The Witches of Andilamena

I

I DOUBT if I ever should have heard of the witches of Andilamena if I had not taken the house on the hill. I wondered at the time why it stood vacant, for it was one of the best in the village, and the rental, three dollars and twenty-five cents a month, was ridiculously low even for the back country of Madagascar. I should have been warned by the owner’s eagerness to rent it and by the fact that he hardly bargained at all, but a careful examination showed nothing wrong and it seemed ideal for my purpose. It stood on a slope, so that there was very little mud, and was far enough from the village to give some privacy. Moreover, a single night in the regular rest house had shown that that was out of the question for a month’s stay. I still do not understand how its bloodthirsty inhabitants contrived to keep alive between the infrequent visits of white men.

Late afternoon saw me comfortably installed, and when the cook reported that he had found a can of corned beef (United States army stores, age eight years) in the Chinaman’s store, I felt altogether at peace with the world. Wishing to take a look around, I strolled up to the crest of the hill, about a hundred yards behind the house. When I reached it I found that it had been leveled off to form a small plateau, on which stood three large tombs. The slope hid these from the house, but I felt sure that I had found the reason for its standing vacant. The natives have a lively fear of ghosts. As the tombs were evidently very old and seemed neglected, I ventured to climb to the top of the highest and seat myself on its fallen memorial stone.

North, east, and south, as far as the eye could reach, there stretched a waste of treeless mountains, banded with bright red and white like agates and overlaid with an iridescent green film where the new grass was springing up after the rains. To the east my hill dropped away almost sheer into a valley many miles wide. Little black antlike things that I knew must be oxen moved ever so slightly on the side of the nearest mountain. Little rice fields, some brown, some green, and some blue with water, made a curious mosaic of the valley floor. A tiny plume of white smoke marked a village, and from miles away I caught the rhythmic flash of the sun on a burnished wooden paddle with which some farmer was beating the sides of his rice stack. To the west lay the lake, ringed by its deep green, mile-wide reed beds. The wind was ruffling the water, so that it looked like a slab of some dull blue-gray stone that has been ground smooth but not polished. In the foreground, outlined with a thin line of white where the waves broke against it, loomed the rocky bulk of the sacred island of the Sihanaka. I had passed near it in a canoe two days before and my paddlers had told of the last stand which their ancestors made there against the allconquering armies of the Hova king. The Sihanaka fought well, under the eyes of their gods and beside the tombs of their kings, but their nobles were slain and their gods broken, so that they ceased to be a people. No man of their blood ever set foot on the island now. It was given up to the ghosts.

The sun went down with tropical swiftness, the clouds began to glow, the hills took on new and ever-changing colors. Forgetful of everything else, I sat there until the stars came out and the last band of light faded from the lake. As I rose to go I heard an exclamation from somewhere down the slope and the sound of feet running. Some native passing by must have seen my figure against the sky and I laughed, knowing that he probably thought he had seen a ghost.

It had been a long, hard day and we all turned in early. My own bed was set up in the front room; Rabary, my interpreter, had a smaller room running across the right end of the house; and the cook slept in the kitchen. They closed every possible crack in their quarters, for they were civilized enough to have acquired a great fear of night air from the French. I left both my windows open, for I knew that with a people as wild as the Sihanaka there was little chance of theft. I was disturbed a good deal during the night by the hooting of owls. Once, when I was asleep, a call came so loud and close that it awakened me with a jump. I thought one of the birds must have blundered into the room, and got up and lit a light to look for it, but found nothing.

At breakfast I noticed that both Rabary and the cook looked unhappy; both said that they had slept poorly. When I came back from my morning’s work in the town there were no signs of dinner, only a small native boy with a message from the cook that he had had to go to see a relative and did not know when he would get back. This meant that he had left for good, forfeiting a week’s pay I owed him. It was impossible to get another, and after one or two attempts I gave it up and took my meals with the missionary. When I told Rabary this he asked very earnestly whether the missionary would not have a bed for me as well. He was sure I should be much more comfortable there, and he would stay with a friend in the village. I said I was all right where I was, and thought no more about it.

The second night in the house was a repetition of the first, with the owls very busy, and again I was awakened by a call which seemed to come from inside the room. I did not get up this time, and toward morning the calls quieted down and I fell into a heavy sleep.

It was bright daylight when I awoke, and as I lay half dozing I noticed that some of the papers had fallen from my table to the floor. Then I saw something that brought me up standing. One of the sheets bore the unmistakable print of a rather small, muddy bare foot. I called to Rabary and told him a thief had been there during the night and asked him to help me check up and find what was missing.

He shook his head. ‘I think that there are not the things lost,’ he said. ‘The Sihanaka are a race very sauvage. There are not any thieves of here.’

‘Well, then,’ I asked, ‘what the deuce did someone crawl in through my window for?’

‘I think it is one mpamosavy. I think he wants to make the charms against you or the other things of that sort. One tells me in the village yesterday this is a very bad place for all people after dark. One said the mpamosavy rode the last man here living like a saddle ox one night so that he was soon dead.

