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The Green Leaves 1
It was a dream. Then the sounds grew louder. Nyagar threw
the blanket off his ears and listened. Yes, he was right. Heavy
footsteps and voices were approaching. He turned round to
wake up his wife. She was not there. He got up and rushed to
the door. It was unlocked. Where was Nyamundhe? 'How
could she slip back to her hut so quietly?' he wondered. 'I've
told her time and again never to leave my hut without waking
me up to bolt the door. She will see me tomorrow!'
'Ero, ero, there, there!' The noise was quite close now -- about thirty yards away. Nyagar put a sheet round his well-developed body, fumbled for his spear and club, and then left
the hut.
'Piti, piti. Piti, pits.' A group was running towards his gate.
He opened the gate and hid by the fence. Nyagar did not want
to meet the group directly, as he was certain some dangerous
person was being pursued.
Three or four men ran past the gate, and then a larger group
followed. He emerged from his hiding-place and followed
them.
'These bastards took all my six bulls,' he heard one voice
cursing.
'Don't worry-they will pay for it,' another voice replied.
Nyagar had caught up with the pursuing crowd. He now
realised that the three or four men he had seen run past his
gate were cattle thieves. They rounded a bend. About thirty
yards away were three figures who could only be the thieves.
'They must not escape,' a man shouted.
'They will not,' the crowd answered in chorus.
The gap was narrowing. The young moon had disappeared,
and it was quite dark.
'Don't throw a spear,' an elder warned. 'If it misses, they can
use it against us.'
The thieves took the wrong turning. They missed the bridge
across the River Opok, which separated the people of Masala
from those of Mirogi. Instead they turned right. While attempting to cross the river, they suddenly found themselves in a
whirlpool. Hastily they scrambled out of the water.
'Ero, ero,' a cry went out from the pursuers.
Before the thieves could find a safe place at which to cross
the river, the crowd was upon them. With their clubs they
smote the thieves to the ground. The air was filled with the
howls of the captured men. But the crowd showed no mercy.
During the scuffle, one of the thieves escaped and disappeared into the thick bush by the river.
'Follow him! Follow him!' someone shouted.
Three men ran in the direction in which he had disappeared,
breathing heavily. The bush was thick and thorny. They stood
still and listened. There was no sound. They beat the bush
around with their clubs-still no sound. He had escaped.
Another thief took out his knife and drove it into the
shoulder-blade of one of the pursuers, who fell back with the
knife still sticking in him. In the ensuing confusion, the thief
got up and made straight for the whirlpool. To everybody's
amazement, he was seen swimming effortlessly across it to the
other side of the river.
Nyagar plucked the knife out from Omoro's shoulder and
put his hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. Omoro, still
shaken, staggered to his feet and leaned on Nyagar. Streaks of
blood were still running along his back, making his buttocks
wet.
One thief was lying on the grass, groaning. As the other two
had escaped, the crowd were determined to make an example
of this one. They hit him several times on the head and chest.
He groaned and stretched out his-arms and legs as if giving up
the ghost.
'Aa, aa,' Omoro raised his voice. 'Let not the enemy die in
your hands. His spirit would rest upon our village. Let him
give up the ghost when we have returned to our huts.'
The crowd heeded Omoro's warning. They tore green
leaves from nearby trees and covered the victim completely with them. They would call the entire clan in the morning to
come and bury him by the riverside.
The men walked back home in silence. Omoro's shoulder
had stopped bleeding. He walked, supported by two friends
who volunteered to take him home. It was still not light, but
their eyes were by now accustomed to the darkness. They
reached Nyagar's home -- the gate was still ajar.
'Remember to be early tomorrow,' a voice told him. 'We
must be on the scene to stop the women before they start going
to the river.'
Nyagar entered his home, while the others walked on
without looking back. The village was hushed. The women
must have been awake, but they dared not talk to their
husbands. Whatever had happened, they thought, they
would hear about it in the morning. Having satisfied themselves that their husbands were safely back, they turned over
and slept.
Nyagar entered his hut, searched for his medicine bag and
found it in a corner. He opened it, and pulled out a bamboo
container. He uncorked the container, and then scooped out
some ash from it. He placed a little on his tongue, mixed it well
with saliva and then swallowed. He put some on his palm and
blew it in the direction of the gate. As he replaced the bamboo
container in the bag, his heart felt at peace.
He sat on the edge of his bed. He started to remove his
clothes. Then he changed his mind. Instead he just sat there,
staring vacantly into space. Finally he made up his mind to go
back to the dead man alone.
He opened the door slowly, and then closed it quietly after
him. No one must hear him.
He did not hesitate at the gate, but walked blindly on.
'Did I close the gate?' he wondered. He looked back. Yes, he
had closed it -- or it looked closed.
Apart from a sinister sound which occasionally rolled
through the night, everything was silent. Dawn must have
been approaching. The faint and golden gleams of light which
usually herald the birth of a new day could be seen in the east
shooting skywards from the bowels of the earth. 'He must
have a lot of money in his pocket,' Nyagar said aloud. He knew
that stock thieves sold stolen cattle at the earliest opportunity.
To be
continued |
