Chapter 4 The third series of manor visitors｜1

after despair Folk dance event Our estate has many visitors.In the frontier land, hospitality was essential not only to the traveler but also to the life of the settled settlers.A visitor is a friend, and his message, good or bad, is as tempting bread to the hungry soul of a lonely land.The best friend who came to the manor was the messenger of heaven, and he brought the gospel. Dennis.Phoebe.Hendon returned from a long expedition and was eager to talk.He found that I felt the same way at the manor, and sat and talked with me at the supper table until dawn.We talked about everything, everything we could think of, sometimes analyzing and commenting, sometimes laughing at each other.White people who have been alone with the natives for a long time have developed a habit of telling the truth, because they have no reason and no opportunity to pretend.When they met, what they said had an aboriginal accent.From this we get the impression that the rough Maasai tribe, in their villages below, looked up at the manor houses in flames like stars in the night sky, as the peasants of Emberia saw St. Francis and St. Clare. Talk about the theological house like that.

The largest social event on the estate is the Ngoma's grand folk dance.At these times we entertain between fifteen and two thousand guests.The hospitality offered by the manor is mediocre.To the old bald women dancing the Morani (warrior dance), and the girls of Endito, we gave out snuff, and the children always brought the children at these dances for the sugar, which Kamantan divided by the spoonful with a wooden spoon.From time to time, I begged the mayor to allow the sharecroppers on my estate to make their own Tambo, a strong liquor made from sugarcane.But the real performers, the young dancers, glow with festive splendor, indifferent to the temptations of the outside world, indulging in the sweetness and excitement of their hearts.All they want from the outside world is a flat ground on which to dance.This is near my house: the large lawn under the shade of trees is flat and wide; the hut of my servant, which was originally a clearing in the forest, is also very flat.For this reason, the young people in this area have a very high opinion of my manor, and all of them attach great importance to the invitation to the manor dance.

Ngoma is sometimes held during the day and sometimes at night.Ngoma during the day needs more open ground.There are a lot of dancers, and there are also a lot of dancers, often on the big lawn.Most Ngoma dancers stand in a large circle or several small circles, jump up and down, throw their heads back, or step on the ground rhythmically, or the golden rooster leans forward independently, or changes feet and leans back independently.From time to time, they walked around the circle slowly and solemnly, with their faces facing the center of the circle.Some outstanding dancers jumped and ran from the circle into the center to perform.The Ngoma during the day left large and small dry brown circle marks on the lawn, as if the grass had been burned here, and these magical circles would only slowly disappear.

In terms of character, Ngoma during the day is more of a market than a dance.The spectators are bustling, and following the dancers, they form groups and clusters under the trees.Sometimes after the news of Ngoma is held, you can still see Nairobi's coquettish girls here, who are called Malaya's kiln sisters, and a moving name in Swahili comes here.They sat in Ali Khan's two-wheeled mule cart and were wrapped in dazzling large flower cloth.When they sat down on the lawn, they looked like huge flowers blooming on the green field.The dignified manor girls, in their traditional costumes of oiled and polished leather skirts and flowing capes, sat down next to Malaya and talked freely about their dress and style.But the beauties from the city, with their legs crossed, are like ebony dolls with glass eyes inlaid, still the same, calmly smoking thin cigarettes.Groups of children were fascinated by folk dance, eager to learn and imitate, flocking from one dance circle to another, or being driven to the side of the lawn by adults, forming their own small dance circles, dancing and dancing to their heart's content jump.

When the Kikuyu go to Ngoma, they have to rub their bodies with a special pink plaster. This chalky plaster is in great demand and can be bought and sold freely to give them a strange rosy complexion.This color belongs neither to the animal world nor to the vegetable world.Painted with plaster, the young man seems to have become a fossil, resembling a statue in the rock wall.The girls, who wore tanned and beaded leather skirts, were also anointed with this plaster to form the same image: statues in dresses.The wrinkles and stripes on it are as if carefully carved out by a skilled artist.The lads who dance Ngoma are almost naked, but on these occasions their headdresses are elaborate, their bangs and braids are powdered with chalk, and they stalk with their limestone heads upturned.

During my last years in Africa, the government banned chalk powder on the head.Regardless of men and women, suits are the most attractive.Diamonds and expensive decorations cannot add more charm to the wearer.Whenever you spot a group of Kikuyu in pink plaster marching in the distance, you feel the air around you vibrate with joy. The disadvantage of the daytime open-air dance party is that it does not have a certain range.The stage is too big for the dance Where does it begin?Where does it end?Chalk powder may be painted all over the body of a dancer's small body. They are covered with ostrich back feathers, and they are like brave turkeys dressed from head to toe in the fur of Columbus monkeys, showing a knightly appearance. look.But they have to look scattered and dotted under the tall trees.In that scene, large and small dance circles, piles of scattered spectators, and children running back and forth pull your eyes from one place to another in a hurry.The whole scene is somewhat similar to those ancient paintings of battles.From a bird's-eye view from a height, I saw cavalry advancing on one side, artillery on the other side holding their positions, and those lonely officers were sprinting diagonally in the field of vision.

Ngoma is also rowdy during the day.The dance music played by flutes and sheepskin drums is often overwhelmed by the cheers of the audience.When one of the characters in the dance is put to death by a man, there is a strange, thin, long cry from the dancing girls, and you can also see a samurai jumping upwards in a very graceful posture, or lifting Spears swung overhead.The like-minded conversation of the elderly sitting on the lawn is like a stream flowing endlessly.Here, you can happily see two old Kikuyu women who are over seventy years old, drinking around wine gourds, while immersing themselves in joyful conversations.Perhaps reminiscing about their days in the dance world, their faces lit up with excitement.As the afternoon wore on, the sun sank, and the Tambo in the wine gourd gradually bottomed out.Sometimes a pair of old men would come together, and one of the old women would often recall her youth and couldn't help staggering out, flapping her shoulders and taking a dance or two with true girlish grace.Although most people dismissed her, she won the enthusiastic applause of her small circle of contemporaries.

