Ama-jallah glanced up at the platform and noticed Tamboura standing there, whom he remembered. The boy had been a good bargain; he had paid nothing for what was undoubtedly the best slave of the lot.
"See that." Ama-jallah's languid hand motioned to Tamboura. "That's what I mean. You could scour the length and breadth of Africa and find nothing better. Young, well-built, well-hung and handsome. Yes, even royal African blood, for he is the son of old King Tooma and the brother of King Mandouma. Royal Hausa! I'll want a premium on him."
Tamboura saw the old man put down the white thing he was drinking from and raise his head. His eyes looked straight into Tamboura's. For a long time, the space of three breaths, they looked at each other, and finally the
man beckoned to Tamboura to come to him. Tamboura came and knelt before him as he had seen the others do and he could feel the moist warmth of the man's hands as they passed over his head, around his ears, opened his eyelids and then his mouth. He tasted the strange acrid taste of the man's fingers as they entered his mouth and felt his teeth. He saw the man's hands and felt them as they gauged the muscles in his arms and the thickness of his chest, and he knew that he had pleased the man for the long fingers gave his nipples a little pinch—not enough to hurt them but playfully.
Again the hands started their investigations, down across his belly, into the little patch of hair, lifting the genitals, even pulling back the dewlap of skin which Tamboura hated so. He weighed it in his hands and laughed, speaking in some unknown tongue to the yellow-haired man- standing behind his chair. The yellow-haired man laughed back. Then Tamboura had to turn around while the white man grasped his buttocks and pulled them apart and held them there a brief moment. That was all, but strangely enough, as the Negro in the red coat motioned for him to leave, the white man stopped Tamboura and spoke to him.
"What is your name?" he asked in Hausa.
"I am Tamboura, the brother of Mandouma."
"And your spirit, Tamboura?"
"I am of the Earth and my spirit is the lion."
"It's a brave spirit. Tomorrow, this man here"—the whit€ man pointed to Red Coat—"will come and fetch you. He will bring you to my hut. Do not be afraid, nothing will] harm you." j
Ama-jallah leaned forward in his chair and smiled. It was a confidential smile but at the same time libidinous and salacious. One eye closed knowingly.
"You like the boy, Mongo Don? I didn't know that youi had an affection for boys. Ah, but he is very beautiful,! is he not? One cannot blame you. I was tempted myself on the way here. When one's hareem does not travel withi one. . . ." He spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.
Tamboura heard the old man sigh, and when he spoke to Ama-jallah he was not soft-talking him as he had beeni all along. His words were angry words but he spoke them softly and they did not sound sufficiently angry that Ama-i jallah might take offense.
I "Not what you're thinking, Your Highness. This boy nor any other has ever appealed to me that way, but suddenly I see something wonderful. I see something more than a slave I am buying from you to ship to Cuba. Here in this one perfect specimen, I see all Africa, all the dignity and beauty and grandeur of this stinking hell-hole. It must have taken many generations of carefully selected breeding to produce a specimen like that."
"The family of King Mandouma is a very ancient one in Africa, Mongo Don."
"It must be to produce that. No, Your Highness, I have no desire to initiate this youth into the practices you mention. Instead I would preserve him in all his vigor and manliness. I have a desire to paint him."
Ama-jaUah smiled. "He was painted when he was brought to me—painted with white clay and red stripes for his initiation into manhood."
"I do not mean to paint his body like that. I would draw his likeness in colors. I am inspired, Your Highness. I
"See that." Ama-jallah's languid hand motioned to Tamboura. "That's what I mean. You could scour the length and breadth of Africa and find nothing better. Young, well-built, well-hung and handsome. Yes, even royal African blood, for he is the son of old King Tooma and the brother of King Mandouma. Royal Hausa! I'll want a premium on him."
Tamboura saw the old man put down the white thing he was drinking from and raise his head. His eyes looked straight into Tamboura's. For a long time, the space of three breaths, they looked at each other, and finally the
man beckoned to Tamboura to come to him. Tamboura came and knelt before him as he had seen the others do and he could feel the moist warmth of the man's hands as they passed over his head, around his ears, opened his eyelids and then his mouth. He tasted the strange acrid taste of the man's fingers as they entered his mouth and felt his teeth. He saw the man's hands and felt them as they gauged the muscles in his arms and the thickness of his chest, and he knew that he had pleased the man for the long fingers gave his nipples a little pinch—not enough to hurt them but playfully.
Again the hands started their investigations, down across his belly, into the little patch of hair, lifting the genitals, even pulling back the dewlap of skin which Tamboura hated so. He weighed it in his hands and laughed, speaking in some unknown tongue to the yellow-haired man- standing behind his chair. The yellow-haired man laughed back. Then Tamboura had to turn around while the white man grasped his buttocks and pulled them apart and held them there a brief moment. That was all, but strangely enough, as the Negro in the red coat motioned for him to leave, the white man stopped Tamboura and spoke to him.
"What is your name?" he asked in Hausa.
"I am Tamboura, the brother of Mandouma."
"And your spirit, Tamboura?"
"I am of the Earth and my spirit is the lion."
"It's a brave spirit. Tomorrow, this man here"—the whit€ man pointed to Red Coat—"will come and fetch you. He will bring you to my hut. Do not be afraid, nothing will] harm you." j
Ama-jallah leaned forward in his chair and smiled. It was a confidential smile but at the same time libidinous and salacious. One eye closed knowingly.
"You like the boy, Mongo Don? I didn't know that youi had an affection for boys. Ah, but he is very beautiful,! is he not? One cannot blame you. I was tempted myself on the way here. When one's hareem does not travel withi one. . . ." He spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.
Tamboura heard the old man sigh, and when he spoke to Ama-jallah he was not soft-talking him as he had beeni all along. His words were angry words but he spoke them softly and they did not sound sufficiently angry that Ama-i jallah might take offense.
I "Not what you're thinking, Your Highness. This boy nor any other has ever appealed to me that way, but suddenly I see something wonderful. I see something more than a slave I am buying from you to ship to Cuba. Here in this one perfect specimen, I see all Africa, all the dignity and beauty and grandeur of this stinking hell-hole. It must have taken many generations of carefully selected breeding to produce a specimen like that."
"The family of King Mandouma is a very ancient one in Africa, Mongo Don."
"It must be to produce that. No, Your Highness, I have no desire to initiate this youth into the practices you mention. Instead I would preserve him in all his vigor and manliness. I have a desire to paint him."
Ama-jaUah smiled. "He was painted when he was brought to me—painted with white clay and red stripes for his initiation into manhood."
"I do not mean to paint his body like that. I would draw his likeness in colors. I am inspired, Your Highness. I
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