Read Ebook: Star Bright by Clifton Mark Stone David Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 175 lines and 11938 words, and 4 pages

Upon his return Mangele found that his mother had died recently, and that his father had become very feeble in mind and body. But the old man welcomed him with open arms. Makanda had been badly treated by his other sons, who, after the fashion in such cases, had begun to despoil him of his property in the most barefaced manner. Soon after his "great son's" return old Makanda formally abdicated the headship of the family in his favour and thenceforth spent most of his days and all his nights in peaceful, dreamless slumber.

Mangele's hand became weaker and weaker. He found that he could not exert it in the least degree without suffering dull, gnawing pain for days afterward. Then the hand began to swell and the knuckles became distorted. Shortly after this a weakness, followed by a swelling, appeared in the left knee.

A cloud seemed to settle down upon his face, and his features gradually took on that strange, pathetic, and by no means repellent, look which one so often sees in strongly marked cases of tubercular leprosy before the frightful disfiguring stage has set in. This look distinctly suggests the face of a lion in repose. In strongly marked cases the resemblance cannot fail to strike the most careless observer. There is nothing in it suggestive of ferocity, but rather of a deep, dignified, and sombre sadness, with a touch of that sublimity which belongs to everything that appalls.

Mangele knew well that he was smitten with the incurable disease of which his mother had died. He became solitary in his habits and would sometimes sit on a stone outside his hut the whole night through. And the sombre, leonine look deepened upon his face with the passing of the months.

At first Mangele had, as is usual in such cases among the Kaffirs, put down his own as well as his mother's illness to the malevolence of an enemy, and believed that if he could counteract the spell woven against him, he would recover his health, but he no longer deceived himself on this score. The Kaffirs are, as a rule, utterly ignorant of Nature's laws as such affect the human body, but Mangele was intelligent to a degree far above the average of his race. Moreover, his sojourn among the Europeans had given him enlightenment. Recently the dire significance of his situation had struck him to the heart. Now and then he would appear among his fellows at a "beer-drink" or other function, but as a rule he remained at home and brooded in solitude over his doom.

A Kaffir "beer-drink" is a very curious and distinctive feature of South African native life. One peculiarity of the "beer-drink" is that the drinkers pass through several definite stages corresponding with the amount of their potations. In the earlier the utmost good-humour prevails. Soon, however, comes a period of boasting which, if different clans are represented at the gathering, shortly changes into one electric with possibilities of strife, for vaunting leads to irritation, recrimination, and eventual blows.

After the quarrelsome stage succeeds one of torpor, and from this the revellers arise with appetites which only meat, and plenty of it, can assuage. Then, unless the giver of the feast be rich and liberal enough to kill for his guests, the flocks and herds of the stock-owners in the vicinity are apt to suffer.

The stage of boasting had been reached when Galada and the headmen returned to the banquet. On different sides men were declaiming loudly of the wealth and greatness of their relations, ancestral and contemporary--several talking at the same time. Galada's eye at once sought out Mangele, the son of Makanda, who had just been mentioned to him as being a leper. Mangele was a most splendid specimen of manhood. As he lay naked on his blanket in the bright sunshine, his splendid torso and muscular limbs seemed to be the very embodiment of health and reposeful strength. Looking more closely, however, the Sergeant was able to notice the signs of the disease which had been mentioned by Rolobele. Superficially, all that was wrong with the knee was a slight thickening on the outside--so slight, indeed, that Galada would certainly never have noticed the thing had his attention not been drawn to it. Mangele's left hand was, however, distinctly swollen and distorted. He kept it concealed as much as possible, hiding it under a fold of the blanket he lay upon.

Mangele's voice was not heard among those of the boasters. He lay silent and abstracted, slightly apart from the others, drinking deeply and apparently taking no notice of the Babel around him. For an instant he looked up as Xaba joined the circle, and the glances of these two seemed to flash at each other like spears. Then Mangele took another long draught of beer and bent his head lower than before.

"We of the Radebe," shouted 'Mzondo, a fierce-looking savage, who had a heavy ivory armlet above his left elbow, "hau--there are none like us; we are the black cattle of the pastures. My father was a bull with a strong neck and I am his calf. Look at our sticks in a fight--look how the strangers come to seek our daughters in marriage. Wau--but we are a race of chiefs--a great people."

"We of the Amahlubi," shouted one 'Mbulawa, "were never tillers of the fields of the Amagcaleka, nor were our daughters taken as concubines by the sons of Hintza. We were bulls when the Radebe were oxen."

At this reference to the captivity of the Radebe, half a century previously, all present of that clan leaped to their feet and seized their sticks. Rolobele, however, managed to restore tranquillity. The majority of those present were Hlubis. The headman rebuked 'Mbulawa for his rudeness. Then, in the course of a long and eloquent speech, he adroitly led the thoughts of his guests to an episode in which both clans had equally covered themselves with glory. Thus was the anger appeased and the danger of a breach of the peace averted for the moment.

