Child of Storm

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Oh, I understand. Then, after all, I am

more to you than a black stone to play with?"

I think it was that unlucky joke of mine which first set Mameena

thinking, "like a white ant in its tunnel," as Saduko said. At least,

after it her manner towards me changed; she became very deferential;

she listened to my words as though they were all wisdom; I caught her

looking at me with her soft eyes as though I were quite an admirable

object. She began to talk to me of her difficulties, her troubles and

her ambitions. She asked me for my advice as to Saduko. On this point

I replied to her that, if she loved him, and her father would allow it,

presumably she had better marry him.

"I like him well enough, Macumazahn, although he wearies me at times;

but love-- Oh, tell me, what is love?" Then she clasped her slim hands

and gazed at me like a fawn.

"Upon my word, young woman," I replied, "that is a matter upon which I

should have thought you more competent to instruct me."

"Oh, Macumazahn," she said almost in a whisper, and letting her head

droop like a fading lily, "you have never given me the chance, have

you?" And she laughed a little, looking extremely attractive.

"Good gracious!"--or, rather, its Zulu equivalent--I answered, for I

began to feel nervous. "What do you mean, Mameena? How could I--" There

I stopped.

"I do not know what I mean, Macumazahn," she exclaimed wildly, "but

I know well enough what you mean--that you are white as snow and I am

black as soot, and that snow and soot don't mix well together."

"No," I answered gravely, "snow is good to look at, and so is soot, but

mingled they make an ugly colour. Not that you are like soot," I added

hastily, fearing to hurt her feelings. "That is your hue"--and I touched

a copper bangle she was wearing--"a very lovely hue, Mameena, like

everything else about you."

"Lovely," she said, beginning to weep a little, which upset me very

much, for if there is one thing I hate, it is to see a woman cry. "How

can a poor Zulu girl be lovely? Oh, Macumazahn, the spirits have dealt

hardly with me, who have given me the colour of my people and the

heart of yours. If I were white, now, what you are pleased to call this

loveliness of mine would be of some use to me, for then-- then-- Oh,

cannot you guess, Macumazahn?"

I shook my head and said that I could not, and next moment was sorry,

for she proceeded to explain.

Sinking to her knees--for we were quite alone in the big hut and there

was no one else about, all the other women being engaged on rural or

domestic tasks, for which Mameena declared she had no time, as her

business was to look after me--she rested her shapely head upon my knees

and began to talk in a low, sweet voice that sometimes broke into a sob.