Black Mischief Page 16

  Chapter Twenty-two

  his is our hospital. Doctor Simon created a miracle for our people here. You people are like angels to us. Doctor David says John is well, so he is well. He is hungry, too. We must feed him. Afterwards, he will sleep. We have the dawa from the doctor.’

  Rebecca had tears in her eyes as she watched the group of a dozen women and children make their way slowly past the line of dukas and disappear ‘round a corner into the beginnings of the huge warren of crisscrossing alleys and tracks and lanes that were the homes of thousands and thousands of Nairobi’s poorest of the poor.

  There were more tears now when she recalled the moment. This time she was sitting on a sofa in the main house of Cartref, so close to Tom that she could feel the warmth of his body. Sixteen people were scattered around that comfortable room sharing a time of memory and meditation. It was an hour and more since the last of the guests and visitors had driven through the main gates and set off into the night carrying their private memories of a long day.

  Sonya was squashed with her three boys into the armchair where Simon loved to sit when he visited the house. She had asked her family and friends to recall a moment they had shared with Simon. Rebecca had been first to speak.

  ‘I never met Simon, but I always read the articles he used to write in The Nation. Those stories about his days in the bush clinics were so funny and serious at the same time. One time he said he had a dream for a good hospital in every town and an even better clinic in every village.

  ‘Thomas knows that in my heart I have longing to help the people of our town to enjoy the blessing of a new hospital. At present, it is little more than a longing, a dream. I will never forget his simple, beautiful words. If the dream comes true, that young mother will be there at the opening. Her words will be carved by a Naivasha craftsman in a cut of the finest wood we can find and the work placed where all can read them. I hope that John will still be a very small boy when he comes. “This is our hospital”.’

  Tom added with a smile: ‘Friends, I have to tell you that, before our old Land Cruiser leaves Nairobi for home tomorrow, it will have a slab of dark wood tied securely on its roof. Yes, and I think she has marked out the best woodcarver in the town for this special work. We’ll look after it till the time comes.’

  Lydia was in awe of the company. ‘Some of you know what I am. I am hiding in this house tonight “Grace, an undeserved gift.” The Sisters of Charity were kind to our family when we lived in Kibera. They cared for us and they taught us. This word has always stayed with me and now it is helping to keep me safe.

  ‘I was at the clinic this afternoon. John is my sister’s child, but I could not watch them as they set off for home. I knew I was in danger if I showed myself. The Rubai family was there. It was their car that hurt John. It was a bullet from their people that hurt Mama Sally’s arm. I watched the big man. At first, he was frightened. His boys were not close by. Perhaps these Kibera men would take this chance. Soon the danger was finished. Reuben and some policemen had come. My memory is of the words from his mouth.

  ‘“Sally, do not worry. I am taking you to a proper hospital at once!” I hope they had angels there, too.’ She paused. ‘When I saw them, John and his mother, I understood how foolish I have been. Unlucky, too. One small moment and my life changed. I was playing the smart lady at the matatu stop, on Tom Mboya Street, so I took out a cigarette. I had never tried this before. Reuben snatched it away from my mouth, and now I am bringing this trouble to all of you. There will be death. I only hope that it will be mine. Doctor Simon gives me hope.’

  It was to be a long time before a third person in that room was ready to share a memory. Someone coming through the front door of Cartref just then and listening for sounds of life might have thought that he was in an empty house. But if that someone had been blessed with a sensitivity to feel the tingle of fine vibrations, he might have been drawn to the room where movements in the deep silence were creating thoughts and a rising wave of hope and triumph with a purity and exactness beyond the range of normal human utterance. Try to capture these essences in words and they would crumble to dust.

  One person there had the knowledge and experience to help her companions understand what new things were happening in and around them.

