by Frank Coates
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘The man said it was almost new. The previous owner only wore it to church on Sundays.’
Emerald smiled. ‘Well, it fits you quite well.’
She hadn’t dared to ask Jelani to dress conservatively, but now everything would be perfect. Her mother couldn’t help but be impressed by his old-fashioned respect.
She led him into the lobby bar with its moulded ceilings, wood panelled walls and large padded chairs. Jelani was obviously impressed by the architecture and ambience. His eyes wandered around the interior as she chose a table.
They took their seats on opposite sides of a glass-topped coffee table. Jelani sat on the edge of his chair and looked uncomfortable.
Almost immediately a waiter appeared at Emerald’s side. That’s service! she thought, but the waiter was grim-faced.
‘I’m sorry, madam, but I am unable to serve you.’
‘What do you mean you can’t serve us? I’m a guest in the Algonquin.’
‘I am aware of that, madam. But madam should also be aware of our service policy.’
‘Whatever are you talking about?’ She was becoming flustered now.
His eyes didn’t leave hers, but he inclined his head in Jelani’s direction. ‘We are unable to serve the … dark person, madam.’
Emerald stared at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly. Then she looked at Jelani, sitting opposite, with an expression of utter embarrassment.
‘But he’s African,’ she offered, lamely.
‘I’m sorry, madam. It’s the hotel’s rules.’
‘Oh,’ she said. She could think of nothing else to say. All her recently found confidence and sophistication abandoned her. She was a mumbling, stumbling child again, being admonished for a misdemeanour. She summoned all her dwindling courage and stood, almost meeting the diminutive waiter eye to eye.
‘Well,’ she said in a huff. ‘I shall speak to my mother, I mean, the manager about this … this … outrage!’
Jelani now had no heart for a meeting with Emerald’s mother. It had been difficult enough to come at all, but with the white waiter looking at him as if he were an unwanted dog, he just wanted to flee. In Kenya, he railed at patronising white settlers and the paternalistic white administration. In America it had been worse. On the streets of New York, whites looked at him as if he carried a bad odour.
Emerald had tears in her eyes and he felt sorry for her.
‘I didn’t realise there could be such monstrous restrictions in a place like New York,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry, Jelani. I … I’m going to do something about it, so it can never happen again.’
But her mortification made no difference to Jelani. He’d had similar snubs in the past and shrugged off his feelings of unworthiness by reminding himself he was a proud Kikuyu warrior, and a member of the feared Mau Mau. He would not let these white men make him feel shame.
He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Emerald. I’m not upset. He said it was the hotel’s rules.’
‘Still … It’s not good enough.’
‘Come on. If it makes you feel better, I could still meet your mother.’
She took his arm and squeezed it.
During the walk from the elevators to the door of her suite, Jelani had second thoughts. Being with a white girl in Kenya was unthinkable and he knew that Americans held similar views about friendships between blacks and whites. Before he could devise an excuse, they were at the door and Emerald swung ahead, dragging him in by the hand.
Jelani stood in the middle of the sumptuously furnished room, its chandelier dripping with twinkling stars of cut glass, never more aware of the stark differences between his world and Emerald’s.
Dana heard Emerald’s voice from the door. With a touch of annoyance she quickly checked her appearance in her bathroom mirror. Emerald was supposed to wait for her in the lobby bar. She straightened her dress, touched a hand to her hair, and then walked into the sitting room.
Her first sight was of Emerald, visibly upset. But it was her friend who most astonished Dana, and took her mind from her daughter’s distress. He was black. And a Kikuyu. At that moment she couldn’t explain how she knew, but of that fact she had no doubt.
Emerald introduced him. Dana spluttered a welcome, recovered her decorum, and invited him to take a seat while Emerald began a breathless explanation of the embarrassing confrontation in the lobby bar. She went on to say that Jelani was from Kenya and that he was in the USA for only a short period.
Dana tried to concentrate, but she couldn’t take her mind off the Kenyan — Jelani. And she couldn’t stop taking furtive glances at him. He was a handsome young man, light-skinned for an African, with intelligent eyes and an engaging if somewhat reserved smile.
Hearing Emerald’s rendition of the incident in the lobby bar made her annoyed with the waiter and the hotel’s policy, but as she gathered her thoughts, she became more annoyed with Emerald for not telling her that her friend was black. If Dana had known, she could have warned Emerald of the likely outcome. It was her daughter’s irritating habit of trying to shock her that had led to the embarrassing situation in the first place.
She put her aggravation with Emerald to one side. ‘Would you like tea? I have coffee, but it’s the hotel’s — that appalling instant variety, I’m afraid.’