Xaba, who had for some time been drinking heavily in silence, began to dispute with one Fodo over the merits of some old family quarrel which had been settled many years previously. The sombre eye of Mangele followed every gesture of his enemy. Fodo was a small man, and Xaba, who in spite of his size was rather cowardly, began to address him in most insulting terms. Suddenly Mangele sprang to his feet, seized his sticks, and strode across the circle toward the bully. Xaba drew back before his assailant, while a number of Mangele's friends threw themselves in his course and prevented him from reaching his enemy.

Under the Territorial Law, the giver of a beer-party is responsible for any breach of the peace that may occur at it. This circumstance, and the fact of the Sergeant's presence, impelled Rolobele to strain every nerve to prevent fighting. After some difficulty the two furious men were forced away in different directions; they, all the time, shouting insult and defiance at each other. At length Xaba called out--

"You--bull with the water in your bones--your days are over. To-morrow you will be tied up with the sick oxen at Emjanyana. If you do not believe me, ask Galada. Good-bye; I am now going to see Nosembe."

Mangele at once ceased from shouting and struggling, and allowed himself to be led away without resistance. His head was bent, and his heavy, leonine features set themselves into a sombre, tragic mask, out of which his eyes seemed to blaze.

On the day after the transmission of the Magistrate's message the different headmen concerned went round among their respective locations and warned the lepers to assemble at a certain spot near Izolo in ten days' time. Mangele received the message in silence. His relations, who hated him for having prevented their spoliation of old Makanda, were delighted at the prospect of getting rid of him, but they wisely refrained from expressing their feelings on the subject in his presence.

Nosembe and Mangele were attached to each other in a manner somewhat rare among the uncivilised natives. She was the handsomest girl in the neighbourhood, and several other men besides Xaba had wished to marry her. She had never suspected for a moment that her lover was suffering from the dread, nameless disease that filled the bones with water, and when in the course of the next few days it came to be whispered that Mangele was one of those who had to go into confinement at Emjanyana, she laughed at the report. Later, Xaba spoke of it to her and she spat at him in her fury at the insult. When, however, she heard her father and brothers discussing the question of the return of the dowry cattle, she knew that the rumour was true, and her whole soul revolted at the injustice. Mangele was the strongest and handsomest man in the neighbourhood--why should he be locked up like a criminal because he happened to have a sore place upon his hand? She at once made up her mind that if her lover had to go, she would follow him into captivity.

Three days Nosembe waited in the hope that Mangele would visit her, but she waited in vain; so, on the fourth night, she arose from her mat after all the others had gone to sleep, crept out of the hut, and sped along the pathway which led over the divide beyond which his kraal was situated.

The night was sultry and the sky was brightly starlit as Nosembe glided between the patches of scrub which dappled the hillside at the back of the kraal. She knew the hut which Mangele occupied by himself; all she feared was that the dogs might give the alarm and some of the people come out and see her. As she crouched behind a bush the dogs suddenly set up a chorus of barking and rushed down the hillside on the opposite side of the kraal in pursuit of a supposed enemy. Here was her chance; she sprang up and ran swiftly down the slope to Mangele's hut.

Mangele was sitting on a stone in front of the doorway, in an attitude expressive of the deepest dejection. His head was bowed upon the arms which rested upon his bent knees, and the corner of his blanket was drawn over it as though he could not bear even the light of the gentle stars. He heard Nosembe's footstep, and lifted his sombre face. For a few seconds the two regarded each other silently; then the girl flung herself to the ground at the man's feet and broke into a passion of tears.

Mangele lifted Nosembe from where she lay and clasped her closely to him. Her sobs ceased, but it was long before either spake a word. The girl was the first to break the silence.

"It is not true that you have to go to Emjanyana."

"It is true."

"But you are not sick," she rejoined, passionately. "You are stronger than other men. And you have done no wrong. How, then, can they put you in prison?"

"I am sick," he replied, in a heart-broken voice; "my bones are filling with water. It is right that I go away. I am a dead man."

"Then I will go with you."

"No, that cannot be," he replied, in a voice broken by emotion; "no woman can go to Emjanyana unless she have `the sickness'; and then the men and women have to dwell apart."

Day was almost breaking when Mangele led Nosembe back into the scrub to the footpath by which she had come. They bade each other farewell, after arranging to meet on the following night in the same way.

Nosembe had not gone very far before she met her father and two of her brothers, who, when they had discovered her absence, guessed where she had gone to and started out to seek for her. She met their railing and reproaches with the utmost composure. However, when night again came she found herself so carefully guarded that escape was impossible, so she was unable to keep the appointment with her lover.