However, the nightly Ngoma takes place in an atmosphere of earnestness and sincerity. Ngoma night parties are only held in autumn.After the corn is harvested, under the silver light of the full moon, drums and music are played everywhere.I don't think the Aboriginals ascribed any religious meaning to the Ngoma Night, but they occasionally did or did.The demeanor of performers and audience reveals that this is a mysterious and sacred moment.These dances may have a long history of thousands of years.Some of these dances were highly appreciated by the dancers' mothers and grandmothers but were considered indecent by white immigrants and had to be banned.Once, returning from a vacation in Europe, during the busy season of picking coffee beans, I found that twenty-five young warriors on the estate had been sent to prison by my manager for dancing a forbidden dance at a night party at the estate.My manager told me his wife couldn't stand the dance.I scolded the old sharecroppers for dancing the Ngoma near the manager's house, but they explained to me in earnest that they did it in the Kasaigou compound four or five miles away.I had no choice but to go to Nairobi to discuss the matter with the district chief, and he released all the dancers back to the manor to pick coffee.

The scenery of the night dance is very beautiful.At this time, you don't have to worry about where is the venue for the performance.It consists of piles of bonfires stretching to the end of the light.Fire is indeed the core of Ngoma.In fact, dancing does not necessarily require firelight.The moonlight on the African plateau is miraculously clear and bright.Fire is used to create an effect.It makes the dance floor the best stage, combining all colors, all movements into one unity. Natives rarely take this effect too far.What they lit was not a raging flame.The peasant women of the manor house had carried the wood to the dancing hall on the first day, and they moved like hostesses of a banquet, and piled the wood in the center of the dancing ring.The old lady attaches great importance to this kind of night party. She goes to the dance hall in the evening and sits around the firewood pile in the center to watch the dance. Outside the old woman's circle, piles of bonfires are lit at night, like a halo of stars.The dancers danced and danced outside the bonfire with the night forest as the background.The dance hall needs to be quite large, otherwise the heat and smoke will pour into the eyes of the old audience, but no matter how big the venue is, it is just a closed place in the world, just like a big house, which has everything in it, but it is not for everyone. known.

Natives have neither a sense nor an interest in contrast.The natural umbilical cord has not been completely severed with them.Only when the moon is full do they hold Ngoma night parties.The brighter the moonlight, the more beautiful they danced.When the earth was bathed and bathed in the soft, bright light from the heavens, the natives added their small, red, fiery splendor to the brilliant light over Africa. The guests came in twos and threes, sometimes fourteen or five, some of them were friends who made an appointment to come together, and some of them were traveling together on the road.Many of these dancers came here on foot fifteen miles.When many people walk together, they take flutes and sheepskin drums with them.Therefore, on the night of the folk dance festival, the country's avenues and alleys echoed with music, just like wind chimes ringing on the face of the moon, and the beautiful sound floated all over the sky.At the entrance of the dance circle, people who arrived in a hurry wandered and looked around, waiting to let them in.Sometimes, guests from afar or the sons of the chiefs of neighboring tribes will be given preferential treatment, and the elders among the tenant farmers, skilled dancers, and hostesses of night parties will come out to welcome them in person.

The organizer of the night party is also a young man from the manor.They are responsible for the procedures and ceremonies of the night party, and all of them are dedicated to their responsibilities.Before the dance begins, they frown and poignantly point in front of the dancers; when the dance is in full swing, they run up and down the sides of the ring to make sure everything is going smoothly.They are also equipped with excellent equipment, holding a bundle of thin sticks and lighting a fire at one end. Fearing that the fire will go out, they will stretch it into the campfire from time to time to burn.They patrolled the dancers vigilantly, and if they found any misbehavior, they rushed there quickly.While sternly scolding them with tiger faces, they waved fire sticks, and stabbed the perpetrator's body with the