I think it is much more better for us to discover a place of sleeping in the village, but if you wish not I will rest here with you. I am a good Christian of many years and I believe not that the mpamosavy spells can make harm to us. I am for three years in Europe and I know it is all foolishness. Also I am now a man old, without wife or child, and I have contrived all arrangements for the final disposal of my properties. I think is it better we go away during the night, but if you stay here I stay here.’

I already knew a good deal about the mpamosavy, the Madagascar counterparts of European witches and warlocks, but I had hardly hoped to meet any of them, for they are usually very shy of interfering with white men. They have the reputation of being expert poisoners, but they never carry weapons on their night expeditions and are quite harmless to those who do not fear their spells. I really felt rather elated at having a chance for a little first-hand experience of them.

At dinner that night I mentioned my visitor to the missionary, and he agreed with Rabary that the invader was probably a mpamosavy. He had been the victim of their attentions himself when he first arrived and had found it hard to keep servants, but the importation of a mixed bulldog and mastiff the size of a well-grown calf had put a sudden stop to their activities. It seemed that the dog was immune to spells and he never accepted food from natives. The missionary had never seen a mpamosavy and said very few people had, even among the natives. It was said that they stripped completely before going out on their night runnings and painted and oiled themselves so that it was impossible to catch or recognize them. They danced upon the tombs, rode cattle, and played all sorts of queer and seemingly purposeless Halloween tricks, but they also sold and administered poisons and would guarantee to get rid of an enemy for you. Like European witches, they often had familiars in the shape of owls, cats, or snakes. In the parts of the island which were Christian they sometimes broke into the churches and performed travesties of the regular service, somewhat like the mediaeval Black Mass. In general they had little malice toward the Christians and a rather kindly feeling toward the vazaha (Europeans), for the latter had abolished the poison ordeals which took a heavy toll of them in the old days. Their real enemies were the ombiasy, or benevolent sorcerers, who knew how to cure their poisons and counteract their spells.

II

It was with something very much like pleasurable anticipation that I settled down to my work that evening. About nine o’clock there came a sharp knock at the door. I opened it, but there was no one there. A few minutes later the same thing happened again. Then Rabary came in from his room looking rather gray around the lips and said that the mpamosavy were trying to pull his shutter open. He had been wakened by its creaking and by the scratching of their nails as they tried to get a grip on it. I pointed out that if they really wanted to enter they could come in through either of my windows, for they were both wide open, but he did not relish the idea and I finally closed and bolted my shutters.

A few moments later Rabary gripped my arm and pointed toward the door, and I saw that the latch was being slowly and noiselessly lifted from the outer side. Then something pressed against the door so hard that it creaked and bulged inward. This was too much, so I went outside and made a thorough search around the house and kitchen, but I found nothing. When I got back Rabary said he had seen a death’s head looking in at him through the half-open door. We waited about an hour; then, as there were no further manifestations, turned in and spent the rest of the night undisturbed.

I made a long trip the next day and got back so late that it was nearly ten o’clock before I settled down to list my specimens and write up my notes. I was working with my back toward one of the open windows, and in a pause of the typewriting I was sure that I heard a slight scraping noise on the sill behind me. I turned quickly and thought I caught a glimpse of something white or yellow disappearing at the side of the window, but could not be sure. A few minutes later I heard the gentle scratching again. I did not want to be ‘had’ a second time, so I typed on for a little while, then stopped, stretched, and took off my shoes. These were of the trench variety, weighing about four pounds apiece, and I knew that they would make excellent missiles. I laid them to the right of my chair, where I could reach them with the minimum motion, and when I heard the scratching again I whirled and let drive with all my force. I distinctly saw something this time and I heard a grunt that made me hope I had scored a hit, but although I got to the window as quickly as I could, there was nothing there. A search next day proved that the enemy had retired in good order, for he had taken the shoe with him.

Nothing happened the next night or the next, and I began to think the incident was closed. Rabary, on the other hand, got more and more nervous. He insisted that the witches would have changed from play to earnest after one of them was hit, and that they were quiet because they were preparing serious trouble and wanted to get us off our guard.

I began to believe him when, on the third morning, he pointed out that someone had smeared our threshold and lintel with oil during the night, for this is a sure sign of an attempt to lay a spell on someone who will pass through the doorway. However, I had more important things to think of, for fate threw a very valuable specimen into my hands.

Early one morning a man came to me apparently laboring under great fear or excitement, and begged me to come with him to sec something he had at his house. When we arrived he carefully closed the door and window, and, going to a hiding place under the eaves, drew out a long parcel, which he handed to me and asked me to undo. I found that it contained a four-sided, rapier-like iron instrument nearly five feet long and a polished black cow horn filled with a mixture of little sticks, beads, and bits of silver. I recognized the horn instantly as an ody or charm, but the iron instrument was new to me. The owner insisted that I buy both at my own price and seemed to be in a pitiful state of terror, actually shaking all over. He explained that he had become a Christian some months ago, but before that he had been an ombiasy. He had derived his powers as such from the charm and iron stave which I then held, and when he became a Christian he had been at a loss what to do with them. As they had been able to help him before, they were now equally potent to harm him, and the only way for him to escape dire consequences was to find someone who would pay him for them so that they could be formally transferred. He had had a bad spill in the lake the day before, which had brought matters to a head.

