This original copyrighted work is based on Walt Disney’s feature film, “The Lion King.” Elements taken directly from “The Lion King” are the property of The Walt Disney Company. “The Spirit Quest” is distributed free of charge excepting reasonable distribution costs. Quoting passages from our work, writing original pieces based on our work, or using characters we created is fine as long as you secure prior approval. That begins by sending either of us a copy of the work. Our e-mail addresses are
John H. Burkitt: john.burkitt@nashville.com
David A. Morris: damorris@wilmington.net
Your comments on our work, pro and con, are always welcome.
This story is a fictional work, but we don’t claim that any resemblance to any characters living or dead is purely coincidental. With love and respect, we acknowledge the debt we owe to those who taught us how to laugh and cry. Without acting as clear models for any one character, many great souls, some non-human, have been woven deeply into the fabric of our lives only to end up in “The Spirit Quest.”
In the middle of writing this work, the awesome power of nature reaffirmed itself. Hurricane Fran devastated portions of David’s hometown and we were out of touch for several days. I never realized before how much I missed his friendship, gentle humor and insights; things I no longer take for granted. As Uzuri so truly said, “There is not much time between sunrise and sunset. If you would not be caught out after dark, you must leave some time for all the important things.”
This work tackles the unique perspective of Rafiki without being a simple restatement of Chronicles. Reading it, you will find that there is a little Rafiki in all of us.
Now let us discuss lions and ourselves. Male lions sometimes kill cubs when they take over a pride. Sometimes they won’t, and that is very significant. Leonine society is a patchwork quilt of possibilities, probabilities, and the occasional life that sets a higher goal for the species. Human society is much the same in its diverse way. We have hopeful possibilities, depressing probabilities, and the occasional life that sets a higher goal for our species, like Moses, Francis of Assisi and Florence Nightingale. The Nazi holocaust and the Mayan sacrifice of war prisoners were documented human behaviors. You are human. That means these things are part of the observed behaviors of YOUR species. Does that make you feel offended? Many of us are repelled by these events, though events such as this form a recurring pattern in the history of our species. Pick up the paper-they are still occurring and most likely will continue despite our best efforts. By this criterion, “Cruelty, Human” has earned a place right before “Cub Killing, Male Lion,” in the encyclopedia of behaviors. Is this intended as a stinging indictment of the human race? Hardly. What about the “Magna Charta,” Robert Louis Stevenson, and Livingstone’s charity hospital in Central Africa? Isn’t that also part of the human legacy? Sure it is. “Magna Charta” comes before “Mother Love, Lioness.” A light begins to shine on you, and the meaning becomes clear. We are not that different—not really. A divine spark of love in each of us waits for the chance to burst into flame. Tend it, encourage it, add the tinder of respect and blow upon it softly with kind words. Those of us, human, lion, and mandrill, who burn brightly in the darkness not only walk with God, we light the path for others. Follow this trail and strive to set a higher goal for yourself and your species—it is your own Spirit Quest.
John Burkitt, Nashville, Tennessee
October 1, 1996
It’s good to be back again. It feels like a homecoming, to be back in the Pride Lands. There are so many wondrous places to go, and faces to see… like the song says, “There’s more to be seen, than can ever be seen; more to do than can ever be done.” So stay a little longer with us.
There’s a few other places we still have yet to visit.
On Saturday night, September 7th, Hurricane Fran had smashed her way into history here in Wilmington. With the power out, I was sitting in the pitch blackness of my room, trying to write down a scene for this story by candlelight when the phone rang. To my utter delight, I heard John’s voice on the other end. His selfless concern for me moved me to tears, and the buoyant effect on my spirits was immeasurable. I count myself lucky to have such a friend.
David Morris, Wilmington, North Carolina
October 1, 1996
This work is dedicated to Aslan, the lion whom we have adopted through the Born Free Foundation. His newfound freedom and the loving care given him by his friends in the BFF is a source of joy for our spirits.
And how I love you! You make the morning start Joy streaming from my heart as I repeat your name; You are my treasure. You came into my world; Whatever Fate may hold, my life won’t be the same.
“The righteous are bold as a lion.”
— Proverbs 28:1
Early one morning Busara, a young Mandrill shaman, was headed far afield to gather Tiko root. It was scarce and very valuable, but he knew some secret places to gather it easily.
Since his income relied on a secret, he was careful not to be followed. He only told his wife where the mint grew, and he was careful never to take the same route twice.
This day, he dared to ford the tall savanna grass. He was surrounded by golden wands that screened his enemies but shifted noisily around him and crackled under his feet. He was very nervous, and felt like he was being watched. He stopped and listened carefully, glancing about for signs of watchful eyes.
He spotted a lioness in the grass and gasped. For a heart-stopping moment, he sized up his situation. She had seen him and was watching his every movement. He began to tremble violently.
He thought about walking quietly away, but knew it would probably trigger a spring and certain death. The moment he ran, she would pursue. “Great Pishtim,” he thought, “hear my prayers. If I must die today, gather up my soul. But please don’t let me die!”
But he then saw the ugly red gash on her shoulder. No one hunted cape buffalo without risk: she had gambled and lost. She would not spring on him. In fact, she was the one who was afraid.
Relieved, he took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. The air felt good, venting the fear from his lungs. He started to walk off, still a little trembly in the limbs. He thought about his wife and home that had for a moment seemed forever lost. “Once I get home, I’m going to kiss that girl!” He would also make an offering to Pishtim, and remember to pray for that poor lioness—may her suffering be cut short.
He tried to block out her pained expression. It would not be easy, for Busara was a healer and compassion was his way to worship God. Once when he was a child his father had taken in a sick leopard cub. For three agonizing days and nights, he watched as one formula after another failed to satisfy her needs. Finally with a faint cry, she died of starvation in his arms. Somehow at that moment it did not matter that leopards eat mandrills. Busara wept and held the still-warm body until it was cool. It was his first experience with death, but certainly not his last. He knew that death was a part of life, and he knew he was not responsible for the wound that brought down the once mighty lioness. Still each death took a small chunk from his soul, and he would bleed inside. Many old wounds were reopening.
“I will pray for her,” he said. “There is nothing more that I can do. She is dying, and yet she could kill me too.”
He kept walking. There was Tiko root to gather. He had a wife to support and herbs to trade for. After all, he had devoted his life to healing the sick. If he threw away his life on this lioness, many would die on some future day. There was simply nothing he could do!
“Pishtim, take care of her. Shorten her suffering. Take pity on her.” The fearful eyes and the ugly wound haunted him. How that must hurt! How pained and thirsty she must be, panting away her last moisture, watching her life ebb away in a red river of death. “There’s nothing I can do!”
He was nearly to the patch, and maybe work would take his mind off of her. But something inside him grew sick—the kind of sickness even Tiko root cannot dispel. He tried to walk forward, but he felt himself being dragged back. “If I were alone, and did not have a wife, I would go back. But I must consider Kima’s welfare.”
He stopped. He knew that a compassionate husband left home, but a different husband would return if he could abandon that creature to a slow death. He may look the same as the old Busara, but inside he would be more cynical and less caring. He did not like the person he was in danger of becoming.
Against his common sense, he turned back. “I’m going to regret this.”
She greeted his arrival with a snarl that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “Go away! Buzz off, ape!”
He stared at the shoulder. Clearly, she could not walk well, if at all.
“I said beat it! You think you can throw sticks and stones at me? You think you’re really funny?? I’ll make you laugh till you beg death to release you!”
Busara just stood there staring, tears in his eyes and his chin beginning to quiver. Despite her spirit, she was obviously afraid and in deep anguish. He took a gourd from his staff. “There is an artery just under the skin on my throat,” he said calmly, drawing a line with his finger. “If you rake me there, I will die in two minutes, maybe three and you won’t have to die alone.”
The lioness was surprised by his answer. “You’re very brave—or very stupid.”
Busara reached in the gourd and took some moistened herbs. “Lie still.” He started to put the herbs on the wound when a paw swept out and struck his hand. Busara moaned and clutched his bleeding hand. No doubt she expected him to run. Her expression changed from anger to surprise.
Without unkind words he gathered up the scattered herbs from the grass. Setting the example by putting a small dose on his own hand, he said, “I mean you no harm. A little more still, if you please.”
Patiently, but trembling, he reached toward the wound. “This won’t hurt a bit—I promise.”
“What is that stuff?”
“It will relieve your pain.”
“It looks like weeds to me.”
“It can save you.” He reached for her jaw and before she knew what to expect he slipped his other hand in her mouth. Her eyes turned to stare at him. “Consider it our agreement. If I hurt you, bite it off.”
Despite her misgivings, she held still and let him place the poultice on the wound. It did not pain her, so she even let him poke and prod around the wound, then massage the area to restore circulation.
She sighed with relief and let go of his hand. “That does feel better,” she said. “I have been stoned by monkeys before. I didn’t know they could be kind.”
He looked into the large, beautiful eyes of the lioness. “Anyone can be kind.”
She looked back. “You’re crying, aren’t you?”
“The Bedango makes my eyes water.” He wiped his eyes and got another gourd. “Here, drink this water.”
Slowly and carefully he poured its contents into her mouth. Some of it spilled, but enough made it into her parched throat to bring a smile of relief. “The gods must have sent you. What is your name?”
“Busara.”
“‘Teacher.’ That is a good name. I am Asumini.”
“That means ‘jasmine.’ A delicate flower.” He looked at his cut hand and glanced at her injured but still powerful arm. With a smile of amusement, he harvested grass, then raised her head and made a soft cushion. “Asumini, as soon as you can walk we have to get you out of this sun. I live in a cave nearby. There you will be safe from the jealous eyes of night.”
“I can’t stay here. I can’t eat fruit, and you’re no hunter.”
“I’ll scavenge.”
“You’ll drive off the hyenas, eh?” She looked at him wistfully. “I know I am not long for this world, but I will pray for you, Busara.”
“There must be someone that can help you,” Busara said. “Don’t you have family or friends?”
“My husband and my pride sisters,” she said. “If you would go to the west to Pride Rock, surely the gods would repay you someday. As you walk, chant ‘Aiheu abamami,’ so they will know you are a friend. Tell them Asumini sent you.”
“I will find them.”
“It’s a long trek.”
“It does not matter.” He reached down and stroked her face. “Don’t worry. This time death will not win. I promise.”
Her tongue touched his hand. “I won’t forget you.”
“And I won’t forget you.” Clearly it was not the Bedango that made his eyes water that time.
Thus begun the ‘Peace of Asumini’ which made Mandrills corban—safe from harm—which is still honored in the Pride Lands to this day.
The mandrill Neema was crying out in anguish as she brought her child into the world. Her husband, Chief Kinara, had sat unruffled through many struggles with a calm smile. Now he was clearly in distress listening the muffled moaning of his wife. His sons Makedde and Makoko were trying to comfort him as best they could.
“Bear down,” the midwife said. “It will hurt more, but it is much quicker. Bear down.”
A piercing scream left no doubt it hurt. “Oh gods! Oh gods! See me through!”
The midwife said, “The more it hurts, the more you will love your child.”
“If I love him much more, it’ll kill me!!”
Even in her pain, she kept a little sense of humor. But the chief was not amused. He kept wringing his hands and pacing around. “Why doesn’t she hurry!”
“She’s doing the best she can,” Makedde said. “Some things can’t be hurried.”
“That’s it,” said the midwife. “Come on, Neema! It’s almost over!”
Finally there was a cry that sounded more like a call of relief. And a few moments later came a shrill yip showed that a new voice was speaking.
At long last the midwife came for the Chief. The young sons were warned away for now. “You’ll get your chance. Don’t crowd the mother.”
Chief Kinara looked at Neema and the small moist bundle of fur and long limbs she held. “Our son,” she whispered.
“Our son,” he said, bending down to kiss Neema’s perspiring brow. “You said you wanted a daughter this time. Did you change your mind?”
“I stick with what works. You know that.”
He turned the small face to look at him. With a slight shrug, he contemplated the somewhat plain but pleasant visage. “Metutu,” he said, for the child was no beauty but also was not ugly. The midwife, not understanding, went outside and said, “Listen all! Chief Kinara has a son. By the will of the gods, Metutu!”
Neema frowned at her husband. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“It means one whose face does not lie.”
“It also means plain one.”
“He’s the son of the chief. They better not call him ‘plain one’ if they know what’s good for them!” He bent down and looked into the child’s eyes.
“Oh look, he’s smiling at me!”
“It’s probably gas,” Neema said.
“I tell you he’s smiling,” Kinara stressed. “And well he might smile. His life will be easy and free from pain, at least if I have any say over it.” He kissed the child. “Welcome home, Metutu.”
Metutu’s first days at home were a series of pleasant experiences. Kinara’s promise was being fulfilled, for the only hardships he’d ever known were in the stories of gods and heroes his mother used to tell. His every need was taken care of by his devoted mother and his trusted servants.
