Then a messenger arrived with word that the disciple's mother was seriously ill and might well be dying. A man of considerable medical knowledge himself, having learned so much from Doctor Li, the disciple felt he might be able to help her but he was honour-bound to continue his vigil. Torn and miserable, he waited, hoping that Li would return at any moment and release him.
By the morning of the sixth day the doctor had still not returned and another messenger came to say that the disciple's mother had grown worse in the night. She was not expected to survive and her fondest wish was to see her son once more before she died.
The disciple passed the next few hours in an agony of doubt and indecision. His anxiety intensified when only 12 hours of the deadline remained. If his mother should die now and the doctor still did not return, his vigil would have been in vain on two counts. He looked closely at Doctor Li's body. It was stiff, cold and lifeless in a way he was sure it had not been before. The disciple made up his mind, and with great reluctance but much ceremony, he burned the doctor's body.
The doctor's spirit returned shortly after the disciple left for his mother's sickbed. All it found was a pile of ashes, still warm and intermixed with the remains from the funeral pyre. A terrible sense of urgency struck Doctor Li. He must find a body to occupy before his spirit faded way on the wind. Rushing to a nearby forest he searched for the body of any dead creature he could reanimate. The first dead things he found were an ant and a bee. He passed on – he could not practice medicine as either of these, nor as the parakeet he came across next. In the few moments remaining to him, he was willing to gamble, though. His spirit was growing dimmer and he knew his time had almost expired. Desperation mounting, he pressed on. Then he glimpsed something that made him start with joy. In a ditch beside the road was a human body, partially covered in leaves and dust.
The body was that of a beggar recently died of starvation. There was no time to examine it. The doctor raced towards the cold flesh, and settled into it with only a few seconds to spare, sighing with relief. For several minutes he simply lay inside it, experiencing the sensation of fleshly existence. After a while he began to move the arms, legs, hands and feet. Warming and revitalizing his new shell, he discovered that it was intact, just, and that it was male and not so very decrepit as to be useless.
Shakily climbing to his second-hand feet, the doctor swayed momentarily before setting off determinedly. He knew as an absolute certainty that if his disciple had burned his body before the agreed deadline it must have been done for nothing less than a dire emergency. Doctor Li had a good idea of the nature of this emergency.
Moving his now thin, bowed and twisted carcass as quickly as he could, he hurried off to give assistance where he was sure it was needed. The eyes of his new body were deep-set, dark and glinted as new minted coins, yet they shone too with the doctor's former gentleness and care for others. His future was as his past: to continue his work as a much loved and greatly respected man of medicine.
Mamadi Sefe Dekote
This is a legend of Sudan, whose rich tradition of heroes, damsels and adventure is much like that of medieval Europe. The story of Mamadi Sefe Dekote is no children's fairy-tale, however, and has a particularly bitter and sharp battle-of-the-sexes edge to it.
Everyone agreed that Sia Jatta Bari was beautiful, but to the warrior known as Mamadi Sefe Dekote, ‘He Who Speaks Little,’ she was the most beautiful woman in the world. The virgin Sia herself was fully aware of her stunning looks, even somewhat perplexed and rather spoiled by them. Certainly she too felt that she was clearly the most beautiful girl of her generation in their city, capital of the Soninke people of Sudan. And this, a very truly blessed city, prosperous and populous, had officially agreed with both of them.
The provider of the city's wealth and fertility was a serpent named Bida which surfaced periodically from its lair in the bowels of the earth through the well in the main square. Here it bestowed its bounty upon the people, thrice yearly causing a rain of pure gold to fall in the streets. All the Soninke had to do in return was to feed the serpent a particularly exquisite virgin every now and then, as suitable candidates appeared. Bida would not be satisfied with just any old virgin and had long ago, quite perceptibly, begun to lean towards quality rather than quantity.
