Tessay sat at his feet, and when her husband spoke she translated
quietly for him into Amharic. "It is a great pleasure and an honour for
me to greet you again, Holy Father."
The old man nodded, and Boris went on, "I have brought an English
nobleman of royal blood to, visit the monastery of St. Frumentius."
"I say, steady on, old boy!, Nicholas protested, but all the
congregation studied him with expectant interest.
"What do I do now?" he asked Boris out of the corner of his mouth.
"What do You think he came all this way for?" Boris grinned maliciously.
"He wants a gift. Money,'
"Maria Theresa dollars?" he enquired, referring to the centuries-old
traditional currency of Ethiopia, "Not necessarily. Times have changed.
jali Hora will be happy to take Yankee green-backs."
"How much?"
"You are a nobleman of royal blood. You will be hunting in his valley.
Five hundred dollars at least."
Nicholas winced and went to fetch his bag from one of the mule panniers.
When he came back he bowed to the abbot and placed the sheaf of currency
in his outstretched, pink-palmed claw. The abbot smiled, exposing the
yellow stumps of his teeth, and spoke briefly.
Tessay translated for him, "He says, "Welcome to the monastery of St.
Frumentius and the season of Timkat." He wishes you good hunting on the
banks of the Abbay river."
Immediately the solemn mood of the devout company changed. They broke
out in smiles and laughter, and the abbot looked expectantly at Boris.
"The holy abbot says it has been a thirsty journey," Tessay translated.
"The old devil loves his brandy," Boris explained, and shouted to the
camp butler. With some ceremony a bottle of brandy was brought and
placed on the camp table in front of the abbot, shoulder to shoulder
with the bottle of vodka in front of Boris. They toasted each other, and
the abbot tossed back a dram that made his good eye weep with tears, and
his voice husky as he directed a question at Royan.
"He asks you, Woizero Royan, where do you come from, daughter, that you
follow the true path of Christ the Saviour of man?"
"I am an Egyptian, of the old religion," Royan replied.
The abbot and all his priests nodded and beamed with approval.
"We are all brothers and sisters in Christ, the Egyptians and the
Ethiopians," the abbot told her. "Even the word Coptic derives from the
Greek for Egyptian. For over sixteen hundred years the Abuna, the
bishop, of Ethiopia was always appointed by the Patriarch in Cairo. Only
the Emperor Haile Selassie changed that in 1959, but we still follow the
true road to Christ. You are welcome, my daughter."
His debtera poured another dram of brandy and the old man swallowed it
at a gulp. Even Boris looked impressed, "Where does the skinny old black
tortoise put it?" he wondered aloud. Tessay did not translate, but she
lowered her eyes and the hurt she felt for the insult to the holy man
showed on her madonna features.
Jah Hora turned to Nicholas. "He wants to know what animals you have
come to hunt here in his valley," Tessay told him.
Nicholas steeled himself and then replied carefully.
There was a long moment of disbelief, then the abbot cackled happily and
the assembled priests shouted with incredulous mirth.
"A dik-dik! You have come to hunt a dikdik! But there is no meat on an
animal that size."
Nicholas let them get over the first shock, and then produced a
photograph of the mounted specimen of Moquoda harPerU from the museum.
He placed it on the table in front of Jah Hora.
"This is no ordinary dik-dik. It is a holy dik-dik," he told them in
portentous tones, nodding at Tessay for the translation. "Let me recount
the legend." They were silenced by the prospect of a good story with
religious overtones. Even the abbot arrested the glass on its way to his
lips and replaced it on the table. His one eye swivelled from the
photograph to Nicholas's face.
"When John the Baptist was dying of starvation in the desert," Nicholas
began, and a few of the priests crossed themselves at the mention of the
saint's name, "he had been thirty days and thirty nights without a
morsel passing his lips-' Nicholas spun out the yarn for a while,
dwellin on the extremities of hunger endured by the saint, details
savoured by his audience who liked their holy men to suffer in the name
of righteousness.
"In the end the Lord took mercy on his servant and placed a small
antelope in a thicket of acacia, held fast by the thorns. He said unto
the saint: "I have prepared a meal for you that you shall not die. Take
of this meat and eat."
Where John the Baptist touched the small creature, the marks of his
thumb and fingers were imprinted upon its back for all time, and all
generations to come." They were silent and impressed.
Nicholas passed the photograph to the abbot. "See the prints of the
saint's fingers upon it."
The old man studied the print avidly, holding it up to his single eye,
and at last he exclaimed, "It is true. The marks of the saint's fingers
are clear to see."
He passed it to his deacons. Encouraged by the abbot's endorsement, they
exclaimed and wondered over the picture of the insignificant creature in
its coat of striped fur'.
"Have any of your men ever laid eyes upon one of these animals?"
Nicholas demanded, and one after the other they shook their heads. The
photograph completed the circle and was passed to the rank of squatting
acolytes.
Suddenly one of them leaped to his feet prancing, brandishing the
photograph and gibbering with excitement.
"I have seen this holy creature! With my very own eyes, I have seen it."
He was a young boy, barely adolescent.
There were cries of derision and disbelief from the others. One of them
snatched the print from the boy's grasp and waved it out of his reach,
taunting him with it.
"The child is soft in the head, and often possessed by demons and
fits,'Jali Hora explained sorrowfully. "Take no notice of him, poor
Tamre!'
Tamre's eyes were wild as he ran down the rank of acolytes, trying
desperately to recapture the photograph.
But they passed it back and forth, keeping it just out of his reach,
teasing him and jeering at his antics.
Nicholas rose to his feet to intervene. He found this taunting of a
weak'minded lad offensive, but at that moment something tripped in the
boy's mind, and he fell to the ground as though struck down by a club.
His back arched and his limbs twitched and jerked uncontrollably, his
eyes rolled back into his skull until only the whites showed, and white
froth creamed on his lips that were drawn back in a grinning rictus.
Before Nicholas could go to him, four of his peers picked him up bodily
and carried him away. Their laughter dwindled into the night. The others
acted as though this was nothing out of the ordinary, and Jali Hora
nodded to his debtera to refill his glass.
it was late when at last Jah Hora took his leave and was helped into the
palanquin by his deacons. He took the remains of the brandy with him,
clutching the halfempty bottle in one clawed hand and tossing out
benedictions with the other.
"You made a good impression, Milord English," Boris told him. "He liked
your story of John the Baptist, but he liked your money even more."
When they set out the next morning, the path followed the river for a
while. But within a mile the waters quickened their pace, and then raced
through the narrow opening between high red cliffs and plunged over
another waterfall.
Nicholas left the welltrodden trail and went down to the brink of the