Uwezo looked at him, confused. "Yes, a little. I'm not old enough for the Mifupa, am I?"
"No, that's different." Makedde stroked his chin and grinned wryly. "By the gods, I think he's right! You DO have Dol Sani!"
Uwezo looked worried. "How? I will be a laughingstock!"
Makedde patted him. "Nonsense. Nothing will be said by me or Metutu. Just tell them you have—hmmm--acute pediatric aesthenia."
“I’m glad you think my Pediatric whatever is cute, but let’s just say that I have the flu and leave it at that.”
“Fine.” He gave Uwezo an elixir of Protothecus milleri. “Now drink this.”
“Ugh! It smells nasty.”
“Dwink it or I WILL tell your mommy!”
Uwezo did not appreciate the joke, but he did appreciate blackmail. He downed the awful remedy that left him reeking of sulfur. “Oh gods!” He took the water gourd offered by Makedde and downed it all in a couple of gulps. “Ugh! Nasty stuff!”
He turned to leave. “You’re welcome,” Makedde said grimly. As Uwezo walked away, Makedde watched him. He muttered, “You DO have a cute pediatric aesthenia....” Laughing, he thought about Metutu’s emerging diagnostic skills. “I have to tell him about it."
Hearing a noise below, he looked down. “Metutu, I want to tell you something.”
But it was Kinara, his father. He looked upset.
"You could live a little closer to the ground, like civilized folk." Kinara was short of breath.
Makedde sighed. "What can I do for you, Father? Those backaches again?"
Kinara said, “Haven’t you done enough already?”
“What do you mean by that?”
"I know the love Metutu has for you, and I would not begrudge him anything. But I will NOT stand by and watch you corrupt him."
Makedde opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. "Oh, no! Don't you try to deny it.”
“Why, because I give him a little work to do? It’s good for the soul.”
"PAH!" Kinara growled. "A little hard work is fine. But you have filled his head with dry grass! Lion stories! Meat-eater religions where a lioness nurses cubs with her own blood! My gods, did you think I would want my son to hear that perversion!"
“It is NOT perversion! I try to respect all people’s beliefs when they are sincere about them, but a god that lies and steals is no god of mine. I have dared to hunt out the God whose love is unconditional and whose heart is pure.”
Kinara thumped his staff down. "At least you don’t deny it. You were always too honest to lead our people effectively, so I didn’t mind when you wanted to be a shaman healer. But now you heal the body while corrupting the spirit. Who says that Pishtim--may he increase--lies or steals?? Since he is the source of all things and all truth, he can change the truth as he sees fit, and he can take back what he has given! See that you don’t offend him with your impious ranting!
“Me impious? Father, don’t you know your own son better than that? Hasn’t love given you eyes to see or ears to listen?”
“Don’t think I don’t still love you, for I have worked to keep your secret from the council. I’ve stuck my neck out for you, and I’ll continue to do so, but I will NOT have you taking Metutu from the true path! I’m sorry, Makedde, but you are no longer his teacher. I’m sending him to live with Busara. He will teach my son the old ways that have sustained us for generations. He will be made worthy to take my place when I die. Gods, how I wish I’d done better with you! I wonder if I could have done or said anything different. You send me to my grave with many regrets and a broken heart!”
“Father!”
“I warn you not to try and interfere. Don’t presume too much on our ties of blood, for I am still your leader and you are still my subject, understand?"
“Completely, SIR.”
“Don’t sass me boy! You’re not too old to get a few licks from your old dad, and I’m not so sure they wouldn’t do you some good!”
He whirled and left, descending the tree so abruptly that he almost fell to the ground.
The shaman sat on his haunches and sighed. He gazed at the painted drawings on the side of the tree's bole, where a stylistic portrait of Metutu was emblazoned on the bark. “The gods will have their way. Father, you have pulled him from the creek only to plunge him in the river." He looked through the swaying branches of his home to the bright azure sky above. It was a bittersweet victory, just another thorn between himself and his father when once they had been so close. “Touch his spirit, Aiheu. Bless my father in his darkness, and shine the light of wisdom into his heart.”
CHAPTER 11: HOMEWORK
Metutu eyed the cliff wall warily. The caves were only a few minutes walk from the lush aerial homes of the rest of the troop, but to the superstitious mandrills, they were a completely separate world. Few dared to venture there. Busara’s wisdom was legendary, but so were his eccentricities. Metutu remembered hearing stories that he sacrificed goats on nights of the full moon in exchange for powers from the evil Makei. But Kinara had always insisted that his Chief Scribe was kind and patient. “You would love him. I could kick myself for not introducing you long ago.”
Metutu had seen Busara from a distance once or twice, but had never been introduced. That was a real shame, for he was rather fond of Asumini, and he was curious about her parents. He was about to explore the great mystery, and he was more than a little nervous.
Metutu mused over this as he observed the coming and going of the birds high overhead. They wheeled and chirped, their colorful plumage flashing in the sun as they went about the daily business of gathering food and hauling it to their nests at the top of the cliffs. Some of them were weaver birds, constructing elaborate nests that hung like baskets made out of carefully woven grass.
“Enjoying the view?”
He gasped and spun, whirling to see Asumini standing behind him, a look of amusement on her face. “What do you want, Metutu? I can’t talk long; father is expecting a new student soon, and I have to go meet him.”
Metutu grinned. “You just did. I’m going to be a scribe!”
Her eyes widened disbelievingly. “You?” She laughed. “Oh, that’s good, Metutu! You can tell them how to escape leopards. I’m sure you’ll have the situation under control!” She added, “I was being perfectly serious. He should be here any moment.”
“Asumini, that is no way to treat a guest, is it?” The old voice was gentle, with only a hint of reproof. They both turned to see Busara leaning heavily on his staff. His wizened features bore the scars and furrows of age, but his eyes were bright with intelligence, crowned with wonderfully expressive eyebrows. His kindly smile was as warm as a good hug. “Please show Metutu inside, and get him settled in. We have much to discuss, and it is already high sun.”
Asumini looked at Metutu, unable to hide her surprise.
It was the first time that Metutu had been in a cave. He stepped back into the refreshingly cool recess. Expecting things to be pitch black, he found to his delight an invention lit the passageway. “You like the lamps? They burn rendered fat. My Asumini scavenges carcasses to make sure I never run low. You have to get there quickly you know, before the hyenas snatch up everything.”
Now it was Metutu’s turn to be surprised. He looked at Asumini with new respect.
The twinkling lights were like stars in the night, but much brighter. As they got further into the cave, there was what Busara called his “tree trunk.” It was a shaft of stone that reached from the floor to the ceiling, and Metutu fingered it with wonder, for it had not been carved but formed of its own accord. There Busara stopped him. “Tell me, young buck, do you know where Mano is?”