The Girl Who Married an Eagle Page 7

  They would take only a couple of slaves—a few sturdy children—so that the Belgians wouldn’t be bothered with looking into the problem. If all went well, they would catch a small boy, who could be given to the elderly widow Sees Many Things. Her husband had once been a great warrior. The rest of the slaves would be taken up to Port Francqui and sold to the Arabs who plied the marketplace on the pretense of selling merchandise and looking for guides. It was rumored that the Arabs took the slaves back to their distant homeland and resold them there for more money than any Mushilele could ever comprehend. However, the money that Chief Eagle customarily received from these Arabs was enough to keep his twenty-three wives fed and supply his warriors with all the new machetes that they needed.

  But this night in particular was not about slaves per se; it was about Buakane. Yet how does a wife differ from a slave? Or any woman for that matter? Well, some might say that a wife could complain to her husband, whereas a slave could not complain to his or her master—surely not without receiving a terrible beating. A wife could also be at the receiving end of her husband’s fists, but there were also husbands who had been known to permit their wives a bit of discussion first. And rarely—yes, it had been known to happen more than once—a man was born so wise that he stooped to ask his wife her opinion. But all these thoughts were not normal for one so young as Buakane, so she struggled against them.

  Tonight there was no point in struggling further; Buakane had been sold into the harem of Chief Eagle. Buakane, daughter of Grasshopper Paddle and Bad Odor, was going to disappear from her own thoughts. She was going to do what she was told, without hearing anything else that was said. She was going to feel the things that she was supposed to feel, but never any pain. Buakane, the person, was going to be absent from Buakane, the body. Forever. That was the plan.

  On the afternoon of that auspicious night, Paddle and Buakane’s best friend, Withholds Famine, along with two of Chief Eagle’s wives, accompanied Buakane down to the spring, to cleanse her properly as befits a bride, especially one of such importance. They brought with them a small gourd filled with palm kernel oil. This substance is clear and of considerable value. It is not to be confused with the orange oil used for cooking, which is much more easily obtained.

  The wives of Chief Eagle could not have been more different. Breaks Wind While Walking had once been named Brings Good Luck. She was the chief ’s oldest wife, first in rank, and had a crusty exterior, although it was rumored that she was a wise woman who could listen to reason. Most unfortunately, she suffered from a painful knee condition, one that made walking almost impossible. As a result, she could get about only via a woven hammock carried by four slaves. As the senior wife, she also had a personal slave in attendance.

  The other wife was quite literally, Other Wife. This was a name bestowed upon her by Chief Eagle, for she was second in seniority, and at the time of their marriage, that was indeed her position. After all, Chief Eagle did not have a reputation for being an especially imaginative man, nor was he one who was especially concerned about a woman’s emotions. There were some in the village who concluded that Other Wife’s sour disposition might be the result of her husband’s lack of respect, given that Other Wife had once been a royal princess, the daughter of a Bakuba king.

  First, the three adult women said prayers of blessings to the spirits in the rocks from which the spring emerged, then to the water itself, then the earth, the forest, and the sky, in that order. Next, they beckoned to the girl that she should join them as they stood knee-deep in a pool of water, water that was as clear as the finest diamond. Buakane did as she was bade, but she did so on the arm of Withholds Famine, for she was nervous.

  It was cool under the canopy of trees, and the water was chilly, in and of itself. That was always the case. But on no other day had it ever caused Buakane’s teeth to chatter. Today she shivered violently as well.

  “We must hurry with the ceremony,” Paddle said.

  “No,” Breaks Wind While Walking snapped. “If you wish to have your daughter marry a Bashilele chief, then you must see that she completes the entire ritual. Otherwise she will end up as just a concubine—a whore. Is that your wish, Grasshopper Paddle?”

  Breaks Wind While Walking had only recently acquired her current name. Chief Eagle, who had never been a patient man, gave this most disgraceful name to her one day in a fit of rage. He was holding a feast for a visiting chief when his number one wife blew wind with the sound of a bleating ram. Whether or not she would have to live out her life with this disgraceful new name, only Chief Eagle knew. But there was one thing that Breaks Wind While Walking could count on: she would forever be the preeminent woman in the village. She had borne Chief Eagle many sons, and they in turn had fathered many sons; this legacy was there for all to see and admire.