burning end.The hapless fellow curled up in a ball, but said nothing.Perhaps the brand that came out of the Ngoma night party was not a mark of brilliance. There is a dance segment: the girls stand demurely on the boy's feet, with their arms around his waist; Hold it high, and sometimes put it on the ground.This makes for a beautiful picture: the young women of the tribe take refuge in the arms of their young husbands; the men who defend them even let them stand on their own feet, in case of poisonous snakes or other dangers on the ground.The dance lasted for hours, dance after dance, with an angelic look of delight on the faces of the dancers, as if each of them were really ready to die for the girl. There is also a moving dance. The dancers jump back and forth between the bonfires, and the lead dancer makes a series of leaps and forwards in a row, and the spear in his hand whizzes. I believe this dance is based on lion hunting. Adapted. There are flutes, drums and singing at Ngoma night parties.Some of the singers are well-known singers all over the country, specially invited from afar.Their singing is not so much singing as rhythmic reciting.They were all impromptu singers, making up free-for-all songs, accompanied by the rapid, focused chorus of the dancers.In the wilderness at night, it is so pleasant to hear the soft singing, the regular stomping, the youthful rhythmic tone.Then, when these songs whirled around all night, accompanied by drums beating from time to time to enhance the effect, they became extremely monotonous, which tortured the hearing surprisingly, and seemed to make you unable to listen or stop. At that time, the most famous singer came from Dagoletti.He has a clear, sonorous voice and is an excellent dancer himself.As he sang, he strode into or ran into the dance ring, half crouching with each step.He puts a palm over his mouth, perhaps to focus the volume, but to give the listener the illusion that some dangerous message is being kept under wraps.His image is like an African resonator.He can often mobilize the emotions of the audience at will.Sometimes happy and joyful, sometimes war-like frenzy, and sometimes laughing up and down.He sang a little dreadful song, a war song.In the singing, I felt that the singers were mobilizing from tribe to tribe to fight, preaching slaughter and looting to the people.A hundred years ago this song would have chilled the blood of white immigrants.But in general, singers aren't that scary.One night he sang three songs and I asked Kamantan to translate for me.The first song is Fantasia, and with the singing, all the dancers seem to be boarding a boat and heading towards Fraia.The second song, Kamantan explained to me, was all about old women, mothers of song-and-dancers, and the country.This song sounds very kind to us, and the lyrics are very long. It must be telling in detail the wisdom and kindness of those old Kikuyu ladies who have lost their teeth and bald. Timely nod.The third song was short, but it got everyone laughing loudly.The singer had to intensify his high notes to drown out the laughter.And he himself, singing and singing, couldn't help laughing.Those old ladies, being so flattered in the song, couldn't help smiling, patting their asses, and yawning like crocodiles.Kamantan was unwilling to translate the song, saying it was boring, and only briefly mentioned two sentences.The theme of the song is simple: after a plague epidemic, the government will buy every dead rat handed over to the district office at a fixed price.The lyrics are about what happened when the mouse was caught everywhere, and the mouse had to take refuge in the beds of old ladies and young women.The details of the song must be interesting, but unfortunately I don't know.Kamantan himself was reluctant to translate for me, while showing a wry smile from time to time. At one Ngoma night party, dramatic events took place: The evening party that time was a farewell banquet, which was specially held for my short visit to Europe.We had a good harvest that year, and the night party was very grand, with about fifteen hundred Kikuyu people attending.The dance has been going on for hours.I walked out the door, thinking about watching it for a while before going to bed.They put a chair for me with its back to the servants' quarters, and I was accompanied by two old sharecroppers. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the dance circle, the frightened movement, the strange sound, like the wind blowing through a bunch of rushes.The rhythm of the dance slowed down, but it didn't stop.I asked an old man what was the matter, and he answered quickly in a low voice: Masai Iwanakuga.Here comes Massey. A runner must have delivered the news, for there was no greater movement for a while.Perhaps the Kikuyu would pass on word that they could receive these unexpected guests.It is illegal for the Maasai to participate in the Kikuyu Ngoma.Because in the past, such things used to cause too much trouble.My servants came and stood by my chair.Everyone turned their eyes to the entrance of the dance hall.Finally, the Masaiyi came in, and the dance stopped abruptly. Twelve young Masai warriors stepped onto the dance floor.After walking a few steps, they stopped and waited a while without looking around.They blinked at the campfire, naked save for their weapons and ornate headgear.One of them wore a wartime lionskin headdress, painted from knee to toe in a broad band of scarlet that seemed to drip down her thigh with blood.Standing with their legs straight, their heads slightly thrown back, they were silent and strangely serious.Their air was both conqueror and conquered.It seems that they can sense that they came to the Ngoma night party for no reason.The monotonous beat of the sheepskin drum flies across the river and into the Masaiyi Reserve.Damm, Damm, knocking, knocking, knocking, knocking the heart of the young samurai over there.The twelve could no longer resist the call of the drums. The Kikuyu were also deeply irritated, but received the guests politely.The dance leader of the manor welcomed them into the dance circle, and they took their places in silence.The dance started again, but it lost the atmosphere just now, and the air became solemn.The drums are louder and the tempo is faster.If Ngoma continues, we are sure to witness some astonishing performances, as the Kikuyu and Maasai try to show each other the skill and vigor of their dances.It is a pity that the situation did not develop like this. Some things, even with the goodwill of each party, cannot be understood. I don't know what's going on.Suddenly, I saw the dance ring shake and collapse, and someone screamed loudly.In an instant, everything in front of me was in chaos, people were running and crowded.The sound of punching and the sound of a body falling to the ground could be heard faintly.Over our heads the night air trembled with flying spears.We were all on our feet, and even the wise old ladies in the middle of the circle were kneeling on the woodpile to see what was going on. When the emotions calmed down and the frantic crowd dissipated again, I found myself surrounded by a small open space.Two old sharecroppers approached me and reluctantly explained what had happened: the Masai had violated the law.The current situation is that one Masai and three Kikuyu were seriously injured and chopped into pieces, as he said.They seriously asked me if I would be willing to stitch their wounds up, otherwise, everyone would have to get in trouble with the Serikari government.I asked the old grappler where it had been cut.head!He replied proudly, with a native air of indifference.Kamantan came hurrying now, with a long threaded darning needle and my thimble.I am still undecided.At this moment, the old Avalu came forward. He learned a tailoring skill during the seven years in prison.He must have been looking for an opportunity to test his skills, to show his skills, and to commit himself to this case voluntarily.All attention was turned to him.He did stitch up the wound, and it was restored to health under his hands.He has since bragged about the success, but Kamantan told me that the head must not have been separated at the time. Because it was illegal for Masay to attend the ball, for a while we hid the wounded Masay in the servants' quarters for white visitors.There, he recovered; he finally disappeared from there, without a word of thanks to Avalou.I think, for Masai, being wounded and healed by the Kikuyu is hard to accept from the heart. When I went out to ask about the wounded just before dawn on the Ngoma night, I saw the bonfire still burning slightly in the gray early morning sky.Some Kikuyu youths are around the fire, jumping and sticking long sticks into the embers under the guidance of an elderly woman, Vainaina's mother.It turned out that they were issuing a spell to prevent the Maasai from gaining the love of the Kikuyu girl. somalia women There was a group of visitors who were very influential at the estate, but I couldn't write too much, they hated it.They are the women of the Farah family. When Farah got married, he brought his wife back from Somalia, accompanied by a small group of slightly blackened pigeons, lively and gentle: his wife's mother and sister, and the little ones who grew up in her home. cousin.Farah told me this is the custom in their country.In Somalia, marriages are arranged by the parents, and the young people's fame, wealth, and fertility are all taken into consideration.In those famous families, the bride and groom