Хеннинг Манкелль - The Eye of the Leopard

The brief twilight is almost over as he leaves the mess hall. Joseph is waiting for him outside the door. In the distance fires are gleaming. He notices that Joseph is standing rocking on his feet, that he can hardly keep his balance.

‘You’re drunk, Joseph,’ he says.

‘I’m not drunk, Bwana .’

‘I can see that you’re drunk!’

‘I’m not drunk, Bwana . At least not much. I only drink water, Bwana .’

‘You can’t get drunk on water. What have you been drinking?’

‘African whisky, Bwana . But it’s not allowed. I won’t be permitted to stand watch here if any of the mzunguz find out about it.’

‘What would happen if someone saw that you were drunk?’

‘Sometimes in the morning we have to line up and breathe at a wakakwitau, Bwana . If anyone smells of anything but water he is punished.’

‘Punished how?’

‘In the worst case he would have to leave Mutshatsha with his family, Bwana .’

‘I won’t say a thing, Joseph. I’m no missionary. I’m only here on a visit. I’d like to buy a little of your African whisky.’

He watches Joseph trying to assess the situation and make a decision.

‘I’ll pay you well for your whisky,’ he says.

He follows Joseph’s wobbly figure creeping through the dark, close to the building walls, over towards an area with grass huts. Faces he cannot see laugh in the darkness. A woman scolds an invisible man, children’s eyes shine near a fire.

Joseph stops outside one of the grass huts and calls something in a low voice. Two men and three women emerge from the hut, all drunk. Olofson has a hard time distinguishing them in the dark. Joseph makes a sign to him to enter the hut. An ingrained stench of urine and sweat meets him in the darkness within.

I ought to be afraid, he thinks briefly. Yet I feel quite safe in Joseph’s company...

At the same moment he stumbles over something on the floor, and when he feels with his hand he finds that it’s a sleeping child. Shadows dance across the walls, and Joseph motions him to sit down. He sinks down on to a raffia mat and a woman hands him a mug. What he drinks tastes like burnt bread and it’s very strong.

‘What am I drinking?’ he asks Joseph.

‘African whisky, Bwana .’

‘It tastes bad.’

‘We’re used to it, Bwana . We distil lituku from maize waste, roots, and sugar water. Then we drink it. When it’s gone we make more. Sometimes we drink honey beer too.’

Olofson can feel himself becoming intoxicated.

‘Why did the others leave?’ he asks.

‘They’re not used to a mzungu coming here, Bwana . No mzungu has ever been inside this hut before.’

‘Tell them to come back. I’m no missionary.’

‘But you’re white, Bwana . A mzungu .’

‘Tell them anyway.’

Joseph calls out into the darkness, and the three women and two men return and squat down. They are young.

‘My sisters and my brothers, Bwana . Magdalena, Sara, and Salomo. Abraham and Kennedy.’

‘Salomo is a man’s name.’

‘My sister’s name is Salomo, Bwana . So it’s a woman’s name too.’

‘I don’t want to bother you. Tell them that. Tell them I don’t want to bother you.’

Joseph translates and the woman named Sara says something, casting glances at Olofson.

‘What does she want?’ he asks.

‘She wonders why a wakakwitau is visiting an African hut, Bwana . She wonders why you drink, since all the whites here say it is forbidden.’

‘Not for me. Explain to her that I’m not a missionary.’

Joseph translates and an intense discussion breaks out. Olofson watches the women, their dark bodies in relief under their chitengen . Maybe Janine will come back to me in a black guise, he thinks...

He gets drunk on the drink that tastes like burnt bread and listens to a discussion he doesn’t understand.

‘Why are you so excited?’ he asks Joseph.

‘Why don’t all the mzunguz drink, Bwana ? Especially the ones who preach about their God? Why don’t they understand that the revelation would be much stronger with African whisky? We Africans have understood this since the days of our first forefathers.’

‘Tell them I agree. Ask them what they really think about the missionaries.’

When Joseph has translated, there is an embarrassed silence.

‘They don’t know what to say, Bwana . They aren’t used to a mzungu asking such a question. They’re afraid of giving the wrong answer.’

‘What would happen?’

‘Living at a mission station means food and clothing, Bwana . They don’t want to lose that by giving the wrong answer.’

What would happen then?’

‘The missionaries might be displeased, Bwana . Maybe we would all be chased off.’

‘Does that happen? That anyone who doesn’t obey is chased off?’

‘Missionaries are like other whites, Bwana . They demand the same submission.’

‘Can’t you be more clear? What would happen?’

‘ Mzunguz always think that we blacks are unclear, Bwana .’

‘You speak in riddles, Joseph.’

‘Life is mysterious, Bwana .’

‘I don’t believe a word of what you’re saying, Joseph. You won’t be chased away by the missionaries!’

‘Of course you don’t believe me, Bwana . I’m just telling you the truth.’

‘You’re not saying anything.’

Olofson takes a drink.

‘The women,’ he says. ‘They’re your sisters?’

‘That’s right, Bwana .’

‘Are they married?’

‘They would like to marry you, Bwana .’

‘Why is that?’

‘A white man is not black, unfortunately, Bwana . But a bwana has money.’

‘But they’ve never seen me before.’

‘They saw you when you arrived, Bwana .’

‘They don’t know me.’

‘If they were married to you they would get to know you, Bwana .’

‘Why don’t they marry the missionaries?’

‘Missionaries don’t marry blacks, Bwana . Missionaries don’t like black people.’

‘What the hell are you saying?’

‘I’m just saying the truth, Bwana .’

‘Stop calling me Bwana .’

‘Yes, Bwana .’

‘Of course the missionaries like you! It’s for your sake they’re here, isn’t it?’

‘We blacks believe that the missionaries are here as a penance, Bwana . For the man that they nailed to a cross.’

‘Why do you stay here then?’

‘It’s a good life, Bwana . We will gladly believe in a foreign god if we get food and clothing.’

‘Is that the only reason?’

‘Of course, Bwana . We have our own real gods, after all. They probably don’t like it that we fold our hands several times each day. When we speak to them we beat our drums and dance.’

‘Surely you can’t do that here.’

‘Sometimes we go far out in the bush, Bwana . Our gods wait there for us.’

‘Don’t the missionaries know about this?’

‘Of course not, Bwana . If they did they would be very upset. That wouldn’t be good. Especially not now, when I might get a bicycle.’

Olofson stands up on his unsteady legs. I’m drunk, he thinks. Tomorrow the missionaries will return. I have to sleep.

‘Follow me back, Joseph.’

‘Yes, Bwana .’

‘And stop calling me Bwana !’

‘Yes, Bwana . I’ll stop calling you Bwana after you leave.’