Forest of the Pygmies(48)
"In that case King Kosongo is not interested in the woman," the commandant declared.
Kate quickly backpedaled. She hadn't expected Mbembelé to take her that seriously.
"Don't you think you should consult with His Majesty?"
"No."
"Well, Angie didn't exactly give her word to that man; it's not really a formal engagement, you understand? I've heard that the most powerful sorcerer in Africa—Sombe, isn't it?—lives near here. Maybe he can release Angie from the magic of her other suitor," Kate proposed.
"Maybe."
"When will the famous Sombe be coming to Ngoubé?"
"You ask a lot of questions, old woman. You're as big a pest as the mopani," the commandant complained, waving his hand as if brushing away a bee. "I will speak with King Kosongo. We will discuss a way to free the woman."
"One thing more, Commandant Mbembelé," said Kate from the door.
"What do you want now?"
"The building you put us in is very pleasant, but it's a little dirty; there are a lot of rat and bat droppings—"
"And?"
"Angie Ninderera is very delicate. Bad smells make her ill. Could you send us a slave to clean the place and prepare our food? If it isn't too much bother."
"I suppose," the commandant replied.
The servant he assigned them looked like a child. She was wearing a raffia skirt and, though slim and little more than four feet tall, she was very strong. She came equipped with a twig broom and set about sweeping the floor at a furious pace. The more dust she raised, the worse the odor and filth. Kate stopped her, because in fact she had asked for her with other goals in mind: She needed an ally. At first the woman seemed not to understand what Kate wanted. She put on an expression as bland and as blank as a sheep's, but when the writer mentioned Beyé-Dokou, her face lighted up. Kate realized that the stupidity was feigned, purely a defense mechanism.
With mime and a few words in Bantu and French, the Pygmy explained that her name was Jena, and that she was the wife of Beyé-Dokou. They had two children, whom she saw very little of because they were kept in a separate fenced area, but for the moment the children were well cared for by a couple of grandmothers. Tomorrow, however, was the day set for Beyé-Dokou and the other hunters to bring the ivory; if they failed they would lose their children, said Jena, weeping. Kate didn't know how to react to the tears, but Angie and Brother Fernando tried to console Jena with the argument that Kosongo wouldn't dare sell children as long as a group of journalists was around to act as witnesses. Jena was of the opinion that nothing and nobody could change Kosongo's mind.
The sinister throbbing of drums filled the African night, reverberating through the jungle and terrorizing the foreigners in their hut, their hearts laden with dark presages.
"What do those drums mean?" asked Joel, trembling.
"I don't know, but it can't be good news," Brother Fernando replied.
"I am sick of being afraid all the time!" Angie exclaimed. "I've had a pain in my chest for days from all this anxiety. I can't breathe. I want to get out of here!"
"Let's pray, my friends," the missionary suggested.
A soldier appeared at their door and, speaking directly to Angie, announced that the tournament was about to start and Commandant Mbembelé demanded her presence.
"I will come with my friends," she said.
"However you want," the messenger replied.
"Why are the drums playing?" Angie asked.
"Ezenji, " was the soldier's curt reply.
"The dance of death?"
This time he didn't answer, merely turned and left. The members of the group consulted among themselves. Joel was of the opinion that it was their own deaths—that they were slated to be the principals in this spectacle. Kate made him stop.
"You're making me nervous, Joel. If they mean to kill us, they won't do it in public. It's not to their benefit to provoke an international scandal by murdering us."
"Who would ever know, Kate? We're at the mercy of these madmen. What does the opinion of the rest of the world mean to them? They do whatever they please," Joel moaned.
The entire village, except for the Pygmies, had gathered in the plaza. A square had been traced with lime, like a boxing ring, and lit with torches. Beneath the Tree of Words sat the commandant, accompanied by his "officials," that is, the ten soldiers of the Brotherhood of the Leopard, who were standing behind his chair. He was dressed as he always was: trousers and army boots, and he was wearing the mirrored sunglasses, though it was night. Angie was led to a second chair only a few feet away from the commandant; her friends, however, were ignored. King Kosongo was not present, but his wives were crowded into their usual place, standing behind the tree under the watchful eye of the old sadist with the bamboo stick.
The "army" was present: the Leopard brotherhood with their rifles and the Bantu guards armed with machetes, knives, and clubs. The men of the local tribe were very young, and they gave the impression of being as frightened as the rest of the inhabitants of the village. The foreigners soon found out why.
The three musicians in their costume of military jackets sans trousers, the ones who had beat sticks the night Kate and her group arrived, now were in charge of the drums. The sound they produced was monotonous, melancholy, and menacing, very different from the Pygmies' music. The bom-bom-bom went on a long time, until the moon added its light to that of the torches. In the meanwhile, plastic containers and gourds filled with palm wine were being passed from hand to hand. This time the wine was offered to women, children, and visitors. The commandant was drinking American whisky, undoubtedly obtained from smugglers. He drank a couple of sips and passed the bottle to Angie, who rejected the offer with dignity because she didn't want to establish any basis of familiarity with that man. When he offered her a cigarette, however, she couldn't resist; she hadn't smoked for an eternity.