do not meet until the wedding.But Somalia is a chivalrous people who never leave their women alone.According to the etiquette, the newly married husband will go to live with his wife for six months after the wedding. During this period, the bride will still maintain the status of hostess and authority in the family.Sometimes the bridegroom can't do this, so the bride's family members will accompany her to the husband's house to live a newly married life without hesitation, even though doing so means leaving their homeland and wandering around. In my family, the circle of Somali women later added a little Somali girl who lost her mother when she was young.She was adopted by Farah, and I think he may not have had the slightest idea to make some money for the little girl when she gets married in the future.The girl was surprisingly bright and lively.Interestingly, as she grew up, you could see how those Somali women took her hand in hand and meticulously raised her into a proper virgin.She was only eleven years old when she first came to live with us, and she often escaped the control of the family and came to my place to circle around me.She mounted my little donkey, took up my gun, and she ran to the pond with the Totos of Kikuyu; she trotted around the netted rush embankment with her skirts up and bare feet .Usually, little Somali girls have their hair shaved, leaving only a circle of dark curls with a long knot on top.It was a beautiful hairstyle, and gave the child the look of a very jovial and mischievous little monk.However, as time passed, under the influence of the big girls, she changed.She is instinctively bewildered and dominated by the process of change.It was as if weights had been tied to her legs, and she had to walk slowly, slowly.She learned the best posture and cast her eyes down.She takes pride in avoiding strangers by rising to her feet.Her hair was no longer cut, but when it was long enough, it was parted, combed, and braided like other girls.The novice, solemnly and proudly dedicated to the sacred liturgy.This made people feel that she would rather not live than make a mistake in etiquette. That old lady, Farah's mother-in-law, according to what Farah told me, is deeply respected in the country for educating her daughter well.In their hometown, they are role models of demeanor and models of young girls.The reputation is well-deserved, and there are indeed three most noble and dignified young women in front of them.I have never met a more feminine lady.Their clothes make their girly gentleness even more charming.They wear graceful, loose long skirts.I know because I often buy them silk or calico. A long dress takes ten yards of material.Amid these voluminous materials, their slender legs moved in a sinuous and mysterious rhythm: Your noble legs leap, chasing Dim desires are more confused in the spin like two witches Strain the black and turn it over in a deep bottle The old mother herself was also an unforgettable figure, strong and strong, with the gentle and quiet character of the mother, strong, confident, and benevolent.I've never seen her lose her temper.Teachers and academics should be jealous of her, of her charismatic inner quality.In her hands, education was neither forced nor bitter, but a sublime and great commandment to honor her pupils in accepting her mystical teachings.The hut I built for them in the woods was a small secondary school for white magic.How lightly these three young girls walked on the forest path, like three young sorcerers who are studying hard.At the end of their studies, that great power will belong to them.They compete for the best with like-minded spirits, just as you are in the market, your price is open to people to comment on, the competition has the characteristics of frankness and sincerity.The value of Farah's wife is no longer up in the air.She was in a special position, like a good student who had gotten a witchcraft scholarship.Perhaps people were observing her secret conversations with the old wizard.Such an honor is something ordinary girls will never enjoy. All young women have a high estimate of their own worth.It is impossible for an Islamic virgin to marry a man who is inferior to her, and such a thing would incur the harshest condemnation on her family.A man can marry a woman who is inferior to him, and nothing is better for him. Young Somali men are famous for marrying Masayi wives.However, although Somali girls can marry to the Arabian Peninsula, Arab girls cannot marry to Somalia, because Arabs are closer to the Prophet and their race is superior.Even among the Arabs, girls belonging to the family of the Prophet were not allowed to marry outsiders.On the merits of their sex, young women can claim a good social career.They themselves compare this