Текст книги "Elephant Song"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 34 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

Now a strange and magical thing took place.  As Daniel watched, the struggling knot of men changed.  They were no longer individuals, for they were pressed too closely together.

In the same way that a shoal of fish or a flock of birds is one beast, so the men of the Bambuti blended into an entity.  They became one creature.

They became the Molimo.  They became the godhead of the forest.

The Molimo was angry.  It roared and squealed with the voice of the buffalo and the giant forest hog.  It raged through the forest on a hundred legs that were no longer human.  It revolved on its axis like a jellyfish in the current.  It pulsed and changed shape, and dashed one way and then the other, flattening the undergrowth in its fury.

It crossed the river, kicking up a white foam of spray, and then slowly but with awakening purpose began to move towards the gathering place of the tribe below the waterfall at Gondola.

The women heard the Molimo coming from a long way off.

They left the cooking-fires and seized the children and ran to their huts, dragging the little ones with them.  Wailing with terror, they closed the doors of the huts and crouched in the darkness with the children clutched to their breasts.

The Molimo rampaged through the forest, its terrible voice rising and falling, crashing through the undergrowth, charging one way and then the other, until at last it broke into the encampment.  It trampled the cooking-fires and the children screamed as some of the flimsy huts were knocked askew by its ungoverned anger.

The great beast raged back and forth through the camp, seeming to quest for the source of its outrage.  Suddenly it revolved and moved purposefully towards the far corner of the camp where Pirri had built his hut.

Pirri's wives heard it coming and they burst from the hut and fled into the jungle, but Pirri did not run.  He had not gone to the silk-cotton tree with the other men to fetch the Molimo down from its home.  Now he crouched in his hut, with.  his hands over his head and waited.  He knew there was no escape in flight, he had to wait for the retribution of the forest god.

The Molimo circled Pirri's hut like one of the giant forest millipedes, its feet stamping and kicking up the earth, screaming like a bull elephant in the agony of a ruptured bladder.

Then abruptly it charged at the hut in which Pirri was hiding.  It flattened the hut, and trampled all Pirri's possessions.

It stamped his tobacco to dust.  It shattered his bottles of gin and the pungent liquor soaked into the earth.  It kicked the gold wristwatch into the fire and scattered all his treasures.  Pirri made no attempt to fly its wrath or to protect himself.

The Molimo trampled him; squealing with rage it kicked and pommelled him.

It crushed his nose and broke his teeth; it cracked his ribs and bruised his limbs.

Then suddenly, it left him and rushed back into the forest from whence it had come.  Its voice had changed, the rage was gone out of it.  It wailed and lamented as though it mourned the death and the poisoning of the forest and the sins of the tribe that had brought disaster upon them all.

Slowly it retreated and its voice became fainter, until at last it faded into the distance.

Pirri picked himself up slowly.  He made no effort to gather up his scattered treasures.  He took only his bow and his quiver of arrows.

He left his elephant spear and his machete.  He limped away into the forest.

He went alone.  His wives did not go with him, for they were widows now.

They would find new husbands in the tribe.  Pirri was dead.  The Molimo had killed him.  No man would ever see him again.  Even when they met his ghost wandering amongst the tall trees, no man or woman would acknowledge it.

Pirri was dead to his tribe for ever.

Will you help us, Daniel?  Victor Omeru asked.  Yes, Daniel agreed.

I will help you.  I will take the tapes to London.  I will arrange to have them shown on public television in London and Paris and New York.

What else will you do to help us?  Victor asked.  What else do you want of me?

Daniel countered.  What else is there I can do?  You are a soldier, and a good one, from what I have heard.

Will you join us in our fight to regain our freedom?  I was a soldier, long ago, Daniel corrected him, in a cruel unjust war.  I learned to hate war in a way that no one can until they have experienced it.

Daniel, I am asking you to take part in a just war.  This time I am asking you to make a stand against tyranny.  I am no longer a soldier.

I am a journalist, Victor.  It is not my war.  You are a soldier still, Victor contradicted him.  And it is your war.  It is the war of any decent man.  Daniel did not reply immediately.  He glanced sideways at Kelly, on the point of asking for her support.  Then he saw her expression.  There was no comfort for him there.  He looked back at Victor, and the old man leaned closer to him.  We Uhali are a peaceful people.  For that reason we, alone, do not have the skill necessary to overthrow the tyrant.  We need weapons.  We need people to teach us how to use them.

