A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,53
respectful way to address him is as Mzee.”
I bowed my head to the small, leathery man. “Shikamoo, Mzee.”
He raised his hand in a gesture very similar to one a priest might make. “Marahaba.”
“He thanks you for your respectful greetings,” Gideon told me.
The grandfather invited us in and Gideon led the way into the hut. The first thing I noticed was the stench. It was like walking into the deepest corner of a barn that hadn’t been cleaned in a century. There were mixed odours of mud and dung and smoke from the cooking fire, which had only a small hole in the ceiling for ventilation. A woman moved around with a battered pot and after a moment we were served calabashes full of bitter, milky tea that smelled and tasted of woodsmoke. I was only relieved it wasn’t more blood and milk, and I took it gratefully as we seated ourselves around the fire.
Gideon and Ryder chatted with the grandfather while I looked the place over. A Spartan might have found it bare. There was a cowhide pallet in a corner and a small shelf for cooking utensils. And that was it. Just a few square yards of beaten earth, walls of mud and dung, and a roof of woven grasses. But Gideon’s babu seemed content, and as the conversation wore on, Gideon informed me that his babu was a comfortably wealthy man for a Masai. He had many cattle, fine cattle, and he was proud of them. Ryder explained to him that I had just bought cattle myself and the babu responded with a burst of chatter.
“He wants to know if you have experience with cows.” Gideon was suppressing a smile, and I figured the old fellow was testing me. The Masai might not make a practice of selling cows, but Gideon had explained that they believed every cow on earth was theirs by divine right.
I fixed the babu with a firm but respectful gaze. “I am experienced, Mzee. My own babu is also a man who owns many cows.”
“He wants to know how many,” Ryder related.
I told him the number and the old man dropped his head into his hands, shaking it and moaning a little.
Gideon laughed. “He says that is a very great number, a greater number than any Masai owns. He says your babu must be a man of extraordinary good fortune. And this good fortune must have fallen to you as well. He is happy that the cows will be entrusted to you and he says that my young brother has his permission to come and tend your cows for you.”
“Your brother? Is he here now? Can I meet him?”
“Moses is at the mission school today,” Gideon said proudly. “He is very smart and he is good at his lessons. But I will bring him to you soon and you will have a good boy to mind your cows.”
We chatted longer, drinking our foul tea and communicating through sign language and Gideon. It was the nicest tea party I had had in an age, and I sighed a little as I dusted myself off when we rose to leave.
Gideon’s babu stopped at the doorway and shook his head as he looked at me.
“What?” I turned to Ryder.
“He says there is a spirit that follows you—a sad man with eyes that are grey, like the sky during the long rains. Do you know such a person?”
I could not speak so I merely shook my head.
The babu spoke again, more insistently.
Gideon interpreted. “He says it is so. The man with the grey eyes wears a uniform, like a soldier or policeman, and he watches you, Bibi. My babu has powerful magic. He can banish the spirit if you wish.”
“Don’t bother,” I said bitterly. “He can’t hurt me anymore.”
Ryder and Gideon walked me back to Fairlight. This time Ryder walked ahead, his shoulders set and his jaw hard. Something was needling him, but I couldn’t imagine what. I left him to his thoughts and chatted with Gideon. He told me about his plans to marry when he was no longer a warrior.
“It is our way, Bibi. A warrior, a moran, has work to do. He works hard for many years, from the time of his circumcision when he becomes a man and puts away his childish ways. Only when his work is finished and he becomes an elder is he permitted to take a wife and have children.”