Part II

Black and Beautiful 

     Pat was lying back in a reclining chair, relaxed in a hypnotic trance.  Dr. Parker sat beside him, the tape recorder set, with a pad and pencil for taking notes. 
     "Tell me about the second life in which you were associated with Starla.  What's your name?" she asked.
     "Ntare." Pat answered.
     "Where are you?"
     "On a hilltop."
     "What are you doing?"
     "Watching.  Down the hill some Arabi are going past."
     "Arabi?" queried Dr. Parker.  "Arabs."
     Pat spoke contemptuously.  "Yes.  Arabi scum."
     "Where is this hilltop located?"
     "Burundi.  Your name for it is Burundi."
     "I don't know where it is.  Asia?"
     "Africa," said Pat.  "At the north end of the lake you call Tanganyika."
     "Are you a black man?" asked Dr. Parker.
     "Yes, black like you.  I hate the Arabi."
     "Why do you hate them?"
     "They're thieves and murderers.  They would enslave our women and piccanins if we allowed them to come on this side of the mountains.  They have slaves with them, but not my people.  We will set them free anyway.  Because we hate the Arabi."
     "How do you count time?  Can you tell me when this is?"
     Pat was amused.  "Not so you could understand.  It is before the time of the Nazarene."
     "Christ, do you mean?"
     "Yes."
     "Where is Starla?  Is she with you?"
     Pat is becoming impatient with Dr. Parker's ignorance.  "Starla is not here.  And anyway, women stay at home and look after the piccanins.  They do not accompany warriors."
     "Are you married?"
     "Yes, of course.  All the men of my people marry when they are of age.  My wife's name is Mbonimana.  My family paid heavy bridewealth for her."
     Dr. Parker had no inkling that she had been the bride in question.  She allowed surprise to show in her voice.  "You bought her?"  
     "She is not a slave," Pat said angrily.  "She is my wife."  He spoke more composedly.  "My father chose her for me.  When she came to me, her father was bereft and no longer had her work to help the family; so my father paid the brideprice to compensate somewhat for her father's loss."  Proudly, Pat went on.  "We have two piccanins.  Very pretty babies.  Soon, I will take another wife."
     "Why have you waited to take another wife?"
     "I had another but she died in childbirth.  One of the piccanins is hers."
     "Tell me what you are doing now," Dr. Parker suggested. 

     It was nearly sunset as Ntare lay on the crest of a hill, in the tall grass, watching.  A number of other warriors were similarly concealed.  All were dressed in skin kilts with feather headdresses and all were carrying spears.  Ntare and a few others had strips of leopard skin in their headdresses, denoting extraordinary bravery and prowess in battle.  The warriors were watching a slave-raiding party of Arabs that was riding horseback along a trail below.  The slaves, black men, women, and children, were chained together.
     The Arabs made camp beside a pond.  They picketed the horses out in a meadow and left some of their men as guards.  They chained the slaves to acacia trees, but left no one to guard them, knowing the strength of the chains. There was much laughter as the Arabs relaxed around a campfire.
     Ntare and the others waited patiently until the Arabs were settled and beginning to get sleepy.  At a signal, the warriors left their concealment, moving swiftly and silently toward the Arabs' camp.  They erupted into the camp with fierce yells to terrify the enemy and paralyze him with fear.  The suddenness of the attack, together with the seemingly large number of warriors and the ferocity with which they used their spears, quickly gave them the victory.  The Arabs guarding the horses, seeing the attack on the camp and that their comrades had succumbed, mounted bareback and fled, leaving most of the horses behind.
     The warriors did not strip nor mutilate the dead Arabs. They went through the Arabs' possessions and trade goods, seeking cloth and iron implements.  They broke the Arabs' weapons then set fire to the camp.  They broke the slaves' chains, then, forming a line in single file, the warriors trotted along a foot trail up the hill and over it, assisting their few wounded.  Ntare looked back as he topped the hill and saw that the slaves had taken up the broken weapons and were hacking at the corpses.
     Ntare arrived home two days later, carrying his spear and a bundle of cloth.  He smiled as he approached his round, conical-roofed thatched hut and saw his wife, Mbonimana, sitting in the dooryard, weaving a mat.  She was dressed in a skin skirt and wore many copper bracelets and a necklace of hammered copper.  Her hair was dressed in an elaborate style with many partings and ornaments.  Near her a year-old girl and a two-year-old boy were playing, industriously filling a basket with pebbles.
