Above her passion for Zalu Zako was her natural feminine appreciation of a good match. The Son of the Snake was far better from a woman’s point of view than union with a successful wizard. In the event of the death of the King-God, Kawa Kendi, the wives of his son and successor, although denied to him, were accorded special privileges; and upon his demise these royal wives retained their home upon the hill which had become his tomb. Moreover, as Bakuma knew well, now that Zalu Zako was heir-apparent, he must choose the principal wife who would for her life remain paramount in the household, avoiding the dread of every ageing woman that her husband would take unto him another wife younger and more supple.
The one mosquito in paradise was the fear that as soon as her uncle, her father’s brother to whom she belonged by inheritance, learned the august personage who desired her, he would raise the price to a prohibitive figure; for he was mean as well as stupid and lazy, wherefore he had few goods, and although Zalu Zako was a rich man she knew that any man save a fool loves to drive a good bargain if only to prove his astuteness. Therefore was another imperative necessity to procure every means of magic and charm to fan the flame of her lover’s desires.
Yet always flashed a bright-hued lizard in the sun of her joy when she imagined herself installed as the chief wife in the household of Zalu Zako, an unassailable position as long as she had one male child; the practical mistress of his first two wives as well as the retinue of slaves.
Bazila, the younger wife, Bakuma knew well; the favourite and haughty, covered with the most expensive amulets against every ill and black magic, she was overfond of sneering at young girls of the hut thatch whose charms had not yet netted a victim.
“Ehh!” gasped Bakuma and flashed her teeth as she rolled the warm leaves around the sticky mess, “then will the scent of my body be more bitter than the flower of the fish-faced cactus!”
And so through the night did Bakuma nibble at anticipatory joys as she lay upon her reed mat on the slightly raised dais of the floor which was her bed, watching the smoke of the fire in the middle of the hut lose itself in the shadows of the roof, and listening in the hope of hearing some voice of the spirits whom Marufa was to invoke on her behalf. Save for the occasional bleating of a goat and once the harsh scream of the Baroto bird, which made her heart contract, for it is a bad omen, the night was still. However, at the hour of the monkey Bakuma arose to replenish the fire. As the western star was melting in the warm green she left the compound. On the outskirts of the village the tall figure of MYalu appeared from the shadows of the plantation.