Delphi Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft(615)
Jan. 7 — Mevana is no better, though I have injected all the antitoxins I know of. He has fits of trembling, in which he rants affrightedly about the way his soul will pass when he dies into the insect that bit him, but between them he remains in a kind of half-stupor. Heart action still strong, so I may pull him through. I shall try to, for he can probably guide me better than anyone else to the region where he was bitten.
Meanwhile I’ll write to Dr. Lincoln, my predecessor here, for Allen, the head factor, says he had a profound knowledge of the local sicknesses. He ought to know about the death-fly if any white man does. He’s at Nairobi now, and a black runner ought to get me a reply in a week — using the railway for half the trip.
Jan. 10 — Patient unchanged, but I have found what I want! It was in an old volume of the local health records, which I’ve been going over diligently while waiting to hear from Lincoln. Thirty years ago there was an epidemic that killed off thousands of natives in Uganda, and it was definitely traced to a rare fly called Glossina palpalis — a sort of cousin of the Glossina marsitans, or tsetse. It lives in the bushes on the shores of lakes and rivers, and feeds on the blood of crocodiles, antelopes, and large mammals. When these food animals have the germ of trypanosomiasis, or sleeping-sickness, it picks it up and develops acute infectivity after an incubation period of thirty-one days. Then for seventy-five days it is sure death to anyone or anything it bites.
Without doubt, this must be the “devil-fly” the niggers talk about. Now I know what I’m heading for. Hope Mevana pulls through. Ought to hear from Lincoln in four or five days — he has a great reputation for success in things like this. My worst problem will be to get the flies to Moore without his recognising them. With his cursed plodding scholarship it would be just like him to know all about them since they’re actually on record.
Jan. 15 — Just heard from Lincoln, who confirms all that the records say about Glossina palpalis. He has a remedy for sleeping-sickness which has succeeded in a great number of cases when not given too late. Intermuscular injections of tryparsamide. Since Mevana was bitten about two months ago, I don’t know how it will work — but Lincoln says that cases have been known to drag on eighteen months, so possibly I’m not too late. Lincoln sent over some of his stuff, so I’ve just given Mevana a stiff shot. In a stupor now. They’ve brought his principal wife from the village, but he doesn’t even recognise her. If he recovers, he can certainly shew me where the flies are. He’s a great crocodile hunter, according to report, and knows all Uganda like a book. I’ll give him another shot tomorrow.
Jan. 16 — Mevana seems a little brighter today, but his heart action is slowing up a bit. I’ll keep up the injections, but not overdo them.
Jan. 17 — Recovery really pronounced today. Mevana opened his eyes and shewed signs of actual consciousness, though dazed, after the injection. Hope Moore doesn’t know about tryparsamide. There’s a good chance he won’t, since he never leaned much toward medicine. Mevana’s tongue seemed paralysed, but I fancy that will pass off if I can only wake him up. Wouldn’t mind a good sleep myself, but not of this kind!
Jan. 25 — Mevana nearly cured! In another week I can let him take me into the jungle. He was frightened when he first came to — about having the fly take his personality after he died — but brightened up finally when I told him he was going to get well. His wife, Ugowe, takes good care of him now, and I can rest a bit. Then for the envoys of death!
Feb. 3 — Mevana is well now, and I have talked with him about a hunt for flies. He dreads to go near the place where they got him, but I am playing on his gratitude. Besides, he has an idea that I can ward off disease as well as cure it. His pluck would shame a white man — there’s no doubt that he’ll go. I can get off by telling the head factor the trip is in the interest of local health work.
March 12 — In Uganda at last! Have five boys besides Mevana, but they are all Gallas. The local blacks couldn’t be hired to come near the region after the talk of what had happened to Mevana. This jungle is a pestilential place — steaming with miasmal vapours. All the lakes look stagnant. In one spot we came upon a trace of Cyclopean ruins which made even the Gallas run past in a wide circle. They say these megaliths are older than man, and that they used to be a haunt or outpost of “The Fishers from Outside” — whatever that means — and of the evil gods Tsadogwa and Clulu. To this day they are said to have a malign influence, and to be connected somehow with the devil-flies.