CHAPTER XVII
As blind Nalasu slowly plodded away, with one hand tapping the path
before him and with the other carrying Jerry head-downward suspended
by his tied legs, Jerry heard a sudden increase in the wild howling
of the dogs as the killing began and they realized that death was
upon them.
But, unlike the boy Lamai, who had known no better, the old man did
not carry Jerry all the way to his house. At the first stream
pouring down between the low hills of the rising land, he paused and
put Jerry down to drink. And Jerry knew only the delight of the wet
coolness on his tongue, all about his mouth, and down his throat.
Nevertheless, in his subconsciousness was being planted the
impression that, kinder than Lamai, than Agno, than Bashti, this was
the kindest black he had encountered in Somo.
When he had drunk till for the moment he could drink no more, he
thanked Nalasu with his tongue--not warmly nor ecstatically as had
it been Skipper's hand, but with due gratefulness for the life-
giving draught. The old man chuckled in a pleased way, rolled
Jerry's parched body into the water, and, keeping his head above the
surface, rubbed the water into his dry skin and let him lie there
for long blissful minutes.
From the stream to Nalasu's house, a goodly distance, Nalasu still
carried him with bound legs, although not head-downward but clasped
in one arm against his chest. His idea was to love the dog to him.
For Nalasu, having sat in the lonely dark for many years, had
thought far more about the world around him and knew it far better
than had he been able to see it. For his own special purpose he had
need of a dog. Several bush dogs he had tried, but they had shown
little appreciation of his kindness and had invariably run away.
The last had remained longest because he had treated it with the
greatest kindness, but run away it had before he had trained it to
his purpose. But the white master's dog, he had heard, was
different. It never ran away in fear, while it was said to be more
intelligent than the dogs of Somo.
The invention Lamai had made of tying Jerry with a stick had been
noised abroad in the village, and by a stick, in Nalasu's house,
Jerry found himself again tied. But with a difference. Never once
was the blind man impatient, while he spent hours each day in
squatting on his hams and petting Jerry. Yet, had he not done this,
Jerry, who ate his food and who was growing accustomed to changing
his masters, would have accepted Nalasu for master. Further, it was
fairly definite in Jerry's mind, after the devil devil doctor's
tying him and flinging him amongst the other helpless dogs on the
killing-ground, that all mastership of Agno had ceased. And Jerry,
who had never been without a master since his first days in the
world, felt the imperative need of a master.
So it was, when the day came that the stick was untied from him,
that Jerry remained, voluntarily in Nalasu's house. When the old
man was satisfied there would be no running away, he began Jerry's
training. By slow degrees he advanced the training until hours a
day were devoted to it.
First of all Jerry learned a new name for himself, which was Bao,
and he was taught to respond to it from an ever-increasing distance
no matter how softly it was uttered, and Nalasu continued to utter
it more softly until it no longer was a spoken word, but a whisper.
Jerry's ears were keen, but Nalasu's, from long use, were almost as
keen.
Further, Jerry's own hearing was trained to still greater acuteness.
Hours at a time, sitting by Nalasu or standing apart from him, he
was taught to catch the slightest sounds or rustlings from the bush.
Still further, he was taught to differentiate between the bush
noises and between the ways he growled warnings to Nalasu. If a
rustle took place that Jerry identified as a pig or a chicken, he
did not growl at all. If he did not identify the noise, he growled
fairly softly. But if the noise were made by a man or boy who moved
softly and therefore suspiciously, Jerry learned to growl loudly; if
the noise were loud and careless, then Jerry's growl was soft.
It never entered Jerry's mind to question why he was taught all
this. He merely did it because it was this latest master's desire
that he should. All this, and much more, at a cost of interminable
time and patience, Nalasu taught him, and much more he taught him,
increasing his vocabulary so that, at a distance, they could hold
quick and sharply definite conversations.
Thus, at fifty feet away, Jerry would "Whuff!" softly the
information that there was a noise he did not know; and Nalasu, with
different sibilances, would hiss to him to stand still, to whuff
more softly, or to keep silent, or to come to him noiselessly, or to
go into the bush and investigate the source of the strange noise,
or, barking loudly, to rush and attack it.
