foul taint of my sin, and I also beg the forgiveness of both Ma the Great Mother, and of the beautiful Marimba, who is my mother.’
‘My son, my dear child, did you have to do it?’ Marimba caught her son as he sagged to the ground and everybody crowded around to assist with easing the agony of the brave prince. Kahawa smiled up at his mother and whispered: ‘Tell me mother, how did you manage to escape from the cave?’
‘I did not, son; I was rescued by the witchwoman Namuwiza and her two sons just before the Night Howlers devoured them, and I spent some time making this instrument to help you . . .’
Kahawa heard no more as unconsciousness claimed him.
* * *
A great happiness settled over the land and the Wakambi prospered and multiplied, so they could afford to wrinkle their noses at the Masai in contempt and defiance. The Masai were forever freed of the evil spell of the traitor god Nangai, though they never lost their stiff-necked pride and their arrogance, which was like a disease.
Marimba invented many more songs: love songs, hunting songs and even songs to sing when a beloved one was interred. She invented the xylophone, which is still called the marimba to this day.
People sang and whistled and their souls were uplifted by the melodies and tunes their immortal queen had given them. For the first time since the escape of Odu and Amarava from the destroyed land of the First People, human beings held feasts and dances and came to know again the soothing joy that beautiful tunes bring to depressed and life-weary souls.
For a full ten years Marimba refused marriage. She sturdily resisted the powerful demands of her own bothersome body and endured the searing agony of lonely nights of weeping herself to sleep. She saw her son happily married to two Wakambi girls and prospering in general happiness. She saw more villages of Wakambi clans built to accommodate the spreading population. Soon the original settlement became the High Village of a small empire which she ruled with wisdom that only an immortal can possess.
As the years wore on she found it more and more difficult to resist the ardent wooing of her greatest suitor, Koma-Tembo, the lion-hearted Masai whom Kahawa had captured and who had stood side by side with him against the evil god and the Night Howlers, so many years earlier.
Then one night that which was written in the stars and destined to happen, did happen! Lo, not even immortals are immune to fate.
The hut was dark. The hut was lonely. And in its dark interior on a pile of lion and leopard skin blankets reclined, in queenly solitude, one of the most beautiful women that ever trod this earth – Marimba the peerless, Marimba the Goddess of Music, the Goddess of Happiness.
There was a deep sadness in her long-lashed eyes and a crystal-clear tear stole unbidden down the side of her flat little nose. The battle is hardest when one has oneself for an enemy, and Marimba was her own enemy in many ways. Outside the hut there was merriment. Hundreds of Wakambi were feasting and dancing round a great fire in the village clearing. The happy night rang with their laughter and lusty singing. The appetising smell of boiling and roasting meat was heavy in the night air. But she who had brought the happiness to her people was no partaker of it that night.
A dark shadow crawled into the hut through the low arched entrance and the immortal heart of Marimba stopped beating for a few misty moments. Well she knew who it was who had just slipped into the hut. It was the man whom she loved with all her immortality – a man she desired with every vein and artery in her hungry body. But she dared not accept him for fear of sealing his doom.
The reddish-yellow light of the distant feast fires played on one side of his manly face. It accentuated the deepset smouldering eyes and it made the hard lines about his imperious mouth and strong nose appear more harsh.
Koma-Tembo the Masai was, even though seated and at peace, a man born and bred to love, to command and to fight. Marimba watched him through misted eyes as he sat there near the door of the hut and longed for him as an impala longs for the cool waters of a woodland stream. Yet she was praying to the One Thousand Gods that the man should keep his distance and not come any nearer than he was. Well did the deathless woman know that should the great Masai come any closer her fiery emotions would betray her – and him!
‘I see you, Oh Koma-Tembo,’ she said with a great effort.
‘And Koma-Tembo sees the bright sun of his life,’ was his measured reply.
‘Koma-Tembo basks in the sun that scorches,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘There are suns in whose light it is not wise to sit.’
‘I mind not being scorched by the sun that is the incomparable Marimba,’ he said with a smile. ‘Neither do I mind being drowned by the pure river that is she.’
‘Marimba has told the woodheaded Masai many times why she cannot accept him as a husband,’ said Marimba. ‘And yet Koma-Tembo is as stubborn as a frog that refuses to be driven out of the hut with a broom.’
‘From the incomparable Marimba, Koma-Tembo will never take No for an answer.’
Suddenly the princess lost her temper and even as the angry words poured from her mouth, her desire for this son of the Dragon of the Waters grew until it seemed like a mighty wave of burning lava from the fiery belly of Killima-Njaro. ‘You are a fool, Koma-Tembo! You men are all stupid, stubborn fools! Your lust pulls you by the nose right into the valleys of undoing. You will never leave things well alone. I have told you a hundred times that I cannot accept you as my man, because you would be dead within three moons of our marriage. I am trying to save your life, you porridge-brained fool! You must now leave this hut immediately.’
‘Before I leave your presence, Oh sun of my life, I must first hear you say you love me.’
This was too much for the tormented woman. Tears welled out of her eyes, wetting her face, and deep sobs shook her beautiful form. She turned and shrieked at the Masai: ‘You know that I love you – you have known for two years. You only keep on asking because you like to torture me. Now get out of this hut quickly . . . hamba! simbira! You . . . you mulila-busiko . . . Night Howler!’
Koma-Tembo was astonished. His mouth hung open in a most un-Masai fashion. He had not known that his queen had been in love with him for two years already, and that she was held back from marrying him only by the curse on her head. Like all Masai, Koma-Tembo had little use for life – be it his own or anyone else’s – and it was more pleasant for him to spend three moons with Marimba in love and happiness than a whole lifetime of suffering and loneliness. And as he advanced those few paces that separated him from the object of his love, Koma-Tembo knew very well that he had exactly three moons to live – but he also knew that each day of it would be worth more than a thousand lifetimes.
As he took his beloved gently into his battle-scarred arms, he told her so.
Marimba was shocked to feel the hands of the Masai on her. She shuddered and let out a small gasp of fear. Feebly she tried to push him away. But her arms, instead of thrusting, tightened about his neck and drew him closer, while her body strained savagely against him. Her willpower shattered against the rocks of desire and went flying into a million shards of rainbow-coloured crystal. What deadlier betrayer is there than one’s own body? What fouler enemy had the human being than the desire that flows in the blood of his own veins? Marimba was lost.
Later
