“If one of you called me mad in a woman’s ear, then step forward!”
More silence.
“All of you have the obligation to discipline the group, remember. From now on, all I want to hear is the children crying and birds singing. Not so much as a whimper from anyone at all, you hear?”
“Yes, my General.”
But they were all disgruntled. We’re all the same on this march. All of us submit to the same tyrant. They’re the same commands that dragged our feet from our homeland in order to send us out into the open spaces. It will be the same spear that pierces our chest.
The brainwashing and moralizing of the group followed.
Nguyuza started speaking again by uttering war cries.
“Are we a strong or a weak army?” Nguyuza asked.
“We are strong. Very strong. Invincible!” The warriors replied of one voice.
“Do you know where we get that strength?”
“We know.”
“Well tell me, then. I want to hear.”
“From Macupulane, the king of the Chopes.”
“What happened?”
“We killed him.”
“And then?”
“We drank him!”
“Yes, we drank the king of the Chopes,” Nguyuza stressed. “You have good memories, but I want you to tell me everything in detail. To make the task easier, I’ll begin. I, Nguyuza, under orders from the emperor, lured the king of the Chopes into a trap and killed him. There we are. Now each one say their bit. Lumbulule, you start.”
“I, Lumbulule, excised him. I removed his brain, his heart and his ribs.”
“I, Marivate, prepared the fire.”
“I, Khumalo, burned the dead man’s sexual organs in the fire.”
“I, Sithole, gathered up the burnt bits and ground them up with a woman’s pestle.”
The General spoke again in brief summary.
“After all this, I, Nguyuza, prepared the drink. I mixed the ashes from the dead man’s sexual organs in a barrel of water, from which all drank. The great emperor took the first mouthful and became drunk. In the heat of our celebration, we all shouted: we have drunk the king of the Chopes. Isn’t that how it happened?”
“Yes.”
The men were gripped by fear. The general was terrifying. Protected by the heavens and the earth, he turned wars into his pedestal. His shadow was powerful and dangerous. Even the emperor feared him. He was the true author of all the victories of the empire.
“Are you assailed by fear of the impossible?” Nguyuza asked. “Do you fear the journey to infinity? The order has already been given, choose. To achieve and live or retreat and die!”
“We are at your command, General!”
The men were surprised. They had taken their mission with a lightness of heart. But here was this madman transforming the mission into a real game of life and death.
“Whoever disobeys me will burn forthwith in the flames of dishonour. I shall cast him into the abyss for cowardice. He won’t be drunk because he’s worthless. Only he who is courageous and good, like Macupulane, king of the Chopes, is drunk.”
The punishment had revived the general’s spirit. The wound had healed and there would be no more schisms on his march. Suddenly, his good humour returned. After the icy cold, the thaw.
“Let us now talk like men,” the general invited them. “Tell me in all honesty, brave warriors: what was the reason for this insubordination?”
The warriors chose their words carefully as they gave the necessary answers.
“Hunger, my General. Day after day without eating. The march is arduous and the women have grown very thin.”
“So much the better that they’ve grown thin”, said the general, “fatness delays the march.”
In spite of his ruthlessness, the general was an honourable man and recognized the limitations of the human body. Even he felt exhausted from that march. But people only had to make a bit of an effort, for their goal was near. For this reason, he fed their disquiet to keep them awake.
“Sometimes, the body is the enemy of the soul,” cried the general. “In comfort and repose resides the death of freedom. Freedom involves searching, occasionally journeying, suffering.”
“The women are all tired, General.”
“Yes. Because of those useless loads they carry. Throw them all into the waters of the River Pungue.”
“They are supplies, General!”
“They’re only good for making them fat.”
“What will become of the children, General?”
“Have you seen the swallows? The females never carry loads on their head, but they eat. The males have never flown with spears, or bows, or arrows, but they’re free. From today onwards, let’s say the prayer that the birds direct to the heavens every sunrise. Say: Gods, who feed the birds, feed us too. Come on, repeat it.”
The men repeated:
“Gods, who feed the birds, feed us too.”
Running the risk of more punishment, Lumbulule asked him:
“We are far from home, General. We’ve left the land of the Chopes far behind. So where are we going?”
“To a place that has no name, a place that no human has dared conquer, to hunt the swallow that crapped in the emperor’s eye.”
“Yes, my General.”
“Lumbulule, my old grouch, have you ever heard of the country of the swallows?”
“Do you want the truth, my General?”
“I asked you a question.”
“The kingdom of the swallows is unreachable,” Lumbulule explained. “They live an eternal springtime, with neither night nor winter, feeling neither heat nor cold. They are free.”
“Free? What is freedom for you, Lumbulule?”
He remained silent and took flight into a world without wars, or punishments. A world where all was love, dreams and smiles.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” The general asked.
Once again, there was silence.
