Thinking black; 22 years without a break in the long grass of Central ...

306 THINKING BLACK
cloud of dust— dust in our eyes, dust in our teeth, and
dust all over. And now we are approaching the exciting
goal. The distant roar of the capital grows louder and
louder, and soon the curse of Babel is upon us, Bunkeya's
polyglot negroes roaring out their rival jargons of
welcome. But scarcely has Captain Stairs set foot in
the capital when Mushidi illogically recoils from his own
theory that the name of an Englishman equates the
summum honum. He who knows how many beans
make five has more than half surmised the truth when
it is too late. A wolf has come in sheep's clothing.
What elegant fiction is this ? Why does this Englishman
fly a Congo Star ? Why has he Belgians with him ?
Why did he intercept the Mushidi missive recalling Sir
Alfred Sharpe ? No wonder from that hour of disillusion-
ment Mushidi's shrivelled face became an impenetrable
mask, the old brain plotting deeply and darkly. But it
cannot last long. Four days of skirmishing—diplomatic
skirmishing I mean—and then the end. Is it a grim joke
this petulant idea of Mushidfs that he wants Stairs to be
his ** blood" brother? On the 17th the same proposal,
" I want you for * blood ' brother." The 18th ditto—same
''blood" brother petulance. The 19th—still he invokes
the phantom of " blood " brother. Finally comes the 20th
and crack of doom, real red blood this time—and without
the brother. It was like this. On the 19th, Stairs had
hoisted the Congo Star on the high sugar-loaf hill
adjoining Nkulu, the same peak this that had challenged
Mushidi's fancy to put an ivory house on the summit