When at last the combatants attacked, their blades glinted an instant in the light of the torches before flashing downward. Two simultaneous screams rent the night. Both fell; one rolled about on the ground and the other landed on all fours, still clutching his weapon. The moon seemed to stop in the sky as Ngoubé held its breath. Long minutes passed. The youth on the ground shuddered a few times then lay motionless. The other contestant dropped his knife and huddled with his forehead touching the ground and his arms around his head, convulsed with tears.
Mbembelé stood, and with conscious deliberation walked to the ring. With the tip of his boot he turned over the body of the youth on the ground, then unsheathed the pistol he wore at his waist and aimed at the head of the other combatant. In that instant Angie Ninderera threw herself into the center of the plaza and grabbed the commandant so swiftly and so forcefully that she caught him off guard. The bullet buried itself in the ground a few inches from the head of the “victor.” An exhalation of horror ran through the crowd: It was absolutely forbidden to touch the commandant. No one, ever, had dared oppose him that way. Mbembelé was so stunned by what Angie had done that it was several seconds before he could recover, which gave her time to position herself in front of the pistol, blocking a second shot.
“Tell King Kosongo that I agree to be his wife, and that I want the lives of these men as a wedding present,” she said in a firm voice.
Mbembelé and Angie stared into each other’s eyes, taking one another’s measure like a pair of boxers before a match. The commandant was half a head taller and much stronger than she. In addition, he had a pistol, but Angie was one of those persons who have indestructible self-confidence. She thought of herself as beautiful, clever, and irresistible; and she had a bold way about her that helped her get anything her heart desired. She placed her hands on the naked chest of the despised commandant—touching him for the second time—and gave him a gentle shove, obliging him to step back. Then she dazzled him with a smile that would undo the most ferocious of men.
“Come on, Commandant. Now I will accept a drink of your whisky,” she said cheerfully, as if she had witnessed a circus act and not a duel to the death.
In the meantime, Brother Fernando, followed by Kate and Joel, had gone to the ring and picked up the two young men. One was covered in blood and unsteady on his feet; the other was unconscious. They put both men’s arms around their shoulders and literally dragged them to the hut where they were sequestered, while the entire population of Ngoubé, the Bantu guards, and the Brotherhood of the Leopard observed the scene with unparalleled astonishment.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
David and Goliath
QUEEN NANA-ASANTE ACCOMPANIED NADIA and Alexander along the narrow trail through the jungle that joined the village of the ancestors with the altar where Beyé-Dokou was waiting. The sun wasn’t yet up, and the moon had disappeared. It was the blackest hour of the night, but Alexander had his flashlight and Nana-Asante knew the path by heart; she had traveled it many times to pick up the offerings of food left by the Pygmies.
Alexander and Nadia were transformed by their experience in the world of the spirits. For a few hours they had ceased to be individuals and had melded into the absolute of existence. They felt strong, secure, clearheaded: They saw reality from a richer and more luminous perspective. They had left fear behind, including fear of death; now they understood that, happen what may, they would not be swallowed up by darkness. They would never be separated; they were part of a single spirit.
It was difficult for them to imagine that on the metaphysical plane, evil people like Mauro Carías in the Amazon, the Specialist in the Forbidden Kingdom, and Kosongo in Ngoubé had souls identical to theirs. How was it possible that there was no difference between villains and heroes, saints and criminals, between those who do good and those who pass through the world sowing destruction and pain? They didn’t know the answer to this mystery, but they conjectured that the experiences of each being contribute to the immense spiritual reserve of the universe. Some do that through the suffering their evil has caused them; others through the light acquired from compassion.
When they returned to the reality of the present, the two young friends thought of the tests that lay ahead. They had one immediate mission to accomplish: to help liberate the slaves and overthrow Kosongo. To do that they had to shatter the indifference of the Bantus; because they hadn’t opposed tyranny, they were accomplices to it. There are certain circumstances under which one cannot remain neutral. Alex and Nadia knew, however, that the outcome did not depend on them. The true protagonists and heroes of the story were the Pygmies. That took a tremendous load off their shoulders.