Help me, please, Daniel.  I will find all the young brave men you need, if only you will promise to train and command them.  I don't want – Daniel began, but Victor forestalled him.

Don't refuse me outright.  Don't say anything more tonight.

Sleep on it.  Give me your answer in the morning.  Think about it, Daniel.  Dream of the men and women you saw in the camps.  Dream of the people you saw killed or deported at Fish Eagle Bay, and the mass grave in the forest.  Give me your answer in the morning.  Victor Omeru stood up.  He paused beside Daniel's chair and placed his hand on his shoulder.  Good night, Daniel, he said, and went down the steps and crossed in the moonlight to his own small bungalow beyond the gardens.

What are you going to do?  Kelly asked softly.  I don't know.  I really don't know.  Daniel stood up.  I'll tell you tomorrow.  But right now, I'll do what Victor suggested, I'm going to bed.  Yes.

Kelly stood up beside him.

Good night, he said.

She was standing very close to him, her face tilted up towards him.

He kissed her.  The kiss held for a long time.

She drew back only a few inches from his mouth and said, Come.  And led him down the verandah to her bedroom.

It was still dark when he woke the next morning under the mosquito net with her.

Her arm was thrown over his chest.  Her breath was warm on his neck.

He felt her come softly awake.

I'm going to do what Victor wants, he said.

She stopped breathing for a few moments then she said, It wasn't meant as a bribe.  I know, he said.  What happened between us last night is a thing apart, she said.  I wanted it to happen from the first day I met you, no, from before that.  From the first time I saw your images on the screen, I was half in love with you.  I've also been waiting for you a long time, Kelly.  I knew you were out there somewhere.  At last I've found you.  I hate to lose you so soon, she said, and kissed him. Please come back to me.  Daniel left Gondola two days later.  Sepoo and four Bambuti porters accompanied him.

He paused at the edge of the forest and looked back.  Kelly was on the verandah of the bungalow.  She waved.  She looked very young and girlish, and he felt his heart squeezed.  He did not want to go, not yet, not so soon after he had found her.

He waved and forced himself to turn from her.

As they climbed the lower slopes of the mountain the forest gave way to bamboo, which was so dense that in places they were forced to their hands and knees to crawl through the tunnels which the giant hog had burrowed.

The bamboo was solid overhead.

They climbed higher and came out at last on to the bleak heath slopes of the high mountains, twelve thousand feet above sea level, where the giant groundsel.  stood like battalions of armoured warriors, their heads spiked with red flowers.

The Bambuti huddled in the blankets that Kelly had provided, but they were miserable and sickening, totally out of their element.

Before they reached the highest pass, Daniel sent them back.

Sepoo wanted to argue.  Kuokoa, you will lose your way on the mountains without Sepoo to guide you and Kara-Ki will be angry.  You have never seen her truly angry.  It is not a sight for any but the brave.  Look up there.  Daniel pointed ahead to where the peaks showed through the cloud.

There is cold up there that no Bambuti has ever experienced.  That shining white is ice and snow so cold that it will burn you like fire.

So Daniel went on alone, carrying the precious tapes inside his jacket close to his skin, and he crossed below the moraine of the Ruwatamagufa glacier and came down into Zaire two days after leaving Sepoo.  He had frostbite on three of his fingers and one of his toes.

The-Zairean district commissioner at Mutsora was accustomed to refugees coming across the mountains, but seldom with white faces and British passports and fifty-dollar bills to dispense.  He did not turn this one back.

Two days later, Daniel was on the steamer going down the Zaire River and ten days after that he landed at Heathrow.  The tapes were still in his pocket.

From his Chelsea flat Daniel telephoned Michael Hargreave at the embassy in Kahali.  Good Lord, Danny.  We were told that you and Bonny Mahon disappeared in the forest near Sengi-Sengi.  The army has had patrols out searching for you.  How secure is this line, Mike?  I wouldn't stake my reputation on it.  Then I'll give you the full story when next we meet.

In the meantime e, will you send me that packet I gave you for safekeeping?  Get it to me in the next diplomatic bag?  Hold on, Danny.

I gave the package to Bonny Mahon.  She told me that she was collecting it on your behalf.  Daniel was silent for a beat as he worked it out. The little idiot.  She played right into their hands.

