Shaka the Great (52 page)

“Look at me,” says Mgobozi again. “Attend to me,” he adds, lowering his voice even further. “You have heard me when I say I speak as the King, have you not?”

After a moment, Magema nods.

“Well, I think the King will be of a mind to be merciful in your case for, more than others, he knows how hurtful idle banter can be—the lazy words that soon become cruel taunts. He knows. He cannot let you go unpunished, but he can ensure your end will be swift and painless. Do you understand?”

Magema nods again. “Yes, and I thank you, General …”

And he gasps and his eyes widen and freeze as, coming up behind him, the Induna rams his iklwa blade into the back of his neck, killing him instantly.

I will now tell you how Fudu the tortoise and his brother Dufu tricked Giraffe
(says the Cat Man).
At this time, the giraffe was only a little bigger than a zebra. He was a lazy creature who preferred to bend down and eat the grass close to the ground, rather than stretch his neck to eat the leaves in the upper branches. This angered Fudu, as these creatures were stealing the only food that tortoises could reach. So, one day, he challenged Giraffe, saying: “You are very tall and I am only small, but this I can do: I can leap over you.” When Giraffe had finished sniggering, Fudu continued: “You have heard me right,” he said. “I can leap over you. Even with my house on my back, I can leap over you.”

Giraffe was welcome to laugh, he added—but why leave it at that? Wouldn't it be even funnier to see Fudu try, and fail? Oh, yes, indubitably, concurred Giraffe. “Hai,” said Fudu as if it had only just occurred to him, “if I am to entertain you, it is only fair I should get something if I succeed!”

What about … hmm, what about this. If Fudu succeeded in jumping over Giraffe, then Giraffe had to promise to eat only the high leaves in future. If Fudu failed, however, he would stop complaining and Giraffe could eat whatever he liked.

Giraffe agreed to these terms, and Fudu said: “Watch closely!”

Positioning himself to the left of Giraffe, the tortoise rose up on his hind legs, so that a stone seemed to become a boulder, and he raised his front legs and, with a “Hup!,” he leapt into the air. And Giraffe couldn't help himself. Instinctively, he swung his head to the other side—where he saw Fudu on all fours, with his legs slightly bent to cushion his landing.

Giraffe swung his head to where Fudu had been, and saw only flattened grass. Returning his attention to where the tortoise was now, he saw Fudu was favoring him with a wide grin. The tortoise had won his bet, and no more would Giraffe and his brothers and sisters eat the lower leaves.

“Don't be lazy and eat only the leaves in front of you,” advised Fudu, “or else you'll just have to stretch higher and higher.”

Which is exactly what happened, and how the giraffe gained its long ungainly neck.

And, of course, Fudu hadn't really leapt over Giraffe. While he spoke to him, his brother Dufu hid in the long grass on the other side of the path. When Fudu pretended to leap, and Giraffe looked away, swinging his head in a slow arc, and giving the brothers ample time, Fudu hid himself and Dufu stepped out of the grass on the opposite side of Giraffe, to stand with his legs slightly bent.

And then the Cat Man tells a story about the Trickster, and one about the magic bowl and magic spoon, but these are merely preludes to get his audience warmed up. He knows full well who they want to hear about.

“Now Shaka is our Father,” declares the Cat Man. Tall, slender, bearded, and quite a few seasons older than the Induna, he's not only popular with the children; the udibi has noticed how his audience seems to comprise more and more adults every night. That's not surprising, though, since the Cat Man's livelihood depends partly on his ability to convince and persuade, and all know that his stories are his way of ingratiating himself. No one enjoys them any the less, for all that, and there are always those who will stay and listen whenever he decides the time is right to do some business …

Aside from guns, the Portugiza exploring the coast of southern Africa introduced the Zulus to tobacco, maize … and cats. The People Of The Sky found the tobacco much too weak compared to the marijuana they already grew and smoked. The beautiful yellow grain, the Europeans explained to them, would grow in places where sorghum would not, and the crop soon became the tribe's staple diet. And the cats, the Portugiza assured their sometime hosts, would be useful in catching the mice and rats that ate the grain.

These felines were smaller than the civet and the genet the Zulus already knew, but they were, of course, domesticated, and soon there was a brisk trade in the creatures, as the Zulus introduced these “pest exterminators” to other tribes.

This was a long time ago, but the three amakati the Cat Man has with him are still regarded as valuable commodities. He can certainly afford to bide his time, and travel from village to village, until someone is able to meet his price.

“Shaka is our Father,” repeats the Cat Man. “He watches over us and protects us. He is the Bull Elephant who keeps our enemies at
bay. But sadly …” The storyteller's brows and lips curve downward in a mask of mournfulness. “Sadly there are those who look at the way he would hold us safe in his fist, and they see tyranny.”

The mask becomes enlarged eyes, arched brows as the Cat Man leans back and extends his right arm, with fingers splayed, to fend off disapprobation. “No, oh no, do not look at me like that! I merely speak the thoughts of others, those malcontents among us who sneer at the King's kindness.”

He leans forward, eyes narrowed. “And there is one who mocks Shaka the loudest. Is he a king commanding a massive army? No, you know who he is, and he is no king, or general, or wizard even!”

The Cat Man chuckles. “You know who he is,” he says. “Of course, you do, for who doesn't! Who hasn't heard of Beja! Beja the bandit?”

