Child of Storm & Magepa the Buck. Генри Райдер Хаггард

the chief of a tribe, and many live on me. But I am poor, and this daughter of mine is worth much. Such a woman few men have bred. Well, I must make the best of her. My son-in-law must be one who will prop up my old age, one to whom, in my need or trouble, I could always go as to a dry log[5], to break off some of its bark to make a fire to comfort me, not one who treads me into the mire as the buffalo did to Macumazahn. Now I have spoken, and I do not love such talk. Come back with the cattle, and I will listen to you, but meanwhile understand that I am not bound to you or to anyone; I shall take what my spirit sends me, which, if I may judge the future by the past, will not be much. One word more: Do not linger about this kraal too long, lest it should be said that you are the accepted suitor of Mameena. Go hence and do a man’s work, and return with a man’s reward, or not at all.’”

      “Well, Saduko, that spear has an edge on it, has it not?” I answered. “And now, what is your plan?”

      “My plan is, Macumazahn,” he said, rising from his seat, “to go hence and gather those who are friendly to me because I am my father’s son and still the chief of the Amangwane, or those who are left of them, although I have no kraal and no hoof of kine. Then, within a moon, I hope, I shall return here to find you strong again and once more a man, and we will start out against Bangu, as I have whispered to you, with the leave of a High One, who has said that, if I can take any cattle, I may keep them for my pains.”

      “I don’t know about that, Saduko. I never promised you that I would make war upon Bangu – with or without the king’s leave.”

      “No, you never promised, but Zikali the Dwarf, the Wise Little One, said that you would – and does Zikali lie? Ask yourself, who will remember a certain saying of his about a buffalo with a cleft horn, a pool and a dry river-bed. Farewell, O my father Macumazahn; I walk with the dawn, and I leave Mameena in your keeping.”

      “You mean that you leave me in Mameena’s keeping,” I began, but already he was crawling through the hole in the hut.

      Well, Mameena kept me very comfortably. She was always in evidence, yet not too much so.

      Heedless of her malice and abuse, she headed off the “Worn-out-old-Cow,” whom she knew I detested, from my presence. She saw personally to my bandages, as well as to the cooking of my food, over which matter she had several quarrels with the bastard, Scowl, who did not like her, for on him she never wasted any of her sweet looks. Also, as I grew stronger, she sat with me a good deal, talking, since, by common consent, Mameena the fair was exempted from all the field, and even the ordinary household labours that fall to the lot of Kafir women. Her place was to be the ornament and, I may add, the advertisement of her father’s kraal. Others might do the work, and she saw that they did it.

      We discussed all sorts of things, from the Christian and other religions and European policy down, for her thirst for knowledge seemed to be insatiable. But what really interested her was the state of affairs in Zululand, with which she knew I was well acquainted, as a person who had played a part in its history and who was received and trusted at the Great House, and as a white man who understood the designs and plans of the Boers and of the Governor of Natal.

      Now, if the old king, Panda, should chance to die, she would ask me, which of his sons did I think would succeed him – Umbelazi or Cetewayo, or another? Or, if he did not chance to die, which of them would he name his heir?

      I replied that I was not a prophet, and that she had better ask Zikali the Wise.

      “That is a very good idea,” she said, “only I have no one to take me to him, since my father would not allow me to go with Saduko, his ward.” Then she clapped her hands and added: “Oh, Macumazahn, will you take me? My father would trust me with you.”

      “Yes, I dare say,” I answered; “but the question is, could I trust myself with you?”

      “What do you mean?” she asked. “Oh, I understand. Then, after all, I am more to you than a black stone to play with?”

      I think it was that unlucky joke of mine which first set Mameena thinking, “like a white ant in its tunnel,” as Saduko said. At least, after it her manner towards me changed; she became very deferential; she listened to my words as though they were all wisdom; I caught her looking at me with her soft eyes as though I were quite an admirable object. She began to talk to me of her difficulties, her troubles and her ambitions. She asked me for my advice as to Saduko. On this point I replied to her that, if she loved him, and her father would allow it, presumably she had better marry him.

      “I like him well enough, Macumazahn, although he wearies me at times; but love – Oh, tell me, what is love?” Then she clasped her slim hands and gazed at me like a fawn.

      “Upon my word, young woman,” I replied, “that is a matter upon which I should have thought you more competent to instruct me.”

      “Oh, Macumazahn,” she said almost in a whisper, and letting her head droop like a fading lily, “you have never given me the chance, have you?” And she laughed a little, looking extremely attractive.

      “Good gracious!” – or, rather, its Zulu equivalent – I answered, for I began to feel nervous. “What do you mean, Mameena? How could I – “ There I stopped.

      “I do not know what I mean, Macumazahn,” she exclaimed wildly, “but I know well enough what you mean – that you are white as snow and I am black as soot, and that snow and soot don’t mix well together.”

      “No,” I answered gravely, “snow is good to look at, and so is soot, but mingled they make an ugly colour. Not that you are like soot,” I added hastily, fearing to hurt her feelings. “That is your hue” – and I touched a copper bangle she was wearing – “a very lovely hue, Mameena, like everything else about you.”

      “Lovely,” she said, beginning to weep a little, which upset me very much, for if there is one thing I hate, it is to see a woman cry. “How can a poor Zulu girl be lovely? Oh, Macumazahn, the spirits have dealt hardly with me, who have given me the colour of my people and the heart of yours. If I were white, now, what you are pleased to call this loveliness of mine would be of some use to me, for then – then – Oh, cannot you guess, Macumazahn?”

      I shook my head and said that I could not, and next moment was sorry, for she proceeded to explain.

      Sinking to her knees – for we were quite alone in the big hut and there was no one else about, all the other women being engaged on rural or domestic tasks, for which Mameena declared she had no time, as her business was to look after me – she rested her shapely head upon my knees and began to talk in a low, sweet voice that sometimes broke into a sob.

      Примечания

      1

      “Marie” was the first. The third and final act in the drama is yet to come.

      2

      – The Zulu word “Meena”

5

– In Zululand a son-in-law is known as “isigodo so mkwenyana”, the “son-in-law log,” for the reason stated in the text. – EDITOR.