Nyadi."
Babakar froze, his instinct to struggle overridden by shock. He had assumed that Amma had been torn from his side moments before he had been awakened.
"Amma… is it true?" he asked. She did not reply. Her head was bowed; he could not see her eyes.
Abruptly Kyua Adowa spoke. "Let him go. It isn't his fault."
"What isn't my fault?" cried Babakar.
"You should have come to the Council of Elders, Babakar," Kuya said. There was a note of pity in her voice. "We decided that the farmers whose fields had escaped destruction would guard their crops tonight to drive away the gazelles should they return. Falil, here, was one of those who kept watch. Tell Babakar what you told us, Falil."
Falil, whose age could not have been more than eighteen rains, stepped shyly from the knot of people around Amma. His eyes seemed to reflect moonlight in his dark face as he spoke.
"I watched our field from a tree that grows near it, so that I'd be better able to see the gazelles coming. For a long time, nothing happened. I was about to fall asleep when I heard something coming into the field. I thought it might be the gazelles. But when I looked, I saw her." He jerked his head toward Amma, not daring to look at her. His fear of her was obvious.
"She didn't see me, though," he continued. "I was about to climb down and ask her what she was doing in my field, when she pulled her turban off her head. I saw the moon flash off something in her hair. Then she took off her asok-aba, and rolled on the ground…"
With a bellow of outrage, Babakar leaped at the youth. Atuye and Mwiya had not released their hold on him, though, and they dragged him back.
"She didn't see me!" Falil cried, his eyes wide with fright.
"She rolled and rolled, and she changed. When she got back to her feet, she wasn't a woman anymore. She was a gazelle!"
"This is madness!" roared Babakar. "Have you people lost your senses, to listen to stories a child wouldn't believe?"
"I know what I saw!" the younger man flared. "She was a gazelle. She raised her head and gave a cry like nothing I've ever heard before. Then she stood still… for how long I do not know. Then I heard a rumble of hooves, and a rustle in the wind, and suddenly a whole herd of gazelles was in the field. There were scores of them, eating our millet. I should have climbed down and yelled at them to scare them off. But I was afraid. If you had seen how she changed. … At last they were done, and they ran off to the west. All of them but her. She rolled on the ground again after the others were gone, and when she stood up, she was a woman again. She put on her turban and asokaba, and walked away from the-field. I climbed down from the tree and ran to the field of my neighbor. We caught her as she came down the road to this house, then took her to Kuya Adowa. The rest, you already know."
Babakar shook his head in disbelief. He looked pleadingly at Amma, but she would not return his gaze.
"Kambu," Kuya Adowa whispered. "An animal imbued with the power of a spirit-being beyond the realm of man. They control the actions of the animal they invade, and they can assume the shape of humankind, and speak the language of men. They read our thoughts, and tell us what they know we would most like to hear. Yet even though they may look human, they are not. Babakar! Your woman is a kambu. A kambu cannot love. She means only evil for you, Babakar. If not, then why didn't her creatures spare your field?"
"No," Babakar groaned. "No! I cannot believe it…" "Yes!" sceamed Kuya Adowa. A spidery black hand reached up and tore the turban from Amma's head. Babakar gasped. It was not a bare, fire-seared scalp that lay revealed in the stark moonlight, as Amma had led him to expect. Her head was covered by a cap of kinky black hair, as that of any woman of Songhai would be. Sprouting from the front of her skull, however, were two small, spiralled horns… the horns of a female desert gazelle.
A wave of despair swept over
Babakar froze, his instinct to struggle overridden by shock. He had assumed that Amma had been torn from his side moments before he had been awakened.
"Amma… is it true?" he asked. She did not reply. Her head was bowed; he could not see her eyes.
Abruptly Kyua Adowa spoke. "Let him go. It isn't his fault."
"What isn't my fault?" cried Babakar.
"You should have come to the Council of Elders, Babakar," Kuya said. There was a note of pity in her voice. "We decided that the farmers whose fields had escaped destruction would guard their crops tonight to drive away the gazelles should they return. Falil, here, was one of those who kept watch. Tell Babakar what you told us, Falil."
Falil, whose age could not have been more than eighteen rains, stepped shyly from the knot of people around Amma. His eyes seemed to reflect moonlight in his dark face as he spoke.
"I watched our field from a tree that grows near it, so that I'd be better able to see the gazelles coming. For a long time, nothing happened. I was about to fall asleep when I heard something coming into the field. I thought it might be the gazelles. But when I looked, I saw her." He jerked his head toward Amma, not daring to look at her. His fear of her was obvious.
"She didn't see me, though," he continued. "I was about to climb down and ask her what she was doing in my field, when she pulled her turban off her head. I saw the moon flash off something in her hair. Then she took off her asok-aba, and rolled on the ground…"
With a bellow of outrage, Babakar leaped at the youth. Atuye and Mwiya had not released their hold on him, though, and they dragged him back.
"She didn't see me!" Falil cried, his eyes wide with fright.
"She rolled and rolled, and she changed. When she got back to her feet, she wasn't a woman anymore. She was a gazelle!"
"This is madness!" roared Babakar. "Have you people lost your senses, to listen to stories a child wouldn't believe?"
"I know what I saw!" the younger man flared. "She was a gazelle. She raised her head and gave a cry like nothing I've ever heard before. Then she stood still… for how long I do not know. Then I heard a rumble of hooves, and a rustle in the wind, and suddenly a whole herd of gazelles was in the field. There were scores of them, eating our millet. I should have climbed down and yelled at them to scare them off. But I was afraid. If you had seen how she changed. … At last they were done, and they ran off to the west. All of them but her. She rolled on the ground again after the others were gone, and when she stood up, she was a woman again. She put on her turban and asokaba, and walked away from the-field. I climbed down from the tree and ran to the field of my neighbor. We caught her as she came down the road to this house, then took her to Kuya Adowa. The rest, you already know."
Babakar shook his head in disbelief. He looked pleadingly at Amma, but she would not return his gaze.
"Kambu," Kuya Adowa whispered. "An animal imbued with the power of a spirit-being beyond the realm of man. They control the actions of the animal they invade, and they can assume the shape of humankind, and speak the language of men. They read our thoughts, and tell us what they know we would most like to hear. Yet even though they may look human, they are not. Babakar! Your woman is a kambu. A kambu cannot love. She means only evil for you, Babakar. If not, then why didn't her creatures spare your field?"
"No," Babakar groaned. "No! I cannot believe it…" "Yes!" sceamed Kuya Adowa. A spidery black hand reached up and tore the turban from Amma's head. Babakar gasped. It was not a bare, fire-seared scalp that lay revealed in the stark moonlight, as Amma had led him to expect. Her head was covered by a cap of kinky black hair, as that of any woman of Songhai would be. Sprouting from the front of her skull, however, were two small, spiralled horns… the horns of a female desert gazelle.
A wave of despair swept over
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