Well, that settles it.

She's dead, Mike, as sure as fate.  She handed over the package and they killed her.  They thought I was dead, so they killed her.  Nice and neat.

Who are "they"?  Michael demanded.  Not now, Mike.  I can't tell you now.

Sorry about the package, Danny.  She was very convincing.

But I shouldn't have fallen for it.  Must be getting senile.  No great harm done.  I have some stronger medicine to replace it.  When will I see you?  Soon, I hope.  I'll let you know.

Despite the short notice, the studio gave him a cutting-room to work in.

He worked without a break, it helped to allay his sadness and guilt at what had happened to Bonny Mahon.  He felt responsible.  The final cut of the videotape did not have to be perfect, and it was not necessary to dub the Swahili dialogue into English.  He had a copy ready to show within forty-eight hours.

It was impossible to get through to Tug Harrison.  All Daniel's calls were intercepted on the BOSS switchboard and were not returned.  Of course, the number of the Holland Park address was not listed, and he could not remember the number that he had telephoned from Nairobi to check on Bonny Mahon.  So he staked out the house, leaning against a car with a newspaper as though he were waiting for someone, and watching the front of the building.

He was fortunate.  Tug's Rolls-Royce pulled up at the front door that same day a little after noon, and Daniel intercepted him as he climbed the front steps.  Armstrong, Danny!  Tug's surprise was genuine.  I heard that you had disappeared in Ubomo.  Not true, Tug.  Didn't you get my messages?  I telephoned your office half a dozen times.  They don't pass them on to me.  Too many freaks and funny bunnies in this world.  I must show you some of the material I have been able to shoot in Ubomo, Daniel told him.

Tug hesitated and consulted his wristwatch dubiously.  Don't mess me around, Tug.  This stuff could sink you.  And BOSS.  Tug's eyes narrowed.  That sounds like a threat.  Just a friendly piece of advice.

All right, come in, Tug invited, and opened the front door.  Let's have a look at what you have for me.  Tug Harrison sat behind his desk and watched the tape run through from beginning to end without moving, without uttering a word.

When the tape was finished and the screen filled with an electronic snowstorm, he Pressed the remote control button, ran the tape back and then played it a second time, still without comment.

Then he switched off the tape and spoke without looking at Daniel.

It's genuine, he said.  You couldn't have faked it.  You know it's genuine, Daniel told him.  You knew about the mining and logging.  It's your bloody syndicate.  You gave the orders.  I meant the labour camps, and the use of arsenic.  I knew nothing about that.  Who is going to believe that, Tug?  Tug shrugged and said, So Omeru is still alive.

Yes.  He is alive and ready to give evidence against you.  Tug changed the subject again.  Of course, there are other copies of this tape?  he said.

Silly question, Daniel agreed.  So this is a direct threat?  Another silly question, Daniel said again.  You are going to go public with this?

That's three in a row, Daniel said grimly.  Of course, I'm going public.

Only one thing will stop me.  That is if you and I can make a deal.

What deal are you offering?  Tug asked softly.  I will give you time to get out.  I will give you time to sell out your interest in Ubomo to Lucky Dragon or anyone else who will buy.  Tug did not answer immediately but Daniel saw the faintest gleam of relief in his gaze.

Tug drew a breath.  In return?  You will finance Victor Omeru's counter-revolution against Taffari's regime.  After all, it won't be the first coup in Africa that you have orchestrated, Tug, will it?  How much will this cost me?

Tug asked.  Only a small fraction of what you would lose if I were to release the tape before you have a chance to pull out.  I could get a copy around to the Foreign Office and another to the American ambassador within thirty minutes.  It could be on BBC 1 at six o'clock.

.

How much?  Tug insisted.  Five million in cash, paid into a Swiss account immediately.  With you as the signatory?  And Omeru as a counter-signatory.  What else?  You will intercede with the president of Zaire.  He is a friend of yours, but no friend of Taffari's.  We want him to allow clandestine passage of arms and munitions across his border with Ubomo.  All he has to do is turn a blind eye.  is that all?

That's the lot.  Daniel nodded.  All right.  I agree, Tug said.  Give me the account number and I'll deposit the money before noon tomorrow.

Daniel stood up.  Cheer up.  All is not lost, Tug, he advised.