principle without distraction to that of a thoroughbred stud farm, because Somali people value mares very much. When we got to know each other very well, the girls asked me if what they had heard was correct. Some European nations marry their daughters for free.They even heard, but could not understand, the idea that there is a people so corrupt that a sum is paid to the groom for marrying off a girl.Pooh!What a shame for such parents!Shame on such a submissive girl!Where did their self-esteem go?Where is the respect for women and virgins?The three girls said angrily that if they were born in such a nation, they would rather not marry for life. We were in Europe at the time, and we had no opportunity to learn the art of girlish self-regard, and I couldn't capture its charm from those old paper piles.Now I finally understand how my grandfather and great-grandfather were forced to compromise.Somali customs are at the same time a natural need and a fine art.It oozes religion, strategy, and ballet.People persistently, deftly, and meticulously apply it to various fields.The best thing about this custom is to hold the opposite in the palm of your hand and play with it at will.Behind the eternal principles of refutation, there is no shortage of acts of generosity.Behind the pedantry, there are so many ridiculous things, and contempt for death.These three daughters of a warlike nation passed through a solemn ceremony, as if they had just danced a grand and elegant military dance.The cream is still in their mouths, and they will not rest until they drink the blood of the enemy's heart.They resemble three cruel little she-wolves in sheep's clothing.The Somalis are a stoic people, tempered in the desert and the sea.The burden of life, intense pressure, monstrous white water, and the long years have naturally tempered Somali women into such hard and brilliant amber. The women had made Farah's house look like a nomad's house, with tapestries and embroidered drapes hanging on the walls, and they might have to move any day.Incense is an essential household item for them, and many varieties of Somalia are delightful.In the days of the manor, I saw very few women.At the end of the day, I used to sit quietly for an hour in the twilight with the old ladies and girls of the Farah family. They are interested in everything, and a little thing will make them happy.Small calamities in the manor and local anecdotes can make them laugh endlessly, like the bells in the house playing harmonious music.When I tried to teach them how to knit, they giggled like they were at a puppet show. There is no ignorance or contempt in their innocence.Whether it is childbirth or funeral arrangements, they all help out and discuss the details with the old mother calmly.Sometimes, to amuse me, they told fairy tales like the Arabian Nights, all in a comic style, and their treatment of love was very frank and sincere.These stories are characterized by heroines, chaste or not, who are stronger than the male characters and end victorious.The old mother sat and listened, with a little smile on her face. In this closed female world, so to speak, behind its high walls and fortifications, I felt the existence of a great ideal.Without this ideal, the guards would not be able to patrol so heroically.That ideal is for a century-old woman to obtain the supreme status.At that time the old mother will take on a new look, and she will sit on the throne, like the gigantic black emblem of the mighty goddess before the Prophet of Allah in ancient times.The girls had always had the utmost respect for her, but they were practical people, with one eye on the needs of the moment, ready to be entertained. The girls like to inquire about European customs, and they listen carefully to the introduction of white women's demeanor, education, and clothing, as if they are engrossed in learning how men from afar are conquered and how they become inferior, so as to enrich their knowledge. strategic education. Their clothes can be described as very important in life.This is not surprising, since for them clothes are at the same time materials of war, trophies, symbols of victory, like the banner of the conqueror.Their husband, self-denying by nature, indifferent to eating, drinking, and pleasure, is as strong and broad as his country, where only women are his luxury.Before women, he is greedy and never satisfied.A woman is the highest wealth in his life.Horses, camels, cattle and sheep can all be listed as wealth and are desirable, but these things are by no means more than the weight of the wife.Somali women encourage both tendencies of their husband's personality, and they reprimand any weakness in a man, while at the same time enhancing his value with great self-sacrifice.They don't accept