Sacred Hunger (78 page)

She had seen him stoop and take up the dust in the palm of his hand and move away with it in the direction of his hut. It had been just after sunrise, she was outside her hut putting pulped koonti roots into a basket so as to take them and wash them in the creek. “He hoi” dat dust like it water in him hand,” she said, in her strong contralto voice.

‘Like cargo gol” dust. Never take me like dat—Iboti ball go sleep long time ago.”

Iboti lowered his head in humiliation at this.

Paris heard Tabakali beside him utter a harsh exhalation of anger and contempt. She had never liked Arifa. ‘Dat one bumbot woman,” she said loudly. “She put man out when Hambo say, den she say fault him ball. Dat one fat bumbot hussy.”

“Tabakali, stow you gab, you ‘pinion Arifa not de bleddy question,” Billy said.

“You no ‘fraid, Iboti,” Tabakali called. “You find anadder woman good pas” dis one.”

‘Matthew, Nadri, you woman no keep mum, we still here tomorrow. Stick pass to Hambo agin, ask for Iboti punish.”

Hambo’s plea for the punishment of his alleged evil-wisher was brief. “Dis man try kill me,” he said. “What he go give me now? He poor like
kabo
, like rat. He give me bag koonti root?

Hah! Hambo life wort” more dan bag koonti. My country, man try kill me, I kill him. We kill Wilson long time ago for kill one man. But Hambo good heart, no ask Iboti kill, ask him sarve me three year gremetto, carry cargo for Shantee. I finish now, give back de stick.”

Silence at this was complete. Paris saw Kireku and Danka sitting side by side nodding in grave assent and behind them the face of Barton, raised and peering in that old expression of his, that relish at the scent of weakness. Libby was there too, and Hambo’s woman had returned to her place among them. It was a phalanx of power.

The shock of the announcement brought a sense of cleared vision to Paris, like a slap that first blurs the eyes then sharpens them. He understood now that Hambo had never meant to ask for goods in compensation, that he must have intended all along to demand this term of labour.

Others must be realizing it too… He glanced at some of the faces nearest him: they were deeply absorbed, but he saw no sign of any strong dissent. Nadri was frowning slightly, it seemed in concentration, and Sullivan’s face showed a sort of startlement, as if he had just awoken. Beyond them Jimmy sat cross-legged. The smile for once was absent, but Paris knew in that moment, with a sort of prophetic chill, that Iboti’s bondage to the Shantee, if it became a fact, would be incorporated by the teacher into the history of the settlement, it would become a story with a moral like the mutiny, Wilson’s execution, the freeing of the Indians. In the course of time the people would come to believe that a term of servitude was fitting punishment. The slave who had tried to kill himself with his own nails on board the ship, there had been a fetish somewhere in that too—he had been wrongly accused. It was Jimmy who had explained it…

The silence continued as the stick was returned.

Billy was beginning to look harassed. There was no precedent for Hambo’s demand. Labour had sometimes been imposed, but only for specific tasks and when there was clear evidence of some previous contract or undertaking—to repair a roof, for example, or cut a certain quantity of wood. ‘We listen both sai, den see,” Billy said at last.

Paris scrambled to his feet. “I ask Hambo change him word,” he said to Billy, in a voice vibrant with feeling. “I ask him tink what we do here. He forgit how we come here, where we come from? We come dis place make man free or make him slave?”’

“Dat not question, dat you ‘pinion.” Billy shook his head from side to side as if to clear it. The familiar nightmare of logical incoherence was descending on him. “
Sound
like question, but it not. You no ken say ‘pinion without de stick, no ken get stick till finish both side Palaver.”

“But if he is found guilty,” Paris said, abandoning pidgin in the stress of his feelings, “if the vote goes against him, it will be a vote also on this demand for servitude, not only on the crime itself.

It will be too late to modify the punishment, except in degree—not in its nature. And not only that, it will establish -“

“What lingo dis?”’ Kireku was on his feet now, a tall, imposing figure. “Why you talk dis rabbish lingo?”’ He surveyed Paris steadily for some moments with an expression of frowning severity. “My fren”, you talk people lingo or you get down stow gab altagedder,” he said. He extended his arm in a sudden fierce gesture, notably at odds with the dignified calm of his speech. ‘allyou, beck-man,” he said, turning towards Billy, “you no sabee keep palaver, you get down, give place better man.”

“Dat man not you,” Inchebe shouted, in immediate defence of his friend. “Shantee beck-man say everything for Shantee.”

