At first Stanley did not notice that the light from the fires outside had dimmed as a dark shape filled the doorway, but he startled when he heard the rustle of a gourd rattle, serpentine in its smooth hissing. The diviner stood over him, but turned around as if sniffing the air and did not look down at him. An amber glow from the doorway half lit the diviner as Stanley found his eyes drawn from the figure’s beaded anklets to his tunic of fine skins, right up to his tall leather hat studded with polished cowry shells and the claws of beasts that preyed at night. He gasped at such finery.
Stanley’s mother stoked up the fire while his father watched from the other side of the room. The diviner lowered his bag to the floor. Stanley recognised it as the skin of a young jackal without a seam, for its bones and innards had been removed through its rectum which now formed the mouth of the bag. The diviner took herbs from inside his tunic and circled the walls of the hut, making sweeping motions, gathering up evil influence. He bent over Stanley and, to Stanley’s alarm, firmly rubbed his torso, arms and legs with a wad of herbs held tightly in his hand. Stanley started giggling, even though he was afraid, for he was ticklish. The diviner ignored him but his mother spat, ‘Enough!’ With a sudden movement the diviner cast the polluted herbs outside and Stanley heard the alarm cry of a crow, even though it was night.
Reaching into his bag, the diviner pulled out hooked metal implements for scarifying, for blistering and for bleeding, a small horn for cupping, blackened gourd cups for mixing medicines, twisted roots and strings of skin of indeterminate origin. But these would not be required until after the divination, for which the diviner’s hand came out of the jackal’s hind parts filled with millet seeds. He squatted down and spat several times into his hand, murmured something inaudible and scattered the grain across the floor. Stanley stared at the strewn seed, their tiny shadows alive as the fire flared and danced, his fright mollified by fascination. What if he tried to read the augury himself? With a secret thrill he imagined that he might become a diviner when he grew up: become schooled in their secrets, interpret the hand of the dead on the living, have a hat that rose tall and commanding, be called to the sick to bring hope or foretell doom with solemn compassion. But he wouldn’t charge much, for when people were sick it would be unkind to further their distress.
The diviner’s wise eyes continued to scan the augury while an intonation stirred low in his chest and passed his softly moving lips. He turned to look at Stanley as if unbelieving of some information that had been given him.
He stood up before he spoke. Stanley’s mother and father straightened themselves.
‘The ghost of a great ancestor, a god no less, none other than one of the Bachwezi, none other than Mugenyi, yes, it is he who has been offended. He, the one who loved cattle, who shared their resting places and in whose care no cattle ever died.’
There was no hesitation; no intimation of uncertainty. If there was doubt, Stanley thought with fear, it lay in whether the great ghost would accept an appeasement and lift the sickness from him.
‘You must sacrifice the cow that is dedicated to Mugenyi.’
Stanley’s mother gasped.
‘She must be sacrificed,’ the diviner repeated.
His father stepped forward, his brow furrowed. ‘The boy is to be sent away to school. Does that offend Mugenyi?’
‘I cannot know what offends Mugenyi, but your suggestion does not find favour with me for then it would have been the father that lay ill, not the child. The ghost of Mugenyi would not punish the child for his father’s offence.’
Stanley found the diviner’s voice had become distant; a terrible dread gripped his heart. He was thinking of the calf that was dedicated to Mugenyi, the calf that must be sacrificed: She Whose Horns are Like Polished Reeds. Zachye’s favoured calf. He looked towards the diviner but could not meet his eyes. He feared the discovery of his deception; he feared Zachye’s spear-happy wrath if he ever found out that his favoured cow was sacrificed under a false precept. And how, in the whole pantheon of their gods, could he have offended the kindest one? His chest heaved; he feared the pricking sensations creeping up his fingers and the spasms of his wrists, as if the evil that had been cast out with the herbs had found its way back to him.
His mother was looking at him, fright in her eyes, as if she had gravely underestimated the severity of her son’s condition and been nonchalant to the point of negligence in assuming this was some minor curse, easily appeased. Stanley saw that she looked at him as she had looked at his dying brother and his dying sister in the last season of the rain, on this very bed.
His father, a man of action and not given to hasty eruption of emotion, said, ‘It’ll be done tomorrow,’ and moved to see the diviner away. But the diviner was looking hard at Stanley in puzzlement.
‘He’s only a child; an innocent. It’s an intriguing circumstance.’
Emboldened by the diviner’s hesitation, his father said cautiously, ‘There are those who say that the ghosts can be appeased by the medicine of the Bazungu.’
Stanley’s mother uttered a cynical chuckle and was about to speak, but his father lifted his hand to quash her.
The diviner said emphatically, ‘In this case the medicine of the Bazungu cannot help.’
No medicine can help, Stanley thought. He had brought calamity on himself. There was no way out. He wished that he could appeal to Ruhanga – the supreme God who had created Rugabe and Nyamate, the first man and woman – over the interfering ghosts, shadowy spirits and complicating Bazungu. But Ruhanga did not concern himself with the affairs of men.
