For the first time the commander became more than a mere spectator. He arose slowly, a frail and incongruous figure in his feathered cloak. He brought his open hands together three times, and though the drums drowned any sound he might be making, the signal was apparently a prescribed part of the ceremony. One of the torchbearers marched to the obeah man and held his bundle of burning rushes high over the ugly mask; the flaming reeds were attached to a long green pole, and in the light of the fire the witch doctor looked like a singularly evil devil. He repeated the commander's gesture of slapping his palms together, and the drums fell silent.
A young man walked into the clearing, a Negro of magnificent build who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was clad only in a loincloth, but on his head he wore a red piece of stiff wool cut to resemble a rooster's comb. An expectant shudder and sigh seemed to travel around the square as he marched up to the commander and bowed low, then turned and bowed again to the obeah man. He was followed into the clearing by a handsome young Negress dressed in the Maroon fashion save for one detaiclass="underline" her skirt was so long that it almost touched the ground and was made of pure-white cloth. She too bowed to the commander, and the obeah man then faced the young man. They were no more than three feet apart, and both remained as motionless as statues.
With no warning the drummers began to pound again, and this time their tempo was furious, relentless. The couple in the arena began to dance, and although their feet were bare and there were numerous rough patches in the clearing, they flew back and forth, never faltering, never stumbling. Their bodies did not touch at any time, nor did they join hands or arms. But they seemed to sense each other's steps and gestures in advance of execution, and their co-ordination was perfect as they leaped and pranced, glided and whirled together.
The drums were approaching a climax, and the men who played them were glistening with sweat. It seemed to Janine that the dancers would drop to the ground exhausted, but instead they grew more abandoned, more frenzied. Their arms flailed, their bodies twisted and writhed sinuously as they moved with speed and grace from one end of the clearing to the other, never losing a beat.
There was a mild commotion of sorts near the commander's throne, and Janine tore her gaze away from the dancing couple long enough to see that the obeah man, who was now standing at the Maroon leader's left, was holding a large white rooster in his hands, and the bird was flapping its wings in resentment. The dancers circled toward the dais, and as they reached a point directly in front of the commander the man threw his arms high above his head, screamed at the top of his voice, and collapsed in a graceful heap. Without pausing, the girl reached out and plucked the rooster from the hands of the obeah man and, holding the protesting creature before her, she continued her mad whirl.
The crowd seemed to be caught up in a fever of tension, and Janine watched the dance with parted lips, breathing heavily; she had forgotten everything but the dancer and the white bird. The pounding of the drums was so rapid, so loud that the sound was almost unbearable, yet it blended into the dance completely and became one with the almost unbelievable spins and leaps of the Negress.
No one could keep up such a pace for long, but the dancer was inspired, tireless. The rooster no longer fluttered, but held its wings still, its head quiet. Now as the girl danced she rubbed the bird's feathers against her face, and although it was impossible to hear her voice, she seemed to be singing or chanting to it. Without a break in her footwork she transferred the rooster to her right hand alone, then rhythmically slid it up her arm and caressed her throat, her breasts, her belly with its soft plumage.
At last she danced directly before the prostrate body of Jeremy Stone, her whole body contorting spasmodically. Her free hand reached inside the top of her skirt, and she brought forth a tiny poniard with a narrow blade. She raised the weapon to eye level, and for an instant Janine thought she was going to plunge it into her own heart. Instead she severed the head of the rooster from its body with a single, deft stroke and deliberately played the fountain of blood that gushed forth on her own body.
Then she flung the dead bird from her, dropped to the ground, and for a second seemed to hug Jeremy. The drums decreased their tempo, then stopped. The Negress fell back, *away from Jeremy, and from her appearance she was deep in a coma; her eyes were closed, her body was awkwardly rigid, and a froth of spittle covered her lips.
The obeah man stepped forward and said something over the head of the girl. The male dancer, who had all unnoticed risen to his feet, walked forward slowly, picked up the girl, and stalked off with her into the night. The obeah man moved over to Jeremy and stared down at him through the unchanging features of his grotesque mask. Then he straightened, reached inside his cape, and brought out a small golden flask.
The assemblage had become utterly quiet, and there was no sound save the deep breathing of those who had not yet regained their equilibrium. The commander arose from his throne and spoke briefly in the harsh African dialect. Then he looked straight at Janine and seemed to be addressing her alone, in English.
"He who was ill is ill no more. He whose soul had fled has found his soul again, and that soul has returned to us who are alive in this world of the living flesh," he intoned.
From behind the obeah man's mask came a pleasant, liquid voice which repeated the commander's words in the African tongue. Then he too spoke in English. "He who was ill is ill no more. He whose soul had fled has found his soul again, and that soul has returned to us who are alive in this world of the living flesh."
Slowly he removed a stopper from the little flask, poured the contents into the palm of his other hand, and dropped the container to the ground. He rubbed his hands together, and a dry white powder sprayed over Jeremy. Then abruptly he wheeled around, walked rapidly as he made a detour around the dais, and disappeared from the sight of the crowd.
The ceremony seemed to be over, for people were rising, stretching their aching limbs, and beginning to converse in low undertones. Family groups gathered and started to move off toward their huts. The drummers shouldered their cumbersome instruments and carried them away. Arnold Rifle-Shoot, after a brief conversation with the commander, who remained standing near Jeremy Stone's body, hurried to his wife and children.
It was his coming that awoke Janine from her near trance. Weary beyond measure, she shook herself like one struggling to consciousness through black layers of sleep. She jumped to her feet, and her one thought was for Jeremy.
Although he had been the reason for the obeah ceremony, no one in the crowd was paying him the slightest heed. People were departing, talking aloud and laughing together without bothering to glance in his direction. All but a few of the torch-bearers and other stalwarts who hovered behind the commander were wandering off, and Jeremy seemed totally forgotten.
Janine ran toward him, and the commander stepped forward, blocking her path. He was smiling, but his eyes were sad. "You have witnessed a rite that is usually forbidden to outsiders, my dear," he said softly, "and I hope that you will learn a lesson from it. That is why I permitted you to see the things you have seen and to hear the things you have heard tonight. Remember hereafter that those things which we fail to understand are not necessarily false, that the unknown need not be the untrue."
He stepped aside and motioned the girl toward Jeremy. She knelt beside him and looked at him carefully. Although his eyes were still closed, the color of his face was normal where it showed beneath the daubs of paint, and his breathing was quiet. The blood of the kid was spattered on his body, there were smears of the rooster's blood as well, and flecks of the powder dropped by the obeah man clung to him. Janine put her hand to his forehead, and it felt cool under her touch.