Adventure stories; Africa -- Fiction; Hunting guides -- Fiction; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
“Bah! Macumazahn. How could I seem to die and go rotten before your
eyes? You don’t know, do you? Well, I will tell you one thing. I had to
die to pass the doors of space, as you call them. I had to draw all the
healthy strength and life from my body in order to gather power to
speak with the Star. It was a dangerous business, Macumazahn, for if I
had let things go a little further they must have stopped so, and there
would have been an end of Indaba-zimbi. Ah, you white men, you know so
much that you think you know everything. But you don’t! You are always
staring at the clouds and can’t see the things that lie at your feet.
You hardly believe me now, do you, Macumazahn? Well, I will show you.
Have you anything on you that the Star has touched or worn?”
I thought for a moment, and said that I had a lock of her hair in my
pocket-book. He told me to give it him. I did so. Going to the fire, he
lit the lock of hair in the flame, and let it burn to ashes, which he
caught in his left hand. These ashes he mixed up in a paste with the
juice of one of the leaves of the plant I have spoken of.
“Now, Macumazahn, shut your eyes,” he said.
I did so, and he rubbed his paste on to my eyelids. At first it burnt
me, then my head swam strangely. Presently this effect passed off, and
my brain was perfectly clear again, but I could not feel the ground
with my feet. Indaba-zimbi led me to the side of the stream. Beneath us
was a pool of beautifully clear water.
“Look into the pool, Macumazahn,” said Indaba-zimbi, and his voice
sounded hollow and far away in my ears.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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