Kafir Stories | Page 3

cud and
surveying the sheep which lay thickly around him. Maliwe then closed

the gate, tied it securely with a reim, and pulled several large bushes
against it. He then walked on to his little hut, situated only a few yards
distant. He had carried in from the veldt a small number of dry sticks,
and he now placed a few of the smallest of these in a little heap on the
raised stone which served as fireplace. He then drew out his tinder-box
from the leather bag which he always carried. This bag was simply the
skin of a kid, the head of which had been cut off, and the body drawn
out through the aperture at the neck thus made. He struck a spark with
his flint, and when the tinder glowed, he shook out a little of it on to
some dry grass, which soon blazed up, and which he then placed under
the twigs. In a few minutes he had a cheerful fire, and then he untied
his little three-legged pot from where it hung from one of the wattles of
the roof. This pot was half full of mealies already cooked, and which he
simply meant to warm for his supper. The remainder of his week's
ration of meat (the skinny ribs of a goat that had died of debility down
near his master's homestead) was also hanging from the roof, but with a
sigh he determined to reserve that delicacy for the morrow,
remembering that two days would elapse before a fresh supply was due.
His dog, Sibi--a starved looking mongrel greyhound--lay at his feet and
gazed up with expectant eyes, waiting for the handful of tough mealies
which would be flung to him when his master had finished supper.
It was a clear starlit night in Spring. Supper over, Maliwe sat on the
ground just outside the floor of the hut, and thought of Nalai, the
daughter of old Dalisile, for whom he was paying lobola. In a month
more, another year's service would be completed, and another cow
would be his. This he meant to take as he had taken the two already
earned, and deliver to his prospective father-in-law. His mother had
promised him the calf of her only cow as soon as it should be weaned,
and then he hoped that old Dalisile, skinflint as he was, would deliver
the girl, trusting him for payment of the fifth and last beast in course of
time. In two or, at the outside, three months this calf would be weaned.
It was a red bull with white face and feet--he knew every mark, and one
might almost say every hair on the animal, having looked at it so often.
It was a remarkably fine calf, but Maliwe thought it took a strangely
long time in growing up. He lit his pipe, and dreamt dreams. Soon he
would be no longer alone in his hut. He loved the girl Nalai, and she

seemed to love him, so the future was bright. She was tall and straight,
still unbent by that toil which is the portion of the female Kafir. Her
teeth gleamed very white, and her breast swelled each year more
temptingly over the edge other red blanket. As boy and girl they had
grown up together, and long before she was of a marriageable age, he
had determined eventually to marry her. So he went away and worked
for three long years; his strong, self-contained nature needing nothing
but this one fixed idea to steady it. Maliwe was not what is known as a
"School Kafir." He was quite uncivilised in every respect, and was
utterly heathen. He could speak no word of any language except his
own, and he believed implicitly in "Tikoloshe" and the "Lightning
Bird."
His pipe finished, Maliwe arose and fetched a musical instrument from
the hut. This consisted of a stick about three feet long, bent into a bow
by a string made of twisted sinews. About eight inches from one end
was fixed a small dry gourd, with a hole large enough, to admit a five
shilling piece cut out of the side furthest from the point of attachment.
Music is made on such an instrument by holding it so that that part of
the gourd where the aperture is, is pressed against the naked breast, and
then twanging on the string with a small stick. About four notes can be
extracted by a skilful player. The result is not cheerful, and to the
civilised ear the strains of a Jew's harp are preferable. But the twanging
eased the burthen of longing which Maliwe bore, and no lute-player in
passionate Andalusia ever poured out his love in melody with more
genuine feeling than did this savage on his