  “Then we will hurry,” Buakane’s friend, Withholds Famine, said.

  Together Buakane’s mother and her two future sisters-in-law dipped their gourds into the cold water, and together they bathed and purified every part of the girl—this girl who was already pure in spirit and who was without physical blemish of any kind. When it came time to wash her feet, they took handfuls of sand from the bed of the pool and rubbed it against the soles of Buakane’s feet to remove the dead, dry skin. The result was that even her heels were as soft and smooth as the powder to be found on moth wings.

  While they were all yet standing in the water, before Buakane’s skin had a chance to dry completely, the two adult women poured small amounts of palm oil on their hands and took to massaging every square centimeter of the betrothed. They took the most trouble with her face, and the swellings that would someday be full breasts, polishing them gently until they glistened. As they worked they spoke of the things that a wife must know about the sexual act, such as the husband will always approach from behind.

  “Yala,” Buakane said, “do you think that I do not know this thing? Have I no eyes?”

  The women howled with laughter.

  Even the eldest, Breaks Wind While Walking, joined in the ribaldry. “I have it on good authority that the white men prefer to do it from the front.”

  “Aiyee,” cried Other Wife.

  “Perverts,” Grasshopper Paddle muttered. She too had heard such a rumor and would have been keen to try it, but of course a proper wife would never make such an immodest proposal. Only a prostitute would dare suggest such a thing—and even then at the risk of receiving a much-deserved cuffing.

  “But there is one thing that you really must be told, little one,” said Breaks Wind While Walking.

  “What is that?” Buakane asked respectfully.

  “You must never, ever, turn down our husband’s requests—whatever they may be.”

  “Never, ever,” the other women chorused. Only Withholds Famine remained silent, for she was Buakane’s friend, and like her, she was innocent.

  Breaks Wind While Walking pointed a finger at Buakane. “If you tell anyone the words that I am about to tell you, I will send my personal slave into your hut at night and he will slit your throat. Do you understand?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Good. I will tell you these things only because your mother and I are from the same highborn clan, and we were like sisters growing up, were we not, Paddle?”

  “We were like goat turds to a crawling baby. Impossible to keep apart.”

  “E, and ever I was the baby. So I will come right out and say this: there are times when our husband behaves as a man possessed. These times are impossible to predict. He can change from the man who loves his family above all things, to the man who feels nothing but the most intense rage and the deepest despair. During these periods of darkness, he will lash out at the closest person—be it a slave, or a beloved wife, or even a child.”

  “I understand,” Buakane said, feeling that indeed she had a new understanding of the human side of this handsome man who had such a huge burden placed upon his shoulders. He was, after all, responsible for the lives
of almost a thousand people. His was one of the largest Bashilele villages.

  “Tch. I am afraid that you do not. If you did, you could not have answered so quickly. Whatever it is that overcomes Chief Eagle in these dark moments, it is like nothing else I have ever seen.”

  “Perhaps it is witchcraft,” Withholds Famine said. Perhaps she said it as an aside, meant just for her friend, but of course everyone heard it—even the slaves waiting on the bank.

  “Silly little girl,” said Other Wife. “Do you really think that someone as experienced in the ways of the world as Breaks Wind While Walking does not recognize the signs of witchcraft in her own family?”

  Buakane, who had ceased shivering from the cold, now shivered with apprehension. “Mother,” she said, “how can it be that you and Father would wed me to someone who is so troubled?”

  “Aiyee! Buakane,” her mother said sharply, “do not be so impertinent. Do you not remember the number of goats that were given to your father and me in exchange?”

  “How many?” said Other Wife.

  “There was much haggling,” Paddle said. “But in the end we settled on twenty goats, a basenji bitch, ten chickens, and six pairs of breeding pigeons. But eighteen of those goats must be killed for the feast tonight.”

