I tried to put Elongo at his ease by talking to him about supper, and telling him tactfully as I could what he’d done wrong the time before. It was almost dusk, something like a proper sunset for once, orange in the west, and the bush beneath beginning to turn dark and strange. You could feel it watching you. I’d heard one or two shots, and now there was another one. Everything seemed stiller after it, listening, waiting before it dare breathe again.
“There is a lot of game round here,” I said.
“It is good bush.”
“There are men hiding.”
I hadn’t planned to say that. It was the stillness after the shot that had made me feel them. Elongo looked at me but didn’t say anything.
“Why do they hide? Why are they afraid?”
“I do not know.”
This was all Kiti so far. I decided to switch to English.
“You’re afraid, Elongo,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You needn’t be afraid. We’ll look after you.”
“I am not afraid for me, myself, Elongo Sisefonge. There is a big fear and I am part of it. All the men are afraid. I cannot speak to you more.”
“What about the women, then? Femora Feng spoke to me, and Atafa Guni.”
“They have seen a dream.”
“Yes, I know. But …”
“I cannot speak more.”
He was so unhappy I couldn’t bear it. I could see how torn he was. Part of him—the part that had lived with us and done lessons with me and wore our housecoat—that part longed to help, only all his old Kiti side was locked up in fright, and that was too strong for the new bits. I mean, that new Elongo was so young, just a baby really, only six months old, terribly helpless. I suppose I might have bullied and wheedled him into telling me more but it didn’t seem fair, so I went round to the front of the rest house to wait for the men to come back. Sun almost down now, with the bats flooding out, hundreds, so quiet and quick, ugh. I sat in my folding chair and tried to think. It was obvious the men weren’t any good. I mean if dear Elongo, who’s really quite brave and sensible, could be so afraid … it was interesting what he’d said about one big fear and being part of it. They really think like that, as tho’ they weren’t separate people but part of one big creature like an ant’s nest or a bee-hive. That’s one of the reasons KB’s got such a hold on them. The only hope was for me to get hold of a woman, get her alone or with one or two others.
No men …
Next thing I knew I was walking down towards the village.
I should have waited. It was a rotten time really, but I did it without thinking, ’cos it was my time, inside me. I had to. Kiti women spend all day getting food ready, pounding beans and roots and so on, but they don’t put it to cook till the men come home, and then they sit outside the huts together drinking a specially foul kind of beer they make from roots and talk about this and that till the food’s cooked. So I didn’t actually have much chance of finding one of the women alone, far enough from the others to talk to. Still, I thought I’d at least have an explore.
I didn’t want to go straight in ’cos I was sure people would be watching our way, so I snuck off down a little side path. There’s always a lot of little paths close to a village and it was still light enough to pick my way. I worked my way round to the far side and then stole up towards the huts. There was a good deal of noise, voices, men and women, arguing. It meant I could get right up close behind one of the huts without them noticing. The argument was only just the other side. I stood there in the dusk and tried to hear what they were saying.
First off it was v. difficult, so many voices, and interruptions, and me not being able to see any of the faces. It was practically all men, doing the talking. Luckily they said the same things over and over (natives do) so I picked up quite a bit in the end. First it was about us. Why were we there? Why was there no word from the mouth of Kama Boi, saying men must go in the bush and hide? Why had the White Woman asked about men hiding? She was a witch. Did she see the men hiding in the huts? Why had the horsemen not come to the palaver with the White People? The horsemen were very angry. Then someone started on a story about people who were more dangerous than the horsemen, the servants of the White Man who had come with guns and burnt Binja and Dolo and shot men at Dolo who tried to stop them (Bestermann’s Patrol, I think) and now they had come again with the White Man. They were terrible. If they found the men hiding in the huts they would shoot them and burn the village. The men must go to Kailungi and hide there, go in the night. No! Who would go out in the dark with the white woman so near? She was a dangerous witch. She made magical pictures. Nobody must talk to her. That was the word from the mouth of Kama Boi. She had seen the men hiding in the huts. That was why she had asked questions. They must go to Kailungi while it was dark. No, no—they were afraid! (That’s a funny thing about natives and the dark—till you know them you think that ’cos they don’t have electric lights and so on they’ll be used to the dark, but really they’re just as afraid of it as I was when I was small. There’s so much might be out there, not just leopards and snakes and soon, but witches and demons and the ghosts of dead neighbours. They’re real. Soon as you’re afraid enough, things become real.)
Well, they hadn’t settled that argument when one of the women broke in, telling them about a dream she’d had, a great black horse, but she’d hardly started when a man shouted “The women are always telling us this dream!” Other men joined in, shouting her down. The women screeched back. Horrible racket, like animals. They were all so frightened, you couldn’t guess what they mightn’t do.