When he turned three, the age where other young mandrills took on small chores, Metutu was told to keep a sharp eye on the servants and make sure they did not shirk their jobs. Even then, there was no doubt he was being groomed for leadership, perhaps as the next chief.
Metutu’s brothers were much older. They treated their young sibling with affection and gentleness, but they were interested in playmates more their own age that understood the rough, complex games of older boys. So when Metutu wanted a playmate, Busara was careful to select someone about his age, a bright, polite youth from one of the powerful families on the council. Wandani by his temperment and learning was the clear choice. In addition, his parents were strongly loyal to Kinara’s administration, so Wandani would never try to influence the Chief through his son.
By the time they had coached Wandani on his duties, he knew the honor given him was balanced with the weight of responsibility he bore. The only remaining question was if Metutu would like him. That was quickly settled to the joy of all—Metutu was delighted with him.
It would be unkind to suggest that Wandani was only doing his job. Metutu was a gentle soul, much like his mother. He didn’t have the charm of his father, but he had no lack of compassion as far as his sheltered life would let him understand it. Wandani quickly warmed to this, and it was expressed in the zealous way he carried out his job.
Metutu knew that he was different from the others. He knew that other children were not as privileged, and had to work harder. He also knew that others, including Wandani, had a sort of beauty on the outside that he lacked. Once Metutu asked him if he were really so plain, and Wandani was beside himself with passionate denials. But Metutu knew he was no great prize, and he reaffirmed his belief by a quick glance at his reflection in the water.
Wandani, in a moment of great maturity, told Metutu that his beauty was on the inside. It was little comfort when Metutu took a great deal of ribbing about it from some the other youths. They seized upon his name as a cruel taunt. Still, he never forgot what Wandani said. Like most young males, he was not overly demonstrative about his feelings toward his playmates. But in his love for Wandani, he would often call him by the name he would come to bear himself: Rafiki Wandani, “my dearest friend Wandani.”
Most of the time Metutu played with Wandani and Asumini, the daughter of Chief Scribe Busara. It was rumored that this Asumini was named after an old lioness that used to visit Busara’s cave.
Those two friends were his circle, and with his parents formed much of his world. Kinara often wondered if it would be healthy for his young son, or if it would withdraw him from the world. If ANYTHING, an up and coming politician must be able to mix with people well. There lay the problem: Kinara wanted him to like other people but not imitate them. He would invite the “right” people to his home after coaching Metutu on what to say and how to behave. Metutu would shyly stammer through the mandatory greetings when others came by, and then would more likely than not hide himself away at the first chance. But around Wandani and Asumini he was bubbly, friendly, and even a little bit of a show-off.
Every time Kinara would contemplate doing something to change his son into a small version of himself, Neema would quietly and subtly change his mind. She was in her meek, quiet way the greatest power in the village. And she liked Metutu just the way he was. Her love for him was unconditional, and her only plan for him was to find happiness.
On the other hand, a bully, named Duma, devoted himself to making Metutu’s life miserable. He was about Wandani’s age, but otherwise he was everything Wandani was not—crude, unfair, and quick to say things that cut the spirit to the deep arteries. His knack was in finding Metutu and Wandani when the other adults were not around. And worse, he always had several of his own shiftless friends with him. But when it comes to actually pounding Metutu into the ground, he would draw the line. As loyal Wandani would quickly remind him, “You better not! I’ll go call the Chief and YOU’LL be sorry.”
The threat was a magic talisman, a mark of the great respect paid Kinara by young and old alike. Metutu was glad for the safety, and he was also glad that he did not have to utter the shameful excuse himself. Still, bullies could come and go, but he would always be plain. Sometimes he would sneak away and cry until he was ready to face the world once more.
“Four large stones he had tossed, and still the leopard came closer. Little Brother Chako had only the small one left. This he tossed at a nearby hornet’s nest. Kerplunk! It fell onto the leopard’s back, and with great anger the hornets came out to avenge this outrage. Only they directed their attack at the leopard who had to run for his life! And Little Brother Chako laughed loudly. ‘It’s not how big the rock is, but how you throw it that counts!’”
— “LITTLE BROTHER CHAKO”, SECTION 10-B
Metutu, Wandani and Asumini had been playing tag, but it eventually lost its edge and they sought new pursuits.
“I know where there is this great tree with lots of vines,” Metutu said. “Come on.”
He headed off into the jungle where there were no paths. “Where are we going?” Wandani asked. “This place is dangerous!”
“Dangerous?” Asumini said. “I don’t know about this.”
“Aw, don’t be such a big mwana! I’ve been here lots of times. It’s safe!”
Wandani threw up his hands. “You’ve been sneaking away again. You know your dad would whack me good if he knew.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know. And he won’t know if you don’t tell him. The way I look at it is this—he doesn’t think we should do fun stuff till we’re too old to have fun doing it. I mean, how many times have you seen HIM swinging from a vine?”
Wandani scratched his head. “I still don’t like it.” Still he came, and Asumini followed. The subtle marks on tree trunks showed that Metutu HAD been that way at least once before and left his trail. He skipped through the brush with such enthusiasm that before long they were all wondering just how good it could be to risk a spanking for twice.
And then they found it. Twin trees in the middle of a clearing with lots of vines that reached the ground. Metutu pointed excitedly. “Check this out!”
“Yeah!” Wandani forgot about his unease. He grabbed a vine, stepped back a few paces and pulled up his feet. “Oh, this is so neat!” As he swung, he bellowed out, “Asante sana, squash banana! We we nugu, mi mi apana!”
Asumini sprang for another vine. It easily held her weight, and she quickly climbed hand-over-hand to a low branch. She put her knees over the branch and hung upside down. “Hey Metutu, look!”
“Don’t do that!” Metutu was beside himself. “You could get killed!”
“I’m fine. You ought to—oh my gods!”
“Are you all right?? Hold on, I’ll get you!”
“Leopard! Get up, get up!!”
For only a second, Metutu thought it might be a joke. Then he thought better and sprang for a vine, quickly pulling himself up. Seconds later, a huge spotted cat lunged and touched the bottom of his foot with a swipe of the paw. Metutu did not stop until he was safely in a crotch of the tree between two strong branches. He glanced around for Wandani, but found him hanging from a branch about halfway up the tree.
“You’re lucky I saw her,” Asumini said. “You might have been killed.” She pulled herself upright and shivered.
“Oh, I wasn’t a’skeerd,” Metutu said. “I was just worried about you two. You gotta let them know who’s boss. They smell fear, you know.”
“Really?” Wandani asked.
“Sure. Look at that ugly nose. See, she’s sniffing. Sniffing for someone that’s afraid, because she won’t attack unless you’re afraid. She wouldn’t dare tangle with me.”
“Well I’m not afraid,” Wandani said, pulling a nut and tossing it down. It fell with a plop beside the great cat, and she looked down at it with a huff.
“Can’t you hit a target that big?” Metutu pulled a nut and chucked it at her. With a sudden growl, the leopardess wheeled around and struck with her claws. “Right on the behind!” Metutu said. “This one will go right between the eyes.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Asumini said. “Big cats have a sense of pride. If you make her mad, she’ll come for you.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t worry about me, girl—I have the situation under control.
“I’m telling you, this is a mistake.”
“Oh? Who made you such an expert on big cats?”
“I have a lioness for an Auntie, that’s who.”
“Yeah? No foolin? Well I have an elephant for an Uncle!” He pulled another nut and aimed carefully. “Look out below!”
Whap, it struck her right between the eyes making her wince. “I told you to look out!”
“That’s enough, you half pints!” Enraged, the leopardess began to climb the tree. “I’m going to skin you alive, and every time you scream I’m going to laugh!”
Her heavy but firm treads made the whole tree shake. She was remarkably quick. The three mandrill children had to make a dizzying leap into another tree. Wandani charged across without a second’s hesitation. Asumini leaped and rather than landing with her feet grabbed a branch and swung for a moment by her arms.
Metutu looked down at the ground far below. It began to spiral and he lost his nerve. Clutching his stomach, he moaned. “I can’t!”
The leopardess was working her way out onto the smaller branches. His precarious perch began to sway alarmingly. He found the motivation, and with his heart practically in his throat he jumped! For an awful couple of seconds he was airborne between tall trees. He desperately grabbed for a branch. Gotcha!
He worked to get his feet on a good-sized branch. Catching his breath, he works his way toward the trunk of the second tree and from there hoped to climb down on a vine to safety.
The leopardess jumped, catching a limb with her forepaws. After hanging for a second with her legs dangling, she felt the limb go ‘crack!’
The concussion almost threw Metutu off of his perch. She fell from branch to branch, and finally dropped to the ground, her fur looking scrubby and flecked with bits of green leaves. Her dignity damaged, but otherwise intact, she licked her paws nonchalantly, then sniffed derisively.
Metutu yelled down, “I’ll tell my dad!”
She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll skin him for raising a brat!” At once she began to climb up the trunk.
Asumini, her voice trembling, shouted down, “Forgive my friend. He was foolish to challenge your honor. Indeed you are powerful, and your anger must be unstoppable. I crawl before you, Mother of Death.”
The leopardess stopped. “Your mother has raised you well. I will spare you and the silent one.”
“I plead with you for the blood of mercy. Remember who separates the milk from the mud. May he separate your anger from your wisdom. He’s only a child—if he is not killed, he will learn from this.” Trembling in every limb, Asumini climbed down toward the great cat, her breath shallow and fast, and her heart pounding. As she came closer, large hazel eyes watched her every move intently. With less than an arm’s length between her and the powerful huntress, she held out a trembling hand.
The leopardess’ nose came up very close so that Asumini could feel the breath on her hand. Depending on the merits of her apology, one of two things could happen. Asumini shut her eyes tightly, gasped for air, and prayed.
The pink tongue shot out and licked her hand. The leopardess purred appreciatively. “My honor is satisfied. On the off chance that you are right, I will spare him—for YOUR sake.”
The leopardess climbed down, but she was in no hurry to leave. To live up to her reputation, she groomed her powerful, lithe body, sharpened her scimitar claws on the tree, and made a forced but effective yawn to display her arsenal of death. Then she leisurely strolled off into the forest.
A few minutes later Metutu, who had everything under control, could be talked into climbing down to join Wandani and Asumini. The three friends then started home, scratched up and sore, and maybe a little bit wiser. Metutu looked at Asumini and said, “I didn’t know you liked me that much.”
She scowled and slapped his face with all her might. “Don’t you EVER do that to me again!”
“I’m telling his dad!” Wandani said.
“Be sure to tell him you started it! The moment you snitch on me, I’m holding nothing back!”
“You wouldn’t tell him that, would you?”
“Just try me.”
Metutu rubbed his cheek. “I only meant ‘thank you.’”
The leopardess was not Metutu’s only problem, nor was she his worst, for she had a sense of honor and fairness. As the favorite target of the troop’s bullies, he was subject to almost daily harassment. And eventually the time had to come when matters would come to a head. Wandani could not be the permanent solution to the problem, and threatening Duma with telling Kinara would be trumped.
That day, Duma, with triumph in his wicked leer said, “Yeah, tell his daddy. The little baby can’t take care of himself. Go tell his daddy before he starts crying.”
“I’m no baby!” Metutu said.
Duma knew he was already winning. “Don’t cry, baby! Your daddy would punish me if I made you cry. We all know he wouldn’t let his ugly little babykins get hurt!”
“I’ll tell you who’s ugly!” Metutu said as tears streamed down his poor, plain face. “I hate you! I hate you!”
“I’m telling if you hit him!” Wandani shouted at Duma.
“But you can’t!” Metutu protested. Metutu took him by the shoulders and shook him. “I’m not a baby. I have to fight my own battles, and you aren’t going to tell my Dad, understand? Promise me.”
“But I can’t!”
“You have to! If you’re really my friend and not just a servant, promise me!”
The tone of that remark stung Wandani who really loved Metutu. “If you’re really my friend, please don’t do it. He’s bigger than you. He’ll chew you up and spit you out! Please?”
“You better listen to your friend,” Duma taunted. “If your face got much uglier, you’d have to wear a basket over it.”
Metutu looked at his friend right in the eyes. “I have to do this, my Rafiki Wandani. Don’t make it harder on me than it already is. The moment you run to get dad, I’ll fight him.”
Tears began to stream down Wandani’s cheeks. “All right. Do your best.”
In fear, but with defiance in his eyes, Metutu pulled up his fists and told Duma, “Just the two of us. Leave him out of it.”
“Anything you say.” Duma saw his hands up protecting his face. He made a quick feint at his chin and when Metutu brought his hands together, Duma’s other fist hit him squarely in the stomach. Metutu doubled over with pain. He quickly straightened up and tried a few weak swings at Duma, but he paid for them with repeated blows to the face and stomach that battered him to the limits of his endurance, and as he lost control were more like events happening to another person standing on the same spot. He was about to pass out. Finally Metutu crumpled to his knees. “I give up.”
