THE STOLEN AMULET
by Nasibu Mwanukuzi
A dark tuff of hair, exposed on a bright early summer day.
It looked as if a stray brush of an amateur painter had splashed graffiti on a tube station wall in a hurried manner, and then had left it to dry. In this way the moustache drooped from one corner of his upper lip to the other. When he spoke the moustache responded to the conspiquous twists and turns of whatever story he was telling. His hands seemed like they were hacking the air in a ritualistic repetition.
As usual, the first thing that I noticed was the moustache.However, I wouldn’t have noticed the restlessness on Kingo’s eyes had he not taken off his sunglasses, upon his apparent surprise of seeing me coming strolling along the park. He greeted me before I came to his arm’s length, and I could sense that he felt relieved, that I finally came within his focus.
In my own way, and perhaps for different reasons,of course it is hard to figure out which one I mean; I too felt nice, that I met him. I had walked from my flat just to enjoy fresh air and cool down myself after I had eaten a big portion of rice and beans. I did not have much to choose from my kitchen.
Kingo looked charged up and deeply drowned in a conversation with two guys whom I had not seen in town before. “Give me a break, man!” Kingo said loud , same time as he was exhaling smoke from the cigarette that he was smoking. He was doing this all the times as he spoke. He turned around and looked at me. I interpreted his facial expression like he expected me to side with him. That is, before I even knew what was going on. He seemed desperate.”Give me a break!” He said, almost shouting, with a crack in his voice.
“But it is wrong to say so before you have found out the truth.” One of the guys said to Kingo.
“I know the truth. It must be them. None other could have done that. They are the ones that have stolen my amulet!”
“Oh!” One of the guys said.
“An amulet?” The other one said with a gasp in his voice.
“Yes, an amulet that I have been carrying with me for the past ten years. My protection,you see. I am going to make sure that they will curse their own mothers for this. Just wait.”
“Hey, take it easy. It is not the amulet that is the thing.” The first guy said.
“Yes it is true Kingo.You also have to reduce drinking alcohol.” The second one added.
“You people you don’t know what you are talking about. These people want to destroy my life.”
“And you believe in that?” The two guys said, almost in a chorus. And I stood there listening.
Kingo and I had been out drinking at Peaches the night before. He did not mentioning a word about the stolen amulet. But according to the two guys, whom I overheard as I stood there, Kingo had claimed that he had lost the amulet almost a week before. I felt it was kind of strange that he did not mention the incident to me, though while we were at Peaches he had talked a lot about witchcraft, to my surprise.
One of the guys, who was also smoking took a long final drag, inhalled deeply and let out a pall of smoke that hung lazily around his face. It then thinned out in the soft wind that blew simultaneously. He threw the butt on the green grass and flattened it under his left foot. The two guys seemed little interested in me and they did not bother to introduce themselves. Neither did I feel like introducing myself. It was more strange that even Kingo did not introduce them to me, neither me to them. That did not matter so much however. It was expected and I didn’t care.
It was a national day celebration. A holiday. The park was bursting with people; thousands of them. Some waving flags and everybody was dressed up special. The colourful festivities had started early in the morning. I was woken up by the noise of the many brass bands that were leading the parades in the streets. Not a single car was allowed to drive in the streets downtown as it was teeming with people. Everybody seemed happy. Up above, the sun was scorching.
On the outdoor wooden stage(that had been hastily put together at the park for the occassion) musicians were setting up their instruments; amplifiers, guitars, a keyboard and a set of conga drums. “The band will soon be on stage,” one of them said on the microphone, and the crowd clapped and shouted. It was building up to the climax. The ice cream sellers were making good sales. Street sellers that were selling children items were all smilling because the business was going good.
One of the guys,(the one who was smoking), was the shorter of the two and had a somewhat funny look. The other had eyes that seemed to be fixed at nowhere. It was thus harder to go through any attempt of scrutinizing their physiognomy. At least I did not get their names and they did not get mine, because they left in a sudden hurry.They literary got lost in the crowd. Kingo just waved them away saying a bye-bye-catch-you later sort of thing.
“Seems like I have interrupted you.”
“No man, cool down.” Kingo told me.
“But your friends left in what seemed to like be a hurry.”
“Yeah, but we had already finished what we were talking about by the time you came.” He said while looking at me with his drooping eyes. He put on his sunglasses, took out his tobacco packet from his pocket, rolled one, and asked me for a lighter.
“No, I do not have one. I am trying to stop smoking these days. It’s getting expensive,” I told him.
He did not say anything, not even show any sign that he had heard what I said. He fumbled in his jacket and he drew out a match box. He cuped his hands and lit a cigarette while leaning his head on one side. I could notice that he was trembling a bit. The light flickered for a while, producing a flashy, momentous reflection on his dark sunglasses.
“You see, let me tell you the truth.” He said to me as he exhaled the smoke.
“Whap’n now man.”
“Some people too wicked.They have stolen my amulet because they want to destroy me but they don’t know nothing man. I tell you that thing will get back to them and they’ll suffer.”
Kingo was wearing a heavy leather jacket and had a sweater underneath, though it was a warm day. He looked like he had missed three days meals consequtively. A surviving general. A hussler of high calibre.
By now the band had been through four numbers and were announcing that the next was their last. “We’ll see each other again.” The crowd cheered and people were dancing in the sun. It was really happening.
'You really better reduce the drinking alcohol' I thought about what one of the two guys had said to Kingo. I was however not sure about the amulet business. Whether it was a true story or one of his many antics, that he normaly came up with when life seemed like a typhoon sweeping across the Indian Ocean coast. It was not easy to distinguish.This happened many times with Kingo that even when he talked about the amulet I automatically got a stiff reaction. Was he pulling out another story this time again?
“Where are you going to.” He asked me.
“I am taking a stroll. I just finished eating and I felt it was kind of getting airless in my flat.”
“I am expecting a cheque tomorrow.Can I borrow some money from you?”
Kingo had forgotten that only a week before he had told me that he had lost his wallet and I had borrowed him my last cash. I had neither seen the cheque nor the money since.
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هذه القصة القصيرة(التميمة المسروقة) هي لكاتب إفريقي من تنزانيا و هوشاعر و موسيقي أيضا ....
أعجبتني هذه القصة لأمرين..
+أنها كتبت بأسلوب السهل الممتنع....وبوضوح حتى لكأن المتلقي يحس بأنه يعيش أطوارها شخصيا...
+تلميحها إلى تجذر الخرافة عتد الإنسان الإفريقي ..حتى و إن كان الكاتب مرة بعد مرة يشير إلى أن بطل القصة كينجو مدمن على تعاطي الكحول و أنه يلجأ إلى افتعال ما يفتعله بتأثير من الكحول و لقضاء مأرب من مآربه...فتلك عادته كما جاء في نهاية القصة...حيث يقول البطل للسارد...
**أنا أتوقع الحصول على شيك يوم الغد..فهل يمكنني أن أقترض منك مالا؟
لقد نسي كينجو بأنه في الأسبوع الفارط فقط أخبرني بأنه قد أضاع حافظة نقوده...و أنني قد أقرضته ما تبقى لدي من نقود...ومنذ ذلك الحين لم أر لا شيكا و لا نقودا..**
قراءة ممتعة أتمناها لأعضاء المنتدى....
