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It was a good thing, Fly
It was also a good thing about the M'senga tree. From the bark of the M'senga tree the fishermen of Central Africa decocted a liquid in which they soaked their nets. It toughened the fibres of the netting and it also stained the skin. Once Fly
It was finally a good thing about Sebastian's nose. Its new contours were decidedly negroid.
A thousand pounds!" said Fly
Why! You'll be in a position to pay me back every pe
"It's money for jam," opined Fly
Sebastian isn't interested in the money," said Rosa Oldsmith. She knelt beside the tub and, tenderly as a mother bathing her infant, she was ladling the M'senga juice over Sebastian's shoulders and back.
"I know, I know!" Fly
Rub it into the creases round your eyes and under your chin," said Fly
"You'll come back up-river tomorrow evening, slip out of camp soon as it's dark and meet us here. Simple as a pimple, right?" "Right," murmured Sebastian.
"Right then. Out you get and dry off." As the dry wind from the uplands blew over his naked body, the purply tint of the dye faded into a matt chocolate.
Rosa had modestly moved away into the grove of Manila trees behind the camp. Every few minutes Fly
"Coming along nicely," he said, and, "Nearly done," and, "Jeer, you look better than real." Then finally in Swahili, "Right, Mohammed, mark his face." Mohammed squatted in front of Sebastian with a tiny gourd of cosmetics; a mixture of animal fat and ash and ochre. With his fingers he daubed Sebastian's cheeks and nose and forehead with the tribal patterns. His head held on one side in artistic concentration, making soft clucking sounds of concentration as he worked, until at last Mohammed was satisfied.
"He is ready."
"Get the clothes," said Fly
Sebastian's attire could hardly be called clothing.
A string of bark around his neck from which was suspended a plugged duiker horn filled with snuff, a cloak of animal skin that smelled of wood-smoke and man-sweat, draped over his shoulders.
"It stinks!" said Sebastian cringing from contact with the garment. "And it's probably got lice."
"The real thing," agreed Fly
"All right, Mohammed. Show him how to fit the istopo the hat."
"I don't have to wear that also," Sebastian protested, staring in horror as Mohammed came towards him, gri
"Of course you've got to wear it." Impatiently Fly
The hat was a hollow six-inch length cut from the neck of a calabash gourd. An anthropologist would have called it a penis-sheath.
It had two purposes: firstly to protect the wearer from the scratches of thorns and the bites of insect pests, and secondly as a boost to his masculinity.
Once in position it looked impressive, enhancing Sebastian's already considerable muscular development.
Rosa said nothing when she returned. She took one long startled look at the hat and then quickly averted her gaze, but her cheeks and neck flared bright scarlet.
"For God's sake, Bassie. Act like you proud of it. Stand up straight and take your hands away. Fly
Mohammed knelt to slip the rawhide sandals on to Sebastian's feet,
and then han-] him the small blanket roll tied with a bark string.
Sebastian slung it over one shoulder, then picked up the long-handled throwing-spear.
Automatically he grounded the butt and leaned his weight on the shaft; lifting his left leg and placing the sole of his foot against the calf of his right leg, he stood in the stork posture of rest.