He said he’d like tea and she went to the alcove where she’d had the hotel staff place a tea trolley and urn. It was an opportunity for her to take stock of her thoughts because the young man’s appearance had taken her off guard. She realised she knew nothing about him and that as a responsible parent she should. How had they met? Why was he, a Kenyan, in America? What was the extent of their friendship?
She made the tea and, as she placed the cups and accoutrements on the tray she realised that she had completely forgotten the visitor’s name. A further embarrassment for the poor young man. The morning was deteriorating rapidly for Dana.
When she returned with the laden tea tray, she said, ‘I’m sorry, it’s completely unforgiveable of me, but in all the confusion, I’ve missed your name.’
She heard his answer, but instead of laying the tea tray on the table, she remained standing, staring at him. It was Sam’s image that came to her mind. It was the reason, she now understood, why she knew Jelani was a Kikuyu. But the resemblance was strong — almost too strong to be explained by tribal similarities.
‘Mother? Are you all right?’
‘What? Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Jelani, would you care for milk or sugar?’
She’d been unnerved, but now realised the unsettling thought that Jelani was the image of Sam was because of the photographic collection she’d seen at NYU only a couple of hours before.
She dismissed her thought as sentimental nonsense, and poured the tea.
Jelani was relieved to leave the Algonquin. His face again burned with embarrassment as he recalled the incident with the waiter, and he avoided looking into the lobby bar as he passed. There couldn’t have been a worse precursor to his meeting with Emerald’s mother.
He knew it would be stressful. He was never comfortable in the presence of whites, and Emerald’s mother had an aura of importance about her from the outset. It was obvious that she was a strong woman, attractive and with olive skin and short brown hair tinted with honey-coloured strands. And those green eyes — almost as green as Emerald’s — seemed to be fixed upon him from the moment he stepped into the hotel suite. She was obviously suspicious about his friendship with her daughter.
Now he wondered how he’d ended up in such a friendship. He’d felt an attraction towards Emerald since their first meeting, but it was not like the feelings he had for Beth. Beth excited him; and through this period of separation from her, he felt increasingly sure he loved her and wanted to be with her forever. Emerald had a different but also special quality. They seemed to share the same feelings about many things. She was close to his heart rather than to his body.
Thoughts of Beth made him yearn for home. N
ew York was exciting and new and he’d learned a lot while he’d been with the Longshoremen, but he’d had enough.
He’d promised to see Emerald off to Niagara Falls the following morning. He would then go to the Longshoremen’s offices and tell them he wanted to go home.
With his resolution now in place, he picked up the pace of his step. He felt better already and his mind turned to Beth and Kenya — to his love and his home.
CHAPTER 55
As Jelani approached in the taxi, the imposing structure of Grand Central Station, with its rampant stone horses and classical carved figures, stood out from the surrounding lesser buildings like a colossus.
He paid the fare and entered the grand hall, which was awash with people scurrying over the large flagstones. His task was to find Emerald among that swirling mass of humanity, but his eyes were drawn up the high stone walls to the sunlight falling through the beautiful arched windows in long slanting shafts. He stopped to admire it.
‘Oh! Pole sana,’ Jelani said as he bumped into someone.
‘Sawa,’ the man replied, also in Swahili, then, in surprise, ‘Karura!’
It was Sam Wangira.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he added before Jelani could recover from his surprise.
‘What about?’
‘I’ve been looking for you to talk about your scholarship,’ Wangira said.
Jelani paused. ‘I haven’t time,’ he said. ‘I’m here to meet a friend.’
‘I saw your picture in the paper. You were in that march down town.’
‘What is that to you?’
‘It’s against the rules of the scholarship. No political associations. It’s in the forms you signed.’
‘It wasn’t political: it was a union march.’
‘Organised by the Communist Party of America,’ Wangira said. ‘I haven’t sent you over here to be brainwashed.’
‘Your white friends in the government sent me, not you. You’re the one who is brainwashed — you’re just a pawn in their game.’
‘And you’re an ungrateful fool.’
Jelani stiffened at this. He took a deep breath and looked away, tightening then releasing his balled fists. He caught sight of Emerald, standing in a column of sunlight with her camera pointed at the gilded clock above the information booth.
He turned back to Wangira. ‘I don’t have time for you,’ he said. ‘But it’s you who is the fool. And a Kikuyu who will stand by and let the British take everything from us is a traitor.’
Jelani turned from Wangira and headed in Emerald’s direction.
Sam watched Jelani weave a path across the crowded concourse. He shook his head. What a shame, he thought. He’s smart, but he’ll be eaten up by the likes of Chege Muthuri and his pack of thugs.
Jelani went to a dark-haired and very attractive white girl carrying a camera. The pair made tentative contact. She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek as friends might. They looked like relatively new friends rather than lovers.
Well, well, he thought. A budding romance between the fair-skinned, white-hating Mau Mau and a green-eyed white beauty.