     Ntare leaped the vine-covered fence into the midst of his family so suddenly that the two babies began to cry.  Mbonimana jumped to her feet.
     Ntare laughed.  "Did I startle you?"
     He leaned his spear against the hut and threw the bundle down.  He scooped the babies up and they stopped crying to grin at him.
     Mbonimana smiled, too.  "No wonder.  I thought you were a demented baboon at first."
     Ntare kissed the babies and tickled them to make them laugh.  Mbonimana reached for one of them and he handed her the younger one.  Still holding the babies, they embraced and kissed, but not on the lips.  Among their people, kissing on the lips was reserved for lovemaking when the procreation of a child was the intent.  Greetings over, they sat in front of the hut.  The babies wiggled to get down and go back to filling the basket.  Mbonimana picked up the mat she'd been working on.
     "What are you making?" Ntare asked.
     "A new love mat," Mbonimana answered without looking up.
     "You missed me," he teased.
     "The nights were cold; I missed the warmth of your body."
     "Tonight," he said with a grin, "you will be warm enough."
     Before Mbonimana could answer, the insistent rhythm of drums, distant but distinct, brought Ntare to his feet.
     "Come," he urged excitedly, "the victory dance is about to begin."
     "First show me what is in the bundle."
     "Some of the strange skin the Arabi use to make robes of.  It's pretty and I thought you might like it."
     Ntare unrolled the cloth and wrapped it around her.  She laughed up at him and he fell to his knees beside her.
     "You are so beautiful," he breathed, holding her closely and showering kisses on her face.
     "Ntare," she whispered, "the dance."
     He unwound the cloth, his mood changing again.  "Yes, the dance.  Come, be quick."
     They each caught up one of the babies and Ntare took his spear.  They left the enclosure, walking quickly toward the sound of the drums.
     At the ceremonial ground, a crowd was gathered around a leaping bonfire.  Everyone was there, warriors, women, old people, and children.  The musicians were beating drums and playing marimbas.  Everyone watched the warriors as they took their places around the fire and began their victory dance.  When that dance was finished, the drums began to play the rhythm for the "Dance of Life."  The women joined the warriors then and even some of the old people joined in the dance.  
     The dancing lasted far into the night.  As the children grew sleepy, they were bedded down in the shadows. At last everyone was exhausted with the excitement and the dancing; the drums and marimbas fell silent.  Family groups left the ceremonial ground, parents carrying sleeping children, adults moving slowly in their fatigue.  Ntare and Mbonimana walked in the moonlight, each carrying a child.
     When they reached their hut, they put the children to bed, covering them with skin blankets.  Ntare took Mbonimana in his arms and kissed her face -- her eyes, her cheeks, her chin.  She looked deeply into his eyes and kissed his lips.
     "Another piccanin?" he queried softly.
     "Many more," she whispered.
     Ntare kissed her lips and she clung to him passionately.
     The days passed, turning into weeks and months and years.  Mbonimana brought forth four more children; Ntare took two more wives and they gave him five more children.  In fact, his youngest wife was expecting another at any moment.  
     One day, as the three wives were tanning some hides in the rear of the yard, Ntare sat in the dooryard.  He was playing the marimba as nine of the children danced, laughing happily.  The youngest child was but a few months old and slept peacefully at her father's side.  Micombero, the eldest son, a fine well-grown ten-year-old, came through the gate and squatted down near his father, waiting to be noticed.  He held something in his hand and appeared to be puzzled.
     At last, Ntare stopped playing and the children flopped down in the yard to rest.  Ntare smiled at Micombero, saw the glint of something in the boy's hand and scowled.  
     "What is it that you have there?"
     Micombero opened his hand and held the object out to his father.  The object was a gold nugget and gleamed in the sun.
     "I don't know, Father.  I found it.  Can you tell me what it is?"
     "Its name is gold and it's a nasty metal that defiles those who touch it."
     Micombero dropped the nugget and looked at his hand in trepidation.  "What must I do, Father?"
     "Does anyone else know that you have this gold?"
     "Some of the other boys were with me when I found it.  They took some to show their fathers, also."