Now, Mamadi Sefe Dekote was not stupid and was assuredly a very single-minded man. Usually his mind was focused exclusively on what he did best. He was a highly skilled fighter, the foremost warrior among his people, their best horseman, swordsman and tactician, brave as a lion and swift as a leopard. Lately, though, his mind had been taken over by a need to come out best in another sort of battle, one for the heart of the beautiful Sia. Fortunately for his fellow citizens, there were no wars to fight at the moment, no feuds to pursue or quests to embark on. If Mamadi's skills had been required just now, the Soninke would have found themselves short of a hero, for the warrior was not to be distracted by anything.
So it was that for some time he had been paying diligent court to the young maiden, trying to attract her, seduce her, lure her to his rooms, but all his efforts had ended in dismal failure. The young couple were social equals, yet he felt that she considered herself too good for him. Him! Had he compared notes with his peers, they would have assured him that they fared no better, and in many cases were treated worse, but that would have been no consolation to a man used to getting his own way. In truth, when all was said and done, Sia did indeed feel she was too good for him, or for any other man in the city. Indeed, far more than most beautiful women, she felt she was a little too good for the world as a whole. She knew it could just never quite measure up to her.
This state of affairs was no secret to anyone, especially the wiser heads in charge of official matters in the city, who wondered how the matter might be resolved. After much thought they came up with a solution which they hoped would bring the obsessed and deluded Mamadi back to his true vocation. They appreciated the fact that warriors had the desires of ordinary men, but ordinary men were usually content to satisfy them with ordinary women. The solution devised by the elders was very much to the taste of Sia herself, it must be understood. So, it was with pride, satisfaction and a calm sense of justice being done that she accepted the high honour duly offered to her.
Anybody else in town could have seen it coming. Sia's own family had expected as much since she was twelve or so. However, ‘The Man Who Speaks Little’ had been listening even less of late. For one thing he had not been going out much – he was a man with a mission and saving money had become central to its completion.
For a native of a city that had gold rained upon it, Mamadi Sefe Dekote was not wealthy. Honourable public service seldom pays, and even honest loot from raids and successful campaigns is often given out as largesse, to pay retainers, feed slaves, buy equipment, the best weapons and horses. Saving and selling off a few valuables were the only methods open to him of raising a large sum of money quickly.
The family of Sia Jatta Bari were in no better financial position themselves. Perhaps in a city that has gold rained upon it, everyone spends too freely. Between showers, money can get a little tight. The idea had come to Mamadi, in desperation it has to be said, to offer Sia gold to come to him, to spend the night with him, in short to lay with him. In those pre-Islamic times this was not such an impossible notion.
Mamadi bided his time and when he had amassed a suitable sum, he approached Sia as she was strolling in the public gardens. The particularly aloof and serene expression on her lovely face changed when she felt a gentle touch on her arm and she saw who it was.
“What?” she snapped.
Ever a man of few words, he said, smiling “Come to my bed and I will give you this bag of gold.” He opened the large leather sack he had brought with him and showed her the considerable amount he had saved. He tried to be appear calm as she perused the contents of the bag, swallowed hard, and braced himself for the stinging rebuff he felt sure she would deliver.
S
ia looked as though she was fighting to concentrate, to ward off distraction, and bring her thoughts back from a very long, long way off. At first she looked through him, then at him.
“Yeeees,” she said vaguely. Then she added, “In advance, of course.”
Now Mamadi's sudden good luck surprised him, for he had regarded this latest bid of his as a last-ditch effort. When his jaw could be persuaded to stop hanging loose, he agreed at once. It was only after Sia had snatched away his moneybag and disappeared in the direction of the milliner's quarter that he wondered if she planned to cheat him. No, he reasoned. She had obviously wanted him all along. She had simply been too proud to admit it. The money was only an excuse, a decider which had tipped the finely balanced scales in her feminine mind.