I don’t know how long I’d been standing there, but it was really quite dark now. Suddenly, I was absolutely terrified too. I mean till then I’d been jumpy, a bit scared, didn’t want to be spotted tho’ I knew I’d be alright really. Nothing could happen to me. I was a White Woman. They wouldn’t dare. But all of a sudden it was as tho’ a great cold black pool of fear had oozed up round me, up to my neck, rising, rising, I couldn’t move! It wasn’t just fright about what the villagers might do if they found me, tho’ that’s where it started, but soon it was horrible pure nightmare when you don’t even know what you’re afraid of. I didn’t think I could move, but next thing (just like in nightmares) I found I was away from the huts, stumbling off in the dark, waving my arms in front of me. I couldn’t see the paths, too dark. If my fingers didn’t touch something I went forward. Bushes everywhere. Quite lost. Things in the dark round me, waiting, watching, following. My own voice, sobbing with fright, calling for Ted. I don’t know how long.
Then I heard a shout, up in the sky, it seemed—only the top of the ridge, really. Ted’s voice calling my name. A greeny light, our Primus lamp. I called and he came down and got me. Oh, it was marvellous! Those dear strong arms!
Bevis had a blissful time patching up my scratches with his special ointment. Supper, then I told them. Not everything. About the men hiding, and Kailungi and so on, and orders from KB not to talk to me. Not about the dream or me being a witch. Even without that I’m not sure they completely believed me. Ted got out the census forms and looked up Kailungi but there wasn’t anywhere with a name anything like that and I was pretty sure about it ’cos I’d heard it several times. We put out the lamp to stop the moths and beetles whapping against it and sat with only the firelight flickering against the outside of the rest house and the huge dark night all round. Incredibly silent. You wouldn’t have known there was a village (quite a big one) just down in the valley. Nothing like our river villages—there there always seems to be some kind of a party going on, with drums and singing and shouts all night. Ted and Bevis argued what to do. I was completely done up and hardly said anything. We’d been meaning to do the same as at Binja, with Bevis and the soldiers looking for hidden villages and Ted and me checking the census with the Bangwa Wangwa and Alafambo, but now with me so tired and a place we actually knew about
(Kailungi … if I was telling the truth!) seeming close enough for the Sollum men to go and hide in, they thought they’d try a big push to find it, with Ted exploring too. Then I could have a rest and we’d do the census next day.
Well, I was absolutely fagged and all I wanted to do was crawl into our tent and fall asleep, which I did soon as I decently could, while Ted sat up with Bevis for a bit, but that wasn’t good enough for Ted and he woke me up again soon as he came. Of course I knew he might, so I’d got ready, but really I was so sleepy I hardly knew what was happening till he grunted and fell asleep. Then I lay awake for a bit, thinking about him. He’s been funny—really since he got Kimjiri’s letter, I think—and then there’s having Bevis’s tent so close and needing to be quiet and secret (quite amusing in a giggly way, nice change) but sometimes it’s almost as tho’ he’d forgotten who I was and he wouldn’t have noticed if it had been someone else! Perhaps it was only ’cos of me being so sleepy, so I didn’t feel real, almost. Not his fault, then. I don’t know. But it was bothering and I took a bit to get to sleep again and when I did I had a nightmare.
I was small again. Holidays at Littlestone, just with Mummy. Usually I like dreaming about that—only times I was properly happy, far as I remember. It started all right, me and Mummy making a sand-house. Tide right out, seaweed smells (you do smell things in dreams, sometimes) lots of other children, and the donkey man going to and fro. Then a big fat boy coming and laughing at our sand-house ’cos it wasn’t a castle and Mummy telling him to go away and him slouching off towards the donkey man. And then me looking at the lovely dolls’ house Mummy had made for me, with a real opening door and a front that came off so you could see into the rooms, and then Mummy not there and people streaming across the sand looking back over their shoulders, back and up, and me running into the house to hide ’cos I knew I’d be safe there and then going to the window (upstairs, I think) and looking out and seeing the donkey tramping towards me with the fat boy’s red face grinning above and then me noticing how useless the wall was, only thin dolls’ house wood … Then I woke up stiff with fright. Usually when that happens I wake poor Ted and make him cuddle me but this time I didn’t want to. I lay quite still till my body went soft again and then I thought about it and remembered the dream Atafa Guni had told me, and what Elongo had said last night, and the woman the men had shouted down, and I understood I’d dreamed the dream too because I was supposed to. I mean, so I could share what they felt, and it was extraordinary. From being so frightened I felt terrifically glad and joyful, as tho’ it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Then I went to sleep again.
While we were having our morning cuddle I whispered in Ted’s ear that I’d had an idea.
“Hope it’s a good one. I’m beginning to think this isn’t going to come off.”
“Take the Hausa with you when you go exploring.”
“They won’t fancy that.”
“Please, darling. Yesterday afternoon, you know how the villagers kept looking towards where the Hausa were whenever we asked them anything. I want to try and get a few of the women quite alone, with no one around to frighten them.”
“Oh. Alright. Depends on Bevis, of course.”
Well, Bevis thought it was worth a try and then Ted actually enjoyed bullying the Hausa into doing what he told them, so soon I was pretty well alone. I had another mug of horrible Camp coffee to give the men time to go out to their gardens and off into the bush, and then I got some painting kit together and made Elongo help me carry it down to the village, but soon as I’d set up I sent him away.
