Forest of the Pygmies(58)
No one could ever describe what happened next. Some said that the machete slipped from the commandant's oiled and sweaty fingers. Others swore that the blade stopped magically in the air an inch from Beyé-Dokou's neck and then flew through the air as if whirled away by a hurricane. Whatever the cause, the fact is that the crowd was immobilized, and Mbembelé, seized by superstitious terror, whipped a knife from another guard and hurled it at his opponent. His aim was off, however, because Joel had run up to shoot a photograph and blinded him with the flash.
At that point Commandant Mbembelé ordered his soldiers to fire upon the Pygmies. Everyone scattered, screaming. Women pulled their children away, old people tripped in their haste, dogs fled, hens flapped in circles, and finally no one was left but the Pygmies, the soldiers, and the guards, who couldn't decide whose side to take. Kate and Angie ran to protect the screaming Pygmy children, who were huddled around the two grandmothers' feet like pups. Joel dove beneath the table that held the feast for the nuptial banquet and blindly shot photographs in every direction. Brother Fernando and Alexander placed themselves with outspread arms in front of the Pygmies, protecting them with their bodies.
Perhaps some of the soldiers tried to shoot and found that their weapons were disabled. Maybe others, disgusted at the cowardice of the chief they had until then respected, refused to obey. In either case, not a single bullet was fired. One instant later, each of the ten soldiers of the Brotherhood of the Leopard felt the tip of a spear against his throat: The quiet Pygmy women had swung into action.
Mbembelé, blind with rage, saw nothing of this. All that registered was that his orders had been ignored. He drew his pistol from his waist, aimed at Beyé-Dokou, and fired. He didn't know that the bullet missed the target, deflected by the magical power of the amulet, because before he could get off a second shot an animal he had never seen, an enormous black cat, leaped upon him; it had the speed and fierceness of a leopard and the yellow eyes of a panther.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Three-Headed Monster
EVERYONE WHO WATCHED THE YOUNG foreigner's transformation into a black feline realized that this was the most amazing night of their lives. Their language lacked words to recount such marvels; they did not even have a name for that unfamiliar animal, a great black cat that roared as it charged the commandant. The beast's hot breath struck Mbembelé in the face, and its claws dug into his shoulders. He could have killed the feline with one shot, but he was paralyzed with terror; he realized he had encountered a supernatural beast, a wondrous feat of witchcraft. He escaped the jaguar's lethal embrace by pummeling it with both fists and ran desperately toward the forest, followed by the beast. Both disappeared into the darkness, leaving witnesses stunned by what they had seen.
All the Bantus of Ngoubé, along with the Pygmies, lived a magical reality, surrounded with spirits, always fearful of violating a taboo or committing an offense that might unleash hidden forces. They believed that illnesses were caused by sorcery and could, therefore, be cured in the same way, that they should never hunt or travel without first performing a ceremony to placate the gods, that the night is peopled with demons and the day with ghosts, and that the dead turn into flesh eaters. To them the physical world was very mysterious, and life itself a kind of spell. They had seen—or they believed they had seen—many examples of witchcraft, and therefore did not think it impossible that a person could turn into a beast. There were two explanations: Alexander was a very powerful sorcerer, or else he was the spirit of an animal that had temporarily taken the form of a human.
The transformation was quite a different matter for Brother Fernando, who was standing close to Alexander when he metamorphosed into his totemic animal. The missionary, who prided himself on being a rational European, a person of education and culture, saw what happened, but his mind couldn't accept it. He removed his eyeglasses and wiped them against his trousers. "I definitely have to change these lenses," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. There were explanations for Alexander's having disappeared at the same instant the enormous cat appeared out of nowhere: It was night, there was tremendous confusion in the square, the light of the torches was untrustworthy, and he himself was in a very emotional state. He didn't have time to waste in futile conjectures; he decided. There was too much to do. The Pygmies—men and women—had the soldiers at the tips of their spears or immobilized in their nets; the Bantu guards were vacillating between throwing down their weapons and going to the aid of their chiefs; the people of Ngoubé were near rebelling; and there was a climate of hysteria that could degenerate into a massacre if the guards decided to help Mbembelé's soldiers.
Alexander returned a few minutes later. Only the strange expression on his face, the incandescent eyes and menacing teeth, indicated his recent pursuits. An excited Kate ran to meet him
"Alex! Alex! You'll never believe what happened! A black panther attacked Mbembelé. I hope he gobbled him up; it's the least he deserves."
"It wasn't a panther, Kate. It was a jaguar. It didn't eat him, but it gave him a good scare."
"How do you know that?"
"How many times do I have to tell you that my totemic animal is the jaguar, Kate?'
"Still harping on that same old obsession, Alexander! You are going to have to see a psychiatrist when we get back to civilization. Where's Nadia?"