Out of Darkness

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She has a most trying nature, Misozi, with the brains of a baby goat, but it was good to have another woman about, all the same. When Misozi ran to complain to Bwana Daudi, it was then that he said she should pick someone else. But look at her now; tethered though she is, she is still causing problems.

I bet she would open her legs to any of them if they asked, and play the close buttock game too, particularly with that Jacob Wainwright.


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The way her eyes flutter about when she sees him, you would think she was trying to work up enough tears to get dust out of them. Bwana Daudi also called them the Nassick boys, and though they are young, with a little too much milk still to be squeezed out of their noses, they are far from being boys, particularly that Jacob Wainwright, a well-grown man who has seen at least one and twenty Ramadans. Proud as anything, he is, with all his English and his learning and his shoes and books and heavy muzungu suit.

Sometimes I think that the woman cannot possibly be as stupid as she looks. Who else could I possibly have meant, the donkey? With a woman like that, it is no wonder that Susi looks three times and then twice more at every woman he passes. So that was how that loaf was cooking.

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I wondered if Misozi knew. There would be time to tell all, not that I would say anything, of course, because, and this I can say straight, I have never been one to gossip. Whose was the death we expected daily? Whose the frail body that was just hours from being a corpse? It can only be the Bwana.

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The two started arguing enough to make the head spin. I moved to the fire, where a group of men sat and talked. They were waiting, Carus Farrar said, for the stiffness to leave his body so that they could lay him out. It would not be too long, he said, for Bwana Daudi had died sometime in the night, and the heat in the air would help the stiffness to leave his body.

More and more of the pagazi arrived and took up places around the fire. On every lip was the same question: how had it come to this? Susi and Majwara took it in turns to answer. Susi took up the tale. The Bwana was trying to rise from his bed. I have found the fountains. Is this the Luapula? I interrupted to ask Susi what he thought those words meant, but he had no answer.

We all turned as one to Jacob Wainwright, but he simply looked into the distance as though he had not heard the question. I have noticed before that if he does not know the answer to something, he pretends not to have heard the question. Susi continued his narration.

After this, Susi said, he seemed to come to himself, and realize where he was. He then asked Susi to boil him some water. I was that pleased when he asked for food. Susi shook his head and continued. He had gone outside to the fire and returned with the copper kettle full of water. Calling Susi close, the Bwana asked for his medicine chest and for a candle. He picked out a medicine, which he told Susi to place by his side. It is a potion called calomel.


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  4. It purges the contents of the stomach. Susi went on. It was still beside him when Bwana Daudi dismissed me. I then left, leaving Majwara in the hut. Majwara now took up the tale. Passing inside the hut, they looked toward the bed. Bwana Daudi was not lying on it, but was kneeling next to it, seemingly engaged in prayer. They instinctively drew backward.

    Bwana Daudi had left his bed, and was kneeling beside it, his body stretched forward and his head buried in his hands upon the pillow. He did not stir. I advanced to him and placed my hands on his sunken cheeks. The Bwana felt cold and stiff to the touch. I turned to the others and nodded. I told them what we had all of us felt the instant we entered the hut.

    Bwana Daudi was no more. I left the men around the fire and followed him to an outcrop of rock a small distance away. He sat down. I sat next to him and waited as he wept into his hands. His face, when he lifted it, was a mask of grief. He is no longer a child but is not yet a man; he is the only one of his age among the six children, and is still most content alone with his drum.

    It is a great responsibility for one so young to have in his care the bathing and dressing of a grown man. Look at that, I keep forgetting that Bwana Daudi is no more. Amoda had often suggested to the Bwana that the boy was perhaps too young for the job, but Majwara, overhearing him, had insisted that this was the very job he wanted. We had come upon him the year before. He was part of a cargo of the enslaved who were being herded to the coast.

    Whenever we came across such scenes, they caused the Bwana severe distress. Seeing a chance to make something quickly, they had handed the boy over to Bwana Daudi for five strings of beads, which the Doctor often joked was more than I had cost him, for he had bought me too; not for himself, but for Amoda. The only thing he had refused to do was change his name, even though Bwana Daudi had suggested several other names for him. But Majwara had said he would keep his name. It was in memory of his mother, he said, for she had chosen that name for him above all others.

    Majwara and I sat together in silence. I gave it to him, and he picked out what he needed.

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    But what if it was the wrong one? What if, in the confusion of his illness, he picked the wrong one? And then I fell asleep. I was so weary.

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    I should not have been so weary. What if he called out to me and I did not hear? I had to raise my arm to do so, for though he is many moons younger than me, he towers over me like a sapling above the dug earth. They know the signs that mark them. And the consequences can be explosive. Someone to blame.

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