I’d chosen a place where two of the women were pounding the root they use for making the beer—there’s a special rhythm, almost like drums, yumpa-boo-bump, yumpa-boo-bump—they can keep it up for hours, with the pestle jumping from side to side as tho’ it were live. I chose them ’cos I knew they couldn’t get away. They were quite frightened, but not as bad as I’d thought. It was a bit like getting a bird to trust you till it’ll take a crumb from your fingers. Very slow, very careful. I talked about ordinary things, not too many questions, just a little at a time, while I drew. Crayons, brown and yellow and orange. The huts. I showed them as I went along. Of course they were interested. I’d been worried they might be too scared of my magical pictures, but it was day-time now. So I did one of them pounding their root, and they liked that and called to two of their friends to come and look. Feeding from my fingers, you see. Then I started another one of the huts, rather tricky, ’cos I had to put my viewpoint further away than I really was ’cos of needing the huts small to leave the top of the paper free. Six of them round me now, chattering away.
When I’d finished that I took a charcoal stick—too long, so I broke it. I was frightened now. I didn’t think I could do it. They’d stopped talking, waiting to see what I was going to do. I felt they knew it was important, too. I got that feeling of us all seven being almost one, holding our breath waiting to see what my hand would do. Ready. Now.
I scrubbled the horse in—the side of the charcoal, my storm-cloud trick. It took about thirty secs, terribly crude, but a horse all right, a huge thunder-horse trampling among the huts.
I could feel their gulp of fright. Excitement too, tho’. I know, because I was part of it. It was difficult to keep my voice ordinary.
“I saw this in a dream,” I said.
Murmurs, agreeing.
“I did not finish the dream. I woke. Who has had this dream? Who can tell me what comes next?”
Murmurs. Fright, doubt, thrill.
“Something was coming. I did not see it before I woke. What was it?”
I didn’t dare look at them. No, that’s not right. Really, I was sort of hypnotized by my picture, my thunder-horse filling the sky. Not the beach donkey I’d seen in my dream—the horse they’d seen. Their nightmare. I knew. I could feel I’d got it right. A bit like the feeling I’d had at the burnt village, KB filling their sky, pressing them down, their fever they wouldn’t ever get well from.
“A white termite comes,” said someone. Just a whisper, but enough. They all broke out together in a jabber, telling me the same thing, the termite with the woman’s face biting the horse and the horse falling down dead. It was like the first rain—tension, heaviness, waiting, waiting, and then the lightning shooting down and the thunder rumbling about and sheets of rain washing the dreadful tension away. They were almost hopping about, waiting to see me draw the termite biting the horse, ’cos then it would happen, like that, magic coming out of my fingers.
I turned the paper over. Silence. Now I wasn’t part of them any more, only a White Woman, trying to help them from the outside, trying to talk in ideas they’d understand.
“Elongo Sisefonge is my friend,” I said. “He tells me this. In the first time the Kitawa were the only people. Then the animals grew jealous of them, so they made themselves the bodies of people to live in. The Fulani were cattle before that, and the Hausa horses and the Yoruba foxes, and all the other tribes were other animals.”
“This is the story,” said someone.
“And the White People—what were they?”
“They were termites.”
“A termite with the face of a woman, the termite in your dream—who is that?”
They didn’t say anything.
“I think it is me. So, if the dream is true, I must bite the black horse. I must bite it in the right place. I do not know where that place is. Who will show me? It is a place called Kailungi. Who will show me this place?”
Long, long silence. Nobody moved. I stood up and turned to look at them—more than a dozen, I hadn’t realized. I felt, oh, if only I could go back to being part of them, feeling their fright and excitement and worry, I’m sure they’d tell me at once. They stood looking at me, each waiting for the other.
“Soon I will go away,” I said. “I will not come back. I will never bite the black horse. It
will never fall down.”
Still no good. I chose one woman, ’cos she looked most like Atafa Guni, older, more wrinkled, hair going grey, but the same wide, decent gaze. I held out my hand and put my fingers on her wrist. She didn’t shrink back.
“You will show me Kailungi,” I said.
She looked straight in my eyes. She squared her shoulders. “I will show you,” she said.
Terrific jabber, all the women agreeing, on her side, but then two men bursting out of the hut nearest, trying to argue. The women screeching them down. Several more men, but women too. More argument. The men must have been hiding in the huts, but there weren’t enough of them and the women won easily, so after a bit off we went, all of us, a great gang trooping along through the bush, the women leading and the men trailing behind to see what would happen. It was a long way, twisty paths, crooked little valleys, terribly easy to get lost. Getting hot, too, but the women were singing and chatting. The old woman—her name was Manamu—told me they’d been arguing with the men for a long time because of their dream—they’d practically all dreamed it—isn’t that odd? But you know I felt I had too, almost—and now they’d won.
A couple of miles out we met Corporal Igg and one of his men. Everyone fell very silent. They were terrified of the soldiers. I felt I had to show them I could look after them, so I was pretty bossy with Corporal Igg. I told him to find Bevis or Ted and send them after me and get his men together and take everyone else back to Sollum. He reacted beautifully, saluting as tho’ I’d been a general, so that was all right.
Tefuga Page 23
