village.”
“Nonsense,” Cripple said. “You are speaking to me in Tshiluba , which is my own tongue, not yours. You would have no way of knowing my language.”
“ Mamu , how is it that you supposedly came to know my tongue?”
“Well, I had a friend—but I lied.” Cripple’s ears burned with humiliation. “You overheard that conversation? Why did you not say something?”
“ Mamu , it was not my conversation.”
“ Tch , you are most annoying. So tell me then, from whom did you learn to speak like a civilized person?”
“I learned to speak thus from my mother and father, Mamu . But I learned your tongue—this primitive tongue—known as Tshiluba , from my mother’s dear friend, Iron Sliver, who learned it from her mother.”
Cripple’s legs felt exceptionally weak, even more tired than they had the day before after the long trek to and from the village. Without further ado—and really, as befit her rights as the elder of the two—she plopped down on the soft mat. My, but it really was soft. No wonder the whites were unable to perform their own work; they’d been pampered so much by their own inventions that they had lost the ability to do anything labor intensive. Indeed, it was a wonder that their arms could even lift a spoon.
“Is your mother’s friend—this woman, Iron Sliver—is she a slave?”
“ Nasha, Mamu. But she was a slave until she married. She is the chief’s sister; they were both captured as children.”
“ Aiyee! If she is a free woman, why does not she leave?”
The white creature smiled licentiously. “We have a saying, Mamu . Those who take a Mushilele husband will never leave the tribe of their own accord.”
Cripple felt the urge to jump up and strike the child—along with the urge to laugh. Lacking the energy to do the former, she engaged in the latter. After all, the girl was sporting breasts; true, they were not the round, full breasts of a woman, but mabele nonetheless. She would understand soon enough what this loose talk was all about, if she did not already.
“Do your parents also speak my language, strange white one?” she asked.
“Of course they do!”
“ Kah! ”
“Your surprise baffles me, Mamu . Your unpleasant language—which frankly grates on my ears like the noise of so many crickets—is the dominant language of this region of the Congo. Therefore a great many in our village have gone to the trouble of learning it because someday it might become useful for our survival.”
“But yesterday neither you nor your father seemed to understand a word of it! And it does not grate on your ears.”
“Yesterday I obeyed my father; today he is not here, as you can see. By the way, I have a name, and it is not ‘Strange White One.’ ”
Cripple lay back upon the mat. How soft and welcoming it was. How gently it cradled her twisted frame. With this for a bed, she could sleep like a kitten and wake each morning with a smile on her face.
“I suppose you wish to tell me what your name is,” Cripple said.
“My name is Ugly Eyes.”
“ Kah! ” Cripple sat. “That cannot be!”
“ Eyo , it is exactly so, just as your name is Cripple.”
“How did you know thus?” Cripple demanded.
“So you were called yesterday,” Ugly Eyes said.
“ Mesu Mabi is the name of the white woman who brought you here. It is for her that I work—”
“You are her slave?”
“ Aiyee! ” Cripple struggled to her feet. “You are an ignorant child; you have so much to learn. Who will teach you the Bula Matadi ’s ways?”
“My father says that perhaps it is the spirits of my white ancestors who have come to claim me. They will see to it that I learn the Bula Matadi ’s ways. To that end, is it not possible that this woman who shares my name wishes also to be my teacher?”
Cripple shook her head in wonder. “You are indeed a strange person, Ugly Eyes, for you have the look of one who is young, but the tongue of one who has survived for many years.
“Nonsense,” Cripple said. “You are speaking to me in Tshiluba , which is my own tongue, not yours. You would have no way of knowing my language.”
“ Mamu , how is it that you supposedly came to know my tongue?”
“Well, I had a friend—but I lied.” Cripple’s ears burned with humiliation. “You overheard that conversation? Why did you not say something?”
“ Mamu , it was not my conversation.”
“ Tch , you are most annoying. So tell me then, from whom did you learn to speak like a civilized person?”
“I learned to speak thus from my mother and father, Mamu . But I learned your tongue—this primitive tongue—known as Tshiluba , from my mother’s dear friend, Iron Sliver, who learned it from her mother.”
Cripple’s legs felt exceptionally weak, even more tired than they had the day before after the long trek to and from the village. Without further ado—and really, as befit her rights as the elder of the two—she plopped down on the soft mat. My, but it really was soft. No wonder the whites were unable to perform their own work; they’d been pampered so much by their own inventions that they had lost the ability to do anything labor intensive. Indeed, it was a wonder that their arms could even lift a spoon.
“Is your mother’s friend—this woman, Iron Sliver—is she a slave?”
“ Nasha, Mamu. But she was a slave until she married. She is the chief’s sister; they were both captured as children.”
“ Aiyee! If she is a free woman, why does not she leave?”
The white creature smiled licentiously. “We have a saying, Mamu . Those who take a Mushilele husband will never leave the tribe of their own accord.”
Cripple felt the urge to jump up and strike the child—along with the urge to laugh. Lacking the energy to do the former, she engaged in the latter. After all, the girl was sporting breasts; true, they were not the round, full breasts of a woman, but mabele nonetheless. She would understand soon enough what this loose talk was all about, if she did not already.
“Do your parents also speak my language, strange white one?” she asked.
“Of course they do!”
“ Kah! ”
“Your surprise baffles me, Mamu . Your unpleasant language—which frankly grates on my ears like the noise of so many crickets—is the dominant language of this region of the Congo. Therefore a great many in our village have gone to the trouble of learning it because someday it might become useful for our survival.”
“But yesterday neither you nor your father seemed to understand a word of it! And it does not grate on your ears.”
“Yesterday I obeyed my father; today he is not here, as you can see. By the way, I have a name, and it is not ‘Strange White One.’ ”
Cripple lay back upon the mat. How soft and welcoming it was. How gently it cradled her twisted frame. With this for a bed, she could sleep like a kitten and wake each morning with a smile on her face.
“I suppose you wish to tell me what your name is,” Cripple said.
“My name is Ugly Eyes.”
“ Kah! ” Cripple sat. “That cannot be!”
“ Eyo , it is exactly so, just as your name is Cripple.”
“How did you know thus?” Cripple demanded.
“So you were called yesterday,” Ugly Eyes said.
“ Mesu Mabi is the name of the white woman who brought you here. It is for her that I work—”
“You are her slave?”
“ Aiyee! ” Cripple struggled to her feet. “You are an ignorant child; you have so much to learn. Who will teach you the Bula Matadi ’s ways?”
“My father says that perhaps it is the spirits of my white ancestors who have come to claim me. They will see to it that I learn the Bula Matadi ’s ways. To that end, is it not possible that this woman who shares my name wishes also to be my teacher?”
Cripple shook her head in wonder. “You are indeed a strange person, Ugly Eyes, for you have the look of one who is young, but the tongue of one who has survived for many years.
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