
He looked, one-eyed. “They're the same distance.”
“Now use both eyes,” she said, not moving her hands.
He opened the other eye. “Why, the left one is closer. I hadn't realized.”
“Because your two eyes can tell distance better than one eye alone.” She rearranged her hands, and he played the game again. Sometimes he was right, sometimes wrong, with one eye.
Soon he was satisfied. “Two eyes are better.”
“Because each sees the same thing, but not quite the same,” she said. “So you can tell the distance. Now remember the stories: they are the same, yet different. When you look at them, and try to understand them, you can get a deeper insight into the depth of history.”
Mboong considered that, concentrating. In a moment he brightened. “Yes! Suddenly I see the meaning of it! Woot and Mweel, Ooto and Iselenge, the Sun and the Moon, husband and wife, brother and sister—they were like us, but also so much more! They were great spirits, yet also man and woman, with the passions and weaknesses of our kind. We know them as we know ourselves, yet they were greater than we are.” His face shone with the revelation.
Flower was greatly relieved. The analogy barely made sense to her, but it had worked for him.
Time had p
assed, and they had to return to her house. “We shall talk again tomorrow,” Mboong said. “You are very clever, and pretty too. I will kiss you a second time.” He proceeded to do so. Flower was satisfied to cooperate.
Inside, Crystal was unsurprised. “You seem to be making progress.”
“I am. I think he's interested. It would be a good marriage.”
“You are in doubt?”
“He just doesn't really excite me. When he kisses me I'm bored.”
“With seventeen other wives, you won't have to be bored by him often.”
“True. As I said, it would be a good marriage.”
But, unsatisfied, Flower went to talk again with Grandmother Ember. “I can marry a king, but it doesn't seem enough,” she said. “What is wrong with me?”
Her grandmother smiled. “You may suffer from my affliction. I always longed for a special man, a perfect one, even when I was married to your grandfather Scorch. Scorch was a good husband and a tolerant man, and I had no complaints of him, yet I could not abolish that private longing. I know, and always knew, that there was no such man; still I dreamed of him. But I had the sense to get on with my life, and it has been a good enough life. You must do the same.”
“But suppose there is a perfect man for me?” Flower asked. “And I married another before I met him?”
“If you wait for perfection in manhood, you will never marry,” Ember said indulgently. “Leave perfection to your dreams; that is the only place it can be. Even my dream man wasn't quite perfect physically; he had a scar or mark on his forehead.”
Flower was not entirely convinced, but neither was she sure that her grandmother was wrong. All she could do was continue her present course, and hope that her emotion would come to agree that her plan was as wise as her intellect suggested.
Next day she took Mboong through more kings and histories, and kissed him again. He was definitely interested, but oddly reserved. It was almost as if he, too, had doubts. She dismissed that notion, of course; what was there for a man to doubt about? Flower knew that her face and body were as good as any, and it was a rare man who could see beyond those.
Finally she had him so well rehearsed on the kings that it was clear he would be able to perform for the council, and be confirmed as the designated heir to the kingship. He was also quite smitten by her, and kissed her so often it threatened to interfere with her instruction. He would quickly have had sex with her, if she had let him. Yet still he hadn't asked her to marry him.
So she had to tackle the matter herself. “Don't you want to marry me, Mboong?”
“Yes, I do,” he agreed sadly.
“And make me your First Wife?”
“Yes. I love you and desire you more than anything.”
“Then why don't you ask me if I am willing, and then talk to my father?”
“I can not.”
“You can't? I don't understand.”
“Because I did not want you to understand.”
What was this? She hardly expected subtlety in this or any man. “What didn't you want me to understand?”
He looked miserable. “That I can't marry you.”
“You can't marry me! Why not?”
“It is hard to explain.”
“I should think so.”
“I didn't know you would be so attractive. It was supposed to be a mock romance. But every time I kissed you, I liked you more. I should have told you, but then you would not have kissed me anymore.”
“Why not, if it was all a pose?” she asked sharply.
“Because I knew what you wanted.”
“What did I want?”
“To be First Wife. You did not care about me as a man, you just wanted me to care about you, so I would marry you and then leave you alone when distracted by the other wives.”
Her jaw dropped. He had defined her interest perfectly.
“I knew I was a fool,” he continued. “But you were so winsome, I could not stop. So I didn't tell you.”
Flower's head seemed to be spinning. “Tell me what?”
“That I must marry another woman of your clan, and she must be First Wife.”
“But you have not been seen with any other woman since being seen with me.”
“True. She is not beautiful, and I have no desire for her. There is no courtship; indeed the family does not want the betrothal known until they choose to make it known. But I must marry her.”
“But why? I—you understood me correctly, but I would do whatever you wished. I would give you a male heir.”
