August, 1933
T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S
266
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t O iO ^ - FREED from the (fiurse
B y EVELYN W . WOODSWORTH
bring back the load of grain she had gathered two days ago. It took but a few minutes, yet as she returned the shadows deepened and the path became dim in the tangled bush. A hyena laughed its eerie laugh in the distance—half human, half fiendish. She quickened, her pace, stumbling as she did so on something brittle that snapped and crackled at the touch of her bare foot. It was a gourd vessel she had dropped there once before. Bees began to pour out of it. They had swarmed there. The spirits had sent them to express their displeasure. She dropped her bundle, covered baby Mugo with her goatskin, and ran with all the strength o f her youthful body. Again she watched at the clearing. Should she tell Thuku Bubo about the bees ? He would be angry. It would cost him another sacrifice. He had already sacrificed four sheep when Mugo was born. Then he would beat her for .going on that path; he would stop her visits to the school. But if she did not confess, how could she get a sheep? The spirits were incensed ; they would bring her trouble. Perhaps they were punishing her for running away. She would not go again, that might make amends—but tell Thuku Bubo she could not. Munjiru met her at the opening of the hut. “ Beast,” t;!she stormed in her native tongue. “ Where were you idling ? The waterpots are empty. The woodpile is small. Thuku Bubo raves. I curse you. May you have no children! May you always be hungry! Muigi, the witch doctor, saw you wandering in the bush near the white man’s school. May evil come upon you if you ever take another journey! I curse y ou ! I curse you j’f f i “ I curse y ou !” the cry was taken up by a dozen frenzied onlookers who had come to join the sport. Thuku Bubo came with a goad of rhino hide. “ I curse y ou !” he echoed. “ May every journey bring you trouble.” He struck her back with the goad till it bled, and kicked her, screaming and writhing, into her tireless sleeping hut, throwing Mugo in after her. Wanjiku lay there moaning through the long night, nursing her griefs and her aching heart—a child-heart that should have been carefree as the bright plumed birds that flew in the jungle, but a heart already subdued in the hope lessness that lies buried deep in every heathen breast. The Jesus story had been good, even soothing, but it could not be meant for her. Look at the trouble the spirits had already brought her for going to listen to it ! Could the Sheep o f Calvary change Thuku Bubo? Could He make Munjiru kind to her? No, that magic was good for the white man, but black folk must obey the spirits. These thoughts and many more crowded through her feverish brain as she lay in the darkness, her babe unheed ed, awaiting what scanty cheer the dawn might bring. Yet all too soon, it seemed, Thuku Bubo put his sen sual black face, scarred with the marks of his tribe, into the opening and ordered her out. All too soon, she heard ~Munjiru’s familiar command, “ Wanjiku, beast, fetch water from the river.” Wanjiku slowly raised herself on aching limbs. She laid Mugo carefully— almost gently— on the mat inside and picked up her water pot. He was too heavy to carry today. She spit on him in parting token o f affection, then dragged herself to the river, every,step a labor o f pain.
( > ( A U T IO U S L Y , Wanjiku peered out from behind the little grass hut, her b l a c k limbs tense, her quick eyes noting eve ry d e ta il of the prospect be fo r e h er— the dozens o f mud- smirched, rickety huts just like her own, the group o f o l d m e n d rin k in g sugar cane beer under the c a m p h o r
W anjiku
tree, the reeking remains of yesterday’s sacrifice rotting un der the African sun, and in the distance the line of half- clad women carrying their waterpots to the river. The only daughter o f Chief Kiguoya, Wanjiku had been bought as a child by his most powerful subchief for the unusually large sum of ninety goats. But life had held no joys for that heathen belle since her marriage to Thuku Bubo at the age o f thirteen. His other seven wives had made her the servant of all, and the day seldom existed when she did not receive some punishment at the hands of his head wife, Munjiru. “ Wanjiku, reptile,’ ’Ijcame a raucous cry from within, as Munjiru even now discovered the empty milk gourds. There was a crash and a thud as the irate woman stumbled and fell. Wanjiku snatched a tiny baby from the long grass at her feet and, like a flash o f bronze in the blazing sun, was lost in the friendly shelter o f the jungle. Safe in the forest, she rested a moment, tied the frightened baby on her back, adjusted her single goatskin garment over one shoulder, ran trembling fingers through the scanty wool on her re cently shaved head, and was off again on a path that only the jungle bred could follow. The morning’s activities were well under way in the thatched mission outschool as Wanjiku arrived, breathless, to hear once more the strange story o f One who had power over the spirits she had feared and worshiped all her fif teen years, o f One who had died to take away all her un cleanness— the uncleanness that made so many sacrifices necessary. She drank in all the story like the thirsty ground the first showers of the rainy season. It might be her last chance to hear. Munjiru would soon find out about her stolen visits to the native teacher’s school. She would tell Thuku Bubo; the great chief would be disgraced, and there would be another beating. The tropical sun was low in the sky when Wanjiku again approached the village clearing. What excuse could she give to Munjiru? Her deceitful mind, taught no honest way, began to scheme. She would go to the millet field and *The experiences herein described, while not those of any one char acter, present a composite picture of. life in one section o f Africa. The story is based on facts, gleaned largely from a missionary’s diary. A ll rights reserved.
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