Forest of the Pygmies (19 page)

They were in the heart of the spirit forest, surrounded by thousands and thousands of plant and animal souls. Alexander's and Nadia's minds expanded still further, and they perceived the connections among creatures, a universe interlaced with currents of energy, an exquisite network as fine as silk and as strong as steel. They perceived that nothing exists in isolation; everything that happens, from a thought to a hurricane, is cosmic in effect. They sensed the palpitating, living earth, a great organism generating flora and fauna, mountains, rivers, the wind of the plains, the lava of volcanoes, the eternal snows of the highest mountains. That mother planet, they intuited, is a part of other, greater organisms, and is joined to the myriad of stars in the unbounded firmament.

Alexander and Nadia saw the inevitable cycles of life, death, transformation and rebirth as a marvelous design in which all things occur simultaneously, without past, present or future:
now
, forever been and forever being.

And finally, in the last phase of their fantastic odyssey, they understood that the hosts of earthly souls, along with all things in the universe, are particles of a single spirit, like drops of water in an ocean. One spiritual essence animates all existence. There is no separation among beings, no frontier between life and death.

At no moment during that incredible journey were Nadia and Alexander afraid. At first it seemed to them that they were floating in the nebula of a dream, and they felt a profound calm. As their spiritual pilgrimage expanded their senses and imagination, tranquility gave way to euphoria, uncontainable joy, a sensation of tremendous energy and force.

The moon continued its course across the firmament and disappeared among the treetops. For a few minutes, the luminescence of the ghosts lingered as the buzzing sound and the cold gradually diminished. The two friends awakened from their trance and were once again sitting among the tombs, with Borobá clinging to Nadia's waist. For a while neither spoke, or even moved, prolonging the enchantment. Finally they looked at each other, dazed, doubting what they had lived through, but then before them emerged the figure of Queen Nana-Asante, who confirmed that it had not been a hallucination.

The queen was illuminated from within, resplendent. Nadia and Alexander saw her as she was and not in the guise in which she had at first appeared: a miserable old woman, pure bones and rags. In truth she was formidable, an Amazon, an ancient goddess of the forest. Nana-Asante had grown wise during those years of meditation and solitude among the dead. She had cleansed her heart of hatred and greed; she wanted nothing, she feared nothing . . . nothing disturbed her tranquility. She was brave because she did not cling to life; she was strong because she was motivated by compassion; she was just because she intuited truth; she was invincible because she was supported by a legion of spirits.

“There is great suffering in Ngoubé. During your reign there was peace. The Bantus and the
Pygmies remember those times. Come with us, Nana-Asante. Help us,” Nadia pleaded.

The queen replied without hesitation, “Let us go.” It was as if she had been preparing for this moment for years.

D
URING THE TWO DAYS
N
ADIA
and Alexander spent in the forest, a series of dramatic events was developing in the village of Ngoubé. Kate, Angie, Brother Fernando, and Joel had not seen Kosongo again and had had to deal with Mbembelé, who by anyone's judgment was much more to be feared than the king. When he learned of the disappearance of two of his prisoners, the commandant had focused more on punishing his guards for having let them get away than on the fate of the missing young people. He made no effort to find them, and when Kate asked for help in searching for them, he refused.

“They're dead by now; I'm not going to waste time on them. No one survives at night in the jungle—except the Pygmies, who aren't human,” Mbembelé told her.

“Then send some of the Pygmies with me to look for them,” Kate demanded.

It was Mbembelé's custom not to respond to questions, much less requests, with the result that no one dared pose them. The brazen attitude of this foreign woman amazed more than angered him; he couldn't believe he was witnessing such insolence. He stood there without speaking, observing her from behind his sinister mirrored glasses, as sweat ran down his shaved head and the naked arms marked by ritual scars. They were in his “office,” where he had had his guards bring the writer.