“And perhaps you would even come to love me, in time,” he agreed sadly. “But it may not be.”
“I just don't see why you should have to marry a woman you don't like.”
Mboong looked away. “King Shyaam does not like me. But he has been unable to sire a male heir, and I am his cousin, his mother's sister's son, his closest eligible kin, and competent. So he must designate me his heir. But he is making me pay. The woman's family is loyal to him, and supports his policies. So he requires me to marry her, as a condition of the designation. I know he is not bluffing; he can reach farther out for an heir if he has to. So I had to agree, and I will marry her, though I love you. If I do not, I will not be king, and you would not be the wife of a king, and would therefore lose your interest in me anyway. I have no choice.”
“Yet how could you have courted me, while being betrothed to this other woman?”
“The king is pleased to see me dance on a string, loving elsewhere, knowing that nothing can come of it. The woman's family cares only that she will be First Wife, with her sons given preference for subsequent heirs. They may even be pleased to show their power by requiring my attendance when it is obvious that I lack desire for it. All this I knew, and I resolved that the romance between you and me would be mere mock. But you won my heart despite my cynicism and yours. My folly is that I knew the likely pain of it, and pursued it anyway. Your kisses were too sweet to resist.”
He was right. He could not marry her. Yet, ironically, his present honesty moved her deeply. “I think I can't fault you, Mboong,” she said heavily. “You were right, that I would not have encouraged you if I had known. If you wanted my attention, you had to do what you did. Now that you know the kings, we shall have to separate. But I was at fault for leading you on, and now if you wish to have your will of me before we part—”
“No. The mischief is already more than enough. I will simply depart.”
“I will not protest or charge you with a wrongful act. I feel guilty for my part in this.”
“Your guilt is not more than mine. You have done the job; you have prepared me for the recitation of kings. I owe you the marriage you sought. I can't pay. I thank you for your offer, which I most desire to accept, and I decline it.”
Flower found herself with mixed feelings, but the better part of the mixture was relief. She flung her arms around him and kissed him with more passion than ever before. Then she separated and walked away. He let her go.
Flower, distracted, did not go home. Instead she went to Grandmother Ember for solace. “So I can not be First Wife,” she concluded. “Nor wife at all. What am I to do?”
“The world is not lost,” Ember replied. “You must do everything you can to see that Mboong is the next king of Kuba.”
“What do I care if he's king? It won't do me any good.”
Ember sighed. “I was sixteen once; I remember. Take my word: what is important at sixteen is not as important at a later age, and no one knows the future. Some things you must do because they are right to do, and trust to the moon to reward you. You must arrange to be at the confirmation council, to help Mboong get through without shame.”
“But only a few chosen women besides Mother, as the chief singer of the king's harem, can attend, and she doesn't speak there unless a man asks her a question.”
“Nevertheless, Mboong may stumble in the pressure of the recitation. He is a fine warrior, but not bold academically. Your presence
will surely help him through.”
Flower stared at her grandmother suspiciously. “You're up to something.”
“It is the nature of old women.”
So Flower, perplexed, returned home. “How can I be at Mboong's confirmation council?” she asked her mother.
Crystal looked at her. “What has happened?”
Flower told her, as she had told her grandmother. Then she told of Ember's reaction.
“Your grandmother was always one of the canniest schemers,” Crystal remarked. “Did you hear how she lured your grandfather into marriage when she was thought to be too young to manage a man?”
“Many times. I used similar ways to lure Mboong. But what is Grandmother thinking of?”
Crystal pondered a moment. “I think I am feeling ill.”
“Oh, Mother, I didn't know!” Flower said, alarmed.
“In fact, I think I will need some assistance when I attend the confirmation council, lest I embarrass myself in public.”
The import dawned. Crystal, too, could be canny. “I will go with you, to help you.”
“That's sweet of you, dear.”
So it was that Crystal, abruptly infirm, brought her daughter along for support. Flower was awed by the council. It was assembled in the main chamber of the king's palace, and the powerful men of Kuba were seated in their bright belted skirts, holding their distinguishing staffs, wearing their feather badges of rank. How impressive they were in their somber grandeur!
She also saw a number of works of sculpture, some of them made by Carver, her father. There were statues commemorating King Shyaam and the heroes of the past, and horrendous masks, wood carvings, and a number of shongo knives.
King Shyaam entered and took his seat, which was below that of his mother. He was most impressive with his elaborate skirt and belt. He was, according to the history of kings, the son of a slave. He had gotten great wealth as a trader, and finally managed to become king, but the tinge of illegitimacy still clung to him. That meant that though he was widely popular, he still had to heed the concerns of the council, and not everything went his way.
Isle of Woman (Geodyssey) Page 43