Billy’s face had gone red as fire and he had taken a hard grip on Delblanc’s cane. His first words, perhaps fortunately, were impeded by rage and not properly audible to Kireku. It was at this point that Tongman, with a superb sense of timing, rose to his feet. “Why dis palaver bout punish?”’ he demanded. Tboti not punish, done notting wrong.

I speak for Iboti now. I ask for de stick.”

Once armed with this, he moved between the files, portly and unruffled. His forensic style was completely different from Hambo’s. He did not gesture and declaim, but appealed directly to his audience with an air of taking them into his confidence.

There were some strange features in this case, he said, and one of the strangest was the ease with which Hambo had come upon the fetish. In his, Tongman’s experience —and he had no doubt this corresponded to the experience of his audience— when a man went to the trouble of making up a fetish-bundle and placing it on another man’s roof, he generally concealed it well, intending that it should remain there for as long as possible, so as to have its full effect. Indeed, it was usually only when a roof was repaired that a fetish was found in the thatch.

Sounds of assent came from here and there among his listeners and Tongman nodded and smiled. Then the smile faded and he compressed his lips in an expression of perplexity. Was it not surprising, then, that Hambo had so easily come upon this particular fetish? By his own account he had returned to his hut and found it on the roof. Danka, his friend and fellow-tribesman, had seen him find it.

Tongman’s strolling between the lines had brought him, it seemed accidentally, opposite to Danka now.

He stopped and looked mildly down. ‘allyou see Hambo find de fetish, dat right?”’

“Dat right,” Danka said.

“You see him klem up roof, look roun”, find de fetish?”’

‘Dat right, I see him. He say, “Danka, look dis, someone try kill me.?”

‘I no ask you what he say. I sartin he say many ting. You see him look de roof adder time?”’

“Adder time?”’

“You see him look de roof adder time or jus” dat one time?”’

Danka was a loyal friend, but his wits were nowhere near equal to Tongman’s and he had been taken by surprise. He hesitated a moment, then uttered a short grunt of contempt for the question. “I no see him look adder time. Why he look adder time?”’

“Why he look adder time? Dat a very good question.” Tongman resumed his perambulation between the lines. “Danka no see Hambo look adder time. Nobody see Hambo look adder time. I go tell you why.” However, for a moment he hesitated, his confident expression wavered a little and he passed his tongue quickly over his lips. Then, with a dramatic increase of volume, he said,
“Hambo no look adder time cause he sabee well fetish no on de roof adder time.”

Hambo shouted a denial and rose to his feet, taking some steps between the files towards Tongman. The latter, his brief attack of nerves now quite overcome, demonstrated his sense of theatre by turning his back on his furious opponent, drawing himself up to his full height and raising Delblanc’s cane high in the air. “Who got the stick?”’ he demanded loudly. Neema’s baby, disturbed by all the noise, set up a lusty bawling.

“I tell you one time, Hambo,” Billy shouted over the hubbub. ‘now I tell you agin.

Tongman got the stick. Shove you oar in one more time, Palaver finish, Iboti go free.”

Hambo’s face expressed violent displeasure, but he was obliged to return to his place. After courteous thanks to the beck-man for his timely intervention, Tongman resumed his case. He had the audience now in the palm of his hand. They might think, he said, that if a man knows exactly when and where to look for a thing, he either has some special information about it or he has put it there himself. But Hambo had made no claim to special information, except only the knowledge of the death threats and the business of the dust—both derived from Arifa. Perhaps Arifa could now throw some light on these extremely puzzling questions…

Arifa had been pondering all this while and had hit upon what she thought a good way of neutralizing the damning point that Tongman had just made. In her eagerness she did not wait for questions, a serious error as it turned out. “Hambo no look de roof adder time, ha-ha, dat easy say why. He no sabee Iboti badmowf, I no tell him Iboti badmowf, I no tell him Iboti pick up dust. I tell him after. When I tell him, den he look.”

“You no tell him?”’ Tongman raised his eyebrows. “We go see now. Day you see Iboti, dat de day you take koonti root wash in creek, seven-eight adder woman same-same ting altagedder? Dat de day, yes? An” you no tell Hambo dat day?”’

‘no, I no tell him.”

“Man try kill you bootiful Hambo, you no tell? Why dat?”’

Arifa settled the wrap over her ample shoulders and lowered her lashes. “I “fraid Iboti too much,” she said.

There was laughter at this, especially from the women.