“It’s not that easy,” Duma said. “You started this, and you’re going to finish it!”
Wandani pushed Metutu on the ground and fell over him.
Duma kicked Wandani in the side and struck him in the back. When Duma tried to lift him off, he put his arms around Metutu in a tight clinch and gritted his teeth.
“Leave him alone!” Wandani cried. “Go away!”
“I’m going to finish this!” Duma viciously kicked Wandani in the ribs.
“You’ve hurt him enough! Go away, or I’ll fight you myself! I may not win, but I’ll mark you!” Wandani sprang up like a rabid animal and grabbed Duma by the fur on his neck, startling him. His fingernails pierced the skin and brought blood. “I swear, I’ll mark you for life even if you kill me for it! You can’t get me off that fast! I’ll mark you!”
Duma saw the fun was over, he shoved Wandani away and made a forced laugh to his friends. “You just name the time and place, short stuff! Hey fellows, let’s get out of here before the baby starts crying again!”
When everything was still, Wandani got to his feet. He pulled Metutu upright, not an easy job for Metutu was nearly battered senseless, bleeding from the nose and horribly bruised. “Oh Metutu, why won’t you listen to me?”
Metutu said, “Don’t be mad at me Rafiki Wandani.” He put his arms around him to hold upright, but he was also clearly hugging him as the tears ran down Wandani’s cheeks. “You can’t fight all my battles. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. You still my Rafiki?”
“Always.” Wandani held Metutu upright and let him lean on him all the way home.
“Do you think Dad will notice?”
“On a new moon night under a bush with his eyes closed he would notice.”
Kinara was already fit to be tied. He was angry over Old Maloki, the neighboring chieftain. “You would think he was trading us Tiko Root at those rates! Five bundles of Bonewort, and for this wilted Mitobi stalk! Just look at it—it looks like it sat out in the sun!” The chief looked around. “Son? Oh my gods! Have you two been fighting??”
“Not each other,” Metutu said. “Wandani’s my friend.”
His mother was openly horrified and rushed to embrace her son and kiss him. His father was angry, but maintained a certain gentle outward charm that kept the rank and file of mandrills guessing.
“Now tell me who did this to you. It’s all right. I’m not angry. Well, I am, but not at you.”
“I can’t tell. I’m not a baby. I promised I wouldn’t go telling. If I tell, everyone will think I’m a baby.”
“You promised that?” Kinara smiled—a genuine smile—and he gently stroked Metutu’s cheek with his fingertips. “A little boy went out to play, and he came back a buck.”
Metutu’s battered face broke out in a warm smile.
“Who won?”
Metutu’s smile dropped. “He pounded me into the ground. If Wandani hadn’t covered me, I’d still be lying there.”
Kinara gave him a hug. “You won anyhow. You conquered yourself, and that is no small thing.”
“Wandani helped a lot. He fought like a honey badger. See, he’s cut up pretty bad.”
“I can see. And don’t think he won’t get his reward.” Kinara took Wandani away a distance, leaving Metutu with his mother.
Kinara said in a low voice, “Who hurt my son?”
“He made me promise I wouldn’t tell.”
Without showing anger, but only concern, he said, “I promise YOU something, Wandani. If you don’t tell me who did this, your father will not get his promotion on the council. I expect a priest to have a family that respects the law above rash promises.” Kinara looked at the scratched, bruised face of Wandani and saw the tears start. He knelt and hugged the child. “I won’t tell him you told. He will never have to find out. But how can we protect him if you won’t be open with me? Hmm? You can see that I want to do MY share protecting him too.”
Shamed, Wandani bowed his head and cried. “It was Duma.”
“Duma,” the Chief said slowly. “Nyongo’s son. Always thinks he’s so much better than the rest of them, but he strikes a harmless child.” He ruffled Wandani’s hair affectionately. “I will see that Metutu is safe in the future, and you too, you little squirt.” Kinara faced him and smiled warmly. “Friends?”
“Friends.”
Kinara kissed him on the forehead. “You were always my fourth son, you know? If your dad says anything about you fighting, tell him that I called you a great hero. Now run on home.”
The Chief came back to his son. “Metutu, I’m proud of you. You know, bravery is one of the marks of a true chief. Even if you don’t tell me who this bully is, I know one thing about him. He thinks he has you licked, but he’s not half the buck you are. Don’t you cower down when you pass him. Show him you are confident. When you pass him, look him in the eye. If you cower down, he’ll will know he’s won and he’ll do it again. The next best thing to being stronger is to be strong enough that you’re not worth the effort.”
“Do you really think he’ll leave me alone now?”
“I’m sure of it.”
Metutu did not have to wait long to find out. The next day, he had to run an errand for his father. No servant could do it this time—Kinara insisted that he do it in person. Wandani went with him for moral support, and even to make good on his threat, but Metutu was still vulnerable and frightened.
And yet his old worries about what being beaten up were worse than the pain itself. Now fighting was not an unknown terror, but an unpleasant memory. He was not as afraid as he used to be, and he determined that he would control his fear and face Duma. Maybe he would smile and say, “Good morning.” Yes, that felt safe enough. Of course, there was the chance that Duma would say, “It’s a good morning, but not for you.” That was a chance he had to take.
Duma was not waiting for him by the Acacia tree. He was not in his usual place next to the basket weaver. In fact, for a while Metutu was certain he had left the village.
“It’s late enough. I thought he’d be up by now.”
Then by the path leading to the Council Rock, Duma appeared.
Metutu faced him directly. “Good morning, Duma.”
Duma bit his lip. His face, on closer inspection, was badly swollen and bruised. “Yeah. Good morning.” He came over, but not to push him. “Look, Metutu. I’m, like, really sorry I hit you and Wandani here. You’re not a baby and you’re not ugly. I just said those things because of the other guys.”
“That’s fine. I forgive you.”
“Are you all right?”
“Still a little sore.” Metutu looked more closely at Duma. “I know I never hit you that hard. Who lit into you? Did Wandani do all that??”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t know who messed you up, but I didn’t tell. Honest.”
“I said don’t worry about it, all right??” He dropped his stern tone. “I’m sorry I hit you. It will never happen again.”
“That’s nice. Well, good bye.”
Metutu breathed a sigh of relief and went on. Still in the back of his mind was a nagging doubt. Somehow, some way, a witness must have told his dad. But to have a boy beaten like that? Surely that was not in the village law? Then it occurred to him that his father sent him on that errand just to hear Duma’s apology. Somehow his Dad knew he’d be there cut and bleeding. He knew because he had caused it.
Metutu still loved his father, and he understood that Kinara loved him too. But he didn’t know if he was proud of his Dad or ashamed of him.
As soon as Asumini heard about Metutu’s fight, she came to see him. Metutu cringed, expecting another upbraiding over the leopardess. Instead, she was kind and sympathetic.
Metutu was thankful to have her back. “It was worth getting beaten up if it means you like me again. I missed you.”
“I never stopped liking you,” Asumini said. “You just need to learn a little humility. How do you think I would have felt hearing your screams? Watching you die?” She caressed his swollen cheek with her hand.
“Yeah,” Metutu looked down, contritely, but he glanced up out of the corner of his eyes and smiled a little. “Thanks again. You were very brave.”
Asumini smiled. “I don’t know where it came from. Every time I think about how close she was to my hand, I wonder if I had it to do over again…”
“Oh, yeah. I know how you feel.” Metutu’s smile fell.
“I was just kidding—but don’t put me to the test.”
“Since you’re here, I’d like to go skip rocks. Wanna come with me?”
“I can’t right now. Later, all right?”
“Sure.” He rubbed his cheek again. “You sure you’re not mad at me?”
“Sure I’m sure.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “There, now it will be all better.”
Metutu looked at Asumini, open-mouthed with embarrassment. “Maybe tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
Early the next day, Metutu came to her cave. He caught a rare glimpse of her parents inside. Busara and Kima were the subjects of a lot of nasty rumors, including one about blood sacrifices under the full moon. Still, their daughter was so gentle and kind. How could there be any substance behind those stories?
“Asumini? Can you come out?”
She skipped to him, but saw him holding the smooth stone. In her hand was a grass whiskbroom. “Oh, the creek. I forgot.”
“Yeah.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Can you get away for a moment? I mean, I was hoping we could beat our old record.”
“I’m sorry, but I have chores to do.”
“But Asumini, you promised! I can have one of the servants come over and sweep the cave. They don’t mind.”
“I’d rather do what dad told me to.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
She frowned. “That’s being sneaky. I thought you were better than that, but then how could you be with a politician as a father? You’re growing up to be just like him.”
“And just what did you mean by THAT?”
“My dad said Kinara is a leopard at heart, and he didn’t mean it nice!”
The reference to the leopard made Metutu rankle.
“Well that’s a fine how-do-you-do! I come over to throw rocks with you, and you insult my Dad! Well I hear that your Dad is a sorcerer. Tema says he kills goats on nights of the full moon!”
“That’s a mean thing to say! He’s good and gentle and always trying to help sick creatures get well! He’s never killed anyone in his whole life! You’re an ugly little monster, Metutu! Go home!”
Metutu stormed off. Soon from behind him she called, “I didn’t mean it! Oh gods, please come back!” There was an edge of desperation in her voice.
He wanted to forgive her, but there was also a voice inside him that was indignant. It temporarily had the upper hand. “She’ll be sorry she called my dad a leopard! She called me an ugly little monster!” That was what hurt worst of all, for he knew that by mandrill standards he WAS ugly. “Maybe I won’t come back tomorrow either. She can get ALL of her stupid old chores done!”
Metutu went home. He climbed to the crotch of the tree where he often slept. There was a knot there that looked like a rabbit looking back at it. “What about it, Bun? Girls!”
His dad looked up at him in the fork of the tree. “Whew, a storm must be blowing in—I just saw a cold, dark cloud go by.”
“A thunderhead is more like it.”
“Uh huh. So, do you want to talk about it?”
Metutu turned his face to look down at Kinara. “Dad, why can’t more females be like Mom?”
“They are like Mom. That’s the problem.”
“But she doesn’t go trying to make you mad all the time. Does she?”
“No, because I learned the great secret of dealing with her.”
Metutu climbed down. “Really? What is it?”
Kinara looked all around, then whispered into Metutu’s ear. “Give them what they want. They have you where they want you, and the sooner you realize that and play along, the better off you are.”
“But she didn’t want anything.”
“Asumini, I take it?”
“Yeah.” Metutu scratched behind his ear nervously. “Do you know what she said? She said I was growing up to be just like you.”
“Gods forbid!” Kinara gasped and put his hands to his face. “Call the shamans! This is very serious!”
Metutu fought back the smile and tried to concentrate on his anger. “She said her dad called you a no-count politician with the heart of a leopard, and she didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“A leopard!” Kinara laughed aloud. “I’ve been called worse and by more dangerous opponents! I guess I could see how Busara might think it though—being wealthy has dulled his claws. He surrounds himself with comforts and he has all the ambitions of a gopher. He even lives in a hole like one!” Kinara laughed at his joke, then bucked out his front teeth and wiggled his fingers in front of his ears. “That Kinara’s a no-good politician with the heart of a leopard!” he said in a falsetto voice. “Bet he’s out hunting antelopes tonight!”
Metutu couldn’t control himself anymore and he began to laugh. Kinara put his arm around his shoulder and gave him a pat. “Next time you see her, apologize like crazy.”
“For what?”
“Whatever you did that made Asumini spout off like that. And don’t do it again. She has other talents you’re too young to appreciate now, but you might want them later.”
Metutu’s apology must have worked. As days passed into weeks, and weeks into months, he began to see more of Asumini. From time to time he would hear strange stories about her father, but he discounted them because of his feelings for her.
They had an on-again off-again dating relationship. Usually when it was off-again, he had tried to impress her with some new skill. He almost always failed to do so, for she was very well educated where few mandrill females are. The frustrations she heaped on his struggling male vanity were actually part of her allure to him. With each new failure, she became more desirable, and if he couldn’t impress her with athletic ability or wit, he would pursue more intellectual goals. This would prove to be more of a natural strength for him.
Once he came over to show off what he’d memorized of the Miracle Flower Saga. Because she knew the parts better, she ended up correcting him periodically. It made it difficult for him because the more frustrated he became, the more he forgot. It built on itself.
For a while he was upset, but he grudgingly admired her abilities. He settled back to watch her perform, and paid careful attention.
As she recited verse, her hand gestures melted one into the other with a grace and beauty that made the gods take notice
Many days the journey lasted As the sunset dies on nightfall And the nightfall flees from sunrise Ever dancing in the heavens Sun and moon would count the hours
Hearts grew weary, hope was waning And their feet grew tired of walking Yet so steadfast was their leader And his countenance unchanging That they dared not disappoint him
Great Numinu flowed before them Guarding with her sacred waters All approaches to the garden Where the magic blossoms flourished Lest a thief should steal their beauty
She stopped and looked at Metutu’s rapt stare. “Are you all right? Was I doing something wrong?”