“You are quite right, Lumbulule. Freedom can’t be expressed. It’s lived.”
“Hasn’t the general returned?” The emperor asked for the thousandth time.
“No,” Xabalala, the counsellor, answered.
“Why is he taking so long?”
“Because the swallows take refuge behind the dome, beyond Zulwine, there where no one has yet managed to reach with his feet still alive.”
“I sense treason.”
“No, I don’t think so. Twelve full moons it took Mossurize to complete the journey to Manjacaze. It takes ten moons for a child to be born. How long does it take to march to the country of the swallows?”
“And if the general doesn’t return?”
“He’ll come back.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
The fat emperor was growing thin. The wars with the Portuguese were intense, and Nguyuza wasn’t back.
“Should I send another expedition to rescue them?”
“You would be left without a garrison, Majesty. It’s dangerous,” Xabalala advises.
They travelled, their feet on the earth and their eyes in the sky. They flew past the dancing, singing, playful swallows. Which of these had provoked such torture? This one? That one? None at all? Behind them, they left the land of the mad swallows, for these were elegant, respectful, and didn’t crap just anywhere.
The Empire of Gaza lay far behind. Its emperor had been swallowed up by the distance, only just recalled in the memory of the travellers. All around them, they heard the cries of the warriors, shouting like shepherds: come on, keep going, march, fly! The people dragged themselves along in the struggle against the distance. They advanced without speaking, so as not to waste their energies with useless talk.
They arrived at the banks of the River Nhathe, the Zambezi. They plunged into its waters and cleansed themselves. And then they set off again.
They arrived at the River Chire and crossed it.
They arrived at a plac
e.
On one side, there was a hill. On the other side, the river. Between the hill and the river, the land was female, a virgin in heat, waiting to be fertilized by the virile arms of a male people. The sun was gentle. An abundance of thermal waters to treat the wounds caused by their interminable march. They all looked upwards. The contours of the hill stood out, precise and elegant. An ideal place for the construction of an ancient dream.
The discovery of new landscapes caused new sentiments to grow in the soul. The priestess looked at the general. And he looked at her. And Nguyuza felt that the moment had come.
Nguyuza ordered them to stop.
“We have arrived at the kingdom of the swallows.”
“Have we arrived?” The warriors, the women and the children asked.
“Yes, we’ve arrived.”
Rapture at last!
“How beautiful the kingdom of the swallows is!”
In the end, everyone knew this place. It formed part of their dreams. Without knowing that it really existed. Nor that one day they would reach it on the wings of a swallow. The soil was black like the women of the land. On the hillside, the flamingo flowers swayed in the gentle sunshine. In the fields, ripe cashews, mangoes, sugar apples and mafilua fruit clung to mouths thirsty for kisses, and hunger died in an instant. The people plunged their feet into the thermal waters and the wounds from their march soon healed.
“Good people,” the general said, “we are here to plant the seed of a new flag. We have arrived in the promised land.”
The marvellous dream had turned into reality. The end had become the beginning. Behind them, they had left the sad scenario of an empire in decline.
They made fishing nets out of the women’s capulanas. With the men’s machetes they slashed the undergrowth and made gardens. The beaks of pelicans delivered up grains of corn, and orange and lemon pips. From the swallows’ crops came the seeds of guava, tomato and papaya.
Abundance at last, the dream.
“Why didn’t you tell us the truth, General?”
“Did I lie?”
“No, but …”
“Great lies nurture great truths.”
“And the swallows, General?”
“If you want to know freedom, then go after the swallows.”
The priestess and the general climbed the hill, hand in hand. They reached the top, not far from Heaven. Nguyuza sat like a king on the stony throne that nature had created and contemplated the stars from on high. Tired of the heavens, he descended to earth to gaze at the sun in the water’s mirror.
He recalled his journey into manhood. When he was still a child, he had been recruited for war. He recalled the adolescence of his desires. With so many beautiful women around him and unable to touch any of them under pain of death. For in that empire, a woman was a reward for a brave man, victorious in combat. He fought like a lion and got his first one. With so many battles, he collected his harem. Ten in all, dependent on the emperor’s choice, and neither his choosing nor passion. All of them were beautiful, obedient, mere trophies, prizes, part of his assets. All of them bore the taste of war.
He took the priestess in his arms and celebrated his first conquest, his first love and his first kiss. And he discovered that true love is but a short journey into its own interior.
Swallows!
Who has never seen one? They sing and dance, above all things. Do you want to hear them? You’ll have to raise your eyes to Heaven, to Zulwine, bathe your eyes in the blue that tranquillizes the soul, and listen to them. They inspire us to seek out the grandeur of the spirit in the immensity of the world.
Who knows their age? When were they born?
They ring dance the songs of eternity that come from the world’s beginning. Where do they come from? From here. From everywhere. From nowhere. They are God’s eye in his control of the world.
