Men of Men - Smith Wilbur - Страница 42
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Then he touched it with his fingertips and began to stroke the soft furry carapace. Slowly the spider subsided from her threatening posture, and the watchers sighed and began to breathe again.
Inkosikazi had fought five times, and five times she had killed, although in the last conflict against another huge and ferocious female she had lost one of her legs, chewed through at the elbow joint. That had been almost three months previously; but the severed limb had now regenerated itself, and the new leg was lighter coloured than the others like the fresh shoots on a rose bush.
Slowly Bazo turned his hand palm upwards and the spider scuttled up into it and crouched there, filling it completely without extending her many jointed legs.
"A queen," he said, "a veritable queen. "And then, frowning, he told her, "Henshaw would like to see you fight again." He glanced up at Ralph, and there was a mischievous twist to his full lips.
"Go to Henshaw and tell him if you will fight or no."
And he offered the spider to Ralph.
Ralph felt the crawling of the tiny feet of horror across his skin as he stared at the spider crouching like a hairy toad before his face.
"Come, Henshaw,"Bazo smiled. "Talk to her."
It was a challenge, and the watchers stirred with anticipation. If the challenge was not taken up, then their mockery would be merciless. Ralph tried to force himself to move, but his loathing was a cold nauseating lump under his ribs, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead was suddenly glacially cold.
Bazo was still smiling, but the challenge in his direct gaze was slowly changing to taunting disdain. With an enormous effort Ralph raised his hand, and at the movement the spider lifted itself and the soft bloated abdomen seemed to pulse softly, obscenely.
Only one person had ever handled Inkosikazi, and her reaction to a strange touch was totally unpredictable; but Ralph forced himself to reach out towards her.
Slowly his fingertips drew closer, six inches, two inches from the hairy body, and then the spider sprang. It launched itself in a high parabola, and landed on Ralph's shoulder.
The circle of watchers broke up in comic panic, yelling with terror and falling over one another to reach the single low doorway. Only Bazo and Ralph had not moved. Ralph sat with his hand still extended and the spider squatted massively on his shoulder. Infinitely slowly Ralph cocked his head and peered down at it, and it began to move; lifting the long bristled legs with a chilling daintiness, it crept sideways into the hollow of Ralph's neck, so that he could no longer see it but suddenly he felt the sharp points of its feet scratching the soft of his throat.
There was a horrified yell locked in the back of Ralph's throat, but he kept it there with a total effort of will.
The spider climbed his chin and hung upside down for a moment like a huge hairy bat, and Ralph did not move.
Instead he lifted his gaze and held that of the Matabele opposite him. The mockery was gone from Bazo's eyes, and behind him the other watchers drew closer, fascinated and fearful. Perhaps for a minute they sat like that, and then Ralph lifted his hand. The gesture was so calm, so controlled, that the spider showed only perfunctory symptoms of alarm, and then quite willingly scuttled onto the inviting fingers and Ralph transferred her gently back into her basket.
Ralph wanted to leap up and run out into the darkness, to be alone while he vomited up his horror, but he forced himself to sit and stare impassively at Bazo until the Matabele lowered his eyes.
"She will fight,"he said softly. "As you wish, Henshaw, she will fight again tomorrow." And he closed the lid of the basket.
Inkosikazi had not fought for almost three months, and the punters, always fickle, had forgotten her. Other champions had emerged in her absence and commanded the fanatic loyalty of their followers. They gathered four deep around the handlers, trying to peer into the baskets and assess the fighting metal of the caged creatures, as they waited for the first bout of the afternoon.
Although lantern-lit contests were held each evening behind Diamond Lil's canteen, Sunday afternoon was the one event of the week when every digger in Kimberley was free to crowd the western corner of Market Square and pick his fancy.
The arena was a square wooden structure, six feet by six and three deep, covered by a sheet of clear glass. This sheet of glass was the largest in Griqualand; originally intended as a display window for a ladies" dress shop on Main Street, it had miraculously survived the long wagon journey from the coast, and was now probably one of the most cherished items in Kimberley. Without it the sport would die, and Sunday afternoons would be tedium indeed.
The sheet of glass and the wooden arena were owned by a onetime kopje-walloper who had found there was more money in spiders than in diamonds. Ownership of the glass gave him a monopoly of the game and allowed him to charge a cruel entrance fee, and take a lion's share of the winnings.
Half a dozen wagons had been drawn up in a square around the arena to make grandstand accommodation for the crowds. The canteens around the square provided al fresco service, their waiters staggering under trays laden with foaming schooners of beer to quench the raging thirsts that men had built up during a week in the pit.
The female population had doubled and re-doubled since Kimberley had become part of the Empire, and the ladies used the occasion to show off a pretty hat and a nicely sculptured ankle. Their delighted squeals of horror when the fighting spiders were released into the arena added to the feverish air of excitement.
In one of the alleys that led into the square, Ralph and his Matabele were huddled in solemn discussion.
"I do not know what that name means," Bazo was protesting to Ralph.
"It is the name of a dangerous woman, who danced so beautifully that "when she asked for it the king cut off a man's head and gave it to her."
They all looked impressed. It was the kind of story which appealed to a Matabele.
"What is the name again?"Bazo asked thoughtfully.
"Salome, "
"But why cannot she fight under her real name?" Bazo glanced down at the basket under his arm. "Why must we change Inkosikazi's name for this fight? It is not a good omen."
Ralph looked exasperated. "If we use that name they will know it is the same Inkosikazi who has already killed five times. If we call her Salome, why, one spider looks like another. They will not recognize her. They will believe her to be unblooded, and we shall win more money."
"That is a good reason," Kamuza cut in, and Bazo ignored him.
"Who found this name?" Bazo insisted.
Jordie. He found it in the big book." That decided it.
Bazo had vast respect for the lovely gentle boy and his knowledge of books.
"Salome." He nodded. "It is agreed, but only for today., "Good."
Ralph rubbed his palms together briskly. "Now where is the money?"
And they all looked to Kamusa. He was the treasurer of the group. In their years of unbroken labour the gang of young Matabele had accumulated a hoard of gold and silver coin, for to their wages they had added the bounty on "pick-ups". Then of course there were the considerable winnings from Inkosikazi's previous bouts.
Kamuza kept this treasure buried under the floor of the communal hut, but he had reluctantly exhumed part of it the evening before, and now he produced a soft furry white bag, made from tanned scrotal skin of a springbuck ram, and reluctantly counted out coins into Ralph's hand. No white bookmaker would accept a wager from a black man, so Ralph was frontman for the Matabele syndicate.
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