“Nothing wrong,” he said slowly. “You were a goddess speaking words as smooth and beautiful as water flowing over stones. They should let you perform for the council.”
“Are you sure it’s my voice you like?”
“Well,” he said hesitantly. “You have special kind of presence too. Your gestures are beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful. Uh, you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re very sweet. But if you think that’s something, you should hear me do the leonine ceremony of rising over. I did that for my Auntie Asumini when she died last moon.”
“You did?” He’d never heard of a female doing ceremonies before. “That lioness we’ve always heard about—so she was real?”
“I told you I had a lioness as an Auntie. A second mother was more like it.”
“I’m sorry about your loss. I know you loved her, and it’s sad that you’ll never see her again.”
“Don’t be too sorry, ‘cause when I die, she will be waiting for me. Till then, she is in here.” She put her hand over her heart. “Sometimes she’s out there too! There is no difference in the way God treats us when we die. I follow Aiheu, and believe that all animals are brothers and sisters.”
Metutu was shocked. “You’re an Aiheuist? I always thought you were one of us.”
“One of you?” She smiled. “Everyone is one of you and one of me. We are all one large family. All that divides us is our opinion, but no opinion alters the truth So there is no us and them except in the mind.”
“I guess so,” he said, dubiously. “Did your Aunt Asumini teach you that?”
“I have many good friends who happen to be lionesses.”
“Pfff! Any lions?”
“Only a couple of times ever saw a grown lion, and didn’t get to say much, but their manes are so wonderful. You know, I have a secret desire to hold one around the neck and roll in his mane.”
“You would disappear down his throat in seconds. Maybe two whole bites, if he didn’t swallow you whole.”
“Have you forgotten the leopardess so quickly? Didn’t you see how she did not bite when her honor dictated it? Teeth and claws are sharp, but much more of them is soft and furry.” She sat back against a tree trunk. “They teach you that God is just a bigger one of us. As if one of us could hope to become like Him by simply learning the right spells and overcoming mortality. No. There is a fairness and kindness in Him that is a goal to strive for, but which we could never reach.”
“What does Aiheu look like?”
“Everything and nothing at the same time.”
“Now that makes NO SENSE.”
“Oh? Unlike those who follow the great ape Pishtim, we believe Aiheu is aware of all things and all peoples. Otherwise, how could he hear our prayers? So he must not be an old ape, or he would only be one place at a time. The wind is real, but you don’t see it’s shape. You know it’s there because you feel its effects. And if he is not an old ape, than we apes have no basic superiority unless we choose to ACT superior. And that does not come through trickery or negotiation. It comes through compassion, generosity, and honesty. The traits that make us noble make us more like God. But there are others besides us who have those traits, therefore all animals must be brothers and free to please the gods. And greatness is a matter of the heart, not an accident of birth.”
“That’s a really nice philosophy. You’re as clever as Little Brother Chako!”
“I hope not! Little Brother Chako was a rogue, someone who did not honor his promises. How we could pick someone like that for a hero is a slap in the faces of the gods. When I ask you to make a promise, I expect you to keep it. When you do, I look up to you. Those who treat me honestly are my brothers and sisters, not Little Brother Chako.”
Metutu looked at her in shock, but not outrage. “I bet you spend a lot of time just thinking.”
“You should give it a try, Metutu.”
“As if I never do?”
“I don’t mean it that way. It’s just that the problem with mandrill philosophy is that they teach you WHAT to think, not HOW to think. We’re not supposed to question authority.”
“Whoa! We’ll have to continue this talk sometime.” Metutu went home. He was somewhat thoughtful, for she had made many good points. “All animals are brothers,” he said to himself. “Even the leopardess and I.”
When he reached his home, old Wajoli was waiting for him with a bowl. “Here, Master Metutu, your favorite dish. Elephant Stew.”
Metutu took the bowl and smelled it. “Ah, fresh and sweet. You did well.”
Metutu noticed how Wajoli’s eyes followed the bowl. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No sir. I was running late, so I came straight over here. I’ll take care of you first. When you are finished, if you don’t need me more, I’d like to go scrounge something up.”
“I see.” Metutu held out the bowl. “Scrounge this up. I’ll get something from the orchard.”
“Oh, no sir! If your father found out, he wouldn’t like that.”
“IF he found out. But you can go hide behind those trees.”
“Is it not to your liking?”
“It’s fine. But you know something, Wajoli? If you would be like the gods, you must practice compassion, generosity and honesty. You’ve always done right by me. Now I’m going to do right by you.” He handed the bowl to Wajoli and gave him a little pat. “Enjoy, old friend.”
“I will,” he said. “I’ll enjoy knowing you are the next Chief, even if I don’t live to see it.”
A smile spread across Metutu’s face. He headed for the orchard with a great joy in his heart that was almost too great for words. “Yes! I feel more godlike already!”
Metutu yawned, scratching his back languidly as he lay sprawled upon a branch high in the tall tree that Makedde had made his home in. Initially, the move had been exciting. Metutu had thought that he would enjoy the independence from his parents, but after only a few days, he had begun to miss the comforts of home already. He had napped fitfully the first night there, awakening abruptly to see the stars dimming in the early morning light. He had arisen eagerly, sitting up and stretching… how disappointed he was to find no mother there with a bowl of elephant stew to greet him! No Wajoli, no Wandani, no Asumini. Only his brother there to greet him.
Makedde picked up his staff, twirling it playfully. “I usually go for a walk in the mornings. Would you like to come?”
“Yes!”
The two descended carefully, pausing at the base of the tree. Makedde peered about thoughtfully, then looked at Metutu. “Which way shall we go?”
“Uh… that way, I guess.” Metutu pointed.
“Why go that way?”
Metutu frowned. “I don’t know. Is there something wrong?”
“Should there be?” Makedde asked, looking at him intently.
“Is there a swamp out that way? Mosquitoes? Snakes??”
“What do YOU think,” Makedde said with a serious nod and a wink. “Use your powers of observation.”
He stared in the general direction. “Well I…” Metutu stopped, looked at the hint of a smile on Makedde’s face, and shoved him. “You dirty lizard you! Gods, I hate it when you do that!”
Makedde laughed aloud. “I can’t help it! You should have seen your face!” He patted Metutu’s shoulder. “Come on. I’ll take you on my usual route.”
They set off at a leisurely pace, enjoying the cool breeze, and feeling the morning sun warm their back. Makedde’s home lay at the border between the jungle and savanna, and Metutu stared at the new world just waiting to be explored. Few trees dotted the greenish gold sea of grass which was swept with waves as the winds played tag among the acacias. Small islands of scrub brush thrust their stubby crowns defiantly towards the sky. Here and there the thorny acacias had begun to put in an appearance, and in the distance, Metutu saw what looked like the trunk of a dead tree, pointing heavenward like an accusing finger!
His pulse pounded in his ears, and he suddenly realized he had been holding his breath. Exhaling with a rush, he laughed aloud in sheer delight. “Gods, this is so beautiful!”
Makedde smiled at him. “Now you see why I live at the edge of the forest.”
“Father said it was because you were a hermit.”
The older mandrill burst out laughing. “On the contrary. I live here because I prefer EVERYONE’S company.”
“Huh?”
“Come on, I’ll show you around.” Makedde jumped lightly down to the bottom of a wadi and motioned to Metutu to follow. Shrugging, the younger mandrill complied, following as his brother strolled slowly along the channel.
“Metutu, if you limit your experiences, you limit your knowledge. Sometimes the wisest statement is a question. Do you understand?”
“Uh, I guess.”
Makedde smiled. “Once there were three brothers. One who knew, one who knew who knew, and one who knew nothing. When the evil spirits came to the one who knew, the one who knew knew what to do. The one who knew who knew what to do asked the one who knew and then he too knew what to do. The one who knew nothing to do knew too late that he should have known who knew what he did not know.”
Metutu was busy counting on his fingers and whispering to himself. “Run that by me again?”
Makedde laughed. “Just remember this. The path of wisdom begins with curiosity and ends with enlightenment.”
“Oh!” Metutu smiled.
Later the two paused under the shade of a thorny acacia to rest. Makedde glanced up at the sun, observing the orb’s position in the sky. “My boy, it is highsun. Why don’t we sit down and eat lunch.”
“Whassa matter, you too old and tired to keep going?” Metutu teased gently. He tugged slightly at the beard jutting from his older brother’s chin. “Look at that. Shot with gray already. Tell us a story, Gramps!”
Makedde chuckled lightly, tossing him a breadfruit with great dexterity. “Young pup. All right, eat your lunch and I will.”
Metutu grinned, forearms flexing as he tore the fruit in half and handed a piece back to his brother. He bit deeply, enjoying the feeling of the juice running down his chin. Wiping it away, he chewed slowly as Makedde began to speak.
“A long time ago in the reign of the great king Ramalah-”
“What kind of a name is that?” Metutu laughed. “Ramalah? What was he, a gibbon?”
Makedde frowned. “Metutu, Ramalah was once the Lion King of the Pride Lands. Over thirty generations ago, he and his ilk were absolute rulers of this land.”
Metutu stopped laughing immediately. “The Lion King? Really?”
“Yes. Their land is much smaller now, and lies far to the west.”
Metutu gazed across the land. “Wow. Do you think we’ll see a lion?”
“Doubtful. They rarely venture this far out.” Makedde cleared his throat. “Anyway, Ramalah’s wife Chakula had given birth to twin sons, N’ga and Sufa. Now the queen has many responsibilities, and so she must often leave her cubs in the care of another. The queen’s favorite baby-sitter was Alba, her younger sister.”
Makedde scratched his leg idly and smoothed the fur back into place.
“One day, while N’ga and Sufa were being watched by Alba, they were caught in a cave-in.”
“What’s that?”
“You remember what Busara’s home looks like? The Chief Scribe?”
“Yes.”
“Well, imagine what would happen if the roof fell in. That’s a cave-in.”
Metutu looked horrified. “Gods, that’s awful! What happened?”
“Well, the three lions were trapped in the cave. One day passed, and then another. N’ga and Sufa grew weak with hunger, for young cubs need milk, and Alba had none to give. So she opened the veins in her foreleg and gave the two cubs her lifeblood, to sustain them until Chakula freed them several days later.”
“Oh, no!” Metutu looked stricken. “Did Alba die?”
“Yes.”
“But why? She didn’t do anything wrong!”
“She gave her life so that the cubs would live, brother. And her sacrifice has never been forgotten, for the red flower of Alba, ‘the blood of mercy,’ is a shaman’s most prized medicine.” Makedde stretched, then rose, picking up his staff. “Time to get on.”
As Makedde walked back slowly, he wondered at the deep silence from his young brother. “Maybe I pushed it too far too fast,” he fretted. “He may not be ready.”
“Makedde?”
He turned to look at Metutu.
“I was talking with Asumini the other day.”
“Which day?” Makedde chuckled. “You talk with her quite often, brother.”
Metutu socked him in the arm lightly. “I’m serious, Makedde!”
“OK. What about?”
“She told me… well… ‘Greatness is a matter of the heart, not an accident of birth.’”
Makedde’s heart sang as he fought to keep still. “That’s very true.”
“You think so?” Metutu smiled, relieved. “I think Alba was pretty great, don’t you?”
“Indeed.”
“I mean, I bet Mom would have done that for us.”
Makedde smiled. “I know she would have. Love is the source of all greatness.” Makedde resumed walking, Metutu alongside. “There are countless others just like her. Her sacrifice is an example. Others may not give up as much as she, but their gifts are never ignored by Aiheu.”
Metutu looked at him wonderingly. “I thought you sounded like Asumini. You believe in Him too?”
The mandrill smiled openly. “I do. His teachings are not those of trickery and deceit, but love and trust. These are the things I would share with you, brother. And they are all I ask in return.”
“Then I guess I believe in Aiheu.”
Makedde hugged his brother roughly, then patted his shoulder. “I see promise in you, my brother. Great things lie within your grasp.”
Makedde finally stopped. “Ah! Here we are.”
Metutu looked ahead, seeing the dead tree they had sighted this morning. “So what? It’s a tree.”
“Nope. Look closer.” The two moved up next to the tall spire. Metutu ran a hand along it and was surprised to see small grains flake away at his touch. “Why, it’s made of dirt!” He looked around, warily.
“What made this?”
“Look down.”
Metutu glanced down and saw tiny forms scurrying madly at their feet. “Ugh! Termites! They made this?”
“Indeed.” Makedde knelt and scooped a handful up, watching them crawl frantically about on his palm. “Tiniest of creatures, yet they build homes as hard as rock, and as tall as trees. They are the epitome of hard work, Metutu. But too much is just as bad as not enough.”
“Hmm?”
Makedde knelt and gently brushed the insects off. “They toil all their lives, yet take no time to enjoy the beauty of the earth, and the gifts that Aiheu has blessed us with. To find happiness, Metutu, you must find some kind of middle ground.” Makedde turned away and resumed walking back the way they had came.
They had only walked a short distance when Makedde paused. “No, this will not do.”
“What’s wrong?”
“My brother, you follow me like the jackal pups follow their mother. Roam if you like. Stop and smell a flower. Look at a cloud. Enjoy yourself, for goodness sake!” Makedde laughed and ruffled Metutu’s head roughly.
“Cut it out!” Metutu laughed, poking Makedde in the ribs. The older mandrill yelped, falling back as Metutu tackled him playfully. The two rolled about in the grass, laughing and giggling wildly. Tiring finally, they lay on their backs quietly, staring upward at the brilliant azure sky.
“Look! There goes a bird!”
“What?” Metutu looked curiously. “I don’t see any birds, except for a vulture in that tree over there.”
“He probably thinks we’re his dinner,” Makedde chuckled. “I’m happy to disappoint him. No, I’m talking about that cloud up there. See it? It looks like a little bird.”
Metutu stared hard. “I don’t get it.”
“See the end? That’s the beak. And that part on top is a wing…”
“Oh!” Metutu exclaimed. “I see it! I see it!” He laughed delightedly. “It does look like a bird!” He peered about avidly, his eyes roving from spot to spot. “Look! There’s a tortoise!”
“Where? Oh! Yes, you’re right!”
“And look at that one!” Metutu leaped up and ran a short distance. “There’s a hare! And look at that one!” He giggled. “That one looks like old Umbogi from the council… see his potbelly?”
“Oh gods, don’t let him hear you say that!” Makedde laughed. “I see it, though, you’re right!”
Metutu pointed. “Look! That looks like a lion!”
Makedde peered curiously. “Where?” He looked about, but couldn’t see even the faintest wisp of cloud where Metutu was pointing.
“Right there!” Metutu laughed. “It looks more like a lioness, actually. But she’s all white instead of golden.” He stared up dreamily, then giggled. “She looks like she’s smiling at me.”
Makedde looked again at the empty sky where Metutu was peering, then down to his brother. His skin tingled as he looked at Metutu with renewed interest. “Yes, I suppose she is, brother.”
The more Metutu found out about work, he realized that good feelings were a small part of every job. That more often than not there were other feelings—weariness, perspiration, and sometimes boredom. As he began helping his brother Makedde, he expected to feel as good as he did giving his dinner to Wajoli. But after the initial burst of pride, he took a full dose of reality. Metutu was not yet skilled, and so he was most useful doing hard labor, freeing up Makedde for his thriving medical practice.
Campa root was a valuable resource in shamanic medicine. It was also easy to recognize and almost indestructible. This made gathering Campa a great way to break in a new apprentice.
Metutu kept repeating to himself one of the verses that helped him remember what he was after
Three leaves out, and two leaves back, Leaves of green, and berries black; Good for your stomach, great for your skin, Keeps your hair from getting thin!
After nearly three hours of pulling Campa, he had a very large stack of leaves to discard, and a precious small hoard of root tips. It was almost more than he could bear to see how little of a gourd he could fill with the prize.
Disgusted with himself and his job, Metutu headed back for lunch, half decided to quit. He walked into the baobab. “Brother, we need to talk.”
“Just a moment.” Makedde was busy with a small mandrill child. “Open your mouth, son.”
The boy gaped open. “Ah, I see. Is it sore around here?”
“Ahh haa,” the boy said.
“But it isn’t making you cough?”
“Ahh ahh.”
“Fine. You can close now.” Makedde smiled. “It’s a sore throat, and not serious at that. We’ll give you something for the discomfort, and maybe even a pinch of Tiko Root. You like that?”
“Yes sir!”
Makedde rubbed the boy’s head affectionately. “Jamala, you make sure he takes three of these crushed in a cup of water every morning, highsun and evening for pain. Two days worth should do it, but if it’s still bothering him, you know where to find me.” He got a sprig of Tiko root and handed it to the boy. “Aren’t you growing like a weed! Soon, I’ll have to look up to see you eye to eye!”
The boy laughed and chomped down on his Tiko root.
When they were gone, Makedde looked to Metutu. “I don’t know how I’d get it all in without your help!” He took the gourd. “That’s a lot of Campa root. Are you sure that was empty when you got it?”
“Yes, brother.”
“Impressive. Now what did you want to talk with me about?”
Metutu smiled shyly. “I forgot. I guess it wasn’t that important.”
The sweat rolled down Metutu’s face, dripping off the end of his nose and making it itch. But he didn’t dare raise a hand to wipe it away. He glared fiercely at the Euphorbia he was trying to uproot. Makedde had cautioned that he needed the plant undamaged; the virtue of the roots lay right at the skin. Scraped, they were almost worthless.
Metutu was locked in mortal combat with the plant. He bared his teeth and grinned at the root. “Sooner or later, you’re going to be conquered, and I’m going to laugh at you! You hear me??”
Of course the plant did not hear him. Metutu felt a little foolish arguing with it. He looked at the sensitive root endings exposed to the air and decided against using the sharp wooden digging stick Makedde had given him. Sighing, he set it aside and used much of his precious water ration to moisten the soil. Then he worked with his fingers to carefully scoop away the mud. He hissed in irritation as he felt his fingertips scrape against the small rocks embedded in the mud, but continued to uncover more and more of the plant until it finally gave up. Metutu had managed to outthink a plant, and he grinned in triumph.
“Stupid old weed! Did you really think you could win against my superior intelligence??”
Metutu bore the hard-won prize back toward his home in the baobab. The sun was hot, and he had no water left to quench his thirst. Worse, the mud that had caked on his hands was hardening into a cement that served to irritate the scratches in his skin. “Next time I’ll think to bring more water.”
There was a patient with Makedde. Uwezo looked miserable, and he was. Metutu was hoping to find Makedde alone to share his moment of triumph. And though he was loathe to interrupt a patient, he felt he should quickly show his brother him the bulb. “Hey, look what I got!”
Makedde looked up a little upset. “That’s nice. Right now I’m in the middle of… oh, look at your hands!”
“Oh, I scraped them.”
“Why not go pound your head on a rock while you’re at it!” Makedde sighed at the reckless youth. “God only gives you one pair of hands. There will always be more bulbs.”
Uwezo laughed. “You know, that reminds me of…” He winced. “My sore throat. Sorry.”
Makedde turned back to examining Uwezo. “Metutu, the Bedango extract is right in the…” He looked around to point, but Metutu was already rubbing down his hands. “Hfff, well pardon me!”
Metutu dried his hands and stood next to Makedde to watch Uwezo describe his symptoms in dreary detail.
“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Uwezo droned on. “Today, however, all I wanted to do is sleep. Then when I lay my head down my pulse pounds in my ears. Tic tic tic all the time. I have a headache and my throat is sore. And there’s this dryness in my nose.”
“Not to mention the itching under your arms,” Metutu said.
“Yeah, that too.” He looked at the young mandrill. “I didn’t know you were a shaman too?”
“Not yet,” Makedde said. “So great Metutu, what is your diagnosis?”
“Brother, that sounds like Dol Sani.”
Makedde burst out laughing, along with his patient. “Dol Sani is a CHILDHOOD disease. And, well, LOOK at him!”
The rather robust mandrill was a bodyguard for Kinara. He smiled indulgently. “Oh PWEEZE don’t tell my mommy!”
“So you’ve never had it before?” Metutu asked.
“Well no.”
“That’s right. You were an only child and you grew up on the edge of the village.” Metutu looked at Makedde with a wry grin.
“But he MUST have had it at SOME time,” said Makedde, unbelievingly. “Everyone gets that growing up. I mean, it’s almost tribal law.” He laughed.
Metutu shrugged. “I guess so. Still, the itchy arm pits. I was asked for my opinion…”
Metutu climbed down to collect more herbs. He resolved to make no more diagnoses that day.
“That’s a fine young brother you’ve got there, Makedde.”
“Indeed, Uwezo. He’s come a long way.” Makedde chuckled as he bent over him again, his sensitive hands exploring under the other mandrill’s jaw, testing the glands there. “I remember when you couldn’t GET him to use his own hands to pick up something. Now I can’t get him to keep his hands off…” he broke off, frowning. Makedde sat back and looked at him. “Did you say your joints ache?”
Uwezo looked at him, confused. “Yes, a little. I’m not old enough for the Mifupa, am I?”
“No, that’s different.” Makedde stroked his chin and grinned wryly. “By the gods, I think he’s right! You DO have Dol Sani!”
Uwezo looked worried. “How? I will be a laughingstock!”
Makedde patted him. “Nonsense. Nothing will be said by me or Metutu. Just tell them you have-hmmm—acute pediatric aesthenia.”
“I’m glad you think my Pediatric whatever is cute, but let’s just say that I have the flu and leave it at that.”
“Fine.” He gave Uwezo an elixir of Protothecus milleri. “Now drink this.”
“Ugh! It smells nasty.”
“Dwink it or I WILL tell your mommy!”
Uwezo did not appreciate the joke, but he did appreciate blackmail. He downed the awful remedy that left him reeking of sulfur. “Oh gods!” He took the water gourd offered by Makedde and downed it all in a couple of gulps. “Ugh! Nasty stuff!”
He turned to leave. “You’re welcome,” Makedde said grimly. As Uwezo walked away, Makedde watched him. He muttered, “You DO have a cute pediatric aesthenia…” Laughing, he thought about Metutu’s emerging diagnostic skills. “I have to tell him about it.”
Hearing a noise below, he looked down. “Metutu, I want to tell you something.”
But it was Kinara, his father. He looked upset.
“You could live a little closer to the ground, like civilized folk.” Kinara was short of breath.
Makedde sighed. “What can I do for you, Father? Those backaches again?”
Kinara said, “Haven’t you done enough already?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I know the love Metutu has for you, and I would not begrudge him anything. But I will NOT stand by and watch you corrupt him.”
Makedde opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. “Oh, no! Don’t you try to deny it.”
“Why, because I give him a little work to do? It’s good for the soul.”
“PAH!” Kinara growled. “A little hard work is fine. But you have filled his head with dry grass! Lion stories! Meat-eater religions where a lioness nurses cubs with her own blood! My gods, did you think I would want my son to hear that perversion!”
“It is NOT perversion! I try to respect all people’s beliefs when they are sincere about them, but a god that lies and steals is no god of mine. I have dared to hunt out the God whose love is unconditional and whose heart is pure.”
Kinara thumped his staff down. “At least you don’t deny it. You were always too honest to lead our people effectively, so I didn’t mind when you wanted to be a shaman healer. But now you heal the body while corrupting the spirit. Who says that Pishtim—may he increase—lies or steals?? Since he is the source of all things and all truth, he can change the truth as he sees fit, and he can take back what he has given! See that you don’t offend him with your impious ranting!
“Me impious? Father, don’t you know your own son better than that? Hasn’t love given you eyes to see or ears to listen?”
“Don’t think I don’t still love you, for I have worked to keep your secret from the council. I’ve stuck my neck out for you, and I’ll continue to do so, but I will NOT have you taking Metutu from the true path! I’m sorry, Makedde, but you are no longer his teacher. I’m sending him to live with Busara. He will teach my son the old ways that have sustained us for generations. He will be made worthy to take my place when I die. Gods, how I wish I’d done better with you! I wonder if I could have done or said anything different. You send me to my grave with many regrets and a broken heart!”
“Father!”
“I warn you not to try and interfere. Don’t presume too much on our ties of blood, for I am still your leader and you are still my subject, understand?”
“Completely, SIR.”
“Don’t sass me boy! You’re not too old to get a few licks from your old dad, and I’m not so sure they wouldn’t do you some good!”
He whirled and left, descending the tree so abruptly that he almost fell to the ground.
The shaman sat on his haunches and sighed. He gazed at the painted drawings on the side of the tree’s bole, where a stylistic portrait of Metutu was emblazoned on the bark. “The gods will have their way. Father, you have pulled him from the creek only to plunge him in the river.” He looked through the swaying branches of his home to the bright azure sky above. It was a bittersweet victory, just another thorn between himself and his father when once they had been so close. “Touch his spirit, Aiheu. Bless my father in his darkness, and shine the light of wisdom into his heart.”
Metutu eyed the cliff wall warily. The caves were only a few minutes walk from the lush aerial homes of the rest of the troop, but to the superstitious mandrills, they were a completely separate world. Few dared to venture there. Busara’s wisdom was legendary, but so were his eccentricities. Metutu remembered hearing stories that he sacrificed goats on nights of the full moon in exchange for powers from the evil Makei. But Kinara had always insisted that his Chief Scribe was kind and patient. “You would love him. I could kick myself for not introducing you long ago.”
Metutu had seen Busara from a distance once or twice, but had never been introduced. That was a real shame, for he was rather fond of Asumini, and he was curious about her parents. He was about to explore the great mystery, and he was more than a little nervous.