Victor Omeru will be very kindly disposed towards you once he is reinstated in his rightful position.  I am sure he will be prepared to renegotiate the contract with you, with the proper safeguards in place this time.  After Daniel had left, Tug Harrison sat staring at his Picasso for fully five minutes.

Then he glanced at his watch.  There was a nine-hour time difference in Taipei.  He picked up the telephone and dialled the international code, followed by Ning Heng H'Sui's private number.  The old man's eldest son, Fang, screened the call, and then passed him on to his father.  I have a very interesting proposition for you, Tug told the old man.  I want to fly out to speak to you face to face.  I can be in Taipei within twenty-four hours, will you be there?  He made two other phone calls. One to his chief pilot's home number to warn him to get the Gulfstream ready, and the second to the Credit Swisse Bank in Zurich.  Mr.  Mulder, I will be making a large transfer from the number two account within the next twenty-four hours.  Five million sterling.

Make certain there is no delay once you receive the code card instruction.  Then he hung up the telephone and stared at the painting again without seeing it.  He had to decide what reason he would give Ning for wanting to sell his share in UDC.  Should he say that he was in a cash bind?  Or that he needed to be liquid for a new acquisition?

Which would Ning fall for more readily?

What was his price?  He mustn't set it too low, for that would arouse the cunning old oriental's suspicions immediately.

Not too high either.  Low enough to excite his greed, high enough not to alarm him.  It was a nice calculation.  He would have the duration of the flight to Taipei to consider it.  That young fool Cheng has dropped me in it.  It's only right that his father be made to pay.  He thought about Ning Cheng Gong.  He has been too good a choice, Tug smiled bitterly.  He had asked for a ruthless one, and got more than he bid for.

Of course, Tug had known about the forced ]about, but not the details of their treatment.  He had not wanted to know.

Neither had he known for certain about the use of the arsenic reagents, though he had suspected that Cheng was using them.

The platinum recovery figures had been too high, the profits too good, for it not to be so.  He had not wanted to know any of the unpleasant details.  But, he thought philosophically, the enhanced profitability of the mining venture would make it easier to sell out his interests to Lucky Dragon.

Ning Heng H'Sui would think he was getting the bargain of his life.

Good luck, Lucky Dragon, Tug grunted.  You're going to need all of it.

Three months to the day since his last crossing Daniel stood on the moraine below the Ruwatamagufa glacier.  This time he was properly equipped for the alpine conditions; there would be no more frostbite.

And this time he was not alone.

The line of porters, each man bowed forward against the headband of his pack, stretched back as far as Daniel could see into the mountain mist.

They were all men of the Konjo tribe, dour mountaineers who could carry heavy loads at these high altitudes.  There were six hundred and fifty porters, and each man carried an eighty-pound pack.

In all, that made twenty-six tons of arms and ammunition.

There were no sophisticated weapons in the loads, only the tried and true tools of the guerrilla and the terrorist, the ubiquitous AK 47 and the Uzi, the RPD light machine-gun and the RPG rocket-launcher, Tokarev automatic pistols and American M26 fragmentation grenades, or at least convincing copies of them made in Yugoslavia or Romania.

All of these were readily obtainable at short notice in any quantity required, as long as the buyer had cash.  Daniel was amazed how easy it had been.  Tug Harrison had supplied him with the names and telephone numbers of five dealers, one in Florida, two in Europe and two in the Middle East.  Take your pick, Tug had invited.  But check what you're getting before you pay.  Some of that stuff has been floating around for forty years.  Daniel and his instructors had personally opened every case and laboriously checked each piece.

Daniel had calculated that the very minimum number of instructors he needed was four.  He went back to Zimbabwe to find them.  They were all men he had fought with or against during the bush war.  They were all Swahili speakers and they were all black.  A white face attracted a lot of attention in Ubomo.

The leader of the group of four was an ex-sergeant-major in the Ballantyne Scouts, a man who had fought with men like Roland Ballantyne and Sean Courtney.  He was a magnificent figure of a Matabele warrior called Morgan Tembi.

There was another recruit in the party, a cameraman to replace Bonny Mahon.  Shadrach Mbeki was a black South African exile who had done good work for the BBC, the best man that Daniel could find at such short notice.

