Sacred Hunger (82 page)

However, in returning Inchebe suffered an accident which, though slight enough, set the two men arguing. While drawing the canoe up the bankside in the first light of day, he slipped and fell against the hull, grazing his knuckles rather badly. He swore at this in a language unknown to Billy.

Then he declared, with bad-tempered glances at the bush all around, that his accident, without a shadow of doubt, had been due to
kudala
, witchcraft.

Billy stopped short on the path. “You on dat tack agin? I real sorry for you, Cheeby.

Everything
kudala
, eh? We no fin” fish, you say
kudala
, we fin’ fish, you cut you han’, you say
kudala
. You no sabee such a ting acciden’ dis world? Man cut him han’, dat acciden’.

Jus’ happen, nobody wan’ it.” He saw the usual dignified, slightly somnolent expression of dissent come to Inchebe’s face.

‘allyou alius puttin” on airs,” he said, with the beginnings of exasperation. ‘Dat you big fault.

Puff youself up, make youself big man, fust rainstone, now somebody put badyai on you.

You soso ‘portant, you tink somebody care you fall on you arse?”’

Inchebe made no reply to this, keeping his eyes turned away. “Who wish it on you?”’ Billy demanded. “Nobody care dat much.” He swung his basket of fish to indicate the world around them indifferently waking to daylight, taking form from moment to moment in the misty air, the thick-leaved mangroves that seemed to guard the last of the darkness, the marshes beyond lying shrouded in mist, the blanched moon above them. “Nobody wish it, nobody care dat much,” he said.

Inchebe resumed his way along the path.

“Tell you before,” he said, “tell you agin now, no such ting acciden” dis world. Plant yam bad get bad crop. Nobody say kudala, say fool man. Plant yam good, get bad crop— dat is kudala. Inchebe alius riggin’ trim sharp, look where he steppin’. So dis is kudala. Any
dabo
ken see dat.”

‘Jesus save us! Dat not kudala, dat de law of bleddy evridge,” Billy said. “Man pull a boat up hunnerd time, one time he fall down de bank. Jus” happen like dat.”

‘Jus” happen like dat,” Inchebe repeated scornfully. Annoyance at his fall and badly grazed knuckles, and conviction of malpractice against him, had combined to sour his temper. ‘Dat all you ken say?”’ He glanced at Billy with his small bright eyes. “Tell me one ting, you soso clever. Why it happen dis partikkler mornin”?”’

At this, Billy’s previously clear view of the matter began to mist over from the edges. It was a strange fact that although they had argued about kudala intermittently over the years, this question of particularity always caught him unprepared. ‘Why dis partikkler mornin”?”’ he repeated now, with an instinct of prevarication. ‘What kin” question dat? Dere no answer dat question.”

‘Dat anadder ting bout you, Billy, same-same all buckra white man, you say dere no answer mean you no have answer. I pull up de boat hunnerd time, do same ting every time, dis one time fall down.
Why dis time
? Why not anadder time?

Boat same, bank same, Inchebe same. Why dis time?”’

“Bank wet,” Billy said. “You put you foot wrong.”

Inchebe smiled sadly. He had Billy on the run and knew it. “My fren”,” he said, ‘y sabee good dat not de right answer. Bank wet many time before. Inchebe foot same-same adder time. I ask you why dis time, you say foot wrong. I ask you why dis time foot wrong you say jus” happen dis time. You go roun’ in circle, Billy. I tell you bout one uncle now.”

‘Curse me,” Billy said, stopping short again to glare at his companion. “What de fuck you uncle got to do with it?”’ This unexpected intrusion of a relative had fogged his mind further.

“Middle of de day uncle sit under roof of de grain store—sit in de shade, you sabee, people do same ting every day.

Dat day roof fall down, uncle kill. Why dat happen?”’

“What kind question dat? Mebbe pole rot in de groun”, mebbe tarmeet “stroy dem. Mebbe timber worm ‘stroy de beam.”

“You tink I fool man? Tarmeet an” timber worm, dat not de question. Question is, why it happen when my uncle sittin’ under de roof?”’

‘Well, I go tell you dis,” Billy said, after a long pause. “I sorry to hear bout you uncle, but dis story prove nottin’.”