It was with both keen excitement and some trepidation that he went home to anxiously await her arrival that evening. The atmosphere here was hardly soothing, though. He had only one slave left to his name and many of his finest possessions and decorations had also been sold. Sia was worth all his sacrifices, he told himself fiercely, pacing up and down his bedroom.
As the evening turned into night and Mamadi was on the verge of fury and despair, she came. When he saw her he felt a great wave of relief wash over him and instantly relaxed. Oddly his excitement waned a little, or rather became a slow-burning sense of sweet anticipation, the enjoyment of a longing soon to be fulfilled but not rushed at.
He gave her wine and they talked haltingly of family and friends they had in common. She spoke of the fine gown she had bought with the money he had given her and how it was finer than any that had ever been seen in the city. She was lucky, she said, to have found the material, just in time. His kind offer of money had been so opportune.
He smiled and reminded her that his offer was not merely an act of kindness, that they had made a bargain.
“Of course,” she nodded without so much as a maidenly blush. Standing up he held out his hand. She took it, still looking at him directly and smiling. Slowly he led her up the stairs to his bedchamber where he began to disrobe, inviting her to do the same. She shook her head. Thinking this was at last a sign of modesty, and liking the idea, he stepped over to undress her.
“That was not part of the bargain,” she said firmly, backing away from him, her slender hands held out in front of her.
“Right,” he said grimly. It was going to be like that, was it? “Very well.”
Mamadi Sefe Dekote leapt into the bed and with a wicked grin patted the space beside him. “Come then, lawyer.”
Walking over to the bed she looked stonily at him and lay down beside him stiffly.
“Huh,” he grunted, shaking his head and reaching out for her breast.
She slapped his hand.
“No,” she barked. “That was not part of the bargain, either.”
He groaned angrily and thrust out his hands to delve beneath her skirts, but she crossed her legs tightly, pushing his hands away and tugging down her clothing.
“Not part of the bargain?” he snarled, only to see her nod smugly. “How then are we to keep the bargain, woman? How am I to make love to you?”
“Make love?” she raised her fine eyebrows and looked curiously down her fine nose. “Who said anything about making love?”
“It is just that one wonders how it may be accomplished, with all these conditions placed upon …”
“I did not mean that there is no question of making love, but that it is not in question. I mean it was not mentioned. You said nothing about it. Making love was never part of the bargain. I agreed to lay with you. To spend the night, as it were. To sleep with you, if you wish. Nothing more.”
“Is it marriage you want?” Mamadi asked, jumping from the bed and stalking up and down upon the now carpet-less floor, for the carpet too had been sold. “Well, when was that ever in doubt really? I am in love with you. Everyone knows that. Our families would not object. There is no problem. I wish it, in fact, and you know that. We can make love now and marry tomorrow. You have my word. And I do keep bargains, in letter and spirit. As I say, I love you.”
“I realize that,” she said sadly, pitying him a little now. “But I cannot make love or marry. Bida the serpent is my destiny and I desire no other. I go to him tomorrow morning. That is why I wanted a particularly fine gown, shoes and a bit of new jewellery.”
“And what will you say to him,” Mamadi snapped in his exasperation, hardly taking in the full import of what she said. “‘You may eat me, but not my new dress and shoes, they are not part of the bargain.’”
She smiled serenely and shook her head in pity for him still.
“Shall I stay?” she asked after his silence had gone on too long.
“No, get out,” he sighed, angry and confused.
“We have been friends,” she said, stroking his face as she left. “But nothing lasts forever.” With a groan he turned away.
At first only in fury he took up his sword, finding comfort in the feel of the weapon in his hand. Then a little absently he began to practise a move he had invented. It was a way of drawing and slashing all in one movement, perfected, unknown to him, by the Samurai of Japan but unheard of among the swordsmen of Africa, Europe or Asia Minor. Repeatedly he went through the action, gaining in swiftness each time he executed it. Then, sharpening the sword and testing it and the movement together, he split a grain of barley in mid-air.