To the north Mount Stanley was hidden in clouds, and the cloud dropped down to form a grey cold ceiling only a hundred feet above their heads, but to the east below the cloud it was open.  Daniel gazed down upon the forest almost ten thousand feet below.  it looked like the ocean, green and endless, except to the north where a dark cancer had bitten into the green.  The open mined area was deeper and wider than when Daniel had last seen it from this vantage point only a few short months ago.

The cloud and the mist dropped over them abruptly, blotting out the distant carnage, and Daniel roused himself and started down, the long column of porters unwinding behind him.

Sepoo was waiting for him where the bamboo forest began at the ten thousand foot level.  It is good to see you again, Kuokoa, my brother.

Kara-Ki sends you her heart, he told Daniel.  She asks that you come to her swiftly.  She says she can wait no longer.  The men of Sepoo's clan had cut out the trail through the bamboo, widening it so that the porters could pass through without having to stoop.

Below the bamboo where the true rain forest began at the six thousand foot level, Patrick Omeru was waiting with his teams of Uhali recruits to take over from the Konjo mountaineers.

Daniel paid off the Konjo and watched them climb back through the bamboo into their misty highlands.  Then the Bambuti guided them on to the newly opened trail, back towards Gondola.

After Kelly's message Daniel could not restrain himself to the pace of the heavily laden convoy, and he and Sepoo hurried ahead.  Kelly was on the trail coming to meet them, and they came upon each other suddenly around a bend in the forest path.

Kelly and Daniel came up short and stared at each other, neither of them seemed able to move or even to speak until Kelly said huskily, without taking her eyes from Daniel's face, Go on ahead, Sepoo.  Far, far ahead!

Sepoo giggled happily and went without looking back.

During Daniel's absence, Victor Omeru had built his new headquarters in the edge of the forest beyond the waterfall at Gondola where it would be hidden from any possible aerial surveillance.

It was a simple baraza with half walls and a thatched roof.  He sat with Daniel on the raised dais at one end of the hut.

Daniel was meeting the resistance leaders, many of them for the first time.  They were seated facing the dais on long splitpole benches, like students in a lecture theatre.  There were thirty-eight of them, mostly Uhali tribesmen, but six were influential Hita who were disenchanted with Taffari and had thrown in their lot with Victor Omeru as soon as they heard that he was still alive.  These Hita were vital to the plan of action that Daniel had devised and discussed with Victor.

Two of them were highly placed in the army and one was a senior police officer.  The other three were government officials who would be able to arrange permits and licences for travel and transport.  All of them would be able to supply vital intelligence.

At first there had been some natural objection to Daniel's new cameraman filming the proceedings, but Victor had interceded and now Shadrach Mbeki was working so unobtrusively that they soon forgot his presence. As a reward for his assistance Victor Omeru had agreed that Daniel could make a film record of the entire campaign.

Daniel opened the meeting by introducing his four Marabele military instructors.  As each man role and faced the audience, Daniel recited his curriculum vitae.  They were all impressive men, but Morgan Tembi in particular they regarded with awe.  Between them they have trained thousands of fighting men, Daniel told them.

They won't be interested in parade-ground drills or spit and polish.

They will simply teach you to use the weapons we have brought over the mountains and to use them to the best possible effect.  He looked at Patrick Omeru in the front row.  Patrick, can you come up here and tell us how many men you have at your disposal, and where they are at the present time?  Patrick had been busy during Daniel's absence.  He had recruited almost fifteen hundred young men.  Well done, Patrick, that's more than we need, Daniel told him.  I was planning on a core of a thousand men, four units of two hundred and fifty, each under the command of one of the instructors.  More than that will be difficult to conceal and deploy.  However, we will be able to use the others in noncombatant roles.  The staff conference went on for three days.  At the last session Daniel addressed them again.  Our plans are simple.

That makes them good, there is less to go wrong.  Our whole strategy is based on two principles.

Number one is that we have to move fast.  We have to be in a position to strike within weeks rather than months.  Number two is total surprise.

Our security must be iron-clad.  if Taffari gets even a whiff of our plans he'll crack down so hard that we'll have no chance of success whatsoever.  There it is, gentlemen, speed and stealth.  We will meet again here on the first of next month.  By then President Omeru and I will have a detailed plan of action drawn up.  Until then you will be taking orders from your instructors in the training-camps.  Good luck to all of us.  Pirri was confused and angry and filled with formless despair and hatred.

