"Do you mean that he should kill himself, Zikali?"
"No, no; I mean that his own idhlozi, his Spirit, should be left to kill
him, which it will do in time. You see, Macumazahn, Saduko is now living
with a ghost, which he calls the ghost of Umbelazi, whom he betrayed."
"Is that your way of saying he is mad, Zikali?"
"Oh, yes, he lives with a ghost, or the ghost lives in him, or he is
mad--call it which you will. The mad have a way of living with ghosts,
and ghosts have a way of sharing their food with the mad. Now you
understand everything, do you not?"
"Of course," I answered; "it is as plain as the sun."
"Oh! did I not say you were clever, Macumazahn, you who know where
madness ends and ghosts begin, and why they are just the same thing?
Well, the sun is no longer plain. Look, it has sunk; and you would be on
your road who wish to be far from Nodwengu before morning. You will pass
the plain of Endondakusuka, will you not, and cross the Tugela by the
drift? Have a look round, Macumazahn, and see if you can recognise any
old friends. Umbezi, the knave and traitor, for instance; or some of the
princes. If so, I should like to send them a message. What! You cannot
wait? Well, then, here is a little present for you, some of my own work.
Open it when it is light again, Macumazahn; it may serve to remind you
of the strange little tale of Mameena with the Heart of Fire. I wonder
where she is now? Sometimes, sometimes--" And he rolled his great eyes
about him and sniffed at the air like a hound. "Farewell till we meet
again. Farewell, Macumazahn. Oh! if you had only run away with Mameena,
how different things might have been to-day!"
I jumped up and fled from that terrible old dwarf, whom I verily
believe-- No; where is the good of my saying what I believe? I fled from
him, leaving him seated on the stone in the shadows, and as I fled, out
of the darkness behind me there arose the sound of his loud and eerie
laughter.
Next morning I opened the packet which he had given me, after wondering
once or twice whether I should not thrust it down an ant-bear hole as it
was. But this, somehow, I could not find the heart to do, though now I
wish I had. Inside, cut from the black core of the umzimbiti wood, with
just a little of the white sap left on it to mark the eyes, teeth and
nails, was a likeness of Mameena. Of course, it was rudely executed, but
it was--or rather is, for I have it still--a wonderfully good portrait
of her, for whether Zikali was or was not a wizard, he was certainly
a good artist. There she stands, her body a little bent, her arms
outstretched, her head held forward with the lips parted, just as though
she were about to embrace somebody, and in one of her hands, cut also
from the white sap of the umzimbiti, she grasps a human heart--Saduko's,
I presume, or perhaps Umbelazi's.