Pirri had never been as angry as he was now. He was too angry even to lash out at the trees around him, too angry to shout aloud. His throat was tight and closed, and his hands shook. Chetti Singh was the one who had brought the curse of the Molimo down upon him. Chetti Singh had killed his soul.
Now he forgot about the armed wazungu in the forest. He even forgot about the tobacco hunger, as he waited for Chetti Singh to come.
The mud-streaked Landrover butted its way into the clearing, pushing down the thick secondary growth of vegetation- ahead of it. It stopped and the door opened and Chetti Singh stepped down. He looked around him at the forest and wiped his, face with a white cloth. He had put on much weight recently. He was plumper now than he had been before he had lost the arm. His shirt was stained dark with sweat between his shoulder-blades where he had sat against the leather seat.
He mopped his face and adjusted his turban before he shouted into the forest, Pirri! Come out. Pirri sniggered with laughter and whispered aloud, mimicking the Sikh. Pirri! Come out! And then his voice was bitter Sechow he oozes grease like a joint of pork on the coals.
Pirri, come out!
Chetti Singh strutted around the clearing impatiently. After a while he opened his fly and urinated, then he zipped his trousers and looked at his wristwatch. Pirri, are you there? Pirri did not answer him, and Chetti Singh said something angrily in a language that Pirri did not understand, but he knew that it was an insult. I am going now, Chetti Singh shouted, and marched back to the Landrover. O master, Pirri called to him. I see you! Do not go! Chetti Singh spun around to face the forest. Where are you?
he shouted.
I am here, o master. I have something for you that will make you very happy. Something of great value. What is it? Chetti Singh asked. Where are you? Here I am. Pirri stepped out of the shadows with the bow slung over his shoulder. What stupidity is this? Chetti Singh demanded. Why do you hide from me? I am your slave. Pirri grinned ingratiatingly. And I have a gift for you. What is it?
Elephant teeth? Chetti Singh asked, and there was greed in his voice.
Better than that. Something of greater value.
Show me, Chetti Singh demanded. Will you give me tobacco? I will give you as, much tobacco as the gift is worth. I will show you, Pirri agreed. Follow me, o master. Where is it? How far is it? Only a short distance, only that far. Pirri indicated a small arc of the sky with two fingers, less than an hour's travel.
Chetti Singh looked dubious. it is a thing of great beauty and value, Pirri wheedled. You will be very pleased. All right, the Sikh agreed.
Lead me to this treasure. Pirri went slowly, allowing Chetti Singh to keep close behind him. He went in a wide circle through the densest part of the forest, crossing the same stream twice. There was no sun in the forest; a man steered by the fall of the land and the run of the rivers.
Pirri showed Chetti Singh the same river twice from different directions. By now, the Sikh was totally lost, blundering blindly after the little-pygmy with no sense of distance or direction.
After the second hour Chetti Singh was sweating very heavily and his voice was rough. How much further is it? he asked.
Very close, Pirri assured him. I will rest for a while, Chetti Singh said and sat down on a log. When he looked up again, Pirri had vanished.
Chetti Singh was not alarmed. He was accustomed to the elusive comings and goings of the Bambuti. Come back here! he ordered, but there was no reply. Chetti Singh sat alone for a long time. Once or twice he called out to the pygmy. Each time his voice was shriller.
The panic was building up in him.
After another hour he was pleading. Please, Pirri, I will give you.
anything you ask. Please show yourself. Pirri laughed. His laughter floated through the trees and Chetti Singh sprang to his feet and plunged off the faint track. He stumbled towards where he thought he had heard the laughter. Pirri! he begged. Please come to me. But the laughter came from a new direction. Chetti Singh ran towards it.
After a while he stopped, and looked about him wildly. He was streaming sweat and panting. Laughter, mocking and faint, trembled in the humid air. Chetti Singh turned around and staggered after it. it was like chasing a butterfly or a puff of smoke. The sound flitted and flirted through the trees, first from one direction, then the other.
Chetti Singh was weeping now. His turban had come loose and hooked on a branch and he did not stop to retrieve it. His hair and beard tumbled down, streaming down his chest and flying out behind him. His hair was soaked with sweat.
He fell and dragged himself up and ran on, his clothing stained with mud and leaf mould. He screamed his terror to the trees, and the laughter became fainter and fainter, until at last he heard it no more.
Chetti Singh fell on his knees and held up his hand in supplication.
Please, he whispered, with tears streaming down his face. Please don't leave me alone here.
And the forest was silent with dark menace.
Pirri followed him for two days, watching him stagger haphazardly, ranting and pleading, through the forest, watching him grow weaker and more desperate, stumbling over dead branches, falling into streams, crawling on his belly, shaking with terror and loneliness. His clothing was ripped off him by branch and thorn. Only a few rags still hung on his body. His skin was scratched and lacerated, and the flies and the stinging insects buzzed around the wounds. His beard and long hair were tangled and matted, and his eyes were wild and mad.
On the second day, Pirri stepped out of the forest ahead of him and Chetti Singh screamed like a woman with the shock and tried to drag himself to his feet again. Don't leave me alone again, he screamed.
Please, anything you ask, but not again. Like you, I am alone, Pirri said with hatred in his heart. I am dead. The Molimo has killed me.
You are talking to a dead man, to a ghost. You cannot ask mercy from the ghost of a man you murdered. Deliberately Pirri fitted an arrow to his little bow. The poison was black and sticky on the point.
Chetti Singh gaped stupidly. What are you doing? he blurted. He knew about the poison, he had seen animals die from Bambuti arrows.
Pirri lifted his bow and drew the arrow to his chin. No! Chetti Singh, held up his hand to ward off the arrow just as Pirri released it.
