On the following morning I trekked very early from Umbezi’s kraal–before he was up indeed, for the “squareface” made him sleep sound. My destination was Nodwengu, Panda’s Great Place, where I hoped to do some trading, but, as I was in no particular hurry, my plan was to go round by Masapo’s, and see for myself how it fared between him and Mameena. Indeed, I reached the borders of the Amasomi territory, whereof Masapo was chief, by evening, and camped there. But with the night came reflection, and reflection told me that I should do well to keep clear of Mameena and her domestic complications, if she had any. So I changed my mind, and next morning trekked on to Nodwengu by the only route that my guides reported to be practicable, one which took me a long way round.
That day, owing to the roughness of the road–if road it could be called–and an accident to one of the wagons, we only covered about fifteen miles, and as night fell were obliged to outspan at the first spot where we could find water. When the oxen had been unyoked I looked about me, and saw that we were in a place that, although I had approached it from a somewhat different direction, I recognised at once as the mouth of the Black Kloof, in which, over a year before, I had interviewed Zikali the Little and Wise. There was no mistaking the spot; that blasted valley, with the piled-up columns of boulders and the overhanging cliff at the end of it, have, so far as I am aware, no exact counterparts in Africa.
I sat upon the box of the first wagon, eating my food, which consisted of some biltong and biscuit, for I had not bothered to shoot any game that day, which was very hot, and wondering whether Zikali were still alive, also whether I should take the trouble to walk up the kloof and find out. On the whole I thought that I would not, as the place repelled me, and I did not particularly wish to hear any more of his prophecies and fierce, ill-omened talk. So I just sat there studying the wonderful effect of the red evening light pouring up between those walls of fantastic rocks.
Presently I perceived, far away, a single human figure–whether it were man or woman I could not tell–walking towards me along the path which ran at the bottom of the cleft. In those gigantic surroundings it looked extraordinarily small and lonely, although perhaps because of the intense red light in which it was bathed, or perhaps just because it was human, a living thing in the midst of all that still, inanimate grandeur, it caught and focused my attention. I grew greatly interested in it; I wondered if it were that of man or woman, and what it was doing here in this haunted valley.
The figure drew nearer, and now I saw it was slender and tall, like that of a lad or of a well-grown woman, but to which sex it belonged I could not see, because it was draped in a cloak of beautiful grey fur. Just then Scowl came to the other side of the wagon to speak to me about something, which took off my attention for the next two minutes. When I looked round again it was to see the figure standing within three yards of me, its face hidden by a kind of hood which was attached to the fur cloak.
“Who are you, and what is your business?” I asked, whereon a gentle voice answered:
“Do you not know me, O Macumazana?”
“How can I know one who is tied up like a gourd in a mat? Yet is it not–is it not–”
“Yes, it is Mameena, and I am very pleased that you should remember my voice, Macumazahn, after we have been separated for such a long, long time,” and, with a sudden movement, she threw back the kaross, hood and all, revealing herself in all her strange beauty.
I jumped down off the wagon-box and took her hand.
“O Macumazana,” she said, while I still held it–or, to be accurate, while she still held mine–“indeed my heart is glad to see a friend again,” and she looked at me with her appealing eyes, which, in the red light, I could see appeared to float in tears.