It was not a nice way to talk especially to anyone with Virgil on their mind but lunch came then and lunch was always an armistice in any misunderstandings and the partakers of it and its excellence were as safe as malefactors once were said to be in churches with the law after them although I had never had much faith in that sanctuary. So we cleaned it up and rubbed it all off the slate and Miss Mary went to take a nap after lunch and I went to the Ngoma.
It was very much like other Ngomas except extraordinarily pleasant and nice and the Game Scouts had made a huge effort. They were dancing in shorts and they all had four ostrich plumes on their heads, at least at the beginning. Two of the plumes were white and two dyed pink and they kept them on with all sorts of devices from leather straps and thongs to binding them or wiring them into the hair. They wore bell anklets to dance with and they danced well and with beautiful contained discipline. There were three drums and some drumming on tins and empty petrol drums. There were four classic dances and three or four that were improvised. The young women and the young girls and the children did not get to dance until the later dances. They all danced but they did not enter into the figures and dance in the double line until late in the afternoon. You could see from the way the children and the young girls danced that they were used to much rougher Ngomas at the Shamba.
Miss Mary and G.C. came out and took color pictures and Miss Mary was congratulated by everyone and shook hands with everybody. The Game Scouts did feats of agility. One was to start to turn a cartwheel over a coin that was half buried in the earth edge up and then stop the cartwheel when the feet were straight up in the air and to lower the head to the ground, sinking down on the arms, get the coin in the teeth and then come up and spin over to the feet in a single roll. It was very difficult and Denge, who was the strongest of the Game Scouts and the most agile, the kindest and the gentlest, did it beautifully.
Most of the time I sat in the shade and filled in on one of the basic beat empty petrol drums working the end with the base of the hand and watched the dancing. The Informer came over and squatted down by me wearing his imitation paisley shawl and his porkpie hat.
“Why are you sad, brother?” he asked.
“I am not sad.”
“Everyone knows you are sad. You must be cheerful. Look at your fiancée. She is the Queen of the Ngoma.”
“Don’t put your hand on my drum. You deaden it.”
“You are drumming very well, brother.”
“The hell I am. I can’t drum at all. I’m just not doing any harm. What are you sad about?”
“The Bwana Game has spoken to me very roughly and he sends me away. After all our magnificent work he says I do nothing here and he sends me to a place where I may easily be killed.”
“You may be killed anywhere.”
“Yes. But here I am useful to you and I die happy.”
The dance was getting wilder now. I liked to see Debba dance and I didn’t. It was as simple as that and, I thought, it must have happened to all followers of this type of ballet. I knew she was showing off to me because she danced down at the end by the petrol drum bongo.
“She is a very beautiful young girl,” the Informer said. “And the Queen of the Ngoma.”
I went on playing until the end of the dance and then got up and found Nguili, who had his green robe on, and asked him to see the girls had Coca-Cola.
“Come on to the tent,” I said to the Informer. “You are sick aren’t you?”
“Brother, I have a fever truly. You can take the temperature and see.”
“I’ll get you some Atabrine.”
Mary was still taking pictures and the girls were standing stiff and straight with their breasts standing out against the scarves that looked like tablecloths. Mthuka was grouping some of the girls together and I knew he was trying to get a good picture of Debba. I watched them and saw how shy and downcast Debba’s eyes were standing before Miss Mary and how straight she stood. She had none of the impudence she had with me and she stood at attention like a soldier.
The Informer had a tongue as white as though it were sprouting chalk and when I depressed his tongue with a spoon handle I could see he had a bad yellow patch and a yellow and whitish patch in the back of his throat. I put the thermometer under his tongue and he had a temperature of a hundred and one and three tenths.
“You’re sick, Informer Old Timer,” I said. “I’ll give you some penicillin and some penicillin lozenges and send you home in the hunting car.”
“I said I was sick, brother. But nobody cares. Can I have one drink, brother?”
“It’s never hurt me with penicillin. It might do your throat good.”
“I am sure it would, brother. Do you think Bwana Game will let me stay here and serve under you now that you can certify that I am sick?”
“You won’t be any ball of fire while you’re sick. Maybe I ought to send you in to the hospital in Kajiado.”