“Ah, he is a brave man, is Saduko.”
“Like others, neither more nor less,” she replied with a shrug of her rounded shoulders. “Would you have had him let you die? I think the brave man was he who got in front of the bull and twisted its nose, not he who sat on its back and poked at it with a spear.”
At this period in our conversation I became suddenly faint and lost count of things, even of the interesting Mameena. When I awoke again she was gone, and in her place was old Umbezi, who, I noticed, took down a mat from the side of the hut and folded it up to serve as a cushion before he sat himself upon the stool.
“Greeting, Macumazahn,” he said when he saw that I was awake; “how are you?”
“As well as can be hoped,” I answered; “and how are you, Umbezi?”
“Oh, bad, Macumazahn; even now I can scarcely sit down, for that bull had a very hard nose; also I am swollen up in front where Sikauli struck me when he tumbled out of the tree. Also my heart is cut in two because of our losses.”
“What losses, Umbezi?”
“Wow! Macumazahn, the fire that those low fellows of mine lit got to our camp and burned up nearly everything – the meat, the skins, and even the ivory, which it cracked so that it is useless. That was an unlucky hunt, for although it began so well, we have come out of it quite naked; yes, with nothing at all except the head of the bull with the cleft horn, that I thought you might like to keep.”
“Well, Umbezi, let us be thankful that we have come out with our lives – that is, if I am going to live,” I added.
“Oh, Macumazahn, you will live without doubt, and be none the worse. Two of our doctors – very clever men – have looked at you and said so. One of them tied you up in all those skins, and I promised him a heifer for the business, if he cured you, and gave him a goat on account. But you must lie here for a month or more, so he says. Meanwhile Panda has sent for the hides which he demanded of me to be made into shields, and I have been obliged to kill twenty-five of my beasts to provide them – that is, of my own and of those of my headmen.”
“Then I wish you and your headmen had killed them before we met those buffalo, Umbezi,” I groaned, for my ribs were paining me very much. “Send Saduko and Sikauli here; I would thank them for saving my life.”
So they came, next morning, I think, and I thanked them warmly enough.
“There, there, Baas,” said Scowl, who was literally weeping tears of joy at my return from delirium and coma to the light of life and reason; not tears of Mameena’s sort, but real ones, for I saw them running down his snub nose, that still bore marks of the eagle’s claws. “There, there, say no more, I beseech you. If you were going to die, I wished to die, too, who, if you had left it, should only have wandered through the world without a heart. That is why I jumped into the pool, not because I am brave.”
When I heard this my own eyes grew moist. Oh, it is the fashion to abuse natives, but from whom do we meet with more fidelity and love than from these poor wild Kafirs that so many of us talk of as black dirt which chances to be fashioned to the shape of man?
“As for myself, Inkoosi,” added Saduko, “I only did my duty. How could I have held up my head again if the bull had killed you while I walked away alive? Why, the very girls would have mocked at me. But, oh, his skin was tough. I thought that assegai would never get through it.”
Observe the difference between these two men’s characters. The one, although no hero in daily life, imperils himself from sheer, dog-like fidelity to a master who had given him many hard words and sometimes a flogging in punishment for drunkenness, and the other to gratify his pride, also perhaps because my death would have interfered with his plans and ambitions in which I had a part to play. No, that is a hard saying; still, there is no doubt that Saduko always first took his own interests into consideration, and how what he did would reflect upon his prospects and repute, or influence the attainment of his desires. I think this was so even when Mameena was concerned – at any rate, in the beginning – although certainly he always loved her with a single-hearted passion that is very rare among Zulus.
Presently Scowl left the hut to prepare me some broth, whereon Saduko at once turned the talk to this subject of Mameena.
He understood that I had seen her. Did I not think her very beautiful?
“Yes, very beautiful,” I answered; “indeed, the most beautiful Zulu woman I have ever seen.”
And very clever – almost as clever as a white?
“Yes, and very clever – much cleverer than most whites.”
And – anything else?
“Yes; very dangerous, and one who could turn like the wind and blow hot and blow cold.”
“Ah!” he said, thought a while, then added: “Well, what do I care how she blows to others, so long as she blows hot to me.”
“Well, Saduko, and does she blow hot for you?”
“Not altogether, Macumazahn.” Another pause. “I think she blows rather like the wind before a great storm.”
“That is a biting wind, Saduko, and when we feel it we know that the storm will follow.”
“I dare say that the storm will follow, Inkoosi, for she was born in a storm and storm goes with her; but what of that, if she and I stand it out together? I love her, and I had rather die with her than live with any other woman.”
“The question is, Saduko, whether she would rather die with you than live with any other man. Does she say so?”
“Inkoosi, Mameena’s thought works in the dark; it is like a white ant in its tunnel of mud. You see the tunnel which shows that she is thinking, but you do not see the thought within. Still, sometimes, when she believes that no one beholds or hears her” – here I bethought me of the young lady’s soliloquy over my apparently senseless self – “or when she is surprised, the true thought peeps out of its tunnel. It did so the other day, when I pleaded with her after she had heard that I killed the buffalo with the cleft horn.
“’Do I love you?’ she said. ‘I know not for sure. How can I tell? It is not our custom that a maiden should love before she is married, for is she did so most marriages would be things of the heart and not of cattle, and then half the fathers of Zululand would grow poor and refuse to rear girl-children who would bring them nothing. You are brave, you are handsome, you are well-born; I would sooner live with you than with any other man I know – that is, if you were rich and, better still, powerful. Become rich and powerful, Saduko, and I think that I shall love you.’
“’I will, Mameena,’ I answered; ‘but you must wait. The Zulu nation was not fashioned from nothing in a day. First Chaka had to come.’
“’Ah!’ she said, and, my father, her eyes flashed. ‘Ah! Chaka! There was a man! Be another Chaka, Saduko, and I will love you more – more than you can dream of – thus and thus,’ and she flung her arms about me and kissed me as I was never kissed before, which, as you know, among us is a strange thing for a girl to do. Then she thrust me from her with a laugh, and added: ‘As for the waiting, you must ask my father of that. Am I not his heifer, to be sold, and can I disobey my father?’ And she was gone, leaving me empty, for it seemed as though she took my vitals with her. Nor will she talk thus any more, the white ant who has gone back into its tunnel.”
“And did you speak to her father?”
“Yes, I spoke to him, but in an evil moment, for he had but just killed the cattle to furnish Panda’s shields. He answered me very roughly. He said: ‘You see these dead beasts which I and my people must slay for the king, or fall under his displeasure? Well, bring me five times their number, and we