In the morning Mamadi Sefe Dekote went to the deep well in the square on the east side of the city where Bida the giant serpent would appear. Here, with most of the town turned out to watch, and all the city fathers, her family, and visiting dignitaries, Sia Jatta Bari stood calmly, resplendent in her new finery.
Going over to her, Mamadi Sefe Dekote experienced a greater sense of longing than ever before. He was moved by Sia's beauty as never before. The love in his eyes did not touch her, however, and like everyone else gathered in the square she felt a little awkward in his presence.
“I do not believe you truly want this,” he whispered, but she ignored him.
Suddenly a hush went over the crowd, and from out of the well popped the head of Bida the serpent. On catching sight of Sia his eyes lit up and grew rounder, all but bulging from their sockets. Then his head disappeared again.
“Say your goodbyes quickly and stand back, Mamadi Sefe Dekote,” cried the city officials. “It is time, it is time.”
Bida appeared once more, rising a bit farther from the well this time, his enormous mouth opening, the dark pink of its wide interior gaping, salivating. But when the serpent saw Mamadi Sefe Dekote standing by Sia's side, he withdrew again.
“Say farewell now,” cried the officials and the people. “Sia, bid your friend stand away,” they shouted.
“Yes,” she snapped in annoyance. “Move along, will you.”
Sighing loudly, Mamadi Sefe Dekote stepped back a pace or two.
Again Bida reared his head from the well, and eyed Sia appreciatively. It was a very handsome head, for a giant snake, she had to admit, returning his gaze. His teeth, though sharp and long, were quite clean and neat, too. As more and more of the long neck slipped out of the well it was plain to see how many-coloured and elegant were the patterns of his scales. Slowly, Bida looped his gleaming neck and swooping down with his mouth opened, he came for his delectable offering.
When the serpent's head was only inches from Sia, Mamadi Sefe Dekote glided forward, drew his sword and in one swift motion swept its razor sharp blade through the neck of the giant serpent, spraying blood everywhere. A warm gush of the crimson liquid dashed across Sia's calm features, making her open her eyes. In that moment she realized she was not going to be gobbled up in sacrifice to the magical beast after all.
She and the crowd watched in horror as the head of Bida fell with a squishy thud and went bouncing and rolling down the street. As it came to a halt upright on its stump, the eyes popped open and its mouth began to work up and down, the forked tongue dancing about. Then suddenly, incredi
bly, it spoke.
“For seven years,” the head groaned, “seven months and seven days you shall be without golden rain.” With that it toppled over and lay motionless in the dirt. Meanwhile the serpent's body had collapsed and slithered back down the well.
The deathly hush that had greeted the severing of Bida's head broke into a roar of anger and outrage directed at Mamadi Sefe Dekote. From every corner of the crowd came shouts for his head. Led by the city fathers, the townspeople surged forward, closing in on him, ready to tear him to pieces.
However, as we have seen, his killing of Bida was not a spontaneous act, and Mamadi had taken the precaution of having his slave, Blali, at hand with warhorses made ready for a speedy exit from the town. Leaping into the saddle, swinging his sword about him, Mamadi pulled the dazed Sia across his pommel and spurred his fiery steed into a gallop. Mounted as they were on the fastest horses in the town, they soon disappeared into the countryside and travelled onwards for many miles.
In the months that followed Mamadi came to regret his reckless deed. Penniless and in disgrace, having destroyed the greatest blessing of his people, the former hero fell very low indeed. They had settled in another town, among another people, and Mamadi could barely earn enough to keep Sia, himself and his slave by hiring out his sword to help guard a local potentate. Their social status as gentlefolk was all they had, and each other, alas.
Even now Sia remained aloof from him, would never come to his room and seldom spoke to him. Though they kept separate quarters, they were married, their lives completely linked in their misfortune. When he came to her, however, when he touched her or attempted to make love to her, she always claimed to have a headache.
Myths and Legends from Around the World Page 22