Arifa was bigger than Iboti and noted for her termagant temper. “Poor little
kuku
, poor
mwona
Tabakali called, ‘I so sorry for you.”

Under this provocation, Arifa forgot her role of fearful woman. Her eyes flashed and she clenched her fists. “Foulani baggage, crow pick you eye,” she said.

“Never mind dem,” Tongman said, giving her a look of sympathetic understanding. “I sabee why you no tell Hambo. You not sartin, dat why.

Early mornin” light no very good. You see Iboti pick up someting, but mebbe piece string, mebbe piece flint. Mebbe not Iboti. Dat right?”’

Flustered by the laughter and misled by Tongman’s sympathetic tone, Arifa was brought to agree that in fact Iboti had been some considerable distance away and that a man picking up dust would not easily be distinguished from a man picking up any small object. But she still swore it was Iboti and said she knew it was dust because of the careful way he had carried it.

Tongman turned away from her to address the assembly at large. The evidence against Iboti was completely discredited already, as he felt sure they would agree; however, he proposed to call one witness who would demolish any shreds of credibility still remaining. There was something of a sensation at this, for Tongman had told noboby about this witness, for fear she might be intimidated. It was Koudi, who had been sitting silent among them all this while. She was a quiet, long-limbed, rather shy and self-effacing woman with a kind expression of the eyes.

Gently, amidst complete silence, Tongman drew out her story. She had seen Iboti on that particular morning she knew it was the same day that Arifa had been referring to, because it was the day for the washing of the pulped koonti roots. She herself had gone down to the creek, though a little later. There had been several women already there, Arifa among them.

This evidence as to the day carried complete conviction.

Everyone knew that the washing of the pulp was planned in advance and that it was collective work, involving repeated saturation and straining, the women helping one another with the heavy baskets.

‘So now de day fix, you tell us where you see Iboti,” Tongman said.

“See him nearby de graveyar”.”

‘What time day?”’

“Mornin”. Sun jus’ come up.”

‘What he carry?”’

“Carry chop knife an” baskit.”

‘An” you comin’ from graveyar’, dat right? Come from Wilson an’ Tibo grave?”’

‘Dat right.”

This too, no one would have dreamed of doubting. It was common knowledge that Koudi visited the graveyard frequently in the early hours of the day so as to sprinkle water on the graves of Wilson and Tibo and conciliate their spirits. These two men had died because of her in the early days of the settlement, one murdered for her sake and the other put to death for the crime. An aura of evil fortune had hung over Koudi ever since. Nobody held her directly responsible, but a woman who brings death to two men can never be quite as others are. Koudi was regarded as an unlucky woman and so, to some extent, guilty.

However, on this occasion, for Iboti, she was lucky enough.

Tongman had allowed an appreciable pause for the significance of her statements to come fully home to the people. Now he put his last, crucial, question to her: “What course Iboti lay? He lay for hut, he lay adder way, for bush?”’

“Adder way,” Koudi said, without hesitation.

“Iboti lay for bush.”

“Iboti lay for bush,” Tongman repeated loudly. “I tank you. Dat all. Now, Iboti, stan’ up, hoist up you head. You no “fraid. Only one ting you say dese good people.

Where you go with you baskit an” knife?”’

It was Iboti’s moment. He raised his head and straightened his shoulders. “I go cut cabbage in de ammack,” he said, in his drawling, thick-tongued voice.

“Iboti, you good man,” Tongman said. “I sorry you have dis trouble.” He was standing still now between the rows. It was time for the plea for acquittal and he was conscious of the need to tread carefully. The case was won, he knew it from the faces round him. His fee was sure, his reputation enhanced. But a wise man thinks of the future. The Shantee were strong and likely to get stronger; they were warriors as well as traders, whereas he was a trader only. It was highly inadvisable to make enemies of them. He had caused offence already, but this had been unavoidable. Now he would do what he could to mend matters.

He cleared his throat and began, addressing himself to Billy. There were still elements of mystery in the business, they must all feel that, but one thing was abundantly clear: whoever had put the fetish on Hambo’s roof, it had not been Iboti. There was no case against Iboti at all. Arifa had seen a man pick something up, but that man had not been Iboti because he was on his way to cut cabbage at the time and he was only a mortal man and could not be in two places at once. However, Arifa’s mistake was natural. It was early morning and the distance considerable. The identity of the man she had seen would perhaps never be known. Possibly, if he resembled Iboti, it was the ghost of one of Iboti’s relatives come to pick up something he needed.