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?”
He says quietly, “I have no idea. You’ll have to ask Minshasa.” That was the pass phrase by which Aiheusists in hiding recognize each other.
Busara took the boy by the arm. With almost pleading in his voice, he said, “I know you are the son of the chief, but I also know why he sent you here. Now I ask you in all sincerity to tell me you are not here to spy on me. That before the gods all you seek is the truth for your soul’s sake.”
“That is all I seek,” Metutu said. “My father teaches me that the gods argue among themselves, that they have been known to cheat and even steal. My brother tells me that the creator is perfect and holy, and that he loves us all. I want so bad to believe he is right. I watched the birds just now. I cannot believe that the beauty I see, and the good things I feel when I see it came from petty, thieving, lazy gods that must be bribed to bring the rain and heal the sick. If I were God, I’d do those things to make people happy.”
“Let me tell you why I believe. Son, you are much closer than you think to the source of faith. Aiheu is not a secret hidden under a rock. The work of his hand is everywhere, filling the world with beauty and wonder. Open your heart and take it in. The hardest task would be NOT to believe.”
In the golden flickering light of the lamps, Busara’s kindly face looked almost godlike. “Look, son. See the paintings?”
Metutu looked at the walls. They were covered by paintings much like the ones on Makedde’s baobab, but done with such skill and artistry that it took Metutu’s breath away.
“I have to keep the lights out in this place when Kinara comes calling. I wish they could be visible to the public, where the words of comfort they represent could become bind to their hearts and settle in their minds.”
Metutu was humbled. “I’m sorry I called you an evil sorcerer. You know, we kids grew up telling stories about sacrifices of goats by the light of the full moon.”
“Once I was brought a goat carcass. I had to cut it up for some sick lion cubs. It might have been a night of the full moon--I don’t know. All I know is that I couldn’t let them starve to death.” Busara shook his head. “And to think that I love children so much. Perhaps you will put in a good word when gossips tell their tales?”
“I’ll try.”
Metutu looked up and down the wall. He recognized many of the paintings from his brother’s work, but one thing was missing. “Where is your story? I bet it’s interesting.”
Busara smiled. “I like to think so. Let me see your hands.” He took a look at Metutu’s palms by the lantern light. “They are young and fresh, not used to hard work.” His own were callused. “Hard work is part of my story.” He tugged at his gray beard. “Worry about my daughter’s future. Her first case of Dol Sani and her near death from pneumonia.” He drew his finger down the deep lines etched in his cheeks. “Long hours of study, tending the sick, teaching lore, crying tears and smiling smiles.” He drew his finger across the deep wrinkles on his forehead. “Late nights with sick lion cubs and a couple of leopards. Oh yes, my story is plainly written. The youth has been pulled from my outside, but inside I still feel like the young buck that earned these.”
He showed Metutu the back of his hand with five parallel scars. “To you they are ugly scars. To me they are beautiful. You see, my lioness sister Asumini was once warm and strong like you and I.” He took from around his neck a grass cord from which hung an ivory fang. “Once she could bear me on her back without thinking about it. Now I wear what’s left of her next to my heart.” His eyes began to grow misty. “If you learn anything from me, learn this. Love well and for always. For everything else a shaman does is but leaves and branches.” He patted the column of stone. “Love is the trunk and the root of all good things.”
Busara sat on a prepared cushion of leaves. He motioned for Metutu to do likewise. “I’m going to tell you a love story. One that is strange, for it is about a young mandrill shaman and a lioness. Listen well to my words, for I can make you look, but I can’t make you see.”
“Is she the one I heard rumors about?”
“The rumors pale next to the truth.” He fondled the relic and kissed it. “Once I was in search of worldly treasures. And instead I discovered God. Only I did not recognize the significance of the moment, for the truth came in the form of a wounded lioness.
“At great risk I tended her wound and saved her life. Her name was Asumini. It means ‘jasmine,’ and may I say that the flower is more beautiful because it bears her name?” He put the tooth back around his neck. “She received comfort to the body, but returned to give me comfort to the spirit. Everything that came before I count as loss. Everything that has happened since I treasure. Through her eyes, I have seen face to face what others only saw dimly reflected. Because of her, I have seen the face of Aiheu and slept at the feet of Minshasa and Mano. And I will sit with them when I die, among the great kings of the past.”
“Who are the great kings?”
“Those whose hearts are warm with the joy of service. It is good to receive eternal life. It is far greater to give eternal love. In the beginning all animals were brother spirits. In the end they will all be brothers once more. Some of those spirits will be weak cubs crying out for milk. Others will answer their cry and say, ‘Come you who hunger for my milk. No one shall I turn away.’” He drew close to Metutu and took his hand. “Aiheu calls to you. He says, ‘Metutu, feed my cubs. Feed my cubs.’”
Metutu slowly knelt and bowed his head. Busara rested his hand on his head and blessed him.
“Aiheu, come into my heart! I will feed your cubs! I swear!”
Busara knelt beside him and put his arms around Metutu. “Bless you, son! I have lived to see the promise fulfilled in you. The light will not go out!”
Kinara loved his son, but there was a depth and genuine warmth to Busara that endeared him to Metutu at once. “When I am Chief, everyone will see your paintings, and there will be no punishment for worshipping as your heart dictates.”
Tears came to Busara’s eyes. “I have lived to see this moment! Now I can die happy!”