First was the word.
Then came nature, the rivers, the winds and the stars. There followed the animals. Then came man and, finally, woman.
No one can boast of having witnessed a swallow’s birth. For they have always existed. But they are present at all our births. Each time someone is born, they are there, colouring the sky, spreading the news to the world of yet another arrival. In their beaks, they carry the message of the dead in their celebration of new life.
They spread the news of the sun’s departure and the arrival of the flowers. They tell us when the rain will fall, they are the true defenders of humanity.
If, in the order of creation, swallows are older than humanity, how can a mere mortal seek to silence his superior in the hierarchy of existence?
The emperor’s gaze was lost in the green of the corn field, laden with abundant husks. The number of livestock had increased. The herd had tripled in size. The women had become pregnant and borne many male babies, future warriors. The enemies had been brought to heel. His power was absolute.
A well-built man approaches and falls to his knees, asking for clemency.
“Who are you?”
“I am Matibyana, king of the Rongas.”
“What do you want here?”
“Protection.”
The fat emperor glanced to one side. He summoned his chief counsellor:
“What do you think, Xabalala?”
“Don’t accept him, Majesty.”
“Why not?”
“He will bring bad luck to our land.”
“What bad luck?”
“The Portuguese.”
“Them? What power do they possess to bring misfortune upon me?”
“They have firearms, Highness. This man has been involved in quarrels. They will come and trouble us.”
“You’re blind, Xabalala. All I can see is a cowering creature, on his knees and submissive, there for the pleasure of my eyes. Hardly had he got here, than he turned into a woman. He’s no king. A king doesn’t fall to his knees, nor does he ask for clemency. How can I refuse a female who is asking for shelter?”
“And what if the Portuguese react, Majesty?”
“I have a powerful army.”
“For the time being, it’s not here.”
“Where have they gone?”
“Ah! Majesty! You sent them on a punitive mission to bring the swallows to order.”
“Haven’t they come back yet?”
“No. That’s exactly why you shouldn’t get involved in quarrels.”
“Ah! But they’ll be back soon. The Portuguese don’t scare me.”
“And what if they don’t come back?”
“They’ll come back, yes, they’ll be back. My warriors are noble and worthy servants of their emperor.”
“I foresee treachery, Majesty!”
“Don’t speak to me of treachery, Xabalala. I shall never be betrayed. Let Matibyana take refuge here. It will increase my power over the Rongas.”
Xabalala tried in vain to persuade him. The fat emperor was pig-headed and only did what he wanted.
Matibyana stayed, and the Portuguese reacted. They came. The whole empire was threatened.
“Where is my best general to free me from the invaders?” The emperor shouted, bewildered. “Xabalala, have you got news of Nguyuza? Why doesn’t he come back? Where are my people and my best warriors?”
“The warriors’ spears can’t reach the skies. The bird slingshots don’t reach the horizon. They will only come back when they have accomplished their mission.”
“You knew this and said nothing to me? Why didn’t you advise me?”
“Did you by any chance ask our advice?”
“The empire is under threat.”
“Soon it will be destroyed.”
“Xabalala, do something. Send messengers to summon back Nguyuza and my warriors!”
“Human voices don’t reach the horizon.”
Coolela 1
Black sepoys surround the emperor’s redoubt, obeying the command of the Portuguese. They break into it. They bind the wrists of the highest representative of the em
pire. One knot. Another knot. They drag him outside and exhibit their prey.
It is a slow-moving act, like a theatrical performance. For the whole world to see. For all to bear witness that there’s a new dawn in this land. The speed of the action frozen in time. There is no shouting. Nor blood. Nor generals shouting their war commands. The emperor was captured by the Portuguese without offering any resistance.
You’re only bewitched by whoever lives with you, the emperor recalls, suspecting the authors of his entrapment. Xabalala, his counsellor, is an affable man of many words and many faces. The owner of cattle and beautiful women, capable of castrating himself for a few crumbs of influence. That individual would be capable of anything in order to usurp his empire. He and the Chopes must be behind all this.
Nguyuza, why did you abandon me?
Because of some swallow droppings, I weakened my empire’s security. My best men left, never to return!
The eyes of the people take in this astonishing event. All this is because of the king of the Rongas.
Sayings and time-honoured proverbs have been confirmed.
Everything passes.
No evil lasts forever.
You don’t fill your spoon with good honey.
The emperor was born in a golden cradle. He never suffered a wound on his body or a pain in his soul. He heard the word humiliation from the mouth of his vassals. He never felt it himself. Everyone’s time comes.
Dreams, storms, regrets, hope, despair dance in the emperor’s mind like a flight of birds. In his eyes, dejection. Acknowledgement that all has been lost, forever. He laments. For the first time, my warriors were cowards. They lowered their arms and left me at the mercy of the invaders. The vengeance of the dead fell upon me. Why?