Beyé-Dokou was sleeping and did not hear them arrive. Nadia gently wakened him. When he saw Nana-Asante in the light of the flash, he thought she was a ghost. His eyes bulged and he turned the color of ash, but the queen burst out laughing and rubbed his head to prove that she was as alive as he. Then she told him how all those years she had hidden in the cemetery, not daring to come out because she was afraid of Kosongo. She added that she was tired of waiting for things to change by themselves; the moment had come to go back to Ngoubé, confront the usurper, and free the people from oppression.
“Nadia and I will go ahead to Ngoubé to scout things out,” Alexander announced. “We’ll arrange to get help. When people know that Nana-Asante is alive, I believe they will find the courage to rebel.”
“We hunters come in afternoon,” said Beyé-Dokou. “That is hour Kosongo expecting us.”
They agreed that Nana-Asante should not come into the village until they were sure that people would back her; otherwise Kosongo would kill her with impunity. She was the one trump card they had to play in this dangerous game; they would leave her for the last. If they could strip Kosongo of his supposedly divine attributes, maybe the Bantus would lose their fear and rise up against him. There were still Mbembelé and his soldiers to contend with, but Alexander and Nadia proposed a plan that was approved by Nana-Asante and Beyé-Dokou. Alexander handed his watch to the queen because the Pygmy didn’t know how to use it, and they agreed about the time and the plan of action.
The rest of the hunters joined them. They had spent a good part of the night in ceremonial dancing, asking for help from Ezenji and other divinities of the animal and plant worlds. When they saw the queen, their reaction was more extreme than Beyé-Dokou’s had been. As one, terrorized, they started running from the “ghost.” Beyé-Dokou chased after them, shouting that she was alive, not a wandering soul. Finally, one by one, cautiously, they returned, and dared touch her with the tip of a trembling finger. When they found that she wasn’t dead, they welcomed her with respect and hope.
It was Nadia’s idea that they should inject King Kosongo with Michael Mushaha’s tranquilizer. The day before she had watched one of the hunters drop a monkey using a dart and a blowgun similar to the ones used by the Indians in the Amazon. She didn’t see why they couldn’t use a dart to deliver the drug. She had no idea what effect it would have on a human. If it could fell a rhinoceros in a few minutes’ time, it might kill a human. She assumed, however, that because of Kosongo’s enormous size he would survive. His heavy cape would be a problem, however; it acted as almost invincible armor. With the right weapon, one could penetrate the hide of an elephant, but with only a blowgun they would have to hit the target of the king’s bare skin.
After Nadia laid out her plan, the Pygmies picked the hunter with the strongest lungs and best aim. The man puffed out his chest and smiled at the distinction they were bestowing on him, but his proud moment did not last long; the rest of the Pygmies burst out laughing and making jokes, the way they always did when someone was prideful. Once the chosen hunter had come back down to earth, they gave him the vial with the tranquilizer. Humbled, he put it in a little pouch at his waist without saying a word.
“The king will sleep like a dead man for several hours. That will give us time to stir the Bantus into action . .
. and then we’ll produce Queen Nana-Asante,” Nadia instructed.
“And what will we do about the commandant and his soldiers?” the hunters asked.
“I will challenge Mbembelé to a contest,” said Alexander.
He didn’t know why he had said that, or how he would ever carry out such a daring proposition; it was simply the first thing that came to mind, and he blurted it out without thinking. The minute he said it, however, the idea took shape, and he realized that there was no other solution. Just as they had to strip Kosongo of his divinity so people would no longer be afraid of him, so, too, Mbembelé had to be defeated on his own terrain: that of brute force.
“You can’t win, Jaguar. You’re not like him; you’re a peaceful person. Besides, he has firearms, and you’ve never fired a shot,” Nadia argued.
“It won’t be a fight with firearms—either hand to hand or with spears.”