  Maria began her song, more of a chant than a song, with words that had not been used in common speech for centuries. As she whispered her sacred lyric, her eyes searched the upper parts of the room, slowly, carefully. As each one became aware of what she was doing they let their eyes drift where she led them. It was Noah, Simon’s oldest son, who saw it first. He sat upright in his mother’s lap and pointed to place above the French doors that led out onto a veranda. Her reaction, when she saw the brightness, too, was to let out a sound that was part scream and part cry of wonder.

  ‘Simon!’

  The brightness had quickly formed itself into a shape, hovered for no more than a few seconds and then faded. Maria, no longer singing her ancient song, acted quickly to calm any possible upsurge of bewilderment or fear especially in the hearts and minds of the three boys.

  ‘It was his last opportunity to be with us. It is a very rare happening.’

  Dorothy Daniels held the arms of her chair tightly. She had caught the last of the brightness. The sight catapulted her back to childhood and the morning of her third birthday when she found her Nana Williams dead on the floor of her kitchen. The little girl that she was immediately lost her powers of speech. The family brought in the local minister, but the Reverend Glyn Jones made the child’s situation worse with his talk of ghosts and the Holy Spirit.

  ‘Maria, was it a ghost? You see, when I was a child …’

  ‘Yes, Dorothy, I know.’ Though her words were spoken with the utmost tenderness, they only succeeded in raising the level of panic. She was afraid that she might break down in front of the boys. Maria continued. ‘No ghost, my darling. For a few moments we had a glimpse into the other side. Yes it was Simon. He has been purified and become part of the essence of love. And he came with a purpose and he left words for us. He has chosen his messenger.’

  Noah slid from his mother’s side and went to stand in front of the empty fireplace. His head was bowed. There was nothing solemn in his tone when he spoke. Everyone accepted that in some incomprehensible way this nine year old child was speaking beyond his conscious knowledge.

  ‘Everything is as it was meant to be. I am well. Rise up and ride the dream. Be careful but not afraid.’

  David Daniels looked on in bewildered amazement as the composed nine year old returned to his mother’s side. How did these words come into this child’s mind? And what was this Maria? First there was the miraculous transformation of the wounds on Simon’s body and now this calm control in the face of the most momentous event he had ever witnessed. Was she some kind of modern witch? No, no, he had dismissed that idea the day before as he watched her work in the family surgery.

  From where he sat, he was able to look at her front on. He narrowed his gaze. For a few moments, she became the only person in the room for him. Very unscientific ideas began to form in his mind. Could she be some reincarnated ancient priestess? Perhaps she was one of the brilliant and wise medieval mystics whose life was continuing far beyond a normal span? Focusing on her closely like this made him realise how beautiful she was in body and, more so in - he hesitated to let himself contemplate the word - soul.

  She shifted her glance quickly and caught him staring at her. She smiled at him radiantly. He turned away in embarrassment.

  The minor shock of being caught out in a failure of good manners brought him back into more normal, more rational considerations. ‘Come on, Dai! Think it out.’ That was her husband, Hosea Kabari, sitting next to her. They had three daughters back up in Kericho. She was lifting a cup to her lips. It probably contained coffee that had gone cold. This was no creature left over from the distant past.

  This train of thought was interrupted. A third person ready to speak ab
out memories of the day was an unexpected one, even to the speaker himself. Bertie Briggs moved from his chair next to his best friend and neighbour, Alex McCall. Thinking that Bertie was on his way to the bathroom, Alex stood and was ready to join him. But Bertie was picking his way across the room to the spot where Noah had been standing minutes before.

  Tall and slim, he might have been taken for an officer in the brigade of guards. As usual, he was immaculately turned out, from his well-polished black shoes to the trimmed, swept-back dark hair.

  So he stood in front of mainly friends, uncomfortable and struggling to compose himself for the ordeal he had willingly brought on himself. He began with a nervous laugh and a nod in the direction of his friend.

  ‘Can’t believe your eyes, can you, Alex? And, no, I have not been at the whisky.’ He took a deep breath and plunged in.

