Unknown - The missionary_s daughter

Julie fell silent after that. Apparently, she was not going to learn about her abduction until they were good and ready to tell her the story. By this time, having been through everything there was to terrify her, she was more curious than afraid. But she must wait.

Even when the automobile stopped in the dusty middle of a clearing that was surrounded by several of the familiar rush-woven huts, but mostly by one single long hut that was also taller than the others, Julie knew no more than she had when the men had stolen into her bedroom the night before. She had to wait, the object of much curious staring by the people, while the men wrestled the big tortoise out of the car. It was almost as though the poor creature knew that he was destined for the pot! But that's the usual way of life, Julie thought. When the strong grab the weak, it's to put them into the pot, and most creatures know this instinctively. It gets complex on the human level, though. She was being put into some kind of pot for some selfish reasons the natives had, but as long as they didn't literally boil her, there was not much else for her to lose, it seemed. She would have to be patient to see what kind of pot lay in her future.

Finally the tortoise had been hauled away. Balloo and the other three took her into a first tiny room of the large hut, and there, some women came with great ostrich feather fans and brushed them carefully from head to foot. They were brushed three times by three different women before they were taken into the next room, which was floored with glistening white wood. Julie saw that there were still other rooms going off to the side from the rooms through which they passed. She knew by now that she was in the home, or palace, of the King himself and wondered if she would see him. She had not long to wonder.

After all the preparations that had taken place including her bath and the brushing down by the women, Julie fully expected to see a shiny monarch, totally out of reach, perhaps sitting high on a throne, which all must prostrate themselves before. Instead, Daranje Kawat sat at a table, waiting for them. He was dressed beautifully. His robe shone with newness and had large orange and white diagonal stripes for a print. He wore no hat, but his hair was a beautiful braidwork in patterns of flowers with stand-up loops of braided hair for petals. His robe covered his physique, which looked powerful, and surely his personality emanated a strength, the like of which, Julie had never before felt. Then she remembered hearing how these men became kings. They nearly died in the trials that gave them absolute power. She had always wondered why they did such things, why they put a man through such cruel and abusive treatment before letting him become king… if he survived, and many did not! Her father said it was just superstitious savagery, but she was curious.

Without even realizing that she was doing it before she did, she found herself bowing her head before this imposing man. Oh, if her father ever saw her do that! Yet she felt a supreme gentleness descend upon her when she did, a sturdiness like complete acceptance. What a strange feeling! How mysterious! Never in her life had she felt so a part of anything as she now felt with these men at this table! What secret power was this? And was it of God or of the devil, she wondered, feeling her heart quake. All sat down at the table where the king sat, and they placed her directly opposite.

She scrutinized his face as much as she dared but saw no smile. She didn't dare speak up, and she noticed that no one else started a conversation so she guessed that it was necessary to let the king speak first. Finally he did smile and speak.

"Your king is as powerless as the feathered spirits who serve him. We have taken you from your father, but your great God-King comes not. Where is he?"

Julie's jaw could only drop helplessly. His command of English surprised her.

"We brought you here as a challenge, to make him show himself, and to bargain with him if he were one to respect. But we see he is a coward as we have long suspected. He sends the feathered spirits to pluck out our souls and drop them in the great water so we cannot find them when we have need of them. Or shall I say, he tries to do that. But we have hiding places." He paused then and seemed to be waiting for her to say something. She didn't know where to begin.

"My… my father is not God, and he would come if he knew where I was." She stopped and no one interrupted the silence. It was as though the king could feel the knot of inexpressible information that was lodged in her chest. He was patiently waiting for her to find the words. "God is…" How could she express it? "I don't think he is what you think." Did he mean angels by the term "feathered spirits"?

"He is not the king of the feathered spirits? My people have seen pictures of the feathered spirits serving your God!"

"Well…"

"He does not send them to pluck our souls? Yet, my people have been told to give up their souls to this king!"

"Well, yes, but…" She was stymied again.

"What does he do with the souls he takes if not to drop them in the great water?" Julie was perplexed. Did the "great water" mean the oceans or the heavens?

"It's to keep them, you see," she said in agony of desperation. She had no idea but what her answer might determine her fate.

"For what purpose?"

"Well… well… for you!" Oh, if only her father were here to answer these questions! She didn't really know the answers at all. She heard a kind of snicker among the four men who sat with her before the king, but it subsided quickly although the king himself did not seem to notice and did nothing to stop it.

"The first man of our people who visited in friendship with your father had his soul plucked by your God. He told me that the place for his soul was empty in his head and that his ears were ringing with the hollowness of the wind, and he went and jumped from the Cliff of Doom because your father said his soul was in a place of after-death and he wanted his soul back."

Julie's breath caught in her throat. She remembered the man. For a long time he was the only one who would come, and then he was gone and the others began to come.

"These men," King Daranje Kawat said, nodding toward the four, "have come to you for the words and books that I needed with which to speak to you. Others went to the marketplace and brought back words. We will give you back to your father if he will leave here and take his God of the feathered spirits with him. We care for our own souls. It is a way to know where they are and it is better."

The king clapped his hands then, and a beautiful, willowy black woman entered. The king looked straight at Balloo.

"Take her," he invited, then smiled a beautiful, white-toothed smile. "She is for a great feast tonight. The turtle is a good sign of pleasure and gratitude on our people. You have done well, and we will be rid of the God of the feathered spirits at last!"

The king then rose and disappeared in a ripple of orange and white into a room off this main one. Julie was aghast and ashamed of the disappointment she felt to see him go. She had actually been playing with the idea that he might be curious about a white woman's body. She discovered that she had been hopeful! Oh, God, how she had changed! Yet she had acquired a new respect for physical power now, and he certainly had the most she had ever been in contact with. Part of his charisma was inexplicable. It seemed to have nothing to do with his physique. Perhaps it was a kind of psychic strength from the ordeals he had gone through to be king, or maybe it was just because he felt he had defeated the strong thieving God who had come among his people.

Now she was back to Balloo again. She must be satisfied with his protection. Yet, the tail willowy black woman was obviously for Balloo because he was the leader, Julie supposed. Well, in a way, it might be just as well. She was quite exhausted, and what she really wanted to do more than anything else at the moment was catch up on her sleep.