even a pair of slippers except their own man, they don't belong to themselves but must belong to the male: father, brother or husband.But they are still the highest prize that everyone strives for in life.It is astonishing how much silk, gold, amber, and coral Somali women receive from their men for mutual decency.The long and tense business trip, the hardships and hardships, all kinds of scheming and long-term patience, all turned into clothing dedicated to women in the end.The men, whose girls have nothing to extract, comb their beautiful curls in their tent-like boudoirs, looking forward to the day when they will subdue conquerors and blackmail blackmailers.They are good at borrowing gorgeous clothes from each other, and they are happy to dress up their little sister in the best clothes of their married sister, which should be the beauty of beauty.She also laughed and put on the gold-encrusted tiara, which was forbidden to virgins by custom. Somalians are destined to be litigants and perennial enemies.We hardly ever have a case that doesn't require Farah to make multiple trips to Nairobi or attend tribal meetings on the estate.At these times, when the old lady saw me, she would tell me the situation of the case without end, her expression was so peaceful and wise.She may have asked Farah.Farah respects his old mother-in-law very much, and tells her the truth about everything she wants to know.But I think she learned about the situation through another way of diplomacy.In this respect she can still preserve, as she sees fit, the woman's ignorance of men's affairs, the woman's insignificance of understanding what men say.If she made a suggestion, it was delivered with the air of a witch, magical and inspired, and no one could hold her accountable. When Somali people gather in the manor or important religious celebrations, women can show their talents in arranging activities and preparing meals.They neither attend the banquet nor go to the mosque, but each is ambitious and aims at the abundance and success of the banquet.Even between them, they did not disclose their own ideas and plans.Whenever this happens, Somali women always remind me of the older generation in my hometown. I can see in my mind how busy they are, crowded in the long and narrow carriages.The Scandinavian women of my mother's and grandmother's time, the civilized slaves of good-natured savages, were invariably represented at the grand, sacred male festivals.Men's festivals include pheasant hunting festival, autumn hunting and so on. For generations, Somali people were slave owners and Somali women lived in harmony with the natives.Their philosophy of life is to be wise and protect themselves, calm and easy-going.It is less difficult for a native to serve a Somali or an Arab than to serve a white person, because the taboos of people of color are the same everywhere.Farah's wife was well-respected among the Kikuyu on the estate, and Kamantan told me repeatedly that she was intelligent. My white friends who often come to the manor for a short stay, such as Berkeley, Dainis, and Somali young women are also very friendly.They talked about these people a lot and knew them surprisingly well.Once they met Berkeley or Dainis, these little girls would caress the folds of their skirts with both hands and talk to them in the tone of a younger sister.但關係畢竟很複雜，因為伯克里、戴尼斯他們都有索馬利亞僕人，這些男僕，是姑娘們一輩子都不能結交的。只要賈馬或比里亞戴頭巾、黑眼珠，身材瘦削在莊園裡一出現，我的索馬利亞姑娘們便隨即消失，一點蹤影都不現。若是這種時候她們想見我，會悄悄地來到房角前，扯起長裙一角遮住臉。英國朋友說，他們很高興得到姑娘們的信任，但在他們的內心，我相信，對於被奉為如此正派無邪，多少有點受寵若驚。 有時，我帶著姑娘們去兜風、訪友。每一次我都小心翼翼地請教老太太，這樣做是否符合規矩，因為我不想讓她們如狄安娜【註：月亮女神。】面容那般純潔的名聲沾上灰塵。在莊園的一隅，住著一位已婚的澳大利亞少婦，那幾年一直是我的一位可愛的鄰居。她常邀請索馬利亞姑娘去喝茶。那可是非同一般的場合，她們打扮得像一束鮮花那麼漂亮。在我們駛向澳大利亞鄰居家的路上，我後面的車廂就像鳥籠似的，嘁嘁喳喳不停。姑娘們對房子、對服飾，甚至對我朋友的丈夫他正在遠處騎馬或犁地都饒有興趣。上茶時，我發現只有已婚的姐姐及其孩子能享用。姑娘們禁茶，因為茶太興奮。她們只能嘗幾塊餅乾，而品嘗的風度優雅而端莊。大家議論那個隨我們一起來的小女孩是否能用茶，抑或已到了喝茶危險的年齡，已婚的大姐姐認為她可以喝茶，但女孩卻瞥了我們一眼深沉、自豪的一瞥，拒絕喝茶。 這位小表妹是個愛思索的姑娘，長著一雙紅棕色的眼睛。她能讀阿拉伯文，會背誦《古蘭經》的一些片斷。她精神上正處於神學的轉折。我與她常討論宗教，也談及世界的奇蹟。從她那裡，我聽到了約瑟與波蒂法爾妻子的故事的真正解釋。她承認基督耶穌是貞女所生，但不是上帝的兒子，因為上帝不可能有肉體的兒子。馬利亞，處女中最可愛的一個，在花園漫步。天主派遣的大天使用羽翼碰了她肩膀一下：她受孕了。一天，在爭辯中我給她看了哥本哈根大教堂裡由索凡爾遜雕塑的基督神像明信片。從此，她溫順而入神地對救世主發生了感情。她永遠聽不夠耶穌的故事，每當我講述時，她感嘆著，臉色也隨之變化。她對猶大很關切他是什麼樣的人？怎麼會有此等人？她本人唯有剜了猶大的眼睛才高興。這真是一種極為熱切的情感，令人感到奇異而爽神，猶如索馬利亞人屋裡焚的燻香，採自於遠山上墨綠的樹木。 我曾詢問法國教士，能否帶我的穆斯林少女來教會。他們友好而快活地同意了我的請求，並興奮地期待著有好戲可看。一天下午，我們驅車到了那裡，一個接一個，肅穆地步入蔭涼的教堂。她們從來沒有見過這麼高大的建築，仰望時，雙手捂著腦袋，以防高樓坍塌砸在身上。教堂裡有許多塑像，除了在明信片上，她們生來從未見過這些東西。法國教會有一座真人高大的聖母馬利亞塑像，是白色、淺藍色，一手持百合花。聖母像旁是聖約瑟的塑像。他的一隻手臂上托著聖嬰。在這些塑像前，姑娘們目瞪口呆，聖母馬利亞之美令她們感嘆不已。關於聖約瑟，她們早已了解，並對其評價甚高如此忠誠的丈夫、聖母的保護者，此刻她們投之以感激的目光，因為他也為妻子抱小孩。法拉赫的妻子那時正盼望生兒育女，在教堂一直守在聖像旁。教士們為教堂的窗子頗為得意，是用仿彩色玻璃的花紙糊成的，象徵著基督的激情。小表妹對這些窗子入了迷。她在教堂巡視時，眼睛老不離窗子，扭著雙手，屈著雙膝，似乎處在十字架的重負之下。在回家的路上。她們很少說話。她們擔心，我想，怕提出任何問題而暴露出自己的無知。只是在幾天後，她們才問我，教士們能否將聖母或聖約瑟從底座上招下來。 小表妹從莊園出嫁了，住在一幢漂亮的平房裡那時沒人住，我借給索馬利亞人的。婚禮可謂壯觀，持續了七天。