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Authors: Tamar Myers
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the downstream side of rocks in the stream. Both the whites wore strange clothes of many descriptions, which surely explained the sweat that gleamed on their brows and the strong goat odor that accompanied them.
No! Was that elephant meat? For a minute Ugly Eyes forgot her panic in the anticipation of a feast. And yes, there was meat, and two African men from a strange tribe and a crippled woman, also African, who talked too much, but then there remained the matter of the Bula Matadi , for now they sought to speak to Father—although it was soon clear that Father did not speak their difficult language.
“Is there no one here who can speak this gibberish?” Father demanded in an angry voice. It was fear that made him peevish; this much Ugly Eyes understood.
No one answered.
“Bring me the blind man,” Father ordered. And when he was brought, quivering, Father ordered him, saying, “You, Blinded by Spitting Cobra, you claim to know seven tongues. Ask these Belgians what it is they want.”
“Call me Charles,” Blinded by Spitting Cobra said.
“Heddo, Charles,” the woman said, or something that sounded like that.
“What did she say?” Father demanded.
“That first we must feast on all this meat, only then she will tell us what she wants.”
Father was furious, for he was not a fool. “Will you drink from the poison cup to swear that your words are true?”
“ Aiyee , you are not to trust a blind man,” cried Blinded by Spitting Cobra, and he slunk away. “Ugly Eyes,” Father said gently, “go in the hut and gather your things, for we are going on a trip.”
“A trip, Father?”
“Remember to get your favorite hair pick, your spare loincloth, and your toe loom. You may put them in your mother’s egg bag; I will make for her another.”
“Where are we going, Father?”
“We are going to visit the Bula Matadi ’s land, to see if there is good hunting in that distant place.”
“Can Mother accompany us?”
“Ugly Eyes, surely you jest. Who would there be to inform the chief of our whereabouts? I am, after all, his right-hand man.”
“Yes, Father,” the girl said with mounting dread, “I was only joking.”
Cripple knew exactly why she’d been summoned to the front of the line. But since she’d flat-out lied, there was nothing she could say in her own defense. She may as well just confess—
“ Aiyee! Mamu , this is most horrible!”
“This is a girl, Cripple.”
“But Mamu , she is naked above the waist. And she has breasts!”
“So does every other woman in this village, Cripple,” the white woman said, with unnecessary irritability.
“Yes, but Mamu , these breasts are white, so it is like they are really naked— mene, mene .”
Her employer sighed. “You have a point. What do you suggest we do?”
“We must insist that she covers them up, Mamu .”
The young woman from America sighed again. “But in order to do that, first we must make her feel shame.”
“You are correct, Mamu . Fortunately, you are a missionary, and causing one to feel shame is precisely your job, is it not?”
Cripple was pleased that the young Belgian police captain, Pierre Jardin, seemed amused by her observation. She knew that the Catholic tribe of Christians was at war with the Protestant tribe, each proclaiming the other to be false and on the road bound for a destination they called ngena —which wasn’t originally even a Tshiluba word. This place was supposedly a lake, yet at the same time nothing but flames of fire into which the enemies of their god were burned alive, screaming in agony for all eternity.
The young American, however, was not amused. “Cripple, are you trying to make a point again? I already know that you reject God; all I want you to do now is to translate for me.”
“Yes, Mamu , but I am afraid that is impossible.”
“No, it is quite possible. Now do it— please . Tell this girl that I am happy to meet her, and ask her what her name is.”
“Yes, Mamu
No! Was that elephant meat? For a minute Ugly Eyes forgot her panic in the anticipation of a feast. And yes, there was meat, and two African men from a strange tribe and a crippled woman, also African, who talked too much, but then there remained the matter of the Bula Matadi , for now they sought to speak to Father—although it was soon clear that Father did not speak their difficult language.
“Is there no one here who can speak this gibberish?” Father demanded in an angry voice. It was fear that made him peevish; this much Ugly Eyes understood.
No one answered.
“Bring me the blind man,” Father ordered. And when he was brought, quivering, Father ordered him, saying, “You, Blinded by Spitting Cobra, you claim to know seven tongues. Ask these Belgians what it is they want.”
“Call me Charles,” Blinded by Spitting Cobra said.
“Heddo, Charles,” the woman said, or something that sounded like that.
“What did she say?” Father demanded.
“That first we must feast on all this meat, only then she will tell us what she wants.”
Father was furious, for he was not a fool. “Will you drink from the poison cup to swear that your words are true?”
“ Aiyee , you are not to trust a blind man,” cried Blinded by Spitting Cobra, and he slunk away. “Ugly Eyes,” Father said gently, “go in the hut and gather your things, for we are going on a trip.”
“A trip, Father?”
“Remember to get your favorite hair pick, your spare loincloth, and your toe loom. You may put them in your mother’s egg bag; I will make for her another.”
“Where are we going, Father?”
“We are going to visit the Bula Matadi ’s land, to see if there is good hunting in that distant place.”
“Can Mother accompany us?”
“Ugly Eyes, surely you jest. Who would there be to inform the chief of our whereabouts? I am, after all, his right-hand man.”
“Yes, Father,” the girl said with mounting dread, “I was only joking.”
Cripple knew exactly why she’d been summoned to the front of the line. But since she’d flat-out lied, there was nothing she could say in her own defense. She may as well just confess—
“ Aiyee! Mamu , this is most horrible!”
“This is a girl, Cripple.”
“But Mamu , she is naked above the waist. And she has breasts!”
“So does every other woman in this village, Cripple,” the white woman said, with unnecessary irritability.
“Yes, but Mamu , these breasts are white, so it is like they are really naked— mene, mene .”
Her employer sighed. “You have a point. What do you suggest we do?”
“We must insist that she covers them up, Mamu .”
The young woman from America sighed again. “But in order to do that, first we must make her feel shame.”
“You are correct, Mamu . Fortunately, you are a missionary, and causing one to feel shame is precisely your job, is it not?”
Cripple was pleased that the young Belgian police captain, Pierre Jardin, seemed amused by her observation. She knew that the Catholic tribe of Christians was at war with the Protestant tribe, each proclaiming the other to be false and on the road bound for a destination they called ngena —which wasn’t originally even a Tshiluba word. This place was supposedly a lake, yet at the same time nothing but flames of fire into which the enemies of their god were burned alive, screaming in agony for all eternity.
The young American, however, was not amused. “Cripple, are you trying to make a point again? I already know that you reject God; all I want you to do now is to translate for me.”
“Yes, Mamu , but I am afraid that is impossible.”
“No, it is quite possible. Now do it— please . Tell this girl that I am happy to meet her, and ask her what her name is.”
“Yes, Mamu
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