Gerald Durrell - The Bafut Beagles

' No, sah. If dat beef done bite Masa and Masa no die one time, den Masa no go die at all.'

'No, dis special medicine I done get," I lied, shrugging with becoming modesty.

'Whah! Na so; Masa get fine medicine,' said the Beagles.

I had not gone through all this merely as a demonstration of the white man's superiority over the black; the true reason for this little charade was that I dearly wanted a great many Que-fong-goos and I knew that I should not obtain them unless I had the help and co-operation of the Beagles. In order to get this, I had to overcome their feat, and the only way I could do this was by showing them that my mythical medicine was more than a match for the deadly bite of the Que-fong-goo. At some future date, I thought, I would provide them with a quantity of innocuous liquid disguised as the medicine in question, and, armed with this elixir, they would sally forth and return with sackfuls of glittering Que-fong-goos.

On the way back to Bafut I strutted along, proudly carrying my precious skink and feeling very pleased with myself for having devised such a cunning scheme for obtaining more of the lovely reptiles. Behind me the Beagles trotted in silence, still gazing at me with awed expressions. Each time we passed someone on the path they would give a rapid rйsumй of my powers, and I would hear gasps of surprise and horror as the tale was told, slightly embellished with each repetition, I have no doubt. When we reached the villa, and I had my skink nicely housed in a large box, I gathered the Beagles together and made them a little speech. I pointed out that, as they had seen with their own eyes, my medicine was sufficient protection against the bites of Que-fong-goos. They all nodded vigorously. Therefore, I went on, as I wanted a great many specimens of the reptile, I proposed to supply them with the magic potion the next day, and thus armed they would be able to go out and hunt Que-fong-goos for me. Then I beamed at them complacently, waiting for the cries of delight I expected. None came; instead the Beagles stood there looking extremely glum and twiddling their toes in the dust.

'Well,' I inquired after a long pause, 'you no agree?'

'No, Masa,' they mumbled.

'Why you no agree? You no savvay dat I go give you dis special medicine, eh? Why you de fear?'

They scratched their heads, shuffled their feet, glanced helplessly at each other, and then one of them eventually plucked up the courage to speak.

'Masa,' he said, having cleared his throat several times, 'dis medicine you done get na fine one. We savvay dis ting. We done see dis beef bite Masa time no dere, and Masano die.'

'Well?'

'Dis medicine, Masa, na juju for white man. No be juju for black man. For Masa na good ting dis medicine, but for we no be good ting.'

For half an hour I argued, pleaded, and cajoled them. They were polite but firm; the medicine was fine for whites, but it would not work with black people. That was their belief and they were sticking to it. I tried every argument I could think of to make them change their minds, but it was no use. At last, thoroughly irritated by the failure of my little scheme, I dismissed the Beagles and stalked off to have my meal.

Later that evening the Fon turned up, accompanied by five council members and a bottle of gin. We sat on the moonlit veranda for half an hour or so, discussing various subjects in a desultory fashion, and then the Fon hitched his chair closer to mine and leant forward, giving me bis wide and engaging grin that lit up his whole face.

'Some man done tell me dat you done catch Que-fong-goo,' he said. 'Dis man speak true?'

'Na so,' I nodded, 'na fine beef dat.'

'Dis man done say you catch dis beef with your hand,' said the Fon.' I tink sometime dis man tell me lie, eh? Dis na bad beef, dis Que-fong-goo; you no fit catch um with you hand, eh? 'E go kill you one time, no be so?'

'No,' I said firmly, 'dis man no tell lie. I done catch dis beef with my hand.'

The council members let out their breath with a hiss at this information, and the Fon sat back and regarded me wide-eyed.

'An when you done catch um what 'e done do?' asked the Fonat last.

'He done bite me.'

' Whaaaaa! ' said the Fon and the council members in unison.

'He done bite me here,' I said, holding out my hand, and the Fon shied away as though I had pointed a gun at him. He and the council members examined my finger from a safe distance, chattering eagerly to each other.

'Why you no die?' asked the Fon presently.

'Die?' I asked, frowning. 'Why I go die?'

'Na bad beef dis ting,' said the Fon excitedly. ''E de bite too much. If black man go hold him 'e go die one time. Why you never die, my friend?'

'Oh, I get special medicine for dis ting,' I said airily.

A chorus of 'Ahhs!' came from my audience.

'Na European medicine dis?'asked the Fon.

'Yes. You like I go show you?'

'Yes, yes, na foinel' he said eagerly.

They sat there silent and expectant while I went and fetched my small medicine chest; from it I extracted a packet of boracic powder, and spread a little on the palm of my hand. They all craned eagerly forward to see it. I filled a glass of water, mixed in the powder and then rubbed the result on my hands.

'There!' I said, spreading my hands out like a conjurer. 'Now Que-fong-goo no fit kill me.'

I walked over to the skink box, opened it, and turned round holding the beast in my hands. There was a fluttering of robes and the council members fled to the other end of the veranda in a disorderly stampede. The Fon remained rooted to his chair, a look of disgust and fright on his face as I walked towards him. I stopped in front of him and held out the reptile, who was busily trying to amputate my finger.

'Look … you see?' I said; 'dis beef no fit kill me.'

The Fon's breath escaped in a prolonged 'Aieeeeeee!' of astonishment as he watched the lizard. Presently he tore his fascinated eyes away from it and looked up at me.

'Dis medicine,' he said hoarsely, ''e good for black man?'

'Na fine for black man.'

'Black man no go die?'

'At all, my friend.'

The Fon sat back and gazed at me in wonder.

'Wha!' he said at last, 'na fine ting dis.'

'You like you go try dis medicine?' I asked casually.

'Er…er…yes, yes, na foine,' said the Fon nervously.

Before he could change his mind, I put the skink back in the box, and then prepared some more of the boracic mixture. I showed the Fon how to rub it on his enormous hands, and he massaged away for a long time. Then I brought the box, pulled out the skink, and held it out for him.

It was a tense moment; the ring of council members watched with bated breath and screwed-up countenances while the Fon licked his lips, put out his hand towards the skink, drew it back nervously, and then reached out again. There was a moment's suspense as his hand lowered over the highly-coloured reptile, then he drew a deep breath and grabbed the beast firmly round the waist.

'Ahhh!' hissed the council members.

'Wheee! I done hold um,' yelped the Fon, clutching the unfortunate skink so tightly that I feared for its life.

'Hold um softly,' I begged. 'You go kill um if you hold um tight.'

But the Fon, paralysed by a mixture of fright and pleasure at his own daring, could only sit there glaring at the skink in his hand and muttering, 'I done hold um … I done hold um …' until I was forced to prise the unfortunate skink loose and return it to its box.

The Fon examined his hands, and then looked up at me with an expression of child-like delight on his face. The council members were chattering away to each other. The Fon waved his hands at me and started to laugh. He laughed and laughed and laughed, slapping his thighs, doubling up in his chair, coughing and spluttering, while the tears ran down his face. It was so infectious that I started to laugh as well, and soon the councillors joined in. We sat there stamping our feet, laughing as though we would never stop until some of the councillors rolled on the floor and fought for breath, and the Fon lay back weakly in his chair shaken by huge gusts of mirth.