Read Online The Book of Secrets by M.G. Vassanji - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M.G. Vassanji
Ads: Link
in Taveta, the pleasant oasis town at the German East African border, with a resident ADC and the large Church Missionary Society station whose incumbents — Miss Campbell and Miss Knight — were more amiable than those of the local Mission.
He hunted on occasion, having first begun when a leopard attacked a woman behind her hut in a nearby village. The animal was not found, having perhaps met its fate elsewhere. But on his tours upcountry he shot for meat. Only once, when he sighted a beautiful stray zebra, did he shoot, wantonly, for trophy. The animal seemed to have sensed its fate, standing perfectly still and hopeless, only its ears twitching slightly. His companions on such trips were the village dog Bwana Tim, some askaris, and a gold-bearded albino with the rather strange nickname of Fumfratti, who appeared always in the same black trousers and waistcoat, red shirt, yellow bandanna, and a wide-brimmed hat, as if to mimic an American hunter.
Taveta: 13 February, 1914
A trying journey, from which I recover at this CMS Mission in Taveta in the hands of two solicitous missionaries …
On our way down from Kikono, with much relief we arrived at a stream. It was overhung with great trees where we stopped, and the ground was cool. The water level was low, and the flow down to a trickle, coming from the general direction of Kilimanjaro. That eminence had by now both peaks behind cloud covers. Behind us was the local village, whose children had come out to watch us and receive their presents (sweets from the mukhi’s store). But we were not to have peace in this arbour, it was alreadyoccupied by baboons. At first they remained content with shrieking and shaking of branches farther upstream. Soon, however, they became bolder. One peeped out from the foliage fairly close to us, then another crossed the stream in three or four rapid bounds. At this point Fumfratti, caressing a smooth grey stone in the palm of his hand, told me very casually that we should put a collar on Bwana Tim. Surely the dog wouldn’t stray so far, I said. Whereupon he stood and began walking up the stream, stepping lightly on stones to do so, and then for a moment disappeared from sight. There came then, from where he presumably was, a mighty commotion from the monkeys, after which the albino reappeared, holding something white in his hand. He came and placed it in my hands. Imagine my shock when I saw what it was — a skull! I almost dropped it from my hands.
“The nyanyi play with it. It is a nyanyi, a baboon, skull.”
The flat, declarative remark is often the prelude to a story. I waited for it.
14 February
A few years ago, Fumfratti said, a mzungu and his party — which included himself, he paused to add — had walked by this spot with a dog. A small dog, kadogo (he gestured, making a dog shape with his arm and the flat of his palm), brown, with a lot of fur on his back, ears like fans (another gesture). This mzungu was also on his way to Taveta. While he was preoccupied with arrangements, his little dog strayed. (Here Fumfratti paused to look at me as if to prepare me.)
A pack of yelling baboons jumped upon the dog from the trees and quickly tore him limb from limb. When the mzungu’s party, having heard the commotion, reached the site of the slaughter they saw what must surely have been a most grisly sight — baboons at play with pieces of the body. One monkey bounded away with a limb, another had his mouth covered with entrails. I told him to stop. The mzungu went mad with fury, continued Fumfratti. Hewas foaming. The man responsible for the dog’s care was lashed to within an inch of his life. The party decided to abandon the site, but they left some meat lying around where they had rested. After they had gone some distance, the mzungu turned and crept back up the path they had walked. He entered the bush, walked on farther, approaching the baboons from behind. Cunningly, and with caution, like a lion. The baboons were at the
He hunted on occasion, having first begun when a leopard attacked a woman behind her hut in a nearby village. The animal was not found, having perhaps met its fate elsewhere. But on his tours upcountry he shot for meat. Only once, when he sighted a beautiful stray zebra, did he shoot, wantonly, for trophy. The animal seemed to have sensed its fate, standing perfectly still and hopeless, only its ears twitching slightly. His companions on such trips were the village dog Bwana Tim, some askaris, and a gold-bearded albino with the rather strange nickname of Fumfratti, who appeared always in the same black trousers and waistcoat, red shirt, yellow bandanna, and a wide-brimmed hat, as if to mimic an American hunter.
Taveta: 13 February, 1914
A trying journey, from which I recover at this CMS Mission in Taveta in the hands of two solicitous missionaries …
On our way down from Kikono, with much relief we arrived at a stream. It was overhung with great trees where we stopped, and the ground was cool. The water level was low, and the flow down to a trickle, coming from the general direction of Kilimanjaro. That eminence had by now both peaks behind cloud covers. Behind us was the local village, whose children had come out to watch us and receive their presents (sweets from the mukhi’s store). But we were not to have peace in this arbour, it was alreadyoccupied by baboons. At first they remained content with shrieking and shaking of branches farther upstream. Soon, however, they became bolder. One peeped out from the foliage fairly close to us, then another crossed the stream in three or four rapid bounds. At this point Fumfratti, caressing a smooth grey stone in the palm of his hand, told me very casually that we should put a collar on Bwana Tim. Surely the dog wouldn’t stray so far, I said. Whereupon he stood and began walking up the stream, stepping lightly on stones to do so, and then for a moment disappeared from sight. There came then, from where he presumably was, a mighty commotion from the monkeys, after which the albino reappeared, holding something white in his hand. He came and placed it in my hands. Imagine my shock when I saw what it was — a skull! I almost dropped it from my hands.
“The nyanyi play with it. It is a nyanyi, a baboon, skull.”
The flat, declarative remark is often the prelude to a story. I waited for it.
14 February
A few years ago, Fumfratti said, a mzungu and his party — which included himself, he paused to add — had walked by this spot with a dog. A small dog, kadogo (he gestured, making a dog shape with his arm and the flat of his palm), brown, with a lot of fur on his back, ears like fans (another gesture). This mzungu was also on his way to Taveta. While he was preoccupied with arrangements, his little dog strayed. (Here Fumfratti paused to look at me as if to prepare me.)
A pack of yelling baboons jumped upon the dog from the trees and quickly tore him limb from limb. When the mzungu’s party, having heard the commotion, reached the site of the slaughter they saw what must surely have been a most grisly sight — baboons at play with pieces of the body. One monkey bounded away with a limb, another had his mouth covered with entrails. I told him to stop. The mzungu went mad with fury, continued Fumfratti. Hewas foaming. The man responsible for the dog’s care was lashed to within an inch of his life. The party decided to abandon the site, but they left some meat lying around where they had rested. After they had gone some distance, the mzungu turned and crept back up the path they had walked. He entered the bush, walked on farther, approaching the baboons from behind. Cunningly, and with caution, like a lion. The baboons were at the
Similar Books