     Ntare's scowl was very fierce, causing Micombero greater fear.  "We didn't know it was wrong," he offered, hoping that would mitigate the offense.
     "The fault is not yours," said Ntare.  "Long ago, strange men from the north -- I call them men, some thought they were evil gods -- with white skins and great wickedness in their hearts forced the people to the south to dig in the ground and bring up this gold.  For many years they did this and took the gold north with them.  The southern people cared nothing for the gold.  But the strange northern men beat the people and raped their women.  And they took many slaves back to the north."
     Micombero and the other children were spell-bound, listening wide-eyed to their father.
     "Were these strange men Arabi?" asked Micombero.
     "More wicked even than the Arabi," answered Ntare. "They were called Ma-Iti."
     "How comes the gold to be here, Father?" Micombero asked.  "I found it in a hole in the rocks by the stream."
     "The people to the south rose up in rebellion one day," explained Ntare.  "They killed many of the evil Ma-Iti.  Some escaped though, and carried the gold into our country.  Your grandfather, eleven generations ago, fought them.  He and the other warriors killed the Ma-Iti.  But the Ma-Iti must have hidden this gold before they died."
     "What makes the gold nasty?  That the Ma-Iti were so cruel in taking it?"
     "Yes, and that's why we must hide it again.  If the Arabi come to know of it, they will risk even the wrath of our warriors to get it."
     Ntare picked up the nugget with a scrap of tanned skin and put it safely out of reach of the children.  Then he went in search of the other boys' fathers.  After conferring with them, they sought out the shaman and arranged for a cleansing ceremony for their sons.  Then they had the boys show them where the cache of gold was and retrieved it, being careful not to touch any of it.
     One early morning Ntare, Micombero, the other boys and their fathers followed the shaman to the site of the cleansing ceremony.  As they dug a deep hole, the shaman donned his long, colorful mask and began to chant an incantation over the gold piled nearby.  Once the hole was dug, they all squatted around the hole.  The shaman continued to chant and wave various charms over the gold.  The spell of protection cast, the shaman signaled to the men and boys to throw the gold into the hole and cover it up.  They tramped the dirt down well and the shaman said another incantation over the spot. The shaman led the way back to the village, the boys and their fathers walking in pairs.
     "See, Micombero," said Ntare cheerfully, "no harm will come now because of the gold."
     "The shaman's charms have removed the curse from us?"
     "Yes.  Now we are all purified from the touch of the stuff and we can go home without bringing trouble to the women and piccanins."
     "I was afraid I had brought great evil on them, Father," said Micombero soberly.
     "I know.  And so it might have been if you hadn't showed me the gold so we could get the shaman's help in time.  I'm proud of you."
     Micombero's heart swelled with love and gladness as Ntare put his arm around his shoulders.
     Shortly after the purification ceremony, it was decided to go on a trading expedition.  Micombero was bitterly disappointed not to be allowed to accompany the men but Ntare told him that he was yet too young; he could go when he was twelve.  And with that Micombero had to be content.
     Ntare made preparations for the trip, which would be a lengthy one.  He sat in the dooryard one day, carefully checking his spear and affixing a new spearhead.  He sighted down the shaft, turning it slowly to make sure it was still straight and true.  The children were playing around him while the three wives wove mats and baskets, one with an infant in her lap.  
       Ntare finished with his spear and looked around, smiling at his family.  The children noticed that his attention was on them and gathered around him.  The two smallest ones climbed into his lap.  He held out his arms and his wife brought the infant to him.  "Today," he said, "I'm going to tell you the story of how a handsome young husband took his lovely new wife to the love mat and..."
     Mbonimana interrupted hurriedly.  "Ntare," she said sternly, "not that story for the piccanins."
     "Not?"  Ntare feigned great amazement.  He looked around at his family, all of whom were laughing.  He laughed with them.
     "One day," he began again, "a lovely young woman, perfect of face and form, was walking through the forest.  It was just after the time of the rains and the forest was glistening green and smelled newly-bathed.  This was Marimba, Mother of Music.  As she walked through the forest, listening to the calls of the birds and watching the dew sparkle and shimmer in the sun, she spied a group of boys.  They were looking at something on the ground.  