For months now he had lived alone in the forest with not another man to talk to, or woman to laugh with.  At night he lay alone in his carelessly built leaf hut far from the huts of other men and he thought of his youngest wife.  She was sixteen years of age, with plump little breasts.  He remembered the wetness and lubricious warmth of her body, and he moaned aloud in the darkness as he thought that he would never again know the comfort of a woman's body.

During the day he was lethargic and without care.  He no longer hunted with his old intensity.  Sometimes he sat for hours gazing into one of the dark forest pools.  Twice he heard the honey chameleon call and he did not follow.  He grew thin and his beard began turning white.

Once he heard a party of Bambuti women in the forest, laughing and chattering as they gathered mushrooms and roots.  He crept close and spied upon them, and his heart felt as though it would break.  He longed to join them, but knew he could not.

Then one day while wandering alone, Pirri cut the trail of a party of wazungu.  He studied their tracks and read that there were twenty of them, and that they moved with purpose and determination as though on a journey.  It was exceedingly strange to find other men in the forest, for the Hita and Uhali were afraid of hobgoblins and monsters, and never entered the tall trees if they could avoid doing so.  Pirri recovered a little of his old curiosity, and he followed the tracks of the wazungu.

They were moving well, and it took him many hours to catch up with them.

Then he discovered a most remarkable thing.

Deep in the forest he found a camp where many men were assembled.

They were all armed with the Banduki that had a strange banana-shaped appendage hanging from beneath either a tail or a penis, Pirri was not certain.  And while Pirri watched in astonishment from his hiding-place, these men fired their banduki and made a terrible clattering clamour that frightened the birds into flight and sent the monkeys scampering away across the forest galleries.

All this was extraordinary, but most marvelous of all was that these men were not Hita.  These days only Hita soldiers in uniform carried banduki.  These men were Uhali.

Pirri thought about what he had seen-for many days, and then the acquisitive instinct, which had been dormant in him since the coming of the Molimo, began to stir.  He thought about Chetti Singh, and wondered if Chetti Singh would give him tobacco if he told him about the armed men in the forest.

He hated Chetti Singh who had cheated and lied to him but as he thought about the tobacco, the saliva jetted from under his tongue.  He could almost taste it in his mouth.  The old tobacco hunger was like a pain in his chest and his belly.

The next day he -went to find Chetti Singh and he whistled and sang as he went.  He was coming alive again after the Molimo death.  He stopped only once, to hunt a colobus monkey that he spied in the treetops eating the yellow fruit of the mongongo tree.  His old skills came back to him and he crept to within twenty paces of the monkey without it suspecting his presence, and he shot a poisoned arrow that struck one of its legs.

The monkey fled shrieking through the branches, but it did not go far before it fell to earth, paralysed by the poison, its lips curled up in the dreadful rictus of agony as it frothed and trembled and shook before it died.  The poison on Pirri's arrow was fresh and strong.  He had found the nest of the little beetles only days before and had dug them up and crushed them to paste in a bark crucible and smeared his arrow-tips with the juices.

With his belly full of monkey meat and the wet skin folded into his barkfibre bag, he went on towards the rendezvous with the one-armed Sikh.

Pirri waited two days at the rendezvous, the clearing in the forest that had once been a logging camp but was now overgrown and reverting to jungle.  He wondered if the Uhali storekeeper who kept the little duka on the side of the main highway had passed on his message to Chetti Singh.

Then he began to believe that Chetti Singh had received the message but would not come to him.  Perhaps Chetti Singh had learned of the Molimo death and was also ostracising him.

Perhaps nobody would ever speak to Pirri again.  His recent high spirits faded as he sat alone in the forest waiting for Chetti Singh to come, and the sense of despair and confusion overwhelmed him all over again.

Chetti Singh came on the afternoon of the second day.  Pirri heard his Landrover long before it arrived and suddenly his anger and hatred had something on which to focus.

He thought how Chetti Singh had cheated and tricked him so many times before.  He thought how he had never given him everything he had promised; always there was short-weight of tobacco, and water in the gin.

Then he thought how Chetti Singh had made him kill the elephant.

Pirri had never been as angry as he was now.  He was too angry even to lash out at the trees around him, too angry to shout aloud.  His throat was tight and closed, and his hands shook.  Chetti Singh was the one who had brought the curse of the Molimo down upon him.  Chetti Singh had killed his soul.