Mangele waited the whole night through, hoping against hope that she would come. He correctly guessed the cause of her absence. When day broke he took his sticks and went forth to carry out a design he had formed in the course of his long vigil.

During the next forty-eight hours he personally visited every one of the lepers belonging to his clan in the district, and arranged with them to meet a day later in the vicinity of the Residency.

In the morning, just after the Magistrate had reached his office, he received a message asking him to meet the lepers under a certain tree, where, by tacit understanding, they had been accustomed to assemble on the rare occasions when they required to communicate direct with the authorities. Soon afterward he walked to the spot, which was situated in a kloof about three hundred yards distant.

There they sat, twenty-four in number. Ten of them were women. All, with the exception of Mangele, were old. What an awful spectacle they afforded, these four-and-twenty human creatures; all save one crushed almost out of human semblance by the wheels of the chariot of pitiless, unregarding Nature. There, against the lovely background of graceful fern and fragrant clematis, beneath the twinkling, poplar-like leaves of the spreading erethryna-tree--through which the blue sky smiled--were huddled these poor sufferers without hope of relief, guiltless vessels marred by the mysterious hand of The Great Potter. Twisted limb and crumbling stump, visages from which the gracious human lines had been obliterated by a slow, fell process more awful than the snake's fang or the lightning's stroke.

Over what remained of nearly every countenance seemed to hover a suggestion of that strange, leonine look which was so strongly marked in the case of Mangele; and to the Magistrate it seemed as if this were the only relief from a horror almost too absolute to look upon for long and keep his senses. It was as though what Schopenhauer called "the genius of the genus" had arisen from the depths of being to protest mutely against this piteous desecration of its temple by unregarding Nature and iron-visaged Fate. It was the very sublimation of tragic pathos, in the presence of which pity seemed to die of its own intensity.

All but Mangele sat upon the ground and endeavoured to hide, so far as possible, their worst individual disfigurements, but he stood forth as though proudly conscious of his almost perfect symmetry, and met the Magistrate's sympathetic glance with his sombre, lion-like gaze. Then, after the usual salutations, Mangele began his speech. As is usual with natives to whom oratory is an inborn art, his delivery was excellent and full of dignity.

"We, men and women who are dead, though living, come to our Father, the Government, to ask for a little thing.

"God, whom the White Man has taught us to know, smote us with this sickness which has filled our bones with water for marrow, and caused our quick flesh to rot slowly, like dead wood. We acknowledge that it is only right we should be separated from other men, so that we may not give the disease to those who are clean, but we cannot dwell apart from our kindred, our cattle and the fields wherein our fathers saw the corn growing when they were little children--therefore we wish to die now, this day. Then will the sickness die with us, and our Father, the Government, will not be put to any further trouble on our account.

"What we ask of the White Chief, our Magistrate, is this: that he now, before the sun has begun to fall, send hither his policemen with rifles, and bid them shoot us skilfully so that we may suffer little pain.

Then turning to his companions, who had heard him in silence, he added--

"My brothers and sisters--children of my Father--tell our Chief if I have spoken the right word."

An eager murmur of assent followed.

"Yes, our Chief, he has spoken the one word which is in all our hearts: kill us here, but send us not to dwell apart from our homes and our kindred."

It was some little time before the Magistrate was able to command his feelings sufficiently to admit of his speaking. When they saw that he was about to reply, his miserable hearers leant forward with every appearance of the keenest interest. In his heart he knew that what the poor creatures asked for was for them the best. His compassion was so deep that he could have slain them with his own hand.

"The word you have spoken," he said, "has gone through my heart like the bullet you have asked for. What can I say for your comfort? Go, my poor brothers and sisters whom God has afflicted so sorely. In the place to which your Father, the Government, is sending you, neither hunger nor cold will afflict you; you will have many friwas about to catch me. I forgot I had it when I went away from there so fast." She looked at me pleadingly. "I didn't mean to steal it, Daddy. I never stole anything, anywhere. And I was going to take it back and put it right where I found it. Truly I was. But I dropped it again, and then I ESP'd that you had it. I guess I was awful naughty."

I brushed my hand across my forehead.

"Let's skip the question of good and bad for a minute," I said, my head throbbing. "What about this business of going into the future?"

Robert spoke up, his eyes shining. "There isn't any future, Mr. Holmes. That's what I keep telling Star, but she can't reason--she's just a girl. It'll all pass. Everything is always past."

Jim stared at him, as though thunderstruck, and opened his mouth in protest. I shook my head warningly.

"Suppose you tell me about that, Robert," I said.

"Well," he began on a rising note, frowning, "it's kinda hard to explain at that. Star's a Bright and even she doesn't understand it exactly. But, you see, I'm older." He looked at her with superiority. Then, with a change of mood, he defended her. "But when she gets as old as I am, she'll understand it okay."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet