The Ear, the Eye and the Arm (17 page)

Garikayi told them that one day a man arrived who had a bad skin disease. He was covered with scabs. He was disgusting to look at, and the other men laughed at him. The ugly man climbed the tree, but when the bees came out to sting him, they couldn't get through the scabs.

Garikayi:
His skin was like a rock.

Audience:
Oh! Oh! A rock!

Garikayi:
The bees stung him.

Audience:
Go on.

Garikayi:
They broke their stingers.

Audience:
Go on.

Garikayi:
They fell all over the ground.

Audience:
Go on.

The ugly man reached the princess and carried her down. The king married his beautiful daughter to him, and the other suitors were sent home in disgrace.

Garikayi said, "This is where Sarungano the storyteller died," which was the traditional way of ending a tale. The Mellower sometimes said that, but more often he ended with "and they lived happily ever after."

Everyone sighed with satisfaction. Tendai thought it was hard luck for the princess to marry someone covered with scabs. The Mellower would have cured the man of his skin problem.

An elder with gray hair and a beard began a fable about a baboon. The animal was tired of getting hungry, and he asked a rabbit to sew up his bottom so no food could get out. Later, he couldn't get the stitches out. The poor baboon swelled up until his paws stuck straight out. Everyone roared with laughter when the stitches finally broke. Tendai was embarrassed. Of course he had heard such stories, but not from dignified old men. He was glad Rita wasn't present.

"We would be honored," said Garikayi, breaking in on Tendai's thoughts, "if our visitor from afar would recount something from his people."

Tendai felt as though a big spotlight had suddenly switched on. Everyone fell silent and turned toward him. He could hear the fire rustle and the distant clunk of dishes being washed. He stood up on rubbery legs. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Tendai laid his hands on the
ndoro.
What could make a better story than his own kidnapping? He took a deep breath, remembering that the Mellower always did that before starting a Praise.

"I come from a far land," he began.

"Go on," said a few people in the audience.

"My father is a chief." Well, he is, thought Tendai. He's Chief of Security.

"Go on," said the audience.

"My brother and sister and I went on a trip."

"Go on," said all the people sitting around. Slowly, Tendai wove the events of their enslavement, the finding of the
ndoro
and the shaft of light sent by the ancestors into a magnificent tale. Even he could tell it was well done. The shining eyes of the listeners told him he had utterly captured their attention. All those nights listening to the Mellower had given him the skills he needed now. Tendai changed the tale to remove all mention of modern things. At the end, he substituted a magic cooking pot for the bus that carried them to Resthaven.

"This is where Sarungano the storyteller died," he finished.

"Ahhh! What a good tale!" a young man murmured.

"Wonderful! He has a
shave
for storytelling," agreed another.

"But that was why the
ndoro
was sent to him!" exclaimed Garikayi, and everyone nodded. "It's perfectly clear an ancestor waited in that mine for many years until he found a willing person to possess."

"He might even be a spirit medium when he gets older," said the first young man. Everyone brightened up at this idea. Tendai began to feel uneasy.

"I would never criticize our Spirit Medium," said the elder who had told the baboon story, "but he has never been good at poetry."

"He can't keep a beat — although he's an
excellent
witch finder," said the young man, looking nervously around.

"Well, that's settled," Garikayi said. "I was a little worried when this boy didn't know the proverbs, but it's clear the ancestors have sent him. I vote he stays."

"Yes! Yes!" everyone cried. A hubbub of voices drowned out Tendai's objections. The people rose to go. The women appeared from the shadows to whisk the smaller boys off to bed. The young men helped the elderly to rise. Laughing and talking, they left the
dare.

"Wait! What's going on?" Tendai called.

Garikayi turned back briefly. "You can
stay,
provided the Spirit Medium agrees to it."

"But I don't want to! I need to call my parents on the holophone!"

Garikayi stumped on up the path, leaning on a twisted cane, until he was met by his two wives. It was Myanda who finally came for Tendai and led him to the boys' hut. "Don't mention holophones if you know what's good for you," she said in a low voice.

"I have to. I can't stay."

"It's out of my hands. They all think the ancestors sent you, and Garikayi has forbidden me to open the gate."

"For how long?" Tendai felt as though the ground had dropped out from under his feet.

"Don't you know, you poor fool?" said Myanda. "Once Resthaven has accepted you, you can never go home again."

Seventeen

The house in Mazoe was quiet, terribly quiet, without its children, but for the first time in several weeks Mother was able to listen to the silence without crying.

The children were alive.

She didn't know where they were, but they were following someone called Trashman. The name filled her with dismay. How could any reliable adult be called Trashman? Still, Tendai, Rita and Kuda had trusted him, so he must be all right.

Amadeus hadn't been able to trace him. How could he? The people her children had fallen among didn't have normal names: Fist, Knife, Granny. These creatures drifted around without families, totems or tribes, although Knife and Granny seemed to be Portuguese. Was Trashman Shona, Matabele or Batonka? No one knew. Mother wrung her hands in frustration.

Amadeus, naturally, had hunted for the bus driver, but he was hiding — no one knew where — from the She Elephant. If Mother's thoughts could have taken form, they would have looked like a big fireball falling out of the sky, aimed straight at the She Elephant. She hated her more intensely than she believed possible. That greedy monster had stolen her children!

Worst of all, Mother couldn't even look for them. In a village, she could have hunted for footprints. She could have stood on a hill and called for them. Not here.

The only person who suffered more than she did was Amadeus. He might look the same to outsiders — the very image of a powerful Chief of Security — but Mother knew otherwise. He was eaten up with worry. "I'm to blame," he said over and over when they were alone. "I didn't let them grow up. I taught them useless things like ancient military strategy. They didn't even know how to go to the store and buy rice!" No matter how often Mother tried to reassure him, he came back to the same lament.

The Mellower could have helped him. At the mere mention of the Praise Singer, however, Amadeus threatened to feed him, an inch at a time, to the crocodiles at the zoo. Well, thought Mother with a rueful smile, at least Amadeus looked like his old self then.

The Mellower was another problem. He hid in his room. His skin had begun to sag, and his face turned gray. Mother suspected he was drinking. Amadeus despised alcohol. He refused to allow it in the house, except for the millet beer that was necessary for religious ceremonies. But the Mellower got around the ban, as he got around so many things.

Mother stood up and took a deep breath. She was not going to let herself fall apart. She went to the Mellower's door and knocked. When he didn't answer, she went in.

The scene was worse than she had imagined! The windows were closed, and the curtains were drawn. The air stank of cheap sherry. "How dare you!" she shouted, yanking open the curtains. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

"Oh, I am," moaned the Mellower from the bed. "I'm the awfulest, most despicable creature that ever existed. I ought to be fed to the crocodiles at the zoo."

"At least you and Amadeus agree about something," Mother snapped. She threw open the windows to let in the clean air of the garden.

"Get off that bed at once. Faugh! How can you drink this trash?" She gathered up the sherry bottles and hurled them through a window; they crashed and broke on the walk.

She called the butler and maid robots and instructed them to douse the Mellower in a cold bath. "When you're finished, make him run around the house ten times. Pinch him if he doesn't obey."

"We aren't allowed to pinch humans," said the butler robot.

"Well, then, unlock the automatic Doberman and tell it he's an intruder. I'll wait for you in the sitting room."

Mother drank tea while she listened to the mechanical yapping of the Doberman. The Mellower huffed and puffed past the window until he had done his ten laps. The butler robot dragged him inside and dropped him at Mother's feet. "Would you care for tea?" she inquired.

She poured him several cups with lots of milk and sugar. It was probably the only nourishment he had taken for days.

"Now," she said, "the time has come to stop wallowing in self-pity."

"B-but I
miss
them," whimpered the Mellower.

"So do I," said Mother, fighting to keep back the tears.

"You don't understand. My whole d-day centered on them. We had picnics on the lawn. We gardened. I told them s-stories. Without them I'm nothing!" The Mellower buried his face in his hands and burst into loud sobs.

Mother felt exasperated and hysterical at the same time. "Crying won't do any good. The children are alive, and we have to keep trying. Right now, I think we should help the only people who have had any success in tracking them."

"The detectives?" said the Mellower, sniffing.

"Yes. Apparently, one of them was badly hurt. The medical report says he didn't lose much blood, but he seems to be suffering in his mind. He has special abilities, you see, and
there
was where he was wounded."

"That's interesting," said the Mellower, lifting a tear-streaked face to look at her. "You don't suppose — he might — like a little Praise?"

"That's exactly what he needs," Mother said.

The change that came over the Mellower was astonishing. The hangdog look left his eyes, and the hunch went out of his shoulders. Even his skin seemed to firm up. He jumped out of his chair and paced around the room. "I'd be
delighted
to do it. Let me wash my face and comb my hair. I'll change into fresh clothes. Let me see, the new brown shoes should do. No, no. Too formal. The beige sandals. And the pink shirt — pink is so cheerful — just the thing. Oh, my. The first Praise in weeks. I can hardly wait!"

He strode off as enthusiastically as Amadeus did when he was going to review troops. Mother was so amazed, she put her teacup down a full inch away from the table.

Half an hour later, Ear opened the door for a flustered, damp-looking man. He was tall with lank blond hair that fell over his face when he bobbed his head. "Where's that fine man? Where's the hero of Dead Man's Vlei?" he cried.

"Someone to see you, Arm," said Ear, who had been warned of the visit by Mother.

Arm lay on the sofa. He was even thinner than usual and hardly made a lump under the threadbare sheet. He opened one eye and studied the Mellower.

"What a marvelous apartment!" gushed the Praise Singer. "I love the exciting compromise between order and chaos. And who bought those exquisite curtains? I'll bet it was you." He playfully punched Eye on the shoulder."

"They keep people from looking in," said Eye, moving out of range.

"You must be the hero!" The Mellower plumped down on the end of the sofa. Arm opened both eyes and looked thoroughly alarmed. "Poor soldier! Wounded on the battlefield of life. I hope they give you the People's Medal."