Nervous laughter from the younger children, an overflow of anticipation becoming a shifting about and getting comfortable. Then the tensing, the concentration. Even the adults drop the pretense that they are here listening to children's stories because they have nothing better to do, and they attend more closely.

“No king with an army to command,” says the Cat Man stroking his beard. “There is just Beja!”

“Hai! Do not forget his loyal friend, Mi,” interrupts Owethu.

“This is true,” says the Cat Man, taking the gourd of beer from his traveling companion. “There is Beja and there is Mi …”

“Two men!”

“Two men! And yet Shaka sends an impi after them. How many men? Fifty? A hundred? All those shields, all those spears, all those feet pounding the dust—just to catch two!”

This the udibi knows to be true, for Shaka sent Nqoboka and the Amawombe regiment to try and find Beja.

“So many men!” says the Cat Man.

“So many!” adds Owethu.

“Too many!”

“This is so.”

The Cat Man peers out at his audience. “You frown, Little Ones. You are confused.”

“Like Shaka's soldiers,” says Owethu.

Another flutter of unease among the adults: a feeling that such comments are unnecessary, needlessly provocative.

And perhaps the Cat Man realizes this, too, for he glares at Owethu briefly … then continues with his tale.

“But think about it, Little Ones,” he says. “One man, two men, three men, five even, can easily hide in these hills. But fifty? Cha! Beja watched them come, and Beja watched them leave.”

And he goes on to tell how Beja tricks travelers. Regales them with tales of his own exploits, before revealing his identity.

The udibi turns away and finds Philani has quietly moved up to stand beside him. He's been sticking even closer to the udibi since their expedition upstream. Clearly the way the older boy handled Lungelo impressed him. Now he has no doubt the udibi can protect him from the hungry river.

Aiee! If only the Induna were here!

“You are well, General?”

“My old legs are not so old that I cannot keep up with you two.”

“This is true, for you exercise them enough in fleeing your wives,” chuckles Radebe.

“To no avail for, however fast he might run, a dog cannot flee his fleas.”

“But he may forget them in a fight!”

“Ah, there you have it, Nduna.”

The Fasimbas who were with them earlier have been sent directly to Bulawayo to inform Shaka that the matter of the Vanishing Man has been resolved. Mgobozi has decided to accompany the Induna back to Nkululeko's kraal—with a little luck they'll be in time to join the feasting that marks the conclusion of the Ear Piercing ceremonies. Radebe accompanies them because he is the old general's unofficial minder (Mgobozi refuses to take on an udibi), with instructions from Shaka himself to never leave Mgobozi's side.

They cooked their supper—a dassie caught by Radebe, and not the fare you might choose had you a choice, but it'll do—in the late evening, when the smoke from a fire is less likely to be seen, then they moved on half a kilometer or so to this spot scouted out by the Induna, where they'll spend the night. To make up some time, they've chosen a course that takes them along the fringes of Qwabe territory; hence the need for a certain amount of caution.

But they've decided to risk a little marijuana—a few medicinal puffs to soothe aching muscles.

“There you have it, Nduna,” says Mgobozi again, with a contented sigh. “Some men, like our Father, have minds like lakes, wide and deep. That is to say capable of deep thoughts, and an understanding as wide as the sky. But, like the Great Waters, these lakes are prone to storms, to a rise and fall, a turmoil, are they not?”

Both the Induna and Radebe nod solemnly.

“And so men like our Father—not that there are any men quite like our Father—feel tormented from time to time.”

“This is so,” says the Induna.

“For having to constantly tend to the needs of his children, I cannot imagine, cannot even
begin
to imagine, what that must be like,” adds Radebe. “Even herdboys, sentries, sangomas, they can sleep, but our King must remain ever vigilant.”

Mgobozi nods. “If Shaka is the Bull Elephant who tramples our enemies, if he is the Father of the Sky who watches over his children, he is also the lake that gives us sustenance. With a wisdom wide and deep. And this is good, this is good, but, as for me, my mind is like a puddle!”

The Induna has just sucked in a lungful of smoke from the hollowed rhino horn they've been passing back and forth and now he leaps to his feet in a coughing fit, while Radebe topples backward with a hand clamped over his mouth to stifle his guffaws. For to bellow with laughter in the darkness would be to try the indulgence of the ancestors, who they hope will watch over them and ensure the sweet scent of dagga won't give away their hiding place.

“It is so,” says Mgobozi, watching the Induna trying to cough,
exhale, laugh and not spew, all at the same time. “The mind of a good soldier should be like a puddle.”

“A puddle, General?” asks Radebe, pushing himself up on one elbow and wiping his eyes with his other hand.

“A puddle, Radebe. There is no need for depth, or width. Show him the enemy, and that is all he needs. That and the cattle his king rewards him with.”

Reaching up, Mgobozi takes the horn from the Induna. Inhales. Holds the smoke in his lungs. Exhales.

“Yes, a good soldier cannot think too much. He can be afraid …” Mgobozi nods. “Indeed, he
must
be afraid. Fear can be a valuable ally, for fear can mean speed, fear can be the instinctive, unthinking thrust of your blade—and Ngadla! You have eaten without realizing you were hungry. And fear, of course, also clears the mind, leaving the soldier in the ranks free to follow the orders that will save his life. And then, when it is over, the man who is the puddle, which is to say the good soldier, knows but one emotion: he is happy to be alive.”