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125 24 The Jackal and the Little Antelope 83 Luba (Democratic Republic of Congo)84 [T]he average Muluba. . . . [He] is a keen agriculturalist, he is the most musical of all the negroes, and he is a wonderful story-teller. The last two qualities have certainly been transmitted unto their descendants across the seas. I should not wonder if Uncle Remus had Luba blood in his veins; fabulists of his type are found in every village. They not only tell you the traditional stories, but can improvise on the spur of the moment a tale, which will explain anything to the smallest detail. They have a story ready to explain any occurrence, and the experienced bard will never miss the opportunity of doing so. Why? He receives no reward; it is just what Goethe called ‘die Lust zum Fabuliren’—(the joy of spinning a yarn).85 The little antelope had been going apace. He had been buying up in the market everything that was good and dear, food, drink, and the most costly raiment. Then, as the moon rose, he invited his friends, and the drums were beating and the animals were dancing and singing until the first rays of the sun drove them home. And the little antelope paid for everything. One day, when after a night’s debauchery the little antelope woke, he went to his money bag, but, turning it inside out and outside in, he could not find a single cowry in it to buy himself food to break his fast. There had been plenty, and now all was gone. “What does it matter?” said the little antelope. “My friends are waiting for me to continue our revelry. I will ask them to lend me some money, and we shall again have a good time.” He found his friends at the appointed place, but when he mentioned that he wanted to borrow money they fled in great haste. Those who could run, ran; those who could fly, flew. The tortoise, who could neither run nor fly, drew back into its shell and shut its opening with a snap that sounded that a clap of thunder. “Dear, dear,” said the little antelope, “what am I to do now? My friends having treated me so shabbily, I will go to my old enemy, the jackal, and see what he will do for me.” Off he went and found the jackal in front of his house counting a big bag of cowries. “Hundred and one, hundred and two. . . .” The little antelope’s mouth watered at the sight of the tremendous amount of money. “Good morning, jackal,” he said humbly.“I hope you are in good health and that your wife is in good health, and your children too!” “Hm,” said the jackal. “Hundred and ten, hundred and eleven. . . .” “I came to ask you for a little service.” “Come another day . . . hundred and twenty. . . . I am busy today . . . hundred and twenty-one. . . .” “Can I come tomorrow?” “I am going to a wedding tomorrow . . . hundred and thirty . . . I have to clear a field the day after that . . . hundred and thirty-one . . . the next day there is a funeral . . . hundred and thirty-two . . . the next day. . . .” “The next day you will have something else to do, I have no doubt. So we might just as well do the business now. I want to ask you a little favor.” “Ask away . . . hundred and forty . . . but I am afraid . . . hundred and forty-one . . . that I won’t be able to oblige you . . . hundred and fortytwo . . . .” “How do you know? I have not yet told you what I want.” The jackal sneered. He had heard of the straits his old foe was in. “I just have a premonition . . . hundred and fifty. . . .” “I want you to lend me a few cowries.” The jackal stopped counting. “Lend you money? If you want money, why don’t you go to work instead of always seeking your pleasure, you good-for-nothing scamp? Then you will get all the money you want.” “I am itching to work,” said the little antelope. “Work is a real passion with me.” “Well, then, why don’t you?” “Did you not tell me the other day that I must never give way to my passions?” The jackal remembered having said something to that effect, but somehow it did not seem to fit in just now. He wondered why. So he grumbled, “Work ought to be a pleasure to honest people.” “Yes, yes...

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