Into The Out Of Page 4

  Venus was already visible on the crest of the hills. As the sun began to set additional lights began to appear in the sky. Elsewhere the non-Maasai would be hurrying to their houses to shut out the night. But the Maasai had no fear of the night or the lions it cloaked. They stayed there beneath the ancient baobab and continued their council.

  All of them watched the coming of night. A laibon needed to know how to read the stars as well as the stones. Silently, wordlessly, they began to cast, putting aside gourd calabashes full of milk and yogurt. The stones, the special stones, emerged from small wooden boxes and steer horns. By reading the patterns the stones made against the earth a laibon was able to read the future. Each did his own reading, made his own interpretation of what the stones said. Then they would council together in the manner of an okiama and make decisions.

  The casting of the stones went on for hours. In the distance could be seen the cook fires of the engang, the temporary Maasai village that was serving as host to the assembled laibon. Nearby was the manyatta, or warriors' encampment. Honored by the presence of so many respected elders, the warriors of the manyatta were being extra vigilant this night. Each warrior wished to impress the elders with his alertness and courage and so hoped for something, man or lion, to try to penetrate the village perimeter while he was on guard. But there were no attacks.

  Bats fluttered in and around the great tamarind trees that lined the water hole, scooping up insects. Mongooses chittered softly among themselves down in the reeds as the laibon continued to study the lie of their stones. Occasionally an elder would scoop up his handful and spit on them for luck and to increase the accuracy of the next reading. They carried no torches, but the light of the swollen moon looming over the veldt shed more than enough light for them to see by.

  Impatient and hungry, the lions moaned in the distance, waiting for their chance at the water hole. It was a long, drawn-out sound, like a giant stretching in his sleep, as they talked the lion talk to their mates.

  At last all save two were done casting: Umkoli and the senior speaker. The other ten waited patiently for them to finish. A last throw and it was enough. The most respected of them was aware of his responsibility and rose to speak first.

  "I have cast the stones many times and studied hard the results." He pointed skyward, tracing patterns in the stars until his fingers settled on the sharp-edged yellow orb that illuminated the Maasai Steppe. "This is what I see. The troubles will grow worse as the troublemakers grow bolder. In less than one month's time the moon will go out."

  The laibon nodded. The old speaker was not the only one who had seen this pattern. All of them had seen it. Every Maasai knew what happened when the moon went out. It was a sure sign of death on a grand scale. They had all seen that death in the stones and there was enough of it to worry and frighten them. Not only cattle would die, but Maasai as well and the ilmeet in their millions. The cause of that death was known to them all. You did not have to be a laibon to see what was happening in the world. A child could have interpreted the signs. The ilmeet would fashion enough death for all the world, and they would not know what made them do it.

  But the laibon knew who the troublemakers were. The stones told them. The stones and the stars.

  "They will be coming through," said the senior speaker, and the rest of the laibon nodded agreement. The speaker knelt and drew lines in the sand as the others leaned forward to look. "Here is the place that must be sealed. It is the opening to all the other places here and in the lands of the ilmeet as well. It is the special place, the dangerous place. Awkward to get to but not impossible." He stuck two pebbles in the dirt; one to represent the place where they were now, another hundreds of miles to the south.

  "That is where they will come through. It is where the Real has weakened and must be strengthened. If we can do that they will be shut in and all will be safe for another great cycle. It must be soon."

  "I too saw this." Agohna spoke from the far side of the circle. "Can we start there now to do this necessary thing?"

  "Yes," said another, "let us go and seal the place tonight."

  The speaker looked sad as he shook his head no. "It cannot be done. They are conscious of our knowledge of them. We would be opposed. One laibon alone must go, for his presence will not draw as much attention as several. But the way is long and dangerous and even a single laibon will attract their attention wherever he goes. He must have help. Others who are not laibon, not even Maasai, must go alone to screen him. They must be full of power themselves yet unaware of it. The triangle is the strongest shape. Only one of the points can be Maasai." He paused. "The other two should be ilmeet."

  "How will you get the ilmeet to believe in what must be done?" wondered craggy-faced Egonin.

  "You cannot hold the ilmeet responsible for their ignorance. Ordinary people are readier to believe than great chiefs, even ordinary people who hold within themselves unknown power. That power will protect and shield whoever travels with them. Their very ignorance will serve as a screen allowing him to get close to the place that must be sealed."

  This was agreed upon and all considered it wise. As to which of them would chance his life to seal the place, there was no need for a vote. A consensus already existed. As the wisest and eldest among them, the speaker would go. Somehow two ilmeet of hidden power must be persuaded to accompany him even at the risk of their own lives. That part would not be easy but if anyone could accomplish such a formidable task, all knew it was the senior speaker.

  "What will you do?" asked Warinn.

  The speaker considered. "I will travel to the place where one of the two great chiefs of the ilmeet lives. It will be a good place to seek ilmeet alive with hidden strength. Those who do not demonstrate their own power but who sometimes feel it within themselves are drawn to such places."

  "How will you find the two?" wondered Moutelli.

