Pale God

I saved the mother but I could not bring breath to the child. He was
too small, small and grey with a deformed lip. A mark that he was the
Spirits' own and they would take him back before he could join this
world. Ke, the mother, was only a girl really, a second bride for the
chief's son. The women outside the hut set off a howl, often heard.
Such is life - the Spirits may give, the Spirits may keep for
themselves if it is a life which we are not worthy to handle. I console
Ke with this thought.

Rumours are spreading that the Pale God can wrest lives back from the
Spirits' grasp, that he is a young and virile God and the Spirits are
too old to resist his call.

There is little ceremony for the child - if we had a ceremony not much
would be done here for all the dead children. Their souls are but small
and flickering things which need not ask for passage to the Spirits.
The wind will issue along the child's lightness to them.

Lema had recently come running back from the village of Kyana - the
Pale God had been there and the men and women were swathed painfully in
heavy cloth. The men of the Pale God had erected some strange building
with a symbol on top made of two sticks crossed - the sign on the Pale
God. I had heard strange and frightening things of him. Sometimes they
carried an idol tied to this symbol, a man in pain and bleeding. It
seems a sinister thing to me. The pale men have curious beliefs, such
as their God being one who knows all and does all. It seems ridiculous
- this world is such a busy place and surely even the Spirits of crops,
beasts, water, sky and trees must have their work cut out. How can one
spirit, no matter how great, how mighty, hear all its children cry out?
Our Spirits listen - surely their God cannot.

I was pounding leaves when they came, gabbling like animals, ugly and
white and red. Like still-born children. People of our land bustled
round them with frightened eyes, covered in uncomfortable clothing that
restricted their movement and caused sweat to pour off their bodies.
The man with the hair a strange flame-like colour and the bright red
face must havebeen very rich to be so fat. He began to shout things and
his colourless eyes bulged. A thin old woman of our land came and began
to translate his shouts. I had never heard such a speech. He seemed to
condemn us, yet pity us at the same time! A peculiar man. Apparently
many things about us offended their Pale God. He (and it was always
'he') did not like our 'nakedness' our 'lust' and other such
inconsequentialities. The Pale God wants man to be the head of the
home, for now I hear that we women are foolish and easily lead. Well
certainly the lady who translates is. And I have no doubt she is
translating correctly, for no woman of our people would come out with
such foolishness. Most of my fellow villagers laugh, surely a madman?
How could anyone have been won over to all this?

His face became the colour of his hair as he suddenly turned to me. The
lady stopped for a moment - it seemed we had no word for what he wanted
to call me, so she decided the nearest thing to say was that I was a
wicked spirit. Several of the younger men began to look aggressive and
while I was touched by their defence of me, I gestured for them not to
chase this man and his retinue from the village. We are not hot-heads
here and I didn't want to give the deluded man any more reasons that he
might perceive to look down upon us.

People began to drift away after a short while, but then the lady
translated 'Are there any sick among you?'

People called for Toomi to let the man see her boys, both in a high
fever that I had done all I could to bring down. But I had seen it many
times before and I knew there were but a few days of life left in the
children. Desperation made her willing to put their lives in the hands
of this stranger.

The man, whose name, it seems, was Doctor Herbert, opened a great,
heavy box. He took out strange vessels, clear as water and filled with
liquids. Then he went into the hut where Toomi lived and everyone
crowded after. I did not care to see what he was doing and continued to
grind my leaves.

There was an uproar next morning - Toomi was shouting with joy that her
boys were getting well again, well from the wasting sickness that none
had survived before. She was pledging herself to the Pale God. Still I
stayed by my hut - I had no wish to be drawn into this hysteria. All
day people went in and out of Toomi's home, all the time exclaiming how
much better the boys looked.

A few days later they played by my hut. 'It was God who saved us'
exclaimed Nwole seriously, 'we are to go to the river and be blessed by
God and Sito and I will get new names. Dr Herbert says we will be
called Mark and Paul because God does not like our names.'

The child bore no malice - he was merely relating to me, soon to become
a relic. The people queued at the stinking river and those who had
began to turn their heads away from me, to pull their children from my
glance. A few still came, but those who had turned to the Pale God
distanced themselves from him. Some were even spiteful when the pale
men were there. The doctor gave me the dubious honour of his sole
attention sometimes, and then every day. I simply smiled and carried on
about my work.

Then one day he did not come. I only noticed this as the sun was
setting when I heard the women wailing. Mama Kesa, who still spoke to
me, even though she was now covered in hot and ugly cloth, told me the
news. Dr Herbert had a vomiting sickness and was very ill. I refrained
from laughing, but was so weak as to let the word 'Then let his God
save him.' fall from my lips. It was proud and wrong to say such a
thing, especially when I knew the cure was in my possession.

Some days passed - there was no news of improvement. Eventually I
decided to enter his hut myself. I did it with no glee, no triumph
except in the saving of a life. All right, maybe with just a little
triumph. He was loathe to drink the cordial - for one thing it tastes
foul, but for another thing it comes from a 'wizened she-devil' such as
myself. But drink he did, after the pleading of his retinue.

Within a day he was keeping down his food. A strained cordiality
emerged between us, or at least, he left me alone. A few weeks later he
left to threaten and cajole some other hapless villages.

Years have passed since then and I am still here, the Spirits keeping
me on to do my duty. I even have an apprentice, even though he is a
child of the Pale God. Things, after all, have not changed that much.
They go to the dark, sheltered church hut to worship the Pale God and
the boy spirit Jesus who has become united in their minds with the
birth spirit we called Bewa. Doctor Harvey would not approve of their
style of worship - the pale man we have here now is grateful that
people even come to hear his bleatings and so he lets the people have
their way. They are clothed, yes, but at the right times the dances
still happen and the Spirit fetishes are still paraded by the river
where the children are baptised.