Perhaps, if from the opposite direction Nalasu's sharp ears alone
caught a strange sound, he would ask Jerry if he had heard it. And
Jerry, alert to his toes to listen, by an alteration in the quantity
or quality of his whuff, would tell Nalasu that he did not hear;
next, that he did hear; and, perhaps finally, that it was a strange
dog, or a wood-rat, or a man, or a boy--all in the softest of sounds
that were scarcely more than breath-exhalations, all monosyllables,
a veritable shorthand of speech.
Nalasu was a strange old man. He lived by himself in a small grass
house on the edge of the village. The nearest house was quite a
distance away, while his own stood in a clearing in the thick jungle
which approached no where nearer than sixty feet. Also, this
cleared space he kept continually free from the fast-growing
vegetation. Apparently he had no friends. At least no visitors
ever came to his dwelling. Years had passed since he discouraged
the last. Further, he had no kindred. His wife was long since
dead, and his three sons, not yet married, in a foray behind the
bounds of Somo had lost their heads in the jungle runways of the
higher hills and been devoured by their bushman slayers.
For a blind man he was very busy. He asked favour of no one and was
self-supporting. In his house-clearing he grew yams, sweet
potatoes, and taro. In another clearing--because it was his policy
to have no trees close to his house--he had plantains, bananas, and
half a dozen coconut palms. Fruits and vegetables he exchanged down
in the village for meat and fish and tobacco.
He spent a good portion of his time on Jerry's education, and, on
occasion, would make bows and arrows that were so esteemed by his
tribespeople as to command a steady sale. Scarcely a day passed in
which he did not himself practise with bow and arrow. He shot only
by direction of sound; and whenever a noise or rustle was heard in
the jungle, and when Jerry had informed him of its nature, he would
shoot an arrow at it. Then it was Jerry's duty cautiously to
retrieve the arrow had it missed the mark.
A curious thing about Nalasu was that he slept no more than three
hours in the twenty-four, that he never slept at night, and that his
brief daylight sleep never took place in the house. Hidden in the
thickest part of the neighbouring jungle was a sort of nest to which
led no path. He never entered nor left by the same way, so that the
tropic growth on the rich soil, being so rarely trod upon, ever
obliterated the slightest sign of his having passed that way.
Whenever he slept, Jerry was trained to remain on guard and never to
go to sleep.
Reason enough there was and to spare for Nalasu's infinite
precaution. The oldest of his three sons had slain one, Ao, in a
quarrel. Ao had been one of six brothers of the family of Anno
which dwelt in one of the upper villages. According to Somo law,
the Anno family was privileged to collect the blood-debt from the
Nalasu family, but had been balked of it by the deaths of Nalasu's
three sons in the bush. And, since the Somo code was a life for a
life, and since Nalasu alone remained alive of his family, it was
well known throughout the tribe that the Annos would never be
content until they had taken the blind man's life.
But Nalasu had been famous as a great fighter, as well as having
been the progenitor of three such warlike sons. Twice had the Annos
sought to collect, the first time while Nalasu still retained his
eyesight. Nalasu had discovered their trap, circled about it, and
in the rear encountered and slain Anno himself, the father, thus
doubling the blood-debt.
Then had come his accident. While refilling many-times used Snider
cartridges, an explosion of black powder put out both his eyes.
Immediately thereafter, while he sat nursing his wounds, the Annos
had descended upon him--just what he had expected. And for which he
had made due preparation. That night two uncles and another brother
stepped on poisoned thorns and died horribly. Thus the sum of lives
owing the Annos had increased to five, with only a blind man from
whom to collect.
Thenceforth the Annos had feared the thorns too greatly to dare
again, although ever their vindictiveness smouldered and they lived
in hope of the day when Nalasu's head should adorn their ridgepole.
In the meantime the state of affairs was not that of a truce but of
a stalemate. The old man could not proceed against them, and they
were afraid to proceed against him. Nor did the day come until
after Jerry's adoption, when one of the Annos made an invention the
like of which had never been known in all Malaita.