  ‘Something strange happened to me out there today. I’ll try to explain. Remember three weeks ago, the accident with the runaway truck on the downside of the Escarpment road near Naivasha? I was on the road that day, just behind him and getting ready to pass. It was a long one and I would have to be quick. I found out later that the truck’s brakes had failed. I realised that he was going away from me. I expected him to run off onto the verge and take his chances in the bush. You know the rest. He tried to keep a straight line and slewed into the up lane. They still don’t know for sure if it was three or four matatus that he hit.

  ‘There was a sound of metal scraping, like a giant screaming. He was sliding sideways and right across the road like a bulldozer sweeping away everything in its path. Then came the thuds, numb and deadly, as I soon found out. The screaming, the yelling and the shouting, it was like a pile of nightmares all crashing together.

  ‘And the sight was ten times worse than the sound, so many broken bodies, pieces of flesh, red and raw scattered all over the road. And all they had to help them was blokes like me until those wonderful women and girls moved in.

  ‘Carnage, that’s the only word, a war zone, without stretcher-bearers. Soon there was as much blood on us, drying up so quickly.

  ‘I did not see a single ambulance. The transport was anyone with a vehicle who was willing to give it a go. I carried away a family of four, mother, father, a boy holding his dead sister like she was a broken doll. I had never been in Naivasha Hospital until that afternoon. What a hellhole for sick people. Our people. Ours, mine. I dropped them off, went outside and vomited.

  ‘I went home, cleaned up and walked my Ewan over to Sanctuary Farm. We sat under a flat-top and watched the giraffes until the sun went down.

  ‘Anger, there was such deep anger in me. Worse was the sickening shame. My shame. Our people, my people, what a hypocrite! I had been playing games with life for too long.

  ‘Then today. Sonya, seeing you and looking ‘round and being with more of ‘my’ people, conscious of that shame more intensely than ever. I’ve been a good employer, looked after my people, but there’s always been the unseen barrier. Bwana knows best. Such a mess of feelings. It would have been a good moment to die. God, the pain was unbearable.’

  There was a long pause. Bertie struggled to begin again.

  ‘A girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen who was carrying a large bunch of red roses was walking past us as part of a procession. She turned and she smiled at me. Was it me? I’ll never know for sure. Then it happened.

  ‘A rush of warmth swept through me, from head to toe. A roaring noise in my brain shut out every other sound. My God, I’m having a stroke. I thought of those poor souls at the bottom of the Escarpment. Now it was going to be my turn. The noise became less intense, like when you turn down a blaring radio. The thunder became a single note, a blend of voices that held me with its sweetness. Gradually, even this sound faded into silence. I was back. Rebecca and Maria were singing close by. I was exhausted and at the same time light-headed. No, Alex, still not the whisky.

  ‘That’s my memory. May seem mixed up to you. I think it may have just changed my life. Who can tell? You’ve all been very patient.’

  A round of applause and a hug from a smiling Sonya revived his embarrassment and he could not return to his seat quickly enough. He knew that, in future, he would not find it easy to hide out in little corners of anonymity when big issues came up.

  No one left the room until several hours passed by. For a time quiet meditation lowered the emotional tone. Then gradually, like a large wheel gathering momentum, a single topic began to rouse, excite and unify the group. A remark from Hosea Kabari set the engine in motion.

  ‘With your permission, this simple-minded police sergeant would like to ask a question. Why do we Kenyans allow so many of our people to die without caring enough?’

  There was no shortage of answers. Corruption, graft, apathy, each of the old traditional theories that were trotted out regularly in the bars and clubs were the first to surface with the anecdotes to back them up.

  ‘Hosea, basically we don’t give a damn. And when we are blessed with someone who comes along to challenge the “system”, whatever that is, wants to throttle the old ways, what do we do?’ David opened his palms in a gesture of failure. ‘And people like me get on with the job that’s right in front of our noses and ignore the stench of the pile of manure rising up all ‘round us.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s an African thing.’