  “Tch,” said Other Wife. “This skinny child is not worth the two remaining goats. Plus, you still have ten chickens and a bitch.”

  Breaks Wind While Walking snorted. “You say that because her bride-price exceeds yours.” She turned to Buakane. “And pigeons,” she said. “Now, do as you are told and produce many sons. Then one day, if you are very lucky, our husband will give you your own personal slave. Remember to ask for a eunuch, in case the village moves yet again, and you must take apart your hut and carry it with you.”

  Withholds Famine nodded. “You see, Buakane, there will be many advantages to being a chief ’s wife: having your own hut, the assurance of food, and the possibility of owning a slave one day.”

  “All true,” said Other Wife, “but you forgot to mention one very important privilege, which will be given to Buakane once she has consummated the marriage.”

  “What is that?” Withholds Famine said.

  Other Wife hooted and slapped her thigh. “It will then be her privilege to be buried alive with our husband, the great Chief Eagle of Mushihi Village, the largest village between here and Basongo. And perhaps if you treat him well, your eunuch will do the honor of breaking your arms and legs before you are tossed into the grave.”

  “Where will she be tossed?” Withholds Famine said. “On top of you?”

  At this point, Breaks Wind While Walking and Paddle were the ones who hooted and slapped their thighs. But even the five slaves present, eunuchs all, who were waiting wordlessly on the bank, were shaking with mirth. As for Other Wife, she too was shaking, but with anger at the young girl’s impudence. And of course Withholds Famine did not laugh, for she had not meant her words to be taken in jest. Never had Buakane had a more loyal friend.

  To Buakane, it seemed as if all the world came to a stop at that moment. The birdsong in the trees above stilled. The spring ceased to flow. Her heart stopped beating. This custom of burying a woman alive was but part of the whole experience of being a chief ’s wife. It was one thread in a cloth that she had yet to examine, filament by filament. Chief Eagle was an old man, despite what her father said. What if he died in just a few years? What if he was bitten by a mamba tomorrow? Buakane was not prepared to die; she was not prepared to suffocate, her lungs filling with dirt while her limbs screamed out in agony.

  “Baba, Baba, Baba!” she cried. Mother, Mother, Mother! Buakane’s knees buckled, and she sank into the clear, cold waters of the pool like a woman already dead. Immediately she popped back to her feet, unable to bear the temperature.

  Only Paddle reached to warm her distraught daughter with her arms. Breaks Wind While Walking, Other Wife, and the slaves were laughing hysterically. Even Withholds Famine could not control herself. However, neither Buakane nor her mother, Paddle, took offense at their behavior, for that was the way of the Bashilele people.

  Life was often very short and always filled with danger. Therefore it behooved one always to laugh whenever one could. Bad Odor, who’d been to the mission station, said that this behavior baffled the Christian missionaries, who were always quick to judge.

  “Do not worry yourself so, little one,” said Breaks Wind While Walking when she could breathe normally again. “When that time comes, the witch doctor will give you a potion first, to dull the senses.”

  Other Wife wagged a finger to punctuate her next words. “True. But only if you have taken care to stay on his good side.”

  “Kah,” said Buakane, “what does that mean?”

  “We adults have a proverb,” Other Wife said, “that you would do well to live by, now that you are a woman.”

  “What is that?” said Paddle angrily. “Buakane is still my daughter; I am the one to instruct her.”

  “Just until tonight,” said Other Wife. “Then she will be my sister wife, and she will be nothing to you.”

  “Aiyee,” cried Paddle. “If you were not the chief ’s wife, I would strike you.”

  As fast as antelopes the five slaves on the bank leaped into the water. It was Breaks Wind While Walking’s raised hand that restrained them.

  “Go back,” she told them. She turned to Buakane. “The proverb goes thusly: gifts are the rolling logs that move large stones.”

  “I still do not understand,” Buakane said.

  “Bribes,” Other Wife shouted, so loud that a troop of monkeys approaching overhead fled screeching. “To get where you want to go in this world, you must pay, pay, and pay some more.”