我出席了首場儀式一隊婦女唱著歌，領著新娘去迎接唱歌的男隊，他們給她送來新郎，直到那一刻，她還沒有見到過她的新郎，我不知道她是否將他想像成索凡爾遜手下的基督形象，也不知她是否模仿那些騎士傳奇，孕育著兩個理想，天堂之愛與人間之愛，在那一週裡，我不止一次驅車到她家。不論我什麼時間到達那裡，她家都洋溢著喜慶的氣息，繚繞著新婚的香氣。短劍舞，還有種種婦女的舞蹈，正跳得情深意濃；老人們正在做著牲口大交易，禮槍在鳴放，騾車馬車往來不息。夜晚，在走廊防風燈的光亮下，車上車下，屋裡屋外，阿拉伯、索馬利亞的種種最美麗的花布飄拂著，閃掠著：洋紅、紫紅、蘇丹褐、玫瑰紅，還有橘黃色。 法拉赫的兒子生在莊園裡，名叫艾罕默德，小名喚薩烏費，其意我想是鋸子。在他的小心眼裡，任何吉庫尤小孩都不在話下。他還是小不點兒的嬰兒時，裹在襁褓之中活像一粒橡樹子，幾乎沒有什麼軀體可以支撐他那黑黝黝的圓腦袋。當他筆直地坐起來，直視你的面容，你抱起他，他就像你掌上的一隻小獵鷹，又像你膝上的一隻小雄獅。他繼承了他媽媽的開朗性格。當他能蹣跚地邁步跑動時，他成了一個快活的大探險家在莊園年輕土著的世界裡，他具有廣泛的影響。 莊園逃亡之夜 有一個逃亡者，來莊園只住一夜就走了，一去不復返。從此，我時常想起他，他名叫埃曼紐松，一個瑞典人。我初識他時，他在奈洛比一家旅館裡當管事。他是個胖墩墩的小夥子，臉兒紅紅的，圓乎乎的。我在那家旅館吃午飯時，他習慣於立在我椅子旁邊，用一種古老國度的圓潤聲調應和。我與他就在那兒熟識起來。他總是那麼絮絮叨叨，以至於有一度我不得不換到另一家旅館去進餐這在當時，是我們在城裡僅有的兩家旅館之一。那時，我只能模模糊糊地聽到一些關於他的消息。他好像有一種天賦，陷自己於糾葛之中。他的愛好、他對生活樂趣的見解也與眾不同，異乎尋常。因而，他與居留在肯亞的其他斯堪地納維亞人合不來。一天下午，他突然出現在莊園，顯得頗為煩惱與驚恐。他求我借一筆錢給他，以便馬上動身去坦噶尼喀，不然的話，他自信會被抓進監獄去。要麼是我的幫助為時過晚，要麼是埃曼紐松耽擱在其他事務上了，沒過多久，我聽說他已在奈洛比被抓起來了，但他沒有蹲看守所，而是從我們視野裡消失了一陣子。 一天晚上，我騎馬回到家，天色很晚，星星已出來了，我忽然看見我房外的石頭上，有個男人正守候著。那是埃曼紐松。他以親切的語調向我宣告：巴倫夫人，瞧，流浪漢又來了。我問他怎麼會在我家門口相遇，他告訴我，他迷了路，被引到我的宅邸來。他應當趕哪條路去坦噶尼喀【註：湖名，在肯亞西南。 】? 這不大可能是實話去坦噶尼喀的路是一條大公路，很容易找，而我的莊園並不在路邊。打算坐什麼去？I asked him.準備步行去，他回答。我又說，那對任何人都辦不到。那意味著在馬賽依保護區穿行三天，沒有水喝，而獅子正鬧得凶。就在那一天，馬賽依人還抱怨過獅害的情形，要我出去為他們射殺一隻。 是的，是的，埃曼紐松清楚這一切，但仍要徒步去坦噶尼喀。因為此外他不知道還能幹些什麼。這會兒，他迷了路，不知能否打擾我，在莊園裡吃頓晚飯，住一夜，明天一早就上路。要是我有所不便，他就即刻趁星夜明朗兼程而去。 我跟他談話時，仍騎在馬上，隱隱地暗示他並非我家的客人，我不願他與我共進晚餐。但從他言談話語的神情可以看出，他也不指望我一定會邀請他。他對我的好客程度及他懇求的分量並不抱有信心。在屋外的黑暗之中，他是一個孤苦的人物，一個沒有朋友可求的人物。他這種懇求的模樣所起的作用，不是挽回他的面子那已成為過去，而是給了我下臺的臺階。如果我拒之於門外，也並非不仁，而可說完全在理。對一個遭受捕獵的動物，這是一種禮節我把僕人叫來牽著小馬，從馬上跳下來。進來吧，埃曼紐松，我說你可以在這裡吃晚飯、住宿。 在燈光下，他的形象真可憐。他穿著一件黑色的長大衣，這在非洲沒人會穿。他沒刮臉，也沒理髮，那雙舊鞋已經開了口。他兩手空空，什麼行李也沒有。我似乎是在扮演將一頭活山羊奉獻給天主的教士，又把牠趕到曠野裡去。我覺得這會兒需要喝點酒。伯克里總是使我家不斷酒，前不久剛給我送來一箱十分稀貴的法國勃艮第葡萄酒。我吩咐朱瑪開一瓶送來。我們坐下來用晚餐，埃曼紐松的酒杯斟得滿滿的，他一口乾了半杯，把剩下的酒放在燈前，凝神注視良久，那神態就像聆聽音樂一樣。名酒，名酒，他說道，這是一九〇六年入窖的。此語非虛，我對他陡生敬意。 此外，他沒有多少話題，我也不知跟他說些什麼好。我問他何以弄到這個地步什麼工作都找不到。他說這裡人搞的行業他一竅不通。他已被旅館解雇，何況他也不是真正科班出身的管事。 你懂點會計麼？I asked. 不，一竅不通。他說，兩個數相加，我總犯難。 你懂點畜牧麼？I keep asking. 是牛麼？他問道，不，不，我怕牛。 那你會開耕耘機麼？ 他的臉上掠過一絲希望之光：不會，他說，不過我想我能學會。 但不是拿我的耕耘機來學，我說，埃曼紐松，你告訴我，你一直幹些什麼？你在生活中究竟幹哪一行？ 他站起來，直挺挺的，我是幹什麼的？他叫道，奇怪，我是一個演員。 我心想，我的天！我完全無能為力對這位迷路的人提供任何實際的幫助。現在該談談廣義的人生了。 你，是演員？這是一個好職業。你在舞臺上喜歡扮演什麼角色？ 喔我是一個悲劇演員，埃曼紐松說，我喜愛的角色是《茶花女》裡的阿曼德，《群鬼》裡的奧斯瓦爾德。 於是，我們議論起這兩齣戲，談及我們在這兩齣戲裡看到過的演員，談及我們對表演的看法。埃曼紐松環視了一下室內：你這兒沒機會弄到易卜生的劇本麼？要有的話，我們可以合作表演《群鬼》的最後一幕，如果你不介意扮演歐文夫人的話。 我可沒有易卜生的劇本。 但也許你還記得住，埃曼紐松還在挽救他的計劃，我自己從頭至尾能背誦奧斯瓦爾德的全部臺詞。最後一幕極佳。你知道，真正的悲劇效果，是不可能磨滅的。 屋外星光燦爛，好一個溫暖而晴朗的月夜。大雨季不太遠了。我問埃曼紐松是否真的打定主意去坦噶尼喀。 是的，他回答，我要去的，現在我得給自己提臺詞。 你幸好沒有結婚。 是，是，他囁嚅著，過一會兒又謙卑地補充說，可是我已經結過婚了。 言談之中，埃曼紐松抱怨，在外面，白人沒法和土著競爭，他們太廉價了。要是在巴黎，他說，我總能在短時間內找到一份工作，比如在這家或那家咖啡館裡混個招待當當。 那你為什麼不留在巴黎，埃曼紐松？I asked him. 他迅速地掃我一眼，巴黎？他說，不，不，說實話，我不幹。我離開巴黎正是時候。 埃曼紐松在世界上有一個朋友，那天夜晚他多次提及。似乎他只要再遇到這位朋友，一切將會改觀。因為那人既富有又慷慨。他是一個魔術師，周遊世界。埃曼紐松最近得到的消息是這位朋友正在舊金山。 我們不時地談及文學、戲劇，而後又回到埃曼紐松的前程上來。他給我講他的本國老鄉在這裡是怎樣一個個地背叛他。 你處在困境之中，埃曼紐松，我感慨道，我不知道還能想出比你更走投無路的任何一個人。 是的，我自己也這麼想。他說，但有一點，我近來想到了，可能你還沒想到：總有人不是你就是我要受最大的罪。 他喝乾了那瓶酒，把杯子稍稍往外推了推。這次旅行，他說，對我來說是一種賭博，不是紅就是黑，成敗在此一舉。我有機會擺脫困難，我甚至可以擺脫一切。另一方面，我要是到了坦噶尼喀，我就可能進入轉機。 我想你一定能到達坦噶尼喀，我說，你可以搭公路上來往的印度人的卡車。 是的，但是有獅子。埃曼紐松頓了頓，還有馬賽依人。 你信上帝麼，埃曼紐松？ 信，信，信，他答道，默默地坐了一會兒他又說，如果我說出了我要說的話，也許你會認為我是一個極端的懷疑主義者。說實在的，除了上帝之外，我絕對什麼都不信。 埃曼紐松，我說，你有錢麼？ Yes I have.八十分。 那不夠，我告訴他，我這屋子裡沒有錢。但也許法拉赫有一點。法拉赫有四盧比。 第二天清早，日出前，我叫僕人喊醒埃曼紐松，並給我們倆準備了早餐。夜裡，我一直在想，我應該用車送他走完第一個十英哩。對埃曼紐松來說，這無濟於事，他還有八十英哩要走。但我不願看到他從我的門檻直接邁入他那吉凶未卜的命運。此外，我還想讓自己在這一喜劇或悲劇中留下點痕跡。我給他裝了一包三明治和煮得硬硬的雞蛋，還送給他一瓶一九〇六年入窖的佳釀，因為他識貨。我想，這說不定是他一生中最後的一瓶酒了。 天亮後的埃曼紐松，顯得像一個傳奇行屍，其鬍鬚在地下長得特別快，可是從墓穴中走出來時，卻風度翩翩。我們驅車前行時，他十分鎮靜安穩。來到姆巴嘎西河另一側時，我讓他下了車。早晨的空氣清新，天空一絲雲彩都沒有。他要向西南方向進發。我環視對面的地平線，太陽剛剛升起，暗中透紅，像煮得很老的雞蛋黃，我想著。再過三、四個小時，它將變為白熾，在漂泊者的上空肆虐發威。 埃曼紐松向我道別，開始踏上征程，接著又折回來，再次向我告辭。我坐在車裡，凝望著他。我在想，當他行進時，他會高興有人在身後目送他。我相信，他那戲劇家的氣質是那麼突出，此刻，他一定深切而生動地感到自己正在離開舞臺，正在消失，以他觀眾的眼睛，他會看到自己在離去。埃曼紐松出走了。這山巒，這荊棘樹，這塵土飛揚的道路，難道不該予以憐憫，為他豎一塊豐碑？哪怕只有一瞬間。 在晨風中，他的黑色長大衣飄捲在他的雙腿上，酒瓶的長頸在一個口袋裡露出來。我的心充滿憐愛與感激之情。這種情感常從居家者的心頭湧起，當他們想起那些徒步旅行者、世間的漂泊者，想起水手、探險家和流浪漢。當埃曼紐松登上小山頂時，他回過身來，摘下帽子向我揮舞。風吹得他的長髮在前額飛揚。 法拉赫與我同坐車內，問道：波瓦拿到哪裡去？法拉赫尊他為波瓦拿先生，是因著他在我家留宿，顯示了他是有身分的人。 去坦噶尼喀。I answered. 走著去嗎？ Yes. 願真主與他同行。法拉赫祝福道。 整整一天，我老惦念著埃曼紐松，還走到屋外，向通往坦噶尼喀的公路眺望。到夜裡十點鐘左右，我聽到西南方隱隱傳來獅子的吼聲。半小時後，那吼聲又傳過來。我不知那獅子是否正蹲伏在那件黑色的舊大衣上。此後的一星期，我設法打聽埃曼紐松的消息，還讓法拉赫去問問他那些在坦、肯之間跑車的印度朋友，有沒有見到埃曼紐松，或者從他身邊駛過。可是，沒有人知道他的任何音訊。 半年以後，我驚奇地收到一封來自多多馬【註：坦尚尼亞的大城市。】的掛號信那裡我不認識任何人。啊，這是埃曼紐松寄來的！信中有五十盧比那是在他最初試圖離開肯亞時向我借的，還有四十盧比是還給法拉赫的。除了這筆錢款這是我期望再次見到的世界末日的錢幣埃曼紐松還有一封充滿感情、極富魅力的長信。他在多多馬找到份差事，酒吧管事。不管是什麼酒吧，反正混得不錯。看來他具有感恩知報的天賦。那天晚上在莊園裡的每一個細節，他都記得清清楚楚。他信中還多次提到自己在這邊有不少朋友。他詳盡地敘述了他去坦噶尼喀的旅程。他對馬賽依人作了很多好評。他們在路上發現了他，把他帶回部落，給予熱忱的款待，表現出偉大的仁慈。大部分路程，他們輪流和他結伴而行，輪流了多次。他寫道，他對馬賽依人也夠意思，給他們講了他在許多國家的歷險故事，以至於馬賽依人都不想放他走。埃曼紐松一點也不懂馬賽依話，要表現他的奧德賽【註：古希臘史詩。】，他一定重新拾起了啞劇的技藝。 我想，無論是埃曼紐松向馬賽依人求助、避難，還是馬賽依人接待、幫助了埃曼紐松，這一切都是順理成章的。世界上真正的貴族與真正的無產者都理解什麼是悲劇。對於他們來說，悲劇乃是上帝的基本信條、生存的基調低音調。在這方面，他們與資產階級的所有階層迥然不同，資產階級拒絕悲劇，忍受不了悲劇對於他們來說，悲劇一詞本身就意味著不愉快。白人中產階級的移民與土著之間的許多誤會皆源於此。表情嚴峻的馬賽依人既是貴族又是無產者，在穿黑大衣的孤獨漂泊者身上，他們會毫不遲疑地辨認出悲劇的輪廓，而悲劇演員，則在他們中間又恢復了本來的面貌。