  ‘Thomas!’

  ”Becca, that’s why you want that hospital back home. Change one little corner of Africa and the miracle will begin.’

  ‘Money. What does Paul call it? The bottom line. This time I think my lawyer brother is right. Yesterday Abel Rubai needed help for his wife. For a moment there he was scared. For a moment he had a chance to see what the people needed. If only he remembered his days in his village.’

  Maria Kabari spoke quietly, without drama.

  ‘We get used to things. Take a walk in the city and look carefully at the people you see. Do you see the slim, handsome young men, the pretty girls with the smart shoes, the dark grey business suits? Or do you see the street kids, the barefooted women, old before their time?’

  ‘Maria, when I saw that terrible accident up on the Escarpment … Look I don’t want to go back to “getting used to things”. Maybe we need to change the big men’s ways. For now, I just want to change mine.’

  Tom thought that it was time to spell out something.

  ‘The dream is already more than just that. If you didn’t know, we have the land. Dad, it’s your turn.’

  ‘Yeah, a piece of land on the edge of town close to where the road joins the A104. I bought it about ten years ago, the week after you began your first term in Oundle, Tom. I had this idea of growing macadamia nuts.’

  ‘Bwana!’

  ‘I’ve gone off that word, as you know, Rebecca. I’ve gone off macadamias, too! Must have been waiting for something better to come along.’

  ‘Too late now, anyway, Dad. Peter’s flattened the site.’

  Bertie wanted to move the dream further into reality.

  ‘You know that Rusinga is named after the island where Tom Mboya was buried. Sonya, this is ridiculous. I can hardly keep the tears back. Anna got me to build a guest cottage. We never used it. Couldn’t we use it as a base, office, meeting place? Bound to be a lot of business.’

  ‘One more thing and I’ll shut up. Dorothy, what did you just whisper to me?’

  ‘You mean I’d love to help if I had some talent.’

  ‘Strange you should say that, Dorothy. Someone needs to keep a track on new ideas, and information that comes in. You’re the smartest person I know on a laptop, you have beautiful handwriting and you hate waste.’

  ‘And that’s an offer I can’t refuse?’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  xcitement was bubbling at the next meeting of the Big Twelve at the Pink Palace. The mood at these gatherings was always dictated by the state of mind of Mister Abel Rubai, the man from the Kenya Hills. His colleagues were not usually aware of the true reason
for his bonhomie, but they were happy enough to see the smiling face and glad they would be able to voice opinions without the risk of having to endure a withering put-down if they unwittingly gave offence to their esteemed leader.

  ‘Gentlemen, it was interesting to see so many of you at the recent funeral of the good Doctor Mboya. Unfortunately urgent state business prevented me from being there for the ceremony. As you know, an attempt was made on my life as I was arriving. The thug, an activist from an anti-government group that hides out in that vast sewer of humanity wounded my good lady.’

  ‘I hear that CID have a number of promising leads.’

  ‘True, Alfred, but we have to thank God that she is back on top form.’

  In a brief pause, he shut down his concerned husband mode and took up his patriotic statesman role.

  ‘I have news, but first let me confess that Mboya’s passing was not a complete surprise to me. He was warned that setting up a clinic like that was going to lead to trouble. The whole operation was small scale. You help a few and you upset many more by creating resentment. “Why them and not us?” Health, education, law and order etcetera can only be handled on a big scale by governments and their agents. Too many busy-body do-gooders and in no time the position of the state is undermined.

  ‘I have been informed by reliable sources that another anti-state, shall we say, plot, is beginning to take shape. I won’t go into detail now other than to say that any danger to state is likely to show itself in the constituency of Nakuru South.

  ‘I need your help here. After the retirement of Simon Nyache, there will, of course, be a new member up in that area of the Rift Valley. I want your approval that our candidate will be my son Reuben. He is young, vigorous, well-connected.’