I told him that I should be glad to relieve him of them if he would tell me exactly what were their virtues and how they should be used, and I found him more than willing to comply. The ody was of a common sort designed to bring good fortune, but the staff had rarer virtues. It could turn away bullets in battle or render void the most powerful spell, while the lightest touch from it would blast and kill a snake or a witch like a stroke of lightning. It seemed a handy thing to have around the house under the circumstances, and I carried it home concealed in a length of bamboo. Once there, I stood it up in the corner, in plain sight, hoping that some of my native visitors might be able to add new details about its powers.

III

There was an old native man who had half attached himself to my household, dropping in for a chat whenever he passed by and bringing small odds and ends to sell. He was especially captivated by my typewriter and would squat by the hour watching me work it, so I paid no attention to him when I was busy.

This afternoon he came in and was just settling down against the wall when the staff caught his eye. He gave a smothered ejaculation and stood up hastily, drawing his mantle across his mouth, then started for the door. When I rose he retreated to the far side of the room, trembling violently, and as I came toward him he fell flat and seized me by the ankles, a most unpleasant sensation. With his face on my shoes he began to talk rapidly. As my Malagasy was not equal to the occasion, I called in Rabary, who interrogated him for some time. What he said was briefly this: —

He admitted that he was a mpamosavy and begged me not to kill him. He would do anything I wished if I would put my staff away and promise not to hurt him. He would never have made spells against me if he had known that I had it. He and the other mpamosavy would never have thought of interfering with a vazaha if one of their number had not seen me walking about on a tomb in the twilight. From this they had concluded that I must be a mpamosavy myself and they were sure of it when they heard that I wanted to buy charms. They thought I must have come to Madagascar to increase my powers, just as they themselves liked to get charms from other tribes. Everybody knew such charms were stronger than one’s own. The tombs on the little plateau behind my house were one of their favorite dancing places, and the owl calls I had heard on the first and second nights of my stay were meant, to let me know that they were about and to invite me to come out and join them. On both nights one of them had come into my room through the window and given a call beside my bed, to make quite sure I heard. By the third night they had concluded that I could not be a mpamosavy after all and had tried to frighten me in a spirit of mischief rather than spite. My indifference had annoyed them and after the affair of the shoe they turned spiteful. They did not like to have anyone living so near the scene of their night revels, and as their tricks had failed to drive me away they had begun to make spells against my health and business.

My captive’s work had been to smuggle malevolent charms into my house, and I do not doubt that during much of the time he was squatting near me, ostensibly watching me at work, he had really been repeating spells against me. When I threatened him with the staff he began to unearth charms from various hiding places in the room. One, some herbs tied up in a scrap of red cloth, had been put behind some maps in a corner. Another, which seemed to be mostly a mixture of castor oil and honey, had been smeared under the edge of my table. The most curious had been thrust under a loose board beside the door. It was a knot formed by two intertwined tendrils. Such knots are commonly used as love charms, but can also be made to breed discord if prepared with the proper spells. This one was designed to cause quarrels between myself and my interpreter.

When he insisted that all the charms had been removed I began to question him about the general activities of the mpamosavy and he talked quite freely, even giving some information about the manufacture and use of poisons. When I tried to get at the beliefs underlying their black magic, however, I found myself against a blank wall. The only explanation he would or could give was that all mpamosavy did certain things and would not be mpamosavy if they did not. Even the custom of dancing on tombs was explained by the same formula.

I gave it up at last, as it was growing late, and turned to arrangements for the future. It was plain that the man would prove a mine of information and I dealt gently with him, promising not to hurt him or tell his neighbors that he was a wizard. In return he promised to give me a good collection of witch charms, to see that the witches left me alone in future, and to return my shoe. To ensure the carrying out of his part of the contract I took a lock of his hair and the dust from the floor under his right foot. As magicians we both knew that with these I could work his destruction, body and soul, if he played me false. At parting I gave him a little money to soothe his wounded pride, and he seemed quite cheerful and even ventured to boast a little of his powers. He promised to return in three days, that length of time being required for the making of certain charms he would bring.

The next morning I found the shoe outside my door, but by noon I was down with one of those short but violent attacks of fever that make Madagascar so dangerous to white men. I have only a hazy recollection of what happened during the next three or four days, but I seem to remember a visit from several natives and that they stood outside the door and talked for some time. When the fever had broken, Rabary told me that the people in the village had been very much afraid that I should die and that the government would punish them if I did. When I was able to work again I sent for the wizard, and when he did not come I went to his house. The door was unfastened, but there was no one there and the ashes of his cooking fire were quite cold. None of his neighbors could tell me anything about him. At last I called on the headman of the village and asked him if he knew where the man was.

‘Nobody knows,’ he said. ‘He has gone away.’

‘It is strange,’ I said, ‘that he did not take his clothes with him.’

‘Yes, it is strange,’ he agreed. ‘But perhaps he does not need them.’