Free Drum by Kyle Onstott Page B

tired tell me and you may rest."
    Tamboura understood and remained as still as possible while the Mongo faced him with the stretched white cloth between them. Tamboura saw him take a httle stick with a bunch of hair at the end in one hand and a large flat object covered with little mounds of color in the other. The Mongo dipped the little stick into the color and made strange motions, which Tamboura could not see, on the white cloth.
    A brass box^ with a swinging round brass plate below, ticked away on the wall, like a death watch beetle hidden in the thatch of a hut. Tamboura's eyes were fastened on the slowly swinging pendulum as he watched its regular course. It seemed to quiet him and he let his thoughts slip away to the same moon-dappled tamarisk bushes and the warm flesh which were his favorite daydreams. There was nothing to do but stand and dream while the Mongo kept on with his mysterious work. After a while, Tamboura's muscles began to cramp and he felt as imcomfortable as he had felt in the boat, but he did not move until the Mongo spoke to him.
    "Rest, boy, you've been standing for over half an hour. You're an excellent model. Now rest for a few minutes and then you can stand again for me." He went to a swinging pottery jar which oozed moisture, tipped it and filled a cup with cool water for Tamboura, who gulped it greedily while the Mongo stretched out at full length in a chair. Tamboura walked around the room, getting the kinks out of his legs, and looked at the strange objects until the Mongo called him back and he resumed the same position once more between the ivory tusks. Thus passed the morning, until the sun had shifted and Tamboura was no longer in the light, but the Mongo opened another blind and the room became lighter although the sun did not hit Tamboura directly. Still the Mongo worked—faster now, as though he were fighting

    against time. Tamboura posed and rested, posed again and rested again time after time. During one of his rests, the Mongo motioned to him to sit down on one of the big stools. He sat gingerly, aware that his body was covered with sweat and fearing to soil the shabby brocade.
    "I am going to send you back to your village, Tamboura." Mongo Don smiled as he spoke. "Not for you the long trip to Cuba. You must return to your home and become King."
    "No, Mongo, no," Tamboura pleaded, "do not send me back. My brother will kill me and if he doesn't succeed, his wife surely will. Let me go with the others in the big canoe with white wings."
    "So that's it." Mongo Don nodded his head gravely. "I thought as much. Your own family sold you into slavery. Well, then, how would you like to stay here with me? You can work for me here in the house and I will treat you well."
    "No, let me go on the big canoe, Mongo. Let me go with M'dong, Sabumbo and Khandago."
    Mongo Don leaned forward in his chair. "And why do you want to go on the big ship, Tamboura?"
    "Because they tell me that in this new land I shall have many women, Mongo, and"—he hesitated—"I have never yet tasted the joy of a woman. I am anxious to know."
    "According to what I hear from Cuba, you'll have plenty of chance there. Well then, if you wish, I shall send you on the big canoe, but I shall also send a letter by the Captain that you are to be delivered as my gift to a good friend of mine in Havana. He will be kind to you and it will be better than the cane fields. Now, come, let's get back to work." He stood up impatiently and went back to stand behind the canvas as Tamboura took his accustomed plac€ against the wall.
    Later, after many ticks from the brass box on the wall, the white man with the yellow hair came in followed by a fat black woman with a big tray covered with a napkin which she put down on a table and left.
    "Come, Jonathan." Mongo Don, his face wreathed in smiles, took the young man by the arm. "Come and se€ what I have already done. The whole figure is outlined and I have finished the face. At last I have