"Now," went on the dwarf, "perhaps I shall seem to die; and if so do not
touch me lest you should really die. Wait till I wake up again and tell
you what your spirits have told me. Or if I do not wake up--for a time
must come when I shall go on sleeping--well--for as long as I have
lived--after the fires are quite out, not before, lay your hands upon
my breast; and if you find me turning cold, get you gone to some other
Nyanga as fast as the spirits of this place will let you, O ye who would
peep into the future."
As he spoke he threw a big handful of the roots that I have mentioned
on to each of the fires, whereon tall flames leapt up from them, very
unholy-looking flames which were followed by columns of dense, white
smoke that emitted a most powerful and choking odour quite unlike
anything that I had ever smelt before. It seemed to penetrate all
through me, and that accursed stone in my throat grew as large as an
apple and felt as though someone were poking it upwards with a stick.
Next he threw the white pebble into the right-hand fire, that which was
opposite to me, saying: "Enter, Macumazahn, and look," and the black pebble he threw into the
left-hand fire saying: "Enter, Son of Matiwane, and look. Then come back
both of you and make report to me, your master."
Now it is a fact that as he said these words I experienced a sensation
as though a stone had come out of my throat; so readily do our nerves
deceive us that I even thought it grated against my teeth as I opened my
mouth to give it passage. At any rate the choking was gone, only now I
felt as though I were quite empty and floating on air, as though I were
not I, in short, but a mere shell of a thing, all of which doubtless was
caused by the stench of those burning roots. Still I could look and take
note, for I distinctly saw Zikali thrust his huge head, first into the
smoke of what I will call my fire, next into that of Saduko's fire, and
then lean back, blowing the stuff in clouds from his mouth and nostrils.
Afterwards I saw him roll over on to his side and lie quite still with
his arms outstretched; indeed, I noticed that one of his fingers seemed
to be in the left-hand fire and reflected that it would be burnt off. In
this, however, I must have been mistaken, since I observed subsequently
that it was not even scorched.
Thus Zikali lay for a long while till I began to wonder whether he were
not really dead. Dead enough he seemed to be, for no corpse could have
stayed more stirless. But that night I could not keep my thoughts
fixed on Zikali or anything. I merely noted these circumstances in a
mechanical way, as might one with whom they had nothing whatsoever to
do. They did not interest me at all, for there appeared to be nothing
in me to be interested, as I gathered according to Zikali, because I was
not there, but in a warmer place than I hope ever to occupy, namely, in
the stone in that unpleasant-looking, little right-hand fire.