Metutu mused over this as he observed the coming and going of the birds high overhead. They wheeled and chirped, their colorful plumage flashing in the sun as they went about the daily business of gathering food and hauling it to their nests at the top of the cliffs. Some of them were weaver birds, constructing elaborate nests that hung like baskets made out of carefully woven grass.
“Enjoying the view?”
He gasped and spun, whirling to see Asumini standing behind him, a look of amusement on her face. “What do you want, Metutu? I can’t talk long; father is expecting a new student soon, and I have to go meet him.”
Metutu grinned. “You just did. I’m going to be a scribe!”
Her eyes widened disbelievingly. “You?” She laughed. “Oh, that’s good, Metutu! You can tell them how to escape leopards. I’m sure you’ll have the situation under control!” She added, “I was being perfectly serious. He should be here any moment.”
“Asumini, that is no way to treat a guest, is it?” The old voice was gentle, with only a hint of reproof. They both turned to see Busara leaning heavily on his staff. His wizened features bore the scars and furrows of age, but his eyes were bright with intelligence, crowned with wonderfully expressive eyebrows. His kindly smile was as warm as a good hug. “Please show Metutu inside, and get him settled in. We have much to discuss, and it is already high sun.”
Asumini looked at Metutu, unable to hide her surprise.
It was the first time that Metutu had been in a cave. He stepped back into the refreshingly cool recess. Expecting things to be pitch black, he found to his delight an invention lit the passageway. “You like the lamps? They burn rendered fat. My Asumini scavenges carcasses to make sure I never run low. You have to get there quickly you know, before the hyenas snatch up everything.”
Now it was Metutu’s turn to be surprised. He looked at Asumini with new respect.
The twinkling lights were like stars in the night, but much brighter. As they got further into the cave, there was what Busara called his “tree trunk.” It was a shaft of stone that reached from the floor to the ceiling, and Metutu fingered it with wonder, for it had not been carved but formed of its own accord. There Busara stopped him. “Tell me, young buck, do you know where Mano is?”
He says quietly, “I have no idea. You’ll have to ask Minshasa.” That was the pass phrase by which Aiheusists in hiding recognize each other.
Busara took the boy by the arm. With almost pleading in his voice, he said, “I know you are the son of the chief, but I also know why he sent you here. Now I ask you in all sincerity to tell me you are not here to spy on me. That before the gods all you seek is the truth for your soul’s sake.”
“That is all I seek,” Metutu said. “My father teaches me that the gods argue among themselves, that they have been known to cheat and even steal. My brother tells me that the creator is perfect and holy, and that he loves us all. I want so bad to believe he is right. I watched the birds just now. I cannot believe that the beauty I see, and the good things I feel when I see it came from petty, thieving, lazy gods that must be bribed to bring the rain and heal the sick. If I were God, I’d do those things to make people happy.”
“Let me tell you why I believe. Son, you are much closer than you think to the source of faith. Aiheu is not a secret hidden under a rock. The work of his hand is everywhere, filling the world with beauty and wonder. Open your heart and take it in. The hardest task would be NOT to believe.”
In the golden flickering light of the lamps, Busara’s kindly face looked almost godlike. “Look, son. See the paintings?”
Metutu looked at the walls. They were covered by paintings much like the ones on Makedde’s baobab, but done with such skill and artistry that it took Metutu’s breath away.
“I have to keep the lights out in this place when Kinara comes calling. I wish they could be visible to the public, where the words of comfort they represent could become bind to their hearts and settle in their minds.”
Metutu was humbled. “I’m sorry I called you an evil sorcerer. You know, we kids grew up telling stories about sacrifices of goats by the light of the full moon.”
“Once I was brought a goat carcass. I had to cut it up for some sick lion cubs. It might have been a night of the full moon—I don’t know. All I know is that I couldn’t let them starve to death.” Busara shook his head. “And to think that I love children so much. Perhaps you will put in a good word when gossips tell their tales?”
“I’ll try.”
Metutu looked up and down the wall. He recognized many of the paintings from his brother’s work, but one thing was missing. “Where is your story? I bet it’s interesting.”
Busara smiled. “I like to think so. Let me see your hands.” He took a look at Metutu’s palms by the lantern light. “They are young and fresh, not used to hard work.” His own were callused. “Hard work is part of my story.” He tugged at his gray beard. “Worry about my daughter’s future. Her first case of Dol Sani and her near death from pneumonia.” He drew his finger down the deep lines etched in his cheeks. “Long hours of study, tending the sick, teaching lore, crying tears and smiling smiles.” He drew his finger across the deep wrinkles on his forehead. “Late nights with sick lion cubs and a couple of leopards. Oh yes, my story is plainly written. The youth has been pulled from my outside, but inside I still feel like the young buck that earned these.”
He showed Metutu the back of his hand with five parallel scars. “To you they are ugly scars. To me they are beautiful. You see, my lioness sister Asumini was once warm and strong like you and I.” He took from around his neck a grass cord from which hung an ivory fang. “Once she could bear me on her back without thinking about it. Now I wear what’s left of her next to my heart.” His eyes began to grow misty. “If you learn anything from me, learn this. Love well and for always. For everything else a shaman does is but leaves and branches.” He patted the column of stone. “Love is the trunk and the root of all good things.”
Busara sat on a prepared cushion of leaves. He motioned for Metutu to do likewise. “I’m going to tell you a love story. One that is strange, for it is about a young mandrill shaman and a lioness. Listen well to my words, for I can make you look, but I can’t make you see.”
“Is she the one I heard rumors about?”
“The rumors pale next to the truth.” He fondled the relic and kissed it. “Once I was in search of worldly treasures. And instead I discovered God. Only I did not recognize the significance of the moment, for the truth came in the form of a wounded lioness.
“At great risk I tended her wound and saved her life. Her name was Asumini. It means ‘jasmine,’ and may I say that the flower is more beautiful because it bears her name?” He put the tooth back around his neck. “She received comfort to the body, but returned to give me comfort to the spirit. Everything that came before I count as loss. Everything that has happened since I treasure. Through her eyes, I have seen face to face what others only saw dimly reflected. Because of her, I have seen the face of Aiheu and slept at the feet of Minshasa and Mano. And I will sit with them when I die, among the great kings of the past.”
“Who are the great kings?”
“Those whose hearts are warm with the joy of service. It is good to receive eternal life. It is far greater to give eternal love. In the beginning all animals were brother spirits. In the end they will all be brothers once more. Some of those spirits will be weak cubs crying out for milk. Others will answer their cry and say, ‘Come you who hunger for my milk. No one shall I turn away.’” He drew close to Metutu and took his hand. “Aiheu calls to you. He says, ‘Metutu, feed my cubs. Feed my cubs.’”
Metutu slowly knelt and bowed his head. Busara rested his hand on his head and blessed him.
“Aiheu, come into my heart! I will feed your cubs! I swear!”
Busara knelt beside him and put his arms around Metutu. “Bless you, son! I have lived to see the promise fulfilled in you. The light will not go out!”
Kinara loved his son, but there was a depth and genuine warmth to Busara that endeared him to Metutu at once. “When I am Chief, everyone will see your paintings, and there will be no punishment for worshipping as your heart dictates.”
Tears came to Busara’s eyes. “I have lived to see this moment! Now I can die happy!”
Busara told him, “Let’s celebrate. How about something to eat?”
“Fine!”
“Then come on. We’ll prepare it together.” A second later Busara added, “I forget you have servants. Do you know how to prepare a meal?”
“What I don’t know, you can show me.”
“That attitude will take you places, my son!” Busara put his arm around the smiling Metutu and led him into the pantry.
The year-round cool of the deeper cave passages made it possible to store greens in fresh-picked condition for quite a while. Busara found all the fruit and vegetables he needed in the flickering light of his lamp.
“I can’t believe this!” Metutu saw herbs and fruits that he knew were out of season. “This is incredible! You’re a genius!”
Busara laughed. “I make a mean fruit salad too.” He took a mango and took a sharp dagger from the wall that he used to slice it into this sections, then dice them.
“What is that??”
“It’s a man thing. There was a big male that drowned in the river a few years back. Very sad, but he was wearing this. I figured he didn’t need it anymore.”
“A man thing? But those are cursed!”
“No. The only time it’s cursed is when it rests in an evil hand. Funny thing about those big hairless creatures: for all their collections of things, they are mortal and full of fears just like us. Aiheu made us all for one reason or another. I haven’t figured out why he made their kind yet, but it’s enough just knowing he had a reason to show a little tolerance and understanding.” He smiled. “They do make some great stuff, though.”
“If you say so,” Metutu murmured, looking closely at the dagger but not touching it.
Later as they ate, Metutu glanced at the tooth of Asumini around Busara’s neck.
“Tell me more about the lioness.”
“She is probably listening right now,” Busara said. “She reveals herself to whom she will as the spirit moves her.”
“No, I mean as a person.”
Busara smiled. “She is full of love. Love that echoed through her cubs and now her grandson Ahadi who rules at Pride Rock. Our spirits are one, bound together eternally with cords that cannot be broken. She brought my family and I into the light. My debt to her could never be repaid.” He leaned over and kissed Kima. “My wife is very understanding about this—she shares me with Asumini. I think that if I’d spent that much time and affection on another mandrill…”
“I would have killed you,” Kima said, kissing his cheek. She turned to address Metutu directly. “Sometimes he sleeps next to her. At least she waits for him to fall asleep before she sneaks away. But when she was alive, that was even worse. She would sprawl out in the floor with Busara snuggled up against her. The two of them would snore like a thunderstorm. Sometimes he’d rub her stomach and her leg would kick.”
“You talk about her like a nuisance,” Busara said with a slight scowl. “I know you used to spend hours grooming her, picking ticks, and calling her ‘Fuzzy love.’ And those cubs: I thought you were going to fight her for custody!”
“Well sometimes she was a nuisance. But only sometimes.” Kima smiled reflectively. “She was always very sweet. Sometimes out of the blue she would say something absolutely wonderful that would take your breath away. Then you wanted to hug her and never let go. She was so wise about so many things.”
“They must be great philosophers. And I thought all they did was hunt.”
Busara laughed. “Oh my boy, what constitutes great philosophy? I remember the way she used to say it
“You have lots of time to sit about in that odd crossed-legged stance to do thinking. That kind of time must be wonderful—I spend much time hunting and tending to my family. But even in my busy life, I have moments when I feel that small voice inside me speaking truths. I know what works for me.
“In one way, there are no mothers who aren’t philosophers. We use what works for us, and if you are interested, I would tell you some truths. For one thing, we see the beauty that surrounds us. The father sky, the mother earth, the dew on the grass. We know that God is beautiful, though we have not seen him. You can tell a mother’s looks by her cubs. Even so, we see the beauty of God in everything he made.’”
“My gods!” Metutu gasped.
Busara sighed. “Such pure, beautiful and childlike faith! Rather than dealing in vague concepts, she brought comfort for the spirit… words that help us face the pleasures and pains of life. Well my son, she helped me face them. She lived to be quite old for her kind, then she came here to die, and she has never left. Sometimes in the night you can see her keeping watch over me, my blessed Nisei whose prayers are always before the feet of Aiheu.” His eyes grew misty again. “To think she leaves the blessed presence of Aiheu to tarry in the shadows with me. She healed my spirit, and all I did was heal her body!”
Suddenly Busara looked around. “No, I didn’t exaggerate!” He listened for a moment, but all Metutu could hear was silence. “It’s true!”
“Was that her?”
“Yes. She’s among us. Apparently she has not revealed herself to you yet.”
“Well ask her to. If you ask her to, she will.”
“I believe it. But I will not ask her to. When she is ready, she will show herself.”
Busara’s daughter got up and reached down to touch something, though Metutu could not see a thing. “Is that her?” Metutu asked.
“Yes.”
Metutu reached out in that direction. Asumini scowled. “You drove her off! Give her time—she’ll come to you when she’s ready.”
“Will I know it?”
“She could chew you up and spit you out. I dare say you’ll know it.”
“Is she temperamental? I mean, is she good to you?”
Asumini said, “She was a second mother to me. She was very strict but very kind, like most lioness mothers. I could never get away with anything because she would tattle on me to Dad.”
“I bet you hated that.”
“No. She always took good care of me. I only wish I could have known her well before she died. When I was very young, I remember her grooming me. That seems so long ago. At least I could hide from her then.” She looks to one side. “Cut it out, Auntie! You know I’m only teasing.” Suddenly Asumini laughs. “In your dreams!”
Hearing only one side of this, Metutu felt odd. Still when Metutu sat his stick down for a while, it ended up moving mysteriously. “She is shy with newcomers, but she wants you to respect her existence. That’s her subtle way of saying ‘hello.’”
“Oh.” He looked around uncertainly. “Hello to you too.” Something dawned on him at last, and he burst out laughing.
Asumini looks at him strangely. “You think this is funny?”
