For did not the god declare to us
through me that when the white men came back with an iron tube, then
he, the god, would die, and I, the Motombo, the god's Mouth, would
die, and the Holy Flower would be torn up, and the Mother of the
Flower would pass away, and the people of the Pongo would be dispersed
and become wanderers and slaves? And did he not declare that if the
white men came again without their iron tubes, then certain secret
things would happen--oh! ask them not, in time they shall be known to
you, and the people of the Pongo who were dwindling would again become
fruitful and very great? And that is why we welcome you, white men,
who arise again from the land of ghosts, because through you we, the
Pongo, shall become fruitful and very great."
Of a sudden he ceased his rumbling talk, his head sank back between
his shoulders and he sat silent for a long while, his fierce,
sparkling eyes playing on us as though he would read our very
thoughts. If he succeeded, I hope that mine pleased him. To tell the
truth, I was filled with mixed fear, fury and loathing.
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