The chiefs gave the sign for the feast to begin.
The company split up into groups, each round a cook pot. Basil and Joab sat with the chiefs. They ate flat bread and meat, stewed to pulp among peppers and aromatic roots. Each dipped into the pot in rotation, plunging with his hands for the best scraps. A bowl of toddy circulated from lap to lap and great drops of sweat broke out on the brows of the mourners.
Dancing was resumed, faster this time and more clearly oblivious of fatigue. In emulation of the witch doctors, the tribesmen began slashing themselves on chest and arms with their hunting knives; blood and sweat mingled in shining rivulets over their dark skins. Now and then one of them would pitch forward onto his face and lie panting or roll stiff in a nervous seizure. Women joined in the dance, making another chain, circling in the reverse way to the men. They were dazed with drink, stamping themselves into ecstasy. The two chains jostled and combined. They shuffled together interlocked.
Basil drew back a little from the heat of the fire, his senses dazed by the crude spirit and the insist ence of the music. In the shadows, in the extremities of the market place, black figures sprawled and grunted, alone and in couples. Near him an elderly woman stamped and shuffled; suddenly she threw up her arms and fell to the ground in ecstasy. The hand drums throbbed and pulsed; the flames leapt and showered the night with sparks.
The headman of Moshu sat where they had dined, nursing the bowl of toddy. He wore an Azanian white robe, splashed with gravy and spirit. His scalp was closely shaven; he nodded it down to the lip of the bowl and drank. Then he clumsily offered it to Basil. Basil refused; he gaped and offered it again. Then took another draught himself. Then he nod-ded again and drew something from his bosom and put it on his head. “Look,” he said. “Pretty.”
It was a beret of pillar-box red. Through the stupor that was slowly mounting and encompassing his mind Basil recognised it. Prudence had worn it jauntily on the side of her head, running across the Legation lawn with the Panorama of Life under her arm. He shook the old fellow roughly by the shoulder.
“Where did you get that?”
“Pretty.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Pretty hat. It came in the great bird. The white 301 woman wore it. On her head like this.” He giggled weakly and pulled it askew over his glistening pate.
“But the white woman. Where is she?”
But the headman was lapsing into coma. He said “Pretty” again and turned up sightless eyes.
Basil shook him violently. “Speak, you old fool. Where is the white woman?”
The headman grunted and stirred; then a flicker of consciousness revived in him. He raised his head. “The white woman? Why, here,” he patted his dis-tended paunch. “You and I and the big chiefs—we have just eaten her.”
Then he fell forward into a sound sleep.
Round and round circled the dancers, ochre and blood and sweat glistening in the firelight; the wise men’s headgear swayed high above them, leopards’ feet and snake skins, amulets and necklaces, lions’ teeth and the shrivelled bodies of bats and toads, jigging and spinning. Tireless hands drumming out the rhythm; glistening backs heaving and shivering in the shadows.
Later, a little after midnight, it began to rain.
EIGHT
WHEN the telephone bell rang Alastair said: “You answer it. I don’t think I can stand up,” so Sonia crossed to the win-dow where it stood and said: “Yes, who is it?… Basil… well, who’d have thought of that? Where can you be?”
“I’m at Barbara’s. I thought of coming round to see you and Alastair.”
“Darling, do… how did you know where we lived?”
“It was in the telephone book. Is it nice?”
“Lousy. You’ll see when you come. Alastair thought it would be cheaper, but it isn’t really. You’ll never find the door. It’s painted red and it’s next to a pretty shady sort of chemist.”
“I’ll be along.”
Ten minutes later he was there. Sonia opened the door. “We haven’t any servants. We got very poor suddenly. How long have you been back?”
“Landed last night. What’s been happening?”
“Almost nothing. Every one’s got very poor and it makes them duller. It’s more than a year since we saw you. How are things at Barbara’s?”
“Well, Freddy doesn’t know I’m here yet. That’s why I’m dining out. Barbara’s going to tell him gently. I gather my mamma is sore with me about something. How’s Angela?”
“Just the same. She’s the only one who doesn’t seem to have lost money. Margot’s shut up her house and is spending the winter in America. There was a general election and a crisis—something about gold standard.”
“I know. It’s amusing to be back.’
“We’ve missed you. As I say, people have gone serious lately, while you’ve just been loafing about the tropics. Alastair found something about Azania in the papers once. I forget what. Some revolution and a minister’s daughter who disappeared. I sup pose you were in on all that.”
“Yes.”
“Can’t think what you see in revolutions. They said there was going to be one here, only nothing came of it. I suppose you ran the whole country.”