Nevertheless, he was agitated at his failure to find a convincing reply, at finding himself once more in these thickets of doubt and contradiction. He glanced up at the sky, which shone now with a faint light. Mist lay over the low ground in shifting swathes. The fan-shaped fronds of the palmettos rose here and there clear of it, hanging heavy and gleaming with wet, quite motionless—there was no breath of wind. The swamp willow alongside the path was coming into flower: he noticed the tight green pimples of the buds on their dangling stalks. It was a particularity of vision unusual with Billy, due perhaps to the indistinctness of everything farther off, in this ubiquituous shrouding of mist.

The
kudala
notion had its points, he suddenly saw: it saved a man from chance, for one thing. And it took the blame from the Almighty, thus solving a problem that had often bothered Billy. ‘Dey fin” de one make kudala agin you uncle?”’ he said, but the other did not hear him. The track had narrowed, obliging them to walk in file, and Inchebe had paused to crush some cress leaves over his injured knuckles and so fallen behind.

They were nearing the settlement now. The track skirted the lagoon, went some way along the edge of the hardwood hummock, then turned away from the water to pass through a tangle of sea-grape and cabbage palm and wild coffee before emerging on to the open ground where the first huts of the settlement began.

Among the trees it was dark still; emerging from them was at first confusing to the eyes. As they came out into the scrub, Billy saw a form move suddenly in the mist, no more than a dark shape at first, but then as he advanced he saw that it was surmounted with a face and a tall hat. While he still gaped at this, he saw the figure raise its elbows as if to work a pair of bellows. He caught a gleam of metal, then the dark red of the tunic. He turned and took some running steps back towards Inchebe, who was still in the cover of the trees. ‘Redcoats!” he shouted loudly.

“Get round through the -” The crack of the shot came from behind him, drowning out whatever more he said, or tried to say. With this sharp report all arguments were finally resolved for Billy, the frenzy of logic left him for ever. The ball took him in the back, on the left side, and pierced his heart. He ran some further steps but he was dead before he fell.

Inchebe saw Billy turn and run towards him, heard the shot, saw the issue of blood from Billy’s mouth and the heavy pitch of his fall. He hesitated no more than a moment. Billy was beyond help. The people had to be warned. He threw down the string of fish he had been carrying and plunged aside from the track in the nearest direction to the settlement, finding what way he could through the close-growing vegetation. He sobbed lightly as he ran, with fear and shock. The broad-leaved trees of the hummock discharged their moisture on him, the saw palmetto slashed at his legs and arms. He stumbled through stretches of swampland, knee-deep in the sloughs, his feet catching in the stilted roots of the mangroves. Behind him, not very far way, he could hear sounds of pursuit. From moment to moment he expected a shot, but none came and he could not understand this, having forgotten that alive he was worth money. The cane harpoon impeded him, catching in thickets, but he did not abandon it.

Nipke it was who gave pursuit. He had been standing near the panicky fool who disobeyed orders by firing and had seen the sergeant strike the man down with his fist. He knew that the people of the settlement, whether black or white, had to be taken alive if at all possible, this being the English lord’s express command. He knew too that time was needed for the troops to complete their encirclement of the huts.

Above all he was eager to earn praise, because with praise came a bonus of dollars and Nipke looked forward to returning a rich man—rich enough to be drunk for a week and buy another cow and possibly a blanket. So he began running almost before the echoes of the shot had died away, cleared Billy’s body as it lay across the path and was in time to crouch and listen and hear the faint crashing sounds of the black man’s flight.

Though past his first youth he was a fine runner, as the Creek people commonly were, and he knew the ground, having ranged here for Tequesta scalps to sell to the English during the wars with Spain. Thoughts of reward sharpened senses already acute; he was alert to every change of direction ahead of him. Following was not difficult—his quarry had no time to rest or hide or lie in wait. He knew by the sounds that he was gaining. There were sounds behind him too: other of the Creeks, similarly inspired, had joined in the chase. But he would be first…

He ran through a stand of sea-grape trees, ducking and weaving to avoid the low branches. This was the edge of the hummock. Beyond was an area of marsh grass and willow scrub. He could catch glimpses now of the man before him, hear at times the splash of his steps in the watery ground. He was gaining ground with every stride, the negro was flagging. No more than twenty paces separated them. As he came closer he drew the hand-axe from his belt, intending to stun the man with the flat side. But he was gaining too fast, it came to him now, with a sudden, belated sense of danger. He saw that the man was carrying a pointed cane and checked momentarily, then came on with a rush: the negro had left it too late, there was no time now for him to turn and set himself for a throw. This was a serious misjudgement on Nipke’s part and it cost him his life. He had seen many deeds of blood in his time and he had fought with various weapons at long range and close; but he did not know what a man from the headwaters of the Niger could do with a spear.