“No, I think you are! Your father said Asumini scavenged carcasses for fat before the hyenas stripped them clean! I thought he meant you!”
“Are you so sure he didn’t?”
Metutu stared at her. “You are kidding—aren’t you?”
She grinned. “Well, I might be.”
Metutu was excited about his new religion, but the very ones he wanted to discuss it with were the ones he could not tell. Wandani had never discussed religion with him. Telling his father was out of the question, and he was afraid of horrifying and saddening his mother. So without a proper forum, his new ideas surfaced as moods.
He had locked away inside him the secret plan to go with Busara to the open savanna, wade through the waves of grass, and there see a real lion. He wanted to live the stories about the night sky, standing on Pride Rock and seeing for the very first time the sparkling canopy of stars. He wanted to hear a real roar.
He passed his mother. “Hi, Mom!” He gave her a big kiss. “Isn’t it great to be alive!”
“Yes, it sure is.” She kissed him back. “Did you learn anything interesting today?”
“It was so neat!”
Without further elaboration, Metutu climbed into his bunk and looked at the trunk of the tree. A knot that had always reminded him of a rabbit’s head stared back with unseeing eyes.
“Well, Mr. Bun,” he thought, “I’ll ask him the next time I see him! Yes, we’ll think of SOME excuse for Mom and Dad. We’ll call it an extended field trip or something.”
It would not be easy. But if Aiheu answered prayers, there would come an excuse to cement their ties and strengthen their new bond! “Aiheu, light of lights, creator of the universe, I’m the new one that met you this evening. Find a way through love!”
“I have some fresh fruit,” Neema called up to him.
“Not right now, Mom. I’m not really hungry.”
“Did you eat at Busara’s?”
“Just a little.”
“You’re a growing boy. You need your nourishment.”
“OK, just a little.”
She climbed up with a couple of melon slices. “Now you finish these, you hear?” She looked him in the face and smiled. “How are you feeling, fuzzy love?”
“Fine, Mom,” he said affectionately but distracted.
“Want to talk about it?”
He laughed. “What part of ‘fine’ do you want me to explain?”
“You know what I mean!”
As honestly as he dared, Metutu said, “Busara is a great teacher. As much as I love Dad, it’s great to hear someone that can talk all day without mentioning Old Maloki ONCE.”
She looked about, then laughed softly. “You really shouldn’t say that,” she intoned in a whisper. “But I almost envy you.”
“Besides that, I like Busara and Kima.”
“And you already like Asumini?”
“Of course. A lot.”
Neema smiled and nodded. “She is very likable. Just the sort of doe that would make a fine wife and mother someday. I think a curious sort like you would like an intellectual like her.”
“Well, uh, I guess so.”
“Just like your father likes politics and he got a politician for a wife. My vote doesn’t carry far beyond this tree, but he spends half his life here.”
“You know how to call the shots, Huh Mom?”
“Don’t underestimate me. But I would never misuse that power. If anything, I try to help your father and keep both of his feet on the ground when he starts going wild. Choosing someone who really loves you and that you can trust is the key to happiness. If I can venture an opinion…”
“Sure, Mom.”
“I think the gods made you and Asumini as a matched set. If I saw the two of you married, I could die without worries or regrets. Makedde is married to his work, and Makoko will get by somehow. He’s durable. But Metutu, you have a loving heart. Without love, you would die like a sprout in the dry season.”
“I can get along.”
“I don’t mean it as an insult. I think your heart is made to love and be loved. It’s God’s gift to you. If you turn your back on that gift, there will be consequences. Whatever you do, and wherever you go, look for love to follow you. When I am gone, and your father is off on some mad scheme, I know that Asumini will be holding your hand. And when I look down and see that, it will make me so happy.”
Metutu kissed her. “That’s very nice, Mom. But stick around for a while. I don’t want you leaving any time soon.”
“No sooner than I have to,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m still rather young. Maybe I want to play with my grandchildren first.”
Neema climbed down and gathered up the rest of the fruit. “Kinara, dear? Have you eaten?”
He came around the tree. “Oh, that looks good! Is Metutu back yet?”
She kept her voice down and motioned Kinara away to the privacy of the deep forest.
“When you look that way, Neema, you’re up to something.”
“Our little boy had come back a buck, and he needs someone to have the talk with him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Asumini. That’s what I mean. Just look at him. He’s so jumpy if you touched him he’d jump sky high. Metutu needs to hear the facts from someone who knows, not from his young friends. When I was his age, I thought I’d get pregnant if a boy kissed me.”
“Fine. I’ll have a talk with him sometime.”
“Sometime today.”
He returned to the tree but did not see Metutu around. Acting on a hunch, he went to the creek where he found Metutu skipping rocks. “Why, he’s still just a child!” Kinara sighed.
“Metutu?”
“Yes sir?”
“No calling me sir. Today I’m not just your father, I’m also your friend. And we need to talk heart to heart, OK?”
He sat on bank by his son, their feet in the smooth, cool water. Putting his arm around Metutu’s shoulder, he started out rather obliquely. “Now then, you remember when your grandmother died? We all grow old and die someday.”
“No fooling?” Metutu covered his face. “Even me?”
“Now don’t you poke fun. Let’s understand each other: I know all about Asumini.”
Of course Metutu thought Busara was keeping his lioness a secret.
“You may find your friendship with her a little different than the ones you have with your other friends. You may feel strange urges you don’t understand. You want to touch her, to kiss her, to be with her.”
Metutu is a bit taken aback. “Well, I think she’s really neat. I’d like to see more of her—to be able to touch her and feel her soft fur. To look in her hazel eyes. Sometimes I even wish I could lay my head on her side and go to sleep just listening to her breath.”
Kinara squeezed his shoulder. “I know the feeling, son. But you need to know where this is leading. Encourage her and she’ll be all over you like green on leaves. Your mother and I felt that way, but we decided to respect each other and wait till after we were married before our level of intimacy spread that far. Things can quickly get out of control.”
Metutu was aghast. He suddenly realized where this was going. “Oh, you mean Busara’s daughter!” Starts to laugh.
“Is there ANOTHER Asumini?”
“What brought this on, dad?”
“We’ve seen all the classic signs. Restlessness, poor appetite, mood swings. If that’s not it, what is?”
Metutu laughed. “Let’s see. I started training with Busara. He’s really neat. I got to go in a cave for the first time. I’m excited about life. I’m going to be on the council someday. No denying that Asumini is pretty, but really Dad…”
“But what about this business with the touchy-feely stuff. Like laying your head on her side and going to sleep?”
“I was talking about a lioness!” Metutu laughed uncontrollably. “Don’t worry, dad—we respect each other’s feelings and we’ll wait till after we’re married before our level of intimacy spreads that far. We don’t want things to get out of control.”
The little joke was lost on Kinara. “A lioness?? She’ll eat you in one bite!”
“No, Dad. She’s dead.”
“Oh, that changes everything.” He began to nervously scratch his head. “You want to cuddle with a DEAD lioness!”
“Not a dead body! A guardian spirit! Her name’s Asumini too.”
Kinara took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it out slowly from the mouth. “Thank the gods.” He looked at Metutu and smiled. Metutu smiled back. “I love you, son. We can talk when we want to. Just take me aside and say ‘Dad, I’d like to talk.’”
“That’s nice, Dad. I love you too.” Metutu looked up with a wry grin. “Did mother put you up to this?”
“She sure did. That obvious, huh?”
“Well she was really acting kind of odd.”
“When I tell her, she’s going to flip.” Kinara rubbed the top of Metutu’s hair. “I had a different name picked out for you. Metutu was a mistake. I was going to name you Mawata, after your grandfather. Let’s be honest, son. You may not have Makoko’s looks, but the beauty from inside is so great that it doesn’t matter. Don’t you dare tell anyone I said this, but of my three sons, I have always loved you the most.”
“Oh dad!”
“Let me finish. You inspire love in people, and someday some female is going to latch on to you. You need to know about these things so when Asumini, or whomever it is, throws you off balance you’ll know what to do. There’s no need to rely on rumors, not as long as I’m around.”
Kinara talked with Metutu in the quiet of the forest about the renewal of life, and about love. It was one of the few times Metutu had ever seen Kinara as gentle or as shy, and years later he would look back on that talk and smile.
Metutu headed to Busara’s cave, feeling a little upset and longing for some inner peace.
Kima came out to greet him affectionately. “Come in, my son! Look Busara, it’s Metutu!”
Busara came out and threw his arms around him like an old friend. Already Metutu felt his anger melting away like wax in the hot sun. “I was just thinking about you, and here you are! Have some fresh grapes with us and let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“I can sense that you were upset with someone. Not us, I hope?”
“Certainly not!”
“Your father again?”
Metutu took some grapes, blessed them, and began to eat them a couple at a time. “I don’t mean it wrong, but I really hate politics. I love my dad, but I can’t stand what he does for a living.”
“Hfff! Can it be that you have lost your faith in politics?” Busara offered him some cold water which Metutu gratefully accepted. “So what is it this time? Old Maloki again?”
“Isn’t it always?” Metutu scratched his head. “I mean, why don’t those two just try to get along? I don’t believe Maloki is half as evil as my father says he is.”
“Well you knew they were like that. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Yeah.” Metutu put his head in his hands and sulked. “Dad tells Chidu one thing, then turns right around and tells Bugweto exactly the opposite. So I asked him about it, and he told me that God is the source of all truth, and that when he wants something done, he can change the truth.” He looked pained. “I let it drop, but any way you look at it, he just plain lied. I remember my mom always telling me not to lie, but I can’t remember my dad saying anything except that I should not lie to HIM. I never know when to believe him anymore!”
“I see.” Busara put his hand on Metutu’s shoulder. “This disturbs you. But there is more to it than that. Much more.”
Metutu felt he had said too much already. He quietly took a couple of grapes and chewed them very slowly.
Busara smiled understandingly. “You are worried that one day you will take his place, and that lies will not bother you. That the means will be justified by the end. It makes you feel dirty somehow just thinking about it.”
Metutu met his glance intently. “Is lying part of being chief? Can’t I be honest and still do the right thing? Do you really think God changes the truth?”
Busara sighed deeply. “Lies are fruits that are ripe and beautiful on the outside but have a worm inside! The same is true of someone that cannot be trusted. I trust God with my life and the life of my family. I know that his words to me will endure forever incorruptible and perfect. Now if you’ll pardon me for a moment of honesty, I think you’d make a terrible chief.”
Metutu looked down. “I see. Then what am I fit for?”
Busara gently raised Metutu’s chin to look him in the eyes. “Last night I had a vision of you bowing before Mano and Minshasa. Mano kissed you and said, ‘Arise, my true son. Your father was chief of a small village, but if you are faithful you will rule in splendor and might with the great kings in the sky.’”
“Me?? Are sure it wasn’t just a dream?”
“A dream?” Busara patted his cheek. “Son, your whole life to this point has been a dream. Now it is time you awoke.”
“What would Aiheu have of me? What must I do?”
“You have just taken the first step. Always ask what Aiheu would have of you. Make it your morning and evening prayer, your first thought on waking and your last as you fall asleep. Next, you must go on a vision quest and open your heart to the Creator. When a cub cries to his mother, he is fed. When you cry to God, he will not leave you empty. Guidance will follow.”
“You want me to be a shaman?”
“What I want is not important. I pay little heed to what I want, yet everything I truly wanted is here for me. It is a simple trade. You worry about what Aiheu wants, and he will worry about what you want. I tell you son, once the staff of a chief is in your hands, it is so hard to let go of it. You’ll spend the rest of your life in regret, but you’ll cling to it as a vine clings to a tree. I tell you a higher purpose awaits you, one that will never bring you to shame.”
“If I am not the next chief, who will free our people?”
“Someday the people must free themselves. And if Aiheu wills it, so shall it be. You can run from God, but you cannot hide.”
“But what can I offer him? I don’t feel like a child of Mano. I want to do this, but I’m frightened.”
Busara laughed. “And you’re the only one? Maybe the world is vast, and on it you are just a tiny spot. But is it not better to be a bright spot among the stars than a dark spot on the ground?”
Metutu sighed. “You always say the right thing. I’ll do it.”
“When Koko had managed to reach in the basket unobserved and remove a totem, he felt very clever. Now he had power from the gods! Such mischief he might work against all his enemies who laughed at him! And he stole away chuckling to himself. But the gods soon stopped him and demanded the return of their property. And they condemned him to death, but being fair-minded allowed him to choose the method of his execution. Without hesitation, Koko said, ‘Old age.’
“The answer impressed the gods, and they knew no ordinary ape could have stolen a totem. So they let Koko go on his way and keep the totem, but only to use for good. They warned him that the day he cast a spell of harm he would surely die, and not of old age! For that reason, Koko became a great healer—the first shaman. And though he worked no harm, his enemies ceased to laugh at him, so his days were long and happy in the earth.”