  "They will make themselves known to me. Such people sense when they are being sought even if they claim unawareness. That will be the easy part. Convincing them to come back with me will be much harder."

  "If they refuse?" said Kokoriki, the laibon with only one arm and enough skepticism for two.

  "Then I must find some other way. I will begin this thing tomorrow. I have traveled in ilmeet countries and know something of their ways, though it has been a long time."

  "Which chief's kraal will you go to?" asked Moutelli.

  "The one that lies to the west rather than the one of the north, I think. The elders of the north make movement more difficult for outsiders. This does not trouble me, but it may trouble those who must seek me out.

  "So I will go to the city of the great ilmeet chief of the west and find the two missing corners of the triangle of power. Is this not best?"

  All agreed that it was. All of them would have gone, but it had already been agreed that such a concentration of laibonic power in one place would draw too much attention from the troublemakers. One laibon could deal with limited opposition far easier than a dozen with a great deal. Better to let the senior speaker journey on his own.

  "Also, I will be traveling at first not toward the weak place but away from it, and when I return it will be by a circuitous route of my own devising. This will throw them off the track. They will lose my scent and perhaps be slow to acquire it upon my return."

  The laibon rose then, there being nothing more to be decided. Some stood easily, others had to use their walking sticks to help them erect. A few pulled their robes tight about them. It was cool at night this time of year and good to have a warm blanket around one's shoulders. Down in the engang the women would be waiting for their men with clean places to sleep and warm words of greeting.

  They shuffled away from the water hole and the old baobab, striding straight and tall between the acacia trees. There was no order of march because all were equal in each other's eyes.

  The junior warrior standing guard at the entrance to the thornbush fence that surrounded the kraal tried not to stare at them as they filed past, but it was impossible not to do so. He would not have been human, much less Maasai, if he had not stolen a glance or two at this most exemplary group of wise men.

  They went their separate ways, in twos and singly, toward the various houses which had been assigned to them. The senior speaker saw to the comfort of the other eleven before retiring himself. That was proper, since this was his engang and he was host.

  His first wife was waiting for him inside the entrance to the house. Somewhere farther in, a cow stirred nervously. The Maasai slept with the animals who provided them with food and covering, feeling that the herd was as entitled to protection as the herder.

  She removed his blanket and then watched as he slid the brown toga off his shoulders, letting it fall to the hard earthen floor. Putting his walking stick aside, he crossed his legs and sat down easily. In near darkness man and woman regarded one another.

  "You're going away," she said finally. "I see the journey written in your face."

  "Do not make an accusation of it," he replied. "It was inevitable that I be chosen to go. I am the best qualified."

  "Where will you go?" She had been wife to the senior speaker for nearly fifty years. They could communicate much with few words.

  "To the land of the great tribe of ilmeet of the west, to the kraal of their great chief. I must find two ilmeet of hidden power to help me or all is lost."

  "What is going to happen?"

  "When next the moon is full it will disappear." She nodded understandingly. Every Maasai knew what that portended. "The dying will be caused by the ilmeet and they will not understand why they caused it. I must try and stop this." She nodded again.

  He turned and reached beneath a low cot, pulled out a battered blue suitcase. By the light of the dying cook fire he flipped the snaps and threw back the top. Within were many things he had acquired on his travels, some of which an ilmeet would have found very interesting. The first thing he removed was a small leather sack. He felt of the contents before setting it aside. He could feel his wife close behind him.

  Keeko put her hand on his shoulder. The fingers were lined by age but their grip was still strong. "I would go with you. What will you eat? Who will cook and clean and wash for you? Where will you find your leeleshwa leaves to carry beneath your arm to make you sweet-smelling to the ilmeet you must talk with?"

  "They do not have leeleshwa leaves in the land of the ilmeet." He looked back up and smiled at her. Not worn by age but finely polished, he thought. Her shaved skull gleamed in the firelight. She was still beautiful. "I have journeyed among the ilmeet before. They use small sticks and lotions instead of leeleshwa leaves to hide their odor. They pass these beneath their arms. I know what to do and I will be all right.

  "As for food, a Maasai can travel far on little. There will always be milk to drink and the flesh of cattle to eat."

  She nodded solemnly. The questions had been her way of trying to talk him out of going, though she knew her efforts were doomed from the start because of her husband's importance. He knew she knew that. By trying anyway she was demonstrating her affection.

  He was examining the contents of the suitcase again. "Tomorrow we must sacrifice a bull. All the laibon will drink of its blood for strength. Do not worry for me. I will be well."

  "I cannot help it, husband, for who is to say what might happen to you in the land of the ilmeet? They are strange people full of strange ways."

  "I agree that sometimes they are hard to make sense of, but I will manage. Here, help me with this." She took the articles as he handed them back to her. Her nose wrinkled with displeasure as she studied them. So many pieces of clothing to be worn at the same time, restricting and closing up the body! Judging by the few ilmeet she had seen she did not know how they could stand their own selves, much less others of their kind.

