"What has happened today to the Increaser of Bread-Fruit? My lord
is sad. His eye is downcast. Who has crossed my master's will? Who
has dared to anger him?"
Tu-Kila-Kila kept the wounded hand wrapped up in a soft leaf, like a
woolly mullein. All the way home he had been obliged to conceal it, and
disguise the pain he felt, lest Fire and Water should discover his
secret. For he dared not let his people know that the Soul of all dead
parrots had bitten his finger, and drawn blood from the sacred veins of
the man-god. But he almost hesitated now whether or not he should confide
in Ula. A god may surely trust his own wedded wives. And yet--such need
to be careful--women are so treacherous! He suspected Ula sometimes of
being a great deal too fond of that young man Toko, who used to be one of
the temple attendants, and whom he had given as Shadow accordingly to the
King of the Rain, so as to get rid of him altogether from among the crowd
of his followers. So he kept his own counsel for the moment, and
disguised his misfortune. "I have been to see the King of the Birds this
morning," he said, in a grumbling voice; "and I do not like him. That
God is too insolent. For my part I hate these strangers, one and all.
They have no respect for Tu-Kila-Kila like the men of Boupari. They are
as bad as atheists. They fear not the gods, and the customs of our
fathers are not in them.
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