As they came into the open Inchebe had slackened speed. He knew that with such a light missile, designed for fish not men, the throat was the only target. And he knew that he only had one chance.

When the panting and the steps were close enough behind, he whirled, and without pausing to set himself or even shift his grip on the shaft flung the spear upward from waist height, aiming instinctively, the turn and the throw one single movement. The distance was no more than a dozen feet. The barbed head of the spear with its needle-sharp fish-bone point caught the advancing Indian in the base of the throat and penetrated deeply, half severing an artery. Nipke dropped the axe and sank to his knees, raising his hands as if in some attempt to arrest the copious flow of blood.

Inchebe waited only long enough to be sure that this enemy was disabled. When the others came up they found Nipke bleeding out his life in the marsh, no sign of the negro. They resumed the pursuit, but more cautiously.

This killing of Nipke, and the greater circumspection it imposed on the other Creek scouts, gave Inchebe a period of respite long enough for a circuitous approach to the settlement from the shoreward side. He made his way under cover of the stockade to the low gate in the rear and crawled under, into the compound. The shot had been heard, people were moving here and there, the main gate was barred. Inchebe began to shout the news of Billy’s death and his last mysterious words and the presence of flat-head Indians not painted or tattooed. His eyes started wildly and he gulped for breath. Distress and exhaustion combined to render his pidgin barely intelligible.

“What Billy shout?”’ Nadri asked, taking a firm grip of Inchebe by the shoulders. He had been with Tabakali and they had come out together at the sound of the shot, she naked to the waist with a piece of cotton cloth wrapped round her middle.

“Say bout red cot,” Inchebe panted. He had no idea what these words meant. “Say bout red cot den dey shoot.”

“Holy Mary!” Sullivan said. “Dat sojers he talkin” bout. Redcoats. They have sent sojers after us.” His eyes were wet still with the quick tears that had come with the news of Billy’s death.

‘It is redcoats have killed Billy,” he said.

To Paris, standing among the others in his breechclout and a shirt strangely patched and shortened, these words of Sullivan’s carried immediate conviction. He was shocked, but not surprised. Ever since learning that the fighting was over and the British established in the north, he had been expecting some sort of expedition against them sooner or later. News followed trade; there would have been rumours of merchandise down here more valuable than salt or flint or anything the traders carried… “We can still get out,” he said. “We can’t fight men armed with guns, not from inside here. We can break out before they have time to form round us.”

“Dat right.” Kireku’s eyes flashed fiercely. He had his bow slung over one shoulder and heavy arrows in a bark quiver at his belt.

“Nobody see Inchebe come,” he said.

“Nobody try stop him. Dey not in place yet. We ken git out same way he come in. In de bush nobody fin” us. Redcot try fin’ me, stick him like pig, make him cot red pas’ now.”

It was to be long remembered of Kireku that even at this desperate moment he had made a joke.

He was already moving away when a booming voice reached them from somewhere beyond the stockade: ‘allyou are surrounded on every side. You cannot escape. Lay down your arms and open the gates. We are armed with cannon and can destroy you all at will…”

The voice was frightening, unearthly, distorted by an amplifying instrument of some kind which made it impossible to determine the direction. But the flat accents of northern England were clearly recognizable in it.

“There may be time yet,” Paris said. “They may not know of the gate in the rear.” He hesitated, looking at Tabakali and the children standing close beside her, Kenka between the two smaller ones.

“We wait here, catch in a trap,” he said.

“Dey go make you slave again.” He had spoken rapidly and was not sure if she had understood, but she looked at him steadily and after a moment nodded.

“It wort” tryin’,” Nadri said.’We git clear, adder come behin”dis”

They went at a run through the lines of the huts.

Beyond the narrow gate the space of open ground was deserted. The mist had lifted now and a pallid radiance showed in the sky above the listless fronds of the palms. Looking upward, Paris saw gulls in lazy flight, the hidden sun eliciting flashes of brilliance from them as they turned. The first trees were less than half a minute away to a running man but the distance seemed vast to Paris. He saw Kenka regarding him with an intent and painful seriousness and he reached out and briefly touched the boy’s cheek. ‘We go two-three fust time, see what happen,” he said.