  But her husband was brave and wise. She had to believe him when he said he would be all right, that he would soon return to her. Nor would she cry in his presence. Let his third wife do that. As first, it was her responsibility to show more control. But she wanted to cry.

  As a Maasai woman she could have opposed his leaving.

  She had that right. She would not exercise it because of the importance of this business. All she could do was be proud that it was her husband who had been chosen. Who else could they have selected? Was he not the greatest of the Maasai, the most respected of the laibon? She considered this as she sat there holding the peculiar ilmeet clothing and staring at her husband's still strong, straight back.

  "I think everything is wearable, but I should try it on to make certain," he muttered. "It has been a long time. I promise it will only be for a moment."

  She moved back when he was finished and tried not to laugh at him. It would not have been seemly, but she could hardly help herself. The city Africans sometimes dressed like that, but they were not Maasai. Nevertheless, she kept her laughter to herself as she assured him that the soles of his shoes were sound and that she could not find a flaw or hole in any part of the pin-striped three-piece suit, white shirt, or tie he was wearing.

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  4

  Tupelo, Mississippi—10 June

  Feelings were not helped by the fact that the air conditioning in the Federal Building was broken as the men in white sheets were hustled inside for debriefing. In contrast to the drunken bluster they had displayed during the cross burning earlier that night, they were largely subdued. For one thing it was almost three in the morning. For another, the sort of Dutch courage a six-pack and the comradeship of one's fellows provide tends to dissipate rapidly when one is marched into the hospital-like environment of a large stone building whose hallways are filled with disapproving clerks and the portraits of senior statesmen.

  No longer hidden by the piney woods, the men had to run a gauntlet of desks manned by unintimidated faces, had to look back into educated eyes. A few such confrontations were sufficient to convince many of them that they just might not be operating according to divine right. The most common expression they encountered was not anger or hatred but disgust mixed with boredom.

  A couple of the detainees retained enough spirit to mumble curses and insults, but not too loudly, lest they be overheard. Jimmy Cousins, one of the first to be processed, wore the look of a man being led to the electric chair. His pallor was that of someone who'd just seen a ghost. In a way he had. It was the ghost of his future receding rapidly into the distance.

  Cousins was nineteen and living off a football scholarship to Paar Junior College. Colleges frowned on providing scholarships to youths with prison records. The possible all-state mention, the full scholarship to Mississippi State or even Alabama, a chance at an NFL career—all of it fading away fast because he and some of the older boys had joined together in the woods to have a little harmless fun and drink a little beer. It was strange to see such a big man whine.

  "I've gotta make a phone call. I'm entitled to a phone call, aren't I? You gotta let me make a phone call, please, just one."

  The solemn faces that stared back at him, male and female alike, did not look very sympathetic. Cousins was starting to understand that what he was involved in was not the same thing as breaking windows or anonymously slipping hate mail in someone's mailbox. Not the same at all.

  His friends hadn't warned him about this possibility. No one had mentioned it at all.

  "Come on, Jimmy, straighten up." That was old man Sutherlin murmuring to him. Sutherlin was doing his best to look dignified, as would befit a leader. He had no more sympathy for the Cousins boy than the processing clerks. He had a hell of a lot more at stake here than a lousy football scholarship. Those accusatory gazes were dissolving his real future, not some teenager's imagined one, and he was struggling to compose answers to the questions he knew would be forthcoming.

  Be prepared. No simple motto, that. Sutherlin had spent his whole life being prepared. But how could he prepare for a catastrophe like this? What could he say when they found the plans and explosives in his Cadillac and the machine guns in Conroy's truck? How could you plan for something that wasn't supposed to happen?

  His companions watched admiringly as he strode stiff and straight down the corridor. What they didn't know was that his calm came not from some inner strength or conviction, but rather from the fact that the old man was in shock.

  Then they were in a large, open room, devoid of furniture except for a couple of big desks and several of the men who had rounded them up at the burning. On one desk a large tape recorder sat running, and nearby another man quietly operated a video camcorder.

  One of the men spoke to them, sounding tired. "Come on everybody, line up. We haven't got all night. The sooner we get this over with the sooner most of you will be out on bail."

  Sutherlin stepped forward. "You know, suh, you're going to be sorry when the truth of this mattah comes out. You're making a big mistake heah. I know a few people down in the capital, and y'all are going to be hearing from them."

  The man behind the desk that crossed the T of the single-file line glanced at his watch. "I know it's past three in the morning and I'm sorry the air conditioning is out, but we should all be grateful it's early June and not late August. It's a sorry end to a sorry evening and I don't want to have to argue with a sorry bunch like yourselves. So just do as you're told and answer the questions." A few mutters of protest came from the line of white-clad men, but there was no strength left in any of them.

  Other clerks entered the room and began taking individuals out of the line, escorting them to small cubbyholes down the next hallway. They looked as hot and tired as the men they'd been assigned to question.

  "Each of you will be given the chance to call home, or your lawyers, or whatever," said the man behind the big desk. "You should've been read your rights on the way in." A few sheepish nods. Jimmy Cousins actually began to cry. The big would-be linebacker looked like a six-year-old with a pituitary condition.