     "Marimba wondered what they had been up to for they were very quiet and everyone knows that boys are only quiet when they've been up to mischief.  Marimba was very angry when she saw what these boys had done.  A little antelope doe, heavy with young, had been strangled in the noose of a trap.
     "Marimba demanded to know which of the boys had done that cruel and evil thing.  At last one of the boys spoke up and admitted his guilt.  That night, under the rising moon, Marimba took her place on the Rock of Justice.  The trial ended in the boy's conviction of inventing a new thing -- which is reserved only to the gods -- and of wantonly taking life.  He was thrown to the crocodiles."
     Mbonimana went into the hut and returned with a marimba.  She placed it on the ground in front of Ntare and waited expectantly.  The children grinned delightedly and watched their father hopefully.
     "And," Ntare finished the story, "Marimba used the trap to fashion a new musical instrument."
     He handed the baby to Mbonimana, took up the mallets and began to play the marimba.  The children hopped up and began to dance.
     That evening Ntare and Mbonimana walked along the stream.
     "There are no more skins to make loincloths or skirts," Mbonimana said.
     "And, as usual, everyone needs new clothes?"
     "Yes, of course.  Maybe you can trade the ivory for lion skins."
      "If it were not forbidden, I would dress you in cheetah skin."  Ntare noticed that Mbonimana seemed quiet and preoccupied.  "Are you worried about the trip?"
     "No, not exactly worried.  Sometimes I wonder what would become of us all if you were killed."
     "There is no need to wonder," laughed Ntare.  "My destiny is to live to be a very old toothless and wrinkled elder.  I shall beget more than a hundred piccanins and they will brighten our old age, your and mine."
     "I am also to live to such a great age?"
     Ntare stopped and looked deeply into her eyes.  He put his arms around her, holding her to his heart.
     "Mbonimana, without you to give me strength and joy, how could I even care to live?"
     "The others have not taken my place in your heart?"
     Ntare was surprised.  "I thought you knew that you are the dearest of my wives.  The bride of my youth, the mother of my firstborn son."
     "I should have known that you would not forget.  Only, sometimes, you are so busy with the others..."
     "Never think that.  Never suppose me capable of forgetting what you mean to me."
     He kissed her repeatedly, passionately, all over her face, except for her lips.  She smiled happily and threw her arms around him with such exuberance that they both fell into the stream.  They sat up in shock at the cold water, looked at each other, laughed, and began to splash and play like children.
     It was early in the morning when Ntare was ready to start on the trading trip.  The first pale streaks of false dawn showed in the east.  His whole family surrounded him, Micombero holding his spear.  The elephant tusk that he would use for barter was wrapped in special matting, waiting by the gate.  
     "Are you never going to wean the child?" he teasingly asked the wife who held her infant in her arms.  Until the child was weaned there could be no physical intimacy between husband and wife.
     The wife was embarrassed but pleased.  "It's much too soon."
     He grinned at her, kissed her cheek and went to his pregnant wife.  He embraced her tenderly.
     "Today is a good day for bringing my son into the world," Ntare told her.
     "Perhaps he'll be here when you return," she smiled.
     Instantly, Ntare was serious.  "Have you had pains?"
     The wife laughed at his sudden seriousness.  "Not yet.  Anyone would think this was to be your firstborn."
     Ntare laughed, too.  "Not if he looked around him."
     He smiled and kissed her cheek.  Mbonimana had been watching tolerantly; he took her in his arms.
     "Remember, if you go swimming," he began.
     Mbonimana interrupted.  "Yes, I know.  Watch out for crocodiles."
     Ntare laughed and kissed her on both cheeks.  He hugged her again.  Then he took his spear from Micombero and, smiling around at all his family, picked up the tusk and began the long march to the trading site.
     As he walked, Ntare met others from the village who were also going on the trading trip, laden with their goods.  They camped out on the savanna that night, happy with their progress that day, looking forward to bringing back the skins and other goods that were needed.  They were asleep when the faint sound of a warning drum came across the savanna.  It was quickly silenced.  Ntare woke and sat up, alarmed.  He looked around but saw nothing unusual until he raised his head to look farther afield.  The distant hills were dotted with fires that he knew to be burning huts.  
     "No," he screamed, jumping to his feet.  "No, no, no.  It can't be.  No, no, no."