Sacred Hunger - Barry Unsworth [270]
Kenka had never been to the hummock where the tracks had been found, but he felt he knew it because he had questioned both Paris and Nadri at different times and both had described it to him in detail, just as they had described the method of the hunt. There was a bayhead over a narrow stream. The stream flowed out of a tunnel of moonvines and there were small red fish in it and it opened into a pool that was completely roofed over by the branches of trees like a room with a floor of water.
He began to rehearse the hunt in his mind, as he had done often before. Every phase of it had taken on the colour of ritual, and everything had to be done in a precise, unvarying order. They would leave while it was still light. He would see the silver stream flowing out of the vines and the red fish flashing in the clear water. He would wade upstream with the others, through the low opening in the tangle. They would wait at the edge of the clearing, making sure they were on the right side of the wind so that their scent would not be carried to the thickets where the deer came. The deer liked dark and secret places, Kenka knew, they were timid and swift to take alarm. But in spite of this, they always wanted to know the meaning of things and it was this that was their undoing. Dat de ting capsai dem, Nadri had said. Same-same ting every time.
When it was growing dark he and Tekka would be allowed to light the fires of splinterwood in the shallow pans that the men carried on their backs in a rope harness. These made a light just strong enough – too much light would frighten the deer away. Deer don’ stan’ for blazelight … Kenka lay completely still, on his back, his hands held down by his sides. The dark shapes of the deer would approach silently through the trees, drawn by the light. They would be dazzled but still they would come nearer, not seeing the forms of the hunters or the tightened bows with the heavy arrows. The light of the fire would shine in their eyes – their eyes would be wide open and blind. Perhaps at the last moment some fear would turn them away, but then it would be too late. There would come the twang and swish and the deer would fall and kick for a little while and then be still.
With the death of the deer the night would be empty … Kenka was obscurely troubled as he lay there. The deer was killed because it wanted to know the meaning of everything and he understood this because he was the same himself. He had heard his father say it to Tabakali. Dis Kenka cur’us boy, allus want de answer, what dis mean, what dat mean …
His father had seemed pleased … The glowing, sightless eyes of the deer faded in the darkness among the trees and Kenka drifted towards sleep.
FIFTY
Palavers were held at irregular intervals, whenever disputes occurred which could not be settled privately. They took place in the compound, in the open space between the stockade and the first huts. Though serious enough to the disputants, they were regarded as a form of entertainment by those not involved and were always well attended. In the hot season evening was the preferred time but now, in the cooler weather, mid-morning was judged suitable, particularly as that evening would be taken up with the naming of Neema’s latest child, under the joint fathership of Cavana and Tiamoko – friends and partners, these two, sharing wife and trade interests. Neema had decided to have the naming on the same day as the Palaver so as to ensure a good attendance – desirable alike for prestige and the volume of gifts and good wishes.
It was early still, not long after sunrise, and Paris was in his sickroom administering an infusion of quassia and dried orange peels to Libby, who had a jaundiced look to his solitary eye this morning and had come with complaints of a night disturbed by vomiting. This morbid condition, accompanied in the first hours by a low fever, was one that Libby had suffered from at intervals for a good number of years now.
He was not alone in this. Others of the crew people, though none of the Africans, were troubled