Forest of the Pygmies(57)

A roar issued from Mbembelé's gut as he lunged forward, making the ground tremble with his footsteps. Beyé-Dokou waited for him, motionless, silent, in exactly his attitude during the hunt: alert, but calm. One of the giant's fists flashed like a cannonball toward the face of the Pygmy, who avoided it by a fraction of an inch. The commandant stumbled past him but immediately recovered his balance. He swung a second time. Again his opponent was not where he had expected, but behind him. These evasions made him furious; he attacked like a crazed beast, but none of his blows touched Beyé-Dokou, who was dancing around the edges of the ring. Every time the giant swung, the Pygmy dodged.

To reach his opponent's squat figure, Mbembelé had to lean down in an uncomfortable stance that drained strength from his arms. If he had landed a single one of his punches, he would have split Beyé-Dokou's head wipe open. He never touched his target, however, because the Pygmy was quick as a gazelle and slippery as a fish. Soon the commandant was panting and blinded by the sweat dripping into his eyes. He concluded that he was going to have to pace himself; he wasn't going to defeat the little man in a single round, as he had thought. Brother Fernando called for a pause, and the husky Mbembelé immediately obeyed, retiring to his corner, where a bucket of water was waiting for him to quench his thirst and wash off the sweat.

Alexander was acting as second for Beyé-Dokou, who danced over to his corner with a wide smile, as if this were a festival. That maddened the commandant, who was watching from across the ring, struggling to get his breath. Beyé-Dokou didn't appear to be thirsty, but he allowed Alex to pour water over his head.

"Your amulet really is magic, the greatest magic there is after Ipemba-Afua," he said with great satisfaction.

"Mbembelé is built like the trunk of a tree; it's difficult for him to bend from the waist, and that's why he doesn't swing downward very well," Alexander explained. "You're doing great, Beyé-Dokou, but you have to tire him even more."

"I know that. He is like the elephant. How can you hunt the elephant if you do not first tire him?"





?


Alexander felt that the time-out was too short, but Beyé-Dokou was jumping with impatience, and as soon as Brother Fernando gave the signal he bounced to the center of the ring, hopping around like a child. That was a provocation Mbembelé could not let pass. He forgot his resolution to pace himself and roared forward like a truck in high gear. Of course the Pygmy evaded him, and his momentum drove him outside the ring.

Brother Fernando waved his arms vigorously, signaling that he should get back inside the boundaries marked with lime. Mbembelé turned on him, ready to make this insect pay for the impertinence of ordering him around, but a loud protest from all the villagers stopped him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing! Never, not in his worst nightmares, had the thought passed through his mind that someone would dare contradict him. He couldn't, however, give himself the pleasure of thinking of ways to punish such insolence, for Beyé-Dokou was urging him back into the ring by kicking one of his legs from behind. It was the first contact between them. That little monkey had touched him! Him! Commandant Maurice Mbembelé! He swore he would rip him to bits and eat the pieces. That would teach those ridiculous Pygmies a lesson.

Any pretense of following the rules of a clean game disappeared in that instant, and Mbembelé lost control completely. He shoved Brother Fernando out of the way and rushed toward Beyé-Dokou, who suddenly dropped to the ground. Pulling himself into a nearly fetal position, supporting his body on his buttocks, the Pygmy began kicking, landing blow after blow on the giant's legs. For his part, the commandant tried to hit down at him, but Beyé-Dokou was whirling like a top, rolling nimbly to the sides of the ring, making it impossible to catch him. He watched for Mbembelé to pull one foot back to boot him out of the ring, and with all his strength kicked the leg supporting the giant. The enormous human tower of the commandant fell backward. He lay on his back like a cockroach, unable to get up.

By then Brother Fernando had recovered from being shoved aside, had wiped clean his thick eyeglasses, and was again right on top of the battlers. His voice rose above the uproarious shouting of the spectators to proclaim the victor. Alexander jumped into the ring and raised Beyé-Dokou's arm high, shouting with jubilation and echoed by the onlookers—except for the soldiers of the Brotherhood of the Leopard, who had not recovered from their shock.





?


The village of Ngoubé had never witnessed such a fantastic spectacle. Frankly, by now very few could remember the reason for the contest; they were too excited about the unimaginable fact that the Pygmy had vanquished the giant. That story was instantly part of the legend of the forest; they would tell it for generations to come. Whenever a tree falls, everyone is instantly ready to make firewood. This was the case with Mbembelé, who minutes before was thought to be a demigod. It was an occasion for celebration. The drums began to sound with wild enthusiasm, and the Bantus sang and danced, unconcerned that in those few minutes they had lost their slaves, and that the future was unclear.

The Pygmies slipped between the legs of the guards and the soldiers, swarmed into the ring, and lifted Beyé-Dokou upon their shoulders. During this outburst of collective euphoria, Commandant Mbembelé had succeeded in getting to his feet. He grabbed a machete from one of the guards and rushed toward the group triumphantly parading Beyé-Dokou who, now atop the shoulders of his companions, was as tall as the commandant.