The Shaman took his tambourine from the peg and struck it with a wooden stick. A booming noise filled the tent, like a mountain storm in winter. The people stood about chilled with fear. The shaman danced and swayed and worked his magic, the bells rang, and the tambourine clashed and moaned and thundered. Then sudden silence fell. The tambourine moaned for the last time, and everything was still.
Teldekpei sank onto the white rug, wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve, straightened his tangled beard with his fingers, took the heart of a goat from a tray, ate it, and said:
"Drive out Silken Tassel. An evil spirit resides in her. While she is in the camp, her father will not get up from his illness. Misfortune will not leave this valley. Little children will fall asleep forever; their fathers and grandfathers will die in torment."
The women of the camp fell down upon the ground in fear. The old men pressed their hands over their eyes with grief. The young men looked at Silken Tassel; twice they turned red, and twice they turned pale.
"Put Silken Tassel into a wooden barrel," the shaman boomed. "Bind the barrel with nine iron hoops. Nail down the bottom with copper nails, and throw the barrel into the rushing river."
He said this, mounted his shaggy horse, and rode off to his own white tent.
"Hey!" he shouted to his slaves. "Go to the river! The water will bring down a large barrel. Catch it and bring it here, then run into the woods. If you hear weeping, do not turn back. If cries and moans spread through the woods, do not look back. Do not return to my tent in less than three days." |