— “LITTLE BROTHER CHAKO”, SECTION 7B
The Council of Elders was upset. The rivalry between Kinara and Maloki who lived just across the creek had always been a source of controversy, but it was usually handled on a personal basis and rarely involved the entire council.
Chango and Bugweto had been to the creek for water. Everyone knew how much Maloki had been charging for water rights, for he had claimed to own the creek right up to the opposite bank. But when some of his people were pulling fruits from the breadfruit tree that hung out over the water, that was too much.
“It is rooted on our bank! It is our tree!” Kinara charged. “This is an outrage!”
Azima, Maloki’s son, was equally adamant. “We only pull fruit that hangs out over the water. There is no way you could pick that fruit without trespassing!”
“We are not trespassing when we pay rent!” Bugweto shouted.
“The rent is for water. For water! You may pick all the fruit that hangs over land. That is legal. That is fair before the gods! Must I remind you that we had an honorable agreement?”
“At your rental fees, there are no honorable agreements,” Kinara said, his arms crossed. “However, we have with us an unimpeachable voice where the law is concerned.” He nodded at Busara. “Everyone knows that his word is impartial and honest. So, what say you, Scribe?”
Busara looked thoughtful. He walked between Kinara and Azima who were standing dangerously close. “Once there were two brothers. They both fought long and hard over a great prize for five days and nights. They did not eat or sleep. Finally on the fifth day, they both collapsed exhausted. And while they were asleep, a stranger came in and stole the prize.”
“What are you saying?” Azima said.
“When the tree is ripe, remove all the fruit into one large pile. Then divide it equally between our villages.”
“Fine and good,” Kinara said. “But I will do it personally. Azima is a cheat like his father.”
“I?? I’M a cheat??”
“Please, distinguished opponents…” Busara put a hand on each of the two mandrills. “I have an answer. One of you will divide the pile into two groups, and the other can take his group first. That way, no one would dare cheat.”
“But why would I give him anything?” Kinara said. The others nodded and murmured. “Why should I even honor his claim?”
Busara took Kinara out of hearing range, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Maloki likes nothing better than to make you angry,” he whispered, glaring at Azima. “If you are generous and give him fully half, you will take away his excuse to curse you behind your back. He will be miserable.”
Kinara thought a moment, stroked his chin whiskers moodily, then smiled. “I like that. And next time he accuses me of being greedy, I shall remind him!”
Kinara came back. With a kindly smile, he patted Azima on the back. “My boy, you are right. We will give you half of the fruit as my friend has suggested. By all means. Maybe even more. Why not take it all? We don’t need the extra fruit.”
Azima began to look uncomfortable. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“No, not at all! It’s wonderful. I hope you enjoy it. Why not take some home with you?”
Azima began to scratch his head. “Now wait a minute here! What did Busara tell you just now?”
“He told me that it is more blessed to give than to take.”
Azima looked around at the others. He began to tremble as he met each pair of eyes, looking for some hint. “Like hell he did!” he shouted, throwing up his hands. “You’re all a bunch of scheming, lousy good-for-nothings! Do you think I’m stupid?? Keep the fruit! I hope you DO eat it! By the gods, I hope whatever you planned falls back on you threefold!”
Azima stormed out. For several moments, there was not a word, not a sound. Then when he was out of hearing range, Kinara began to chuckle, then he burst out in laughter, putting his arm around Busara’s shoulder. “You no-account scheming little devil you! I didn’t know you had it in you!”
Busara smiled, but his heart was not in it.
After the meeting, Kinara took Busara aside. “I’d like to show my appreciation, old friend. I want you to be my chief advisor. You know that is second in power only to me, and I offer it because you are as shrewd as you are honest.”
Busara looked uncomfortable. “Thank you, my chief, but perhaps I’m not as shrewd as you think—or as much as I should be.”
Kinara smiled, but laid his hand on Busara’s shoulder a bit firmly. “Save your double speaking for them. When I want a good riddle, I’ll ask you as Chief Scribe. Right now I need one word. It sounds exactly like ‘yes’.”
“I’m sorry, my friend. I’m not the type you need.”
“Oh?”
“With all due respect, you want to win at all costs. It has become your fruit and your water. What you desire most becomes your god, but when you die, earthly powers will desert you. Only love can bear your soul to the Blessed Realm.”
“Are you calling me irreligious?”
“No, old friend. I’m calling you precious and one of a kind. A child of the gods. I want something for you greater than this world has to offer. Go home tonight and kiss your wife. Speak to your son Makedde. Make peace with the boy and realize how much he still loves you. These are more important than all the breadfruit in the world.”
Kinara looks at him undecided. But he recognized the kindness in Busara’s voice and patted him on the back. “You’re beginning to sound just like my mother. I’m a big boy now, and I can look out for myself. As for my son Makedde, I pray for him every night.”
When Busara saluted him and went back toward his cave, Kinara leaned over to one of his lackey guards nearby. “Take Uwezo and follow him. See what he’s up to.”
Uwezo and Doya were very good at what they did. They were Kinara’s bodyguards, but they also were remarkably quiet and stealthy for large mandrills. It was a combination that had helped Kinara maintain his power for many years.
Usually, Kinara’s ability to “get the goods” on his opponents led to no great mischief. In fact, there were many members of the troop that shared an odd kind of bond with him. They would ask for advice about matters they could confess to no one else, and Kinara would usually try to be helpful in return. In that way, he was the Father Confessor of the wealthy and powerful. And never had he violated his confidence.
Uwezo was very observant, and his hearing was very good. But he wondered about the two sets of footprints he thought he heard as Busara walked along. One of the sets sounded very heavy. He glanced about nervously, thinking a leopard may be spying on HIM. All he saw was Doya behind him, and Doya was doing a good job of muffling his steps.
Suddenly, there was a loud lioness roar. Forgetting to be quiet, Uwezo charged back toward Doya and passed him brusquely. Busara looked around, but by the time he saw the two mandrills, they were far enough away to not be recognized.
“What’s the matter, old girl?”
“I just don’t like it,” she said. “They looked suspicious.”
It would do little good to follow Busara when he was alert. Uwezo and Doya had a job to do, and they did not dare risk the wrath of Kinara if they failed him. So deciding that he was headed home anyhow, they waited until evening to quietly and cautiously took up hiding places right outside the mouth of the cave.
“This will always be your refuge,” Busara said. “When you need a place where you can come and be accepted for who and what you are, our arms are always open for you.”
“Thank you,” Metutu said. “I love you more than I can say! You have been so kind. You and Kima and Asumini.”
“May Aiheu bless you, my son,” Kima said.
Doya glanced at Uwezo. “Uh oh!”
“Shhhh!”
“Your destiny is a special one, Metutu,” Busara said. “In a small way I tried to bring some change about today. Maybe if I am lucky, before I die I will hear Kinara and Maloki exchange a few civil words. But you are to be the new chief someday. You will do more in a year than I have in my lifetime. Freedom will blossom and grow like Alba, and worship will be the choice of the heart, not that of the council.”
“Just wait till he hears this,” Doya said.
Just then, they heard heavy footsteps leaving the cave and padding through the leaves. “It’s that sound again. Let’s get out of here!”
Busara looked up. “What happened to Asumini? You’d think she saw a ghost!”
Seconds later, the lioness appeared, very agitated. “Doya and Uwezo were right outside.”
“What did they hear?”
“Probably everything.”
Busara closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He moaned as if someone had gouged him. “We are in grave danger.”
“Let me kill them,” Asumini said.
“No, girl. That will only make Kinara more suspicious than ever. We are not judge and executioner. Not like him.”
When Uwezo and Doya found Kinara, Chief Priest Kasisi was with him. They competed to be first to give their reports, knowing that there would be a bonus in it for them somewhere.
“He’s an Aiheuist,” Uwezo said.
“He’s teaching Metutu to be one,” Doya said.
“He said he tried to get you and Maloki on speaking terms, but that Metutu as the next chief would really clear out the cobwebs.”
Kinara sat stunned for a moment, then jerked to his feet. He almost never showed his temper, but he grabbed a fruit he had been eating and hurled it at a tree.
“My son! He thinks to turn my own SON upon me! That triple cursed barbaric heathen! I trusted him. I gave him my own son! Oh gods!”
Uwezo and Doya were really expecting a reward for that. Instead, Kinara merely dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
Kasisi was almost foaming at the mouth. “We have to wipe this thing out! It is a disease, and it’s spreading! Wipe it out, I say!”
“I’ll have to have a little talk with Busara.”
“You’ll have to kill him,” the Chief Priest said.
“Denounce my friend to the council? Have him put down like a thief or adulterer? I will banish him.”
“Banish him and you make him a hero in your son’s eyes,” Kasisi said. “The same will happen if you give him a public execution. No, he must disappear. Suddenly and without a trace, do you understand?”
“But you’re talking murder!”
“I’m talking the salvation of the race! Death is a part of life, but we can influence our time of death by our chosen lifestyle. His was risky-very risky. He has lived much longer than he ought. We are correcting that oversight.”
“But Kasisi, Busara is my friend!”
“Busara is heading your son straight to hell! When he is separated forever from the blessed realm, he will curse your name through all eternity! He will say ‘My father did this to me!’”
“But murder him??”
“God will bless you for it, so it is not murder! I tell you Kinara, there are more in this troop that follow him. Those who are in danger. Like Makedde.”
“What about Makedde!”
Kasisi crossed his arms smugly. “You thought you had the goods on me! You thought you had me under your thumb, old friend? You do your duty before God or as sure as there is a God, I’ll denounce him to the council the way I should have long ago!”
“You do that and I’ll kill you!”
“Kill the Chief Priest for following his religion? Do you think that would help? Do you think you could get away with it? Do you think I haven’t told anyone else why I was coming here tonight?”
“Enough!” Kinara stood facing the trees for a moment, then slowly turned back around. “I don’t have to enjoy it as much as you do. But so be it.”
Kinara recalled his two trusted bodyguards. He grabbed Doya by the chin whiskers. “Listen well. Our Chief Scribe likes to contact the spirit world.” He scowls darkly. “Very well. We must arrange it so Busara can spend all his time there, if you read my meaning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Handle it discretely, but handle it by sunrise tomorrow. For if you fail me—” He patted Uwezo on the head. “No chance of that. You wouldn’t dare fail.”
Bowing and scraping madly, they rushed off.
Busara was terrified. “Metutu, I must gather my belongings and go. I will take Kima and Asumini far away.”
“Take me with you.”
Busara kissed his cheek. “In my heart, you are always with me. It would not help either of us if you ran away from home right now.”
“Where are you going? You can tell me.”
“I will send Asumini for you when it is safe. They can’t hurt her.” He took Metutu firmly by the shoulders. “I don’t have much time. There is so much I would say to you, my son. For now, you must hide the faith. Not in the way you treat others, but in the way you speak to others. Later it can shine, but something awful is about to happen. You must remember what I have taught you. You are our hope, Metutu. Don’t let me down or my sacrifice would have been meaningless.”
He grabs Busara’s hand. “Aiheu give me the strength.”
Metutu put his arms around Busara. “May the gods see between us till we meet again.”
“In case things go wrong, bless me for my death.”
“Oh gods, don’t say that!”
“Bless me, Metutu! I would ask my eldest son, and you are he.”
With trembling fingers, Metutu drew a circle around Busara’s right eye and drew his fingertips under his chin. “May you see God. May you speak with Him.” Tears started down Metutu’s cheeks, and he hugged him again. “Father, friend, and teacher! Don’t you leave me! Don’t you dare die and leave me!”
“I’ll try not to.” Busara dried Metutu’s cheeks. “Go now. Tell no one you were here.”
Metutu hugged him one more time, then headed out by the long, winding path. He didn’t want to be seen.
Kima was gathering up some food, and Asumini—Busara’s daughter that is—was taking some herbs and talismans.
“Don’t leave until I come back,” Busara said. “I’ll scout out the trail and make sure we are not being watched.”
With the lioness Asumini, he left to run the first dangerous leg of the journey through the cane field and the scrub bushes. It would not do taking them on the well-worn paths. That route had served him well gathering Tiko root, and it would get them over to Maloki’s village. Maloki detested Kinara and would be only too glad to accept his wise Chief Scribe as a guest, knowing it would rankle his old adversary to no end.
Asumini stopped and looked around. Busara, who was a little hard of hearing, relied on her keen senses. “What is it, old girl? Behind me?”
He looked around. “Uwezo! Doya!”
Doya was holding a large rock.
“I used to tell you stories when you were kids! Please! Let me run and just say you killed me!”
Doya looked a little ashamed. “OK. But swear you won’t come back.”
“I swear!” Busara slowly turned around, his heart pounding. “I’ll never come back!”
Doya lifted the rock and brought it down on Busara’s head as hard as he could. Busara fell and moaned. Doya hit him again and the moaning stopped.
Asumini appeared, snarling. In fear and dread, Doya threw the stone at the crouched lioness, but it pass