Ama by Manu Herbstein Page A

stone coffin, but before they could enter Ananse's compound, they saw the man-image, standing ready to fire at them. Then Ananse beat the great fontomfrom drum, making a sound like the thunder of gunshot. Panicking, the elephants at once turned tail and fled; and they didn't stop running until they had left the forest and passed into the savannah. Ananse just laughed and laughed and laughed. And then he called his wife and children and they cooked and ate the flesh of the dead elephant.
    â€œThat is my story of how the elephant came to forsake the forest for the country of the long-grass. I do not vouch for its truth. You may believe or not: that is for you, the listener, to decide.”
    * * *
    When they moved off in the morning and passed the elephants' beach, all that remained of the visitors was the disturbed ground and a few heaps of dung.
    The second day was much like the first. Flocks of grey parrots with their bright crimson tails screamed and whistled at them from the treetops.
    â€œDo you see the nkoko-kye-na-ko ?”
    The man behind her grasped her bare shoulder and squeezed. She stiffened and turned. The man pointed out the great blue turacos which had taken possession of the leafy top of a tall tree. She looked up. What beautiful birds , she thought. They were blue and yellow, with a black crest and a red and yellow bill. Free , she thought, free to fly where they will . At last, the man removed his hand from her shoulder.
    â€œIt is akoko-kye-na-ko who taught us to drum,” the man told her.
    In the clear sky above the river there hung a hooded vulture, its wings motionless, borne up by an unseen draft of hot air.
    â€œOpéte,” the man told her quietly, gently squeezing the soft flesh of her upper arm as he pointed at the bird.
    â€œOpéte,” he repeated, controlling his laughter and pointing now repeatedly at the leader of the expedition in the canoe ahead.
    â€œOpéte, Opéte,” he repeated with a chuckle, pointing again at the bird and his master, relishing his own profound sense of humour and making sure that his joke had not been lost on Nandzi.
    â€œWho is calling me?” Nana Koranten Péte half rose from his seat and turned to look at the following canoes.
    The ornithologist dropped his head and concentrated on cleaning his fingernails.
    I am going to have a problem with this man , thought Nandzi. He cannot keep his hands off me .
    She began to think of him as the ornithologist, the man who knows birds.
    Nandzi's command of Asante was increasing rapidly. The ornithologist and his fellows were amused and flattered by her constant requests for the names of things. She would point to her head, her hair, her nose, her mouth, her teeth; and ask for the name of each. She would concentrate on committing the word to memory and then she would repeat it. They would laugh at her strange accent and coach her on the correct pronunciation and tone. Verbs and sentence structure were more difficult: though she had little concept of the meaning of grammar, she began to learn short sentences by heart, and in these she began to see patterns emerging.
    A fellowship gradually developed amongst the paddlers and the passengers in each canoe. It transcended differences of language and culture and status. Conversations sprang up, often triggered by the sights and sounds of the river. A glimpse of an enormous python set the ornithologist telling the story of how Ananse had used flattery to persuade the king of serpents to allow himself to be measured.
    â€œAnanse,” he told them, “persuaded Python to let himself be lashed to a fallen tree trunk. ‘Just to make sure,’ the spider told the snake, ‘That unstraightened sinuosities will not result in an underestimation of your great length.’”
    Everyone laughed at Ananse's cheek and at the ornithologist's verbal wizardry; but Nandzi identified with the victim and saw herself trussed up like the python.
    They