Later, sweating into the congealing night, Stanley came to his own conclusion about the displeasure of the ghost: Mugenyi had foreseen that his deception would lead to the unnecessary sacrifice of a cow. This had surely pierced Mugenyi’s heart – he who loved cattle the most. Then Stanley became confused, for if Mugenyi had not become angry in the first place then the diviner would not have augured Mugenyi’s displeasure and ordered the sacrifice of the cow.
He startled to a loud and abrupt movement in the thatch above him, as if some creature, or embodied spirit, had spasmed. The tingling in his fingers returned. He strained his ears so hard that he heard a cry far out on the plain, far out beyond the fences of the kraal. It might have been an owl’s call or it might have been a man’s scream. It might have been one and the same, for at night certain of the living and certain of the dead transformed into beasts; the boundaries between them dissolved to take on strange and terrifying forms. When he saw a shadow cross the embers of the fire in the hut he tried to scream, but all he could manage was a wheezy exhalation as if he had been winded. Zachye stepped over him. He stank of beer again.
Stanley wanted to pour out his relief, but Zachye would not have appreciated him drawing attention to his late entry. Their mother slept lightly. Our father will beat him for stealing the men’s beer, Stanley thought. But he gained comfort when he heard Zachye’s noisy breathing and the close proximity of his strong limbs.
On the third day of Stanley’s sickness Zachye came to the door, having groomed the cattle at abasetuzi bagaruka. He touched the end of his spear and said, ‘Today I’m going to bring our clan’s justice to an Abaitenya boy.’
Stanley sat up abruptly. ‘Don’t do anything to him or you’ll be taken away.’
‘Don’t you tell me what I may or may not do, little brother. The boy injured you. He ruptured your spleen and I’ll pierce his. Don’t worry – I’ll do the deed surely and quickly. A man does not spear a lion slowly.’
‘No! He didn’t injure me. I’ve hardly any bruising. He was the one with the bruises,’ Stanley pleaded.
‘Taata egi! Your heart is too soft, little brother. Why do you defend those who’ve harmed you? Are you one of the Twice Born already? You fell sick after he’d attacked you – for that I’ll avenge you.’
Zachye’s face was set and he turned to leave.
Stanley cried out, ‘Zachye! My sickness is in my heart. I’m si
ck because I’m going to school. I’m sick because my father chose me for this over you. And now I see that another boy is to be punished for the sickness in my heart.’ Then he remembered more and blurted it out. ‘And your favoured calf is to be sacrificed to appease the ghost of Mugenyi.’
Zachye came in from the doorway. Stanley closed his eyes, waiting for Zachye’s fury to burst, but Zachye’s voice when it came was quiet and menacing.
‘Then what’s the remedy for this sickness of your heart? What ghost are we to appease for that? What other cattle are we to sacrifice?’
‘The remedy is for our father to let me stay – to let me carry on looking after our cattle.’
Zachye raised his voice, ‘Our father cannot take back the words he’s already spoken. And anyway, I wouldn’t accept my father’s change of heart; an insult cannot be so easily forgotten. Don’t you know that the diviner also demanded payment of a calf? So, with that and the sacrifice of my calf, our wealth is greatly diminished at your own stupid hand. Whether you go to school or stay on your bed you’ll make us poor.’
Stanley felt the hut shrink. He wanted to run out and away into the plains; to take the calves and roam distant and secret valleys where no one could find him. He started weeping silently. Zachye stood looking at him, then turned his face away and stared out at the lands. Then his shoulders slumped and he turned back.
‘Little brother, you’ve behaved like a coward but, since I see it was on my account, I’ll not tell it abroad. You’re not accountable for our father’s actions.’
There was a grudging tenderness in his voice that Stanley had never heard before, but now Zachye buried it, stamping his spear down on the ground, saying firmly, ‘Now get up and let’s go out with the cattle. You’re to tell our father that you’re fully recovered. He’ll have to negotiate with the diviner.’
Stanley put his feet on the floor, wiped his nose with his fingers and went to collect his spear from the doorframe.
As they left the kraal they found their father watching the cattle leave. Their mother was returning from ablutions.
‘Father, excuse me, this morning I’m well,’ Stanley said.
His father looked surprised, and then relieved.
‘Ah! You seem strong. The diviner was mistaken then. So we’ll not need to sacrifice the calf to Mugenyi.’ He pressed his finger into the bowl of his pipe to compress the tobacco, and then said unhurriedly, ‘I’m minded not to pay the diviner – he failed to divine the illness correctly.’
Stanley’s mother dropped her pot and lifted her hands as if she had seen a calamity. ‘Cho! Madness has entered you to speak like that. Such a thing would offend Mugenyi’s ghost further. He may strike you down – and the boy.’
‘It’s not Mugenyi that I speak against. It’s the diviner. Just look at Stanley. Does it look as if he’s cursed by a ghost – the ghost of a god?’
Stanley drew himself straight and held his spear firm and vertical.
His mother glanced at him through screwed-up eyes as if unwilling to look at what should not be, then said, ‘The diviner will seek vengeance if you don’t pay his fee. He’s powerful.’