  Withholds Famine pointed to the slaves. “What about them?” she said. “Did they not pay enough matabisha?”

  “Impertinent child,” said Other Wife.

  “Yala,” said Breaks Wind While Walking. “See how deep the shadows have grown. We must hurry back to the village and get ready for the dance.”

  “Dance?” said Buakane. “What dance?”

  “Not you, little one,” said Other Wife irritably. “You are not a proper chief’s wife yet. Not until you have felt the thrust of his lubola.” She laughed, but none would join in. Perhaps that was because no one liked her, and because her comment was meant to hurt someone young and defenseless.

  “Tonight,” said Breaks Wind While Walking, “all the wives will perform a special dance to welcome you into the family. Then you will present us each with a small gift in thanks.”

  “A gift?” Buakane turned to her mother. “Why have I not been told of this gift giving?

  Paddle smiled. “It has all been taken care of.”

  “Thank you, Baba.”

  “Thank you, Mother,” said Other Wife in a mocking voice. “How nice it must be to have a mother.”

  “Did you not have a mother?” Buakane asked tenderly.

  “Of course, child; everyone does. My mother was a queen. Queen of the Bakuba. Then these Bashilele kidnapped me, and I was forced to wed the man whose lubola you will share tonight.”

  “Kah,” Paddle cried, “for my daughter has yet to have her first bleeding.”

  “Nor had I,” said Other Wife, her eyes flashing in the gathering dusk. “But I guarantee you that there will be bleeding tonight; of that I am sure.”

  “Do not listen to her,” Withholds Famine said. “She is a wicked woman.”

  Other Wife drew her arm well back above her right shoulder and gave the girl such a wallop that she staggered backward, about the length of a man, before sitting down in the pool.

  “You little fool,” Other Wife said. “I am a princess, and the wife of a powerful chief. One does not speak to me like this and get away with it.”

  Withholds Famine was agile and on her feet at once. “If you were captured by a Bashilele raiding party, that means that you are no longer a princess, but a slave.”

  One could on
ly imagine the laughter this comment provoked. The eunuchs in particular could scarcely contain themselves, and in fact one could not, and he held his belly as he rolled, to and fro, on the spit of sand that bordered the stream. Before passing judgment one should take into account that Other Wife did not have a reputation of being kind to people whose status she perceived as being lower than hers, which included a great many people.

  Having been bested by a commoner, and a mere child at that, Other Wife scurried back to the village ahead of everyone and was not seen again until after the women’s feast (which followed the men’s feast, as was proper). By then Buakane felt as if she had baby frogs jumping about in her stomach. She kept her eyes fixed on no one except for Chief Eagle and her parents, for they were seated with her, on a small platform that had been erected under the men’s Tree of Life.

  While the chief sat on a leopard skin, as befitting his rank, Buakane and her parents sat on woven palm leaf mats.

  Chief Eagle was dressed in his full regalia. It was of his own simple design, but yet befitting a Bashilele chief of such a large village. His hat, although made of palm fiber cloth, was covered in the scarlet tail feathers of the talking parrot and trimmed with a band of cowrie shells. Secured to the right side and extending above the hat about eight inches were three bright purple feathers taken from a plantain eater.

  The chief wore no shirt, but across his still well-muscled chest was slung a monkey-skin scabbard containing a short sword with a hand-smelted copper blade. The sword’s hilt was wood, but in it were embedded hundreds of slivers of iron, in intricate patterns that included a swastika.

  He did not wear pants; instead he wore a sort of skirt made from tightly woven palm fibers that had been gathered into pleats. The edge of the cloth had purposely been left unfinished so that it ended in a fringe. The cloth was held in place by a thong of bongo leather. Because the bongo is a very rare antelope of the deep forest and seldom encountered by the Bashilele, the chief wore a pouch of its cinnamon-and-white hide over his left hip. Strung on the leather thong, and worn over the right hip, were six dried human ears, representing the number of enemies the chief had taken in battle, including his manhood outing. One of the ears was noticeably paler than the others.