“You’re insane!”
Alexander explained to the hunters that he had a very powerful amulet. He showed them the fossil he wore around his neck and told them that it came from a mythological animal, a dragon that had lived in the high mountains of the Himalayas before human beings walked the earth. That amulet, he said, protected him from cutting objects, and to prove it he told them to stand ten steps from him and attack him with their spears.
The Pygmies put their arms around each other and formed a circle, like a football huddle, chattering like magpies and laughing. From time to time, they sent looks of pity toward the young foreigner who was asking them to do something so crazy. Alexander lost his patience, broke into the middle of the circle, and insisted that they put his claim to the test.
The men took places among the trees, little convinced, and still doubled over with laughter. Alexander measured off ten paces, not a simple task in the middle of so much vegetation, stood in front of them with his hands on his hips, and shouted that he was ready. One by one, the Pygmies threw their spears. Alex did not move a muscle as spearheads whizzed by, hairbreadth from his skin. The hunters, confused, picked up their spears and tried again, this time without laughing and with more concentrated energy, but again they missed their mark.
“Now come after me with machetes,” Alexander commanded.
Two of them, the only ones who had machetes, ran toward him shouting at the top of their lungs, but Alex shifted his body only slightly and the blades of the weapons dug into the ground.
“You are a very powerful witch man,” they concluded, dumbfounded.
“No, but my amulet is almost as valuable as Ipemba-Afua,” Alexander replied.
“You mean that anyone with that amulet can do what you do?” one of the hunters asked.
“Exactly.”
Once again the Pygmies formed their circle and whispered excitedly for a long time, until they reached an accord.
“In that case, one of us will fight Mbembelé,” they announced.
“Why?” Alexander asked. “I can do it.”
“Because you aren’t as strong as we are. You are tall, but you don’t know how to hunt, and you get tired when you run. Any one of our women is better than you,” one of them said.
“Hey! Thanks a lot!”
“It’s true.” Nadia nodded, hiding a smile.
“The tuma will fight Mbembelé,” the Pygmies decided.
Everyone was looking at their best hunter, Beyé-Dokou, who meekly refused the honor, as good manners required, although it was easy to see how proud he felt. After he was urged several times to accept, he agreed to hang the dragon amulet around his neck and to stand and face his companion’s spears. The earlier scene was repeated, and finally the Pygmies were convinced that the fossil was an impenetrable shield. Alexander visualized the tiny, child-sized Beyé-Dokou facing the imposing Mbembelé.
“Do you know the story of David and Goliath?” he asked.
“No,” the Pygmies replied.
“Long, long ago, far away from this forest, two tribes were at war. One of them had a champion called Goliath, who was a giant as tall as a tree and as strong as an elephant. His sword weighed as much as ten machetes. Everyone was terrified of him. David, a boy in the other tribe, was brave enough to challenge him. His weapons were a slingshot and a stone. The two tribes gathered to observe the combat. David shot a stone that stuck Goliath in the middle of his forehead, and he fell to the ground. Then David took his sword away and killed him.”
The listeners doubled over laughing. To them the story was incomparably comic, but they didn’t see the parallel until Alexander explained that Goliath was Mbembelé and their David was Beyé-Dokou. Too bad they didn’t have a sling, the Pygmies said. They had no idea what a sling was, but they imagined it to be a formidable weapon. Finally it was time for the new friends to be on their way toward Ngoubé. They said good-bye, after clapping Alex and Nadia on the arms again and again, and disappeared into the forest.
Alexander and Nadia entered the village just as it was beginning to dawn. Only a few dogs noticed them; the villagers were sleeping and no one was guarding the former mission. They peered into the hut with caution, not wanting to startle their friends, and were greeted by Kate, who had slept very little and very poorly. When she saw her grandson, the writer felt a mixture of profound relief and a desire to give him a sound whipping. All she could do, however, was grab him by the ear and shake him, berating him all the while.
“Where were you two, you devilish brats?” she yelled.