Stanley’s father sucked on his pipe nonchalantly. ‘These days there are other powers. He can bring a case against me in the court in the town. Let him do that.’
His mother had drawn her cloak tightly around her. Some of the men and women had come close to listen: such vexatious matters had touched them all. ‘He may not be able to lay his hand on you in this life but when he dies his ghost will return to harm you, or the boy. Think of the boy.’
‘The ghosts have less influence than they used to. When Stanley has grown they may be further diminished.’
She shook her head vigorously. ‘You’re bringing us shame. You’re putting your hand in the fire. You’ll have to look behind you for the rest of your life. And so will the boy.’
Their father took his pipe from his mouth and examined it. ‘We’re condemned to have to follow two paths – the new and the old. Sometimes they travel together and sometimes apart. We have to choose the path that is suitable for the occasion.’ He saw that Stanley and Zachye were still standing listening; rapt and tense. ‘Your cattle are wandering – go and see to them.’
As the boys hurried out they heard their mother warn him. ‘Even the Twice Born cannot forget the ghosts of our ancestors – they linger about us always. The living and the dead cannot be so easily separated.’
Four
Zachye walked fast along the track with Stanley trotting to keep up. The cattle sensed Zachye’s irritation and hurried ahead of him, agitated and pushing past each other until they came to a favourite grazing by a hot spring. Here Zachye dug the end of his spear into the ground and stood hanging on it while he looked broodily into the pools of steaming water. Stanley stood a little behind him and did not speak for fear of causing offence.
An increasingly loud rumble drew their attention to the road beyond the spring. A car, as red as a fired pot and with a roof as white as milk, drew up and stopped below them. There was a metallic clicking noise, like the call of the puffback bird, then the doors opened and four Bazungu – a man, a woman and two boys – got out. The woman wore clothing of striking colour that Stanley could not equate to any object in their world, although he might have once seen a little flower of the same vibrancy. Both the man and the woman wore small dark disks in front of their eyes so that they could not see, and yet they were as sure in their actions as the sighted.
Two Bazungu children ran towards the water shouting, their shoes making flat impressions on the mud at the edge of the pools. It seemed that bees pursued them or that they crawled with ants, for they did not sit still for a moment but darted about, jumping from rock to rock. Stanley had heard that Bazungu children never had to work and perhaps this imbued them with much energy. They held miniature cars in their hands and put them down and picked them up many times, and frantically moved stones about as if they were being whipped to play at speed. Then the Bazungu children saw them. One of the boys shouted, ‘Come and make play with us,’ in Runyankore, although in the dialect of the Bakiga who lived in the faraway hills.
Stanley wanted to run down to play and to say, ‘I’m your blood brother,’ but no greetings had been exchanged and they had the cattle to mind.
He watched the Bazungu closely and saw that the adults had put out chairs and a table. From a large container with a highly polished smooth skin they pulled out glass bottles, square pots unlike any gourd or pottery in the kraal, other small packets – not of bark or skin but shining. The woman opened these, took out white food and placed it on plates of the same red colour as the car. She called the two Bazungu children.
Stanley heard their names: Simon, Michael.
Then the Bazungu ate their food with their hands, even though Stanley had heard that the Bazungu never touched their food with their hands lest they become contaminated. He remarked on this to Zachye, who said, ‘Maybe these ones are from a different tribe.’
After they had eaten, the red man took another small object from the car and fixed it with a twisting motion onto the thin legs of a stool without a seat. He placed it a few steps from where they ate and then ran back to his chair. The Bazungu all looked at the object and smiled together as if it were commanding them to do so, except one of the boys who stuck out his tongue. Then the man took another object from the car, placed it on the table and pulled out a long spike, longer than the object was deep, which made Stanley gasp. The object made a squealing noise so that Stanley and Zachye jumped and tensed to run away, but then they heard it making music: a jaunty, spangly, danceable song of skilfully plucked strings, playful drums and African voices. Stanley saw his brother relax and lean forward, captivated. His knees moved with the rhythm and he smiled. Stanley could not understand the language but knew that it spoke the voice of Africa. More than that: it had the same speed and driving rhythm of a recitation.
Then the Muzungu woman spoke sharply to the man
and he spoke sharply back. She spoke sharply again and the man touched the music maker. Now it played new music, this time sorrowful and airy – on an instrument that could not be imagined. Zachye and Stanley stood listening while the Bazungu ate their food. Zachye took a step forward as if to hear better.
The Muzungu woman looked at them, and then shouted.
‘We’re not welcome,’ Zachye said. They got up, and moved away from the Bazungu who had come to their place and made them unwelcome.
On the way back Zachye spoke just once. ‘One day I’ll get the Education and become like a Muzungu, to be able to buy strange things. I’ll first buy the thing that makes music but then I’ll buy cattle – many cattle. And then, little brother, we’ll herd them together in our old age and tell of the things we’ve done in recitation and we’ll listen to the music.’
The Ghosts of Eden Page 5