Read Online Henderson the Rain King by Saul Bellow - Free Book Online Page A

bawling myself, thinking of Lily and the children and my father and the violin and the foundling and all the sorrows of my life. I felt that my nose was swelling, becoming very red. Behind the weeping girl other natives were crying along softly. I said to Romilayu, "What the blast is going on?" "Him shame," said Romilayu, very grave, with that upstanding bush of hair. Thus this sturdy, virginal-looking girl was crying--simply crying--without gestures; her arms were meekly hanging by her sides and all the facts about her (speaking physically) were shown to the world. The tears fell from her wide cheekbones onto her breasts. I said, "What's eating this kid? What do you mean, shame? This is very bad, if you ask me, Romilayu. I think we've walked into a bad situation and I don't like the looks of it. Why don't we cut around this town and go back in the desert? I felt a damned sight better out there." Apparently Romilayu sensed that I was rattled by this delegation shedding tears and he said, "No, no sah. You no be blame." "Maybe it was a mistake with that bush?" "No, no, sah. You no mek him cry." At this I struck myself in the head with my open hand and said, "Why sure! I _would__." (Meaning, "I _would__ think first of myself.") "The poor soul is in trouble? Is there something I can do for her? She's coming to me for help. I feel it. Maybe a lion has eaten her family? Are there man-eaters around here? Ask her, Romilayu. Say that I've come to help, and if there are killers in the neighborhood I'll shoot them." I picked up my H and H Magnum with the scope sights and showed it to the crowd. With enormous relief it dawned on me that the crying was not due to any fault of mine, and that something could be done, that I did not have to stand and bear the sight of those tears boiling out. "Everybody! Leave it to me," I said. "Look! Look!" And I started to go through the manual of arms for them, saying, "Hut, hut, hut," as the drill instructors always did. Everyone, however, went on crying. Only the very little kids with their jack-o'-lantern faces seemed happy at my entertainment. The rest were not done mourning, and covered their faces with their hands while their naked bodies shook. "Well, Romilayu," I said, "I'm not getting anywhere, and our presence is very hard on them, that's for sure." "Dem cry for dead cow," he said. And he explained the thing very clearly, that they were mourning for cattle which had died in the drought, and that they took responsibility for the drought upon themselves--the gods were offended, or something like that; a curse was mentioned. Anyway, as we were strangers they were obliged to come forward and confess everything to us, and ask whether we knew the reason for their trouble. "How should I know--except the drought? A drought is drought," I said, "but my heart goes out to them, because I know what it is to lose a beloved animal." And I began to say, almost to shout, "Okay, okay, okay. All right, ladies--all right, you guys, break it up. That's enough, please. I get it." And this did have some effect on them, as I suppose they heard in the tone of my voice that I felt a certain amount of distress also, and I said to Romilayu, "So ask them what they want me to do. I intend to do something, and I really mean it." "What you do, sah?" "Never mind. There must be something that only I can do. I want you to start asking." So he spoke to them, and the smooth-skinned, humped cattle kept grunting in their gentle bass voices (the African cows do not low like our own). But the weeping died down. And now I began to observe that the coloring of these people was very original and that the dark was more deeply burnt in about the eyes whereas the palms of their hands were the color of freshly washed granite. As if, you know, they had played catch with the light and some of it had come off. These peculiarities of color were altogether new to me. Romilayu had gone aside to speak with someone and left me among the natives,