Mbembelé's office was in the jail, furnished with a pair of chairs and a rickety metal desk in one corner. Horrified, Kate took note of the torture instruments and dark bloodlike stains on the whitewashed clay walls. There was no question that the commandant's purpose in having her brought there was to intimidate her, and he had succeeded, but Kate was determined not to show weakness. She had nothing but an American passport and her journalist's credentials to protect her, but they would be worthless if Mbembelé perceived how frightened she was.

It seemed to her that Mbembelé, unlike King Kosongo, had not swallowed the story that they had come to Ngoubé to interview the king. He undoubtedly suspected that the real cause of their presence there was to discover the fate of the disappeared missionaries. Now they were in Mbembelé's power, but he would have to calculate the risks before he unleashed his cruelty. He couldn't mistreat foreigners, Kate reasoned with excessive optimism. It was one thing to abuse the poor devils he held in his fist in Ngoubé, but something very different to harass white Americans. He did not want to invite an investigation by authorities. The commandant would have to get rid of them as quickly as possible; if they learned too much, he would be left no alternative but to kill them. He knew that they wouldn't leave without Nadia and Alexander, and that complicated things. Kate concluded that they would have to proceed very cautiously, because the commandant's best card would be for his guests to suffer a well-planned accident. It never occurred to Kate that at least one of them was looked upon favorably in Ngoubé.

After a long pause, Mbembelé asked, “What is the name of that other woman in your group?”

“Angie. Angie Ninderera. She flew us here in her plane, but—”

“His Majesty, King Kosongo, is willing to accept her as one of his wives.”

Kate felt her knees buckle. Yesterday's joke was now a disagreeable—perhaps dangerous—reality. What would Angie say about having caught Kosongo's eye? Nadia and Alexander should be showing up soon, according to her grandson's note. On their previous trips, too, she had gone through some desperate moments because of those kids, and both times they had come back safe and sound. She had to trust them. The first thing would be to get the whole group back together; then they would figure out some way to get back to civilization. It occurred to her that the king's sudden interest in Angie could at least help win a little time.

“Do you want me to pass on the king's petition to Angie?” Kate asked when she recovered her voice.

“It isn't a petition; it's an order. Talk with her. I will see her during the tournament. That will be tomorrow. In the meantime, you have permission to move about the village, but I forbid you to go near the royal compound, the Pygmies' corrals, or the well.”

The commandant waved a hand, and immediately the soldier at the door seized Kate by the arm and
dragged her away. For a moment she was blinded by the light of day.

Kate rejoined her friends and transmitted the declaration of love to Angie, who took it rather badly, as Kate had expected.

“I would never be one of that flock of Kosongo's women!” she exclaimed, furious.

“Of course you wouldn't, Angie, but you could be nice to him a couple of days and—”

“Not one minute!” Angie sighed. “Of course if it was the commandant, instead of Kosongo—”

“Mbembelé is a beast!” Kate interrupted.

“That's a joke, Kate. I don't intend to be nice to Kosongo, or Mbembelé, or anyone else. I intend to get out of this hole as soon as possible, claim my plane, and get to a place where these criminals can't catch up with me.”

“If you distract the king, as Ms. Cold suggests, we can gain some time,” Brother Fernando declared.

“How do you suggest I do that? Look at me! My clothes are wet and filthy, I've lost my lipstick, and my hair's a disaster. I look like a porcupine,” Angie replied, pointing to dirt-stiffened hair that stuck out in all directions.

“The people in the village are afraid,” the missionary interrupted, changing the subject. “No one wants to answer my questions, but I've tied up a few loose ends. I know that my companions were here, and that they disappeared several months ago. They can't have gone anywhere. The most likely answer is that they've become martyrs.”

“Does that mean they were killed?” Kate asked.

“Yes. I think they gave their lives for Christ. I pray that at least they didn't suffer long.”

“I'm truly sorry, Brother Fernando,” Angie said, suddenly serious. “Forgive all my joking and bad humor. You can count on me; I'll do what I can to help you. I'll dance the dance of the seven veils to distract Kosongo, if you want.”

