“No, please, brother. You can cure me here and I will be available for all emergencies and I can be your eyes and your ears and your right hand in battle.”
God help us all, I thought, but he is having these ideas with no liquor in him and no bang and none of the stuff and with a septic sore throat and possibly quinsy. It is pretty good morale even if it is just from the mouth.
I was making a half tumbler of half and half Rose’s Lime Juice and whisky that would ease the throat and afterwards I would give him the penicillin and the lozenges and drive him home myself.
The mixture made his throat feel better and with the liquor his morale blossomed.
“Brother, I am a Masai. I have no fear of death. I despise death. I was ruined by the Bwanas and by a Somali woman. She took everything; my property, my children and my honor.”
“You told me.”
“Yes, but now since you bought me the spear I am starting again in life. You have sent for the medicine that brings youth?”
“It is coming. But it can only bring back youth if youth is there.”
“It is there. I promise, brother. I feel it flooding into me now.”
“That’s the stuff.”
“Perhaps. But I can feel youth too.”
“I’ll give you the medicine now and then I’ll drive you home.”
“No. Please, brother. I came with the Widow and she must go home with me. It is too early for her to go yet. I lost her for three days at the last Ngoma. I will wait and go with her when the truck leaves.”
“You ought to be in bed.”
“It is better that I wait for the Widow. Brother, you do not know the danger that an Ngoma is for a woman.”
I had a sort of an idea of this danger and I did not want the Informer to talk with his throat so bad but he asked, “Could I have just one last drink before the medicine?”
“All right. I think it’s OK, medically.”
This time I put sugar with the Rose’s Lime Juice and made a good big drink. If he was going to wait for the Widow it might be a long time and soon the sun would go down and it would be cold.
“We will do great deeds together, brother,” the Informer said.
“I don’t know. Don’t you think we ought to do a few great deeds separately to sharpen up?”
“Name a great deed and I will do it.”
“I’ll think up a great deed as soon as your throat is well. I have many small deeds I must do myself now.”
“Can I help in a small deed, brother?”
“Not in these. These I must do alone.”
“Brother, if we do great deeds together will you take me to Mecca with you?”
“I may not be going to Mecca this year.”
“But next year?”
“If it be the wish of Allah.”
“Brother, do you remember Bwana Blixen?”
“Too well.”
“Brother, many say it is not true that Bwana Blix is dead. They say that he has disappeared until the death of his creditors and that then he will come again to earth like the Baby Jesus. In the theory of the Baby Jesus. Not that he will appear as the actual Baby Jesus. Can there be truth in this?”
“I think there can be no truth in this. The Bwana Blix is truly dead. Friends of mine have seen him dead in the snow with his head broken.”
“Too many great men are dead. Few of us remain. Tell me, brother, of your faith that I have heard spoken of. Who is this great Lord who heads your faith?”
“We call him Gitchi Manitou the Mighty. That is not his true name.”
“I see. Has he too been to Mecca?”
“He goes to Mecca as you or I might go to the bazaar or enter a duka.”
“Do you represent him directly as I have heard?”
“In so far as I am worthy.”
“But you hold his authority?”
“It is not for you to ask that.”
“Pardon me, brother, in my ignorance. But does he speak through you?”
“He speaks through me if he chooses.”
“Can men who are not…”
“Do not ask.”
“Can…”
“I will administer the penicillin and you can go,” I said. “It is not fitting to speak of religion in a mess tent.”
The Informer did not have the confidence in the oral penicillin that I hoped for from a potential doer of great deeds but it may have been disappointment at not being able to show his bravery under the big needle. He liked the pleasant taste though and took two tablespoonsful with enjoyment. I joined him in a couple of tablespoons just in case he might be poisoned and also because one never knew what might happen at an Ngoma.
“It tastes so good that do you think it can be powerful, brother?”
“The Great Manitou uses it himself,” I said.
“Allah’s will be done,” the Informer said. “When do I take the rest of the flask?”
“In the morning when you wake up. If you are awake in the night suck on these tablets.”
“Already I am better, brother.”
“Go now and look after the Widow.”
“I go.”