XVI
The ship continued her voyage. The river flowed in a more southernly direction, and the aspect of the country began to change.
Shrubs now grew on both banks, slim gum trees, mimosas, tamarisks with delicate foliage, grass and green sward. There were no signs of tropical flora; one might have fancied it the less luxurious vegetation of northern latitudes.
Apart from this excessive heat and silence there was nothing now to suggest that it was the heart of Africa—one might have imagined oneself on some peaceful European stream.
However, from time to time some idyll of negro character could be witnessed. In groves that might have served as a setting for a Watteau pastoral, the eye would light upon an amorous negro pair, decked with grigris and bead necklaces, pasturing lean zebus or herds of goats.
Further on were other herds that no one shepherded, herds of grey crocodiles, hundreds of them asleep in the sun, submerged belly-deep in the warm waters.
And Fatou-gaye would smile. Her eyes would light up with a strange joy, for she recognised the approach of Galam, her native land.
None the less there was one thing that kept her uneasy. When she passed great, grass-grown marshes, wide, gloomy pools, bordered with mangroves, she would shut her eyes for fear of seeing the black muzzle of a hippopotamus (n’gabou) emerging from the stagnant waters. For her and hers, such an apparition would have been an omen of death.
It would be impossible to describe the ruses, the importunity, the ingenuity she had brought to bear in order to secure a passage on this ship on which she knew Jean had embarked.
Where had she taken refuge when she left the house of the griot? In what lair had she hidden herself to bring the spahi’s child into the world?
Now, at any rate, she was happy. She was on her way back to Galam, and Jean was with her; her dream had come true.