“I won't ask that of you, Miss Ninderera,” the missionary replied sadly.

“Call me Angie,” she said.

They spent the rest of the day waiting for Nadia and Alexander to return, wandering around the village looking for information, and making plans to escape. The two guards who had been careless the night before had been arrested by the soldiers and not replaced, so no one was guarding them. They found out that the soldiers of the Brotherhood of the Leopard, who had deserted from the regular army and come to Ngoubé with the commandant, were the only ones who had access to the firearms kept in the barracks. The Bantu guards were forcibly recruited in their teenage years. They were poorly armed, mainly with machetes and knives, and obeyed more out of fear than from loyalty. Under orders from the handful of Mbembelé's soldiers, the guards had to contain the rest of the Bantu population, that is, their own families and friends. Fierce discipline left no out; rebels and deserters were executed without a trial.

The women of Ngoubé, who once had been free and involved in the decisions of the community, lost their rights and were forced to work on Kosongo's plantations and look after the needs of the men. The prettiest girls were sent to the king's harem. The commandant's network of spies included children, who were taught to watch their own families. The mere accusation of treachery, whether or not there was proof, was punished by death. In the beginning many were executed, but the population in that area was sparse, and when the king and the commandant saw that they were killing off their subjects, they decided to curb their enthusiasm.

These two leaders also counted on the aid of the witch doctor Sombe, whom they called on when a sorcerer's services were required. People were accustomed to healers or witch men whose mission was to act as liaison with the world of the spirits, cure illness, cast spells, and fashion protective amulets. It was generally believed that a person's death was caused by magic. When someone died, it was up to the sorcerer to determine who was responsible, then undo the curse and punish the guilty party or force him to pay compensation to the family of the deceased. That gave the healer power in the community. In Ngoubé, as in many other parts of Africa, there
had always been sorcerers, some more respected than others, but none as much as Sombe.

No one knew where the bizarre witch doctor lived. He would materialize in the village like a devil, and once he had done what he had come to do, he evaporated without a trace, and no one would see him for weeks or months. He was so feared that even Kosongo and Mbembelé tried to avoid him; both stayed in their quarters when Sombe was due to appear. His appearance alone spread terror. He was enormous—as tall as Commandant Mbembelé—and when he fell into a trance, he acquired supernatural strength; he was able to lift heavy tree trunks that six men couldn't budge. He wore the head of a leopard and a necklace of fingers that—word had it—he had amputated from his victims with the blade of his gaze, just as during his exhibitions of sorcery he decapitated roosters without touching them.

“I would like to meet this famous Sombe,” Kate said when the friends met to report what each of them had found out.

“And I would like to photograph his magic tricks,” added Joel.

“Maybe they're not tricks,” said Angie, shuddering. “Voodoo magic can be very dangerous.”

Their second, seemingly eternal, night in the large hut, the
International Geographic
party kept the torches lit despite the stench of burning resin and clouds of black smoke; at least that way they could see the cockroaches and rats. Kate was awake for hours, listening to every sound, waiting for Nadia and Alexander to show up. Since there were no guards at the open doorway, she could step outside to get a breath when the air in the building became unbearable. Angie joined her outside, and they sat down on the ground, shoulder to shoulder.

“I'm dying for a cigarette,” Angie muttered.

“This is your chance to drop the habit. I did. It causes lung cancer,” Kate warned her. “Want a swig of vodka?”

“And alcohol's not a vice, Kate.” Angie laughed.

“Are you insinuating that I'm an alcoholic? You've got some nerve! I take a few sips from time to time to ease my bones. That's all.”

“We have to get out of here, Kate.”

“We can't go without my grandson and Nadia,” the writer replied.

“How long are you prepared to wait for them? The boats are coming to pick us up day after tomorrow.”

“They'll be back by then.”

“And if they aren't?”

“In that case all of you can go, but I'm staying,” Kate said.