Alexander laughed. “I love you, too, Grandmother,” he said, and gave her a big hug.
“I mean it this time, Alexander. I’m never going anywhere with you again! And as for you, missy, you have a lot of explaining to do!” she added, turning to Nadia.
Her grandson interrupted. “This isn’t the time to go all mushy, Kate; we have a lot to accomplish.”
By then everyone in the hut was awake and standing around Alex and Nadia, besieging them with questions. Kate got tired of mouthing recriminations no one was listening to, so instead she decided to offer the newly arrived youngsters something to eat. She pointed out the mounds of pineapples, mangos, and bananas, vessels filled with chicken fried in palm oil, cassava pudding, and vegetables, all of which had been brought as gifts. Alex and Nadia wolfed them down gratefully; they had eaten very little for the last two days. For dessert, Kate gave them her last can of peaches.
“Didn’t I tell you the youngsters would be back? Praise be to God!” Brother Fernando kept repeating.
In one corner of the hut, they had made a place for the guards whose lives Angie had saved. One of them, named Adrien, was dying from the knife in his stomach. The other, called Nzé, was wounded in the chest, but according to the missionary, who had seen many wounds in the war in Rwanda, no vital organ was compromised and he could recover—unless the wound became infected. He had lost a lot of blood, but he was young and strong. Brother Fernando bandaged him up the best he could and was giving him antibiotics from the store Angie carried in her first-aid kit.
“It’s good that you kids got back. We have to get out of here before Kosongo claims me as a wife,” Angie told Alex and Nadia.
“We will do that with the Pygmies’ help, but first we have to help them,” Alexander replied. “This afternoon the hunters will come. The plan is to unmask Kosongo and then challenge Mbembelé.”
“Sounds like taking candy from a baby,” Kate said sarcastically. “But how are you going to do it?”
Alexander and Nadia explained the strategy, which included, among other points, engaging the Bantus, telling them that Queen Nana-Asante was alive, and setting the slave women free so they could fight along with their men.
“Does anyone here know how we can disable the soldiers’ rifles?” Alexander asked.
“You have to jam the firing mechanism,” Kate said.
It occurred to the writer that they could do that with the resin used to light the torches, a thick, sticky substance kept stored in tin drums in each of the huts. The only persons with free acc
ess to the soldiers’ barracks were the Pygmy slave women charged with cleaning, carrying water, and preparing food. Nadia offered to direct that operation, since she had already established contact with them when she visited their corral. Kate picked up Angie’s rifle to explain where to put the resin.
Brother Fernando told them that Nzé, one of the two wounded Bantus, could also help. His mother, along with Adrien’s mother and other family members, had come the night before bringing gifts of fruit, food, palm wine, and even tobacco for Angie. She had become the local heroine for being the only person in their history who had stood up to the commandant. She not only had talked back to him, she had touched him. The villagers didn’t know how they could repay her for having saved Adrien and Nzé from certain death at the hands of Mbembelé.
Adrien was expected to die at any moment, but Nzé was lucid, though very weak. The terrible tourney had shaken him from the paralysis of terror he had lived in for years. He felt reborn; fate was offering him a few more days of life as a gift. He had nothing to lose, since he was as good as dead. As soon as the strangers left, Mbembelé would throw him to the crocodiles. By accepting the possibility of imminent death, he gained a courage he had not had before. That bravery was redoubled when he learned that Queen Nana-Asante was going to return to reclaim the throne Kosongo had usurped. He accepted the strangers’ plan to incite the Bantus of Ngoubé, but he asked that if the plan did not turn out as expected, they promise to give Adrien and him a merciful death. They did not want to fall into Mbembelé’s hands alive.
Later that morning Kate called on the commandant to inform him that Nadia and Alexander had miraculously escaped death in the forest and were back in the village. That meant that she and the rest of her group would be leaving as soon as the canoes came the next day to pick them up. She added that she was very disappointed that she had not been able to interview His Most Serene Majesty, King Kosongo, for her magazine.