Sam edged closer to them — close enough to see her more clearly. She was certainly a beauty, with stunning green eyes that shone as she animatedly spoke unheard words amid the rumble of background noise. She pointed to various parts of the building. Then she pointed to a corner of the concourse, and took his hand. He held back, smiling, resisting her pleas.
He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something fascinating about her — something familiar, although he felt sure he’d never seen her before. It drew him even closer to them. He studied her movements; and when she inclined her head the gesture transported him twenty years into his past. It hadn’t been her appearance — although now that he looked at her more closely he could see a certain resemblance — but it was her mannerisms that reminded him of Dana. The way she propped a hand on her hip and inclined her head to the opposite side as she tried to convince the young man; it was Dana, all those years ago.
Her point of view apparently prevailed and she led Jelani away towards the far corner of the concourse.
He smiled, remembering that getting her own way was another of Dana’s compelling personality traits.
‘Jelani! You’re here,’ Emerald said, giving him a peck on the cheek. ‘Thank you for coming. And look, isn’t this a beautiful building?’
‘It is. See how high those windows are.’
‘I’ve been busy with my camera. I tried a three-second time exposure from the end of the concourse. You know … to give the impression of the movement in here.’
Jelani had no idea what she was talking about, but nodded.
‘And I’ve taken shots from all around the outside. Mother’s exhausted and went to sit.’ She pointed to the far end of the concourse. ‘See? There she is.’
Jelani peered in the direction she was pointing, but could see nothing except people dashing in all directions.
‘We have a little time before the train leaves. Would you like a Coke?’
‘That’s a good idea.’
‘Well, I have to tell Mother first. Come with me.’
‘Me? Maybe I’ll go to the duka, I mean the café. I’ll buy the drinks.’
‘No, I’ll lose you. Just come. It’ll only take a minute.’
Jelani was trapped again. Again he had to confront Emerald’s mother and again he felt uncomfortable about being under her intense scrutiny.
Dana watched Emerald move around the cavernous interior of Grand Central Station, snapping pictures. She was pleased that she’d found an interest in photography, and her ambition to be a photojournalist — whatever that really might mean — was touching. But her enthusiasm had its disadvantages. She was exhausting, dragging Dana all over the place, waving her camera at every conceivable architectural aspect, nook and cranny of the building.
Emerald was standing in a pool of light falling through the high glassed space between the stone columns. Dana was proud of her daughter and, without any false vanity, could see her likeness in her. It was as if the gods had sucked up some of Dana’s essence and breathed it into her beautiful daughter.
She then saw Jelani arrive and Emerald kiss him. Dana was startled. She craned her neck to keep track on them as the crowd passed by, obstructing her view.
There was a period when she couldn’t see them at all, then suddenly, just as she stood to get a better view, they were coming towards her. She resumed her seat and tried to compose herself.
Emerald arrived, dragging Jelani behind her. ‘Mother,’ she said. ‘Jelani’s here. We’re going to get a Coke.’
Jelani greeted her and, holding his extended right forearm with his left hand, offered the handshake that Africans employed when greeting those they respect.
Dana was touched, and took his hand, smiling. ‘Hello, Jelani,’ she said.
‘Hello, Mrs Middlebridge,’ he replied.
As he leaned towards her his pendant fell out from his open-necked shirt and dangled on its leather thong in front of her eyes. It was a fang — a lion’s fang, she thought — in a silver clasp.
Dana stared at it for a long moment, still gripping Jelani’s hand.
‘Mother? What is it?’
‘What? Oh … nothing, dear,’ she said, releasing Jelani’s hand.
‘We won’t be long,’ Emerald said, and whisked Jelani off into the crowd.
Dana watched them go. She knew that fangs, claws and the tusks of small animals such as warthogs were common items of jewellery in Africa. However, Jelani’s was an unusual piece in that it was set in a silver clasp: it was very similar to the one she’d placed around her infant son’s neck when she sent him away shortly after he was born. To think Jelani’s pendant had been hers was a preposterous notion, but she had to be sure.
She stood to follow the young pair strolling across the paving stones. Emerald was swinging her hips, chatting to Jelani with her hand tucked under his arm. She could remember being h
er daughter’s age and the body language was telling. Here was a young woman heading — no, rushing — into a romance.
Dana took a step in their direction, but decided to resume her seat. They’d be back, and she would then have some questions to ask.
Jelani finished his Coke and watched as Emerald slowly sipped hers.
‘We’ll stay in touch, won’t we, Jelani?’ she said.
‘We will … yes.’
‘I haven’t asked Mother about visiting Kenya, but I plan to. It’s so important to me, but I don’t want to ask her yet. She seems a little out of sorts. Will you meet me there?’
‘Of course.’
‘And introduce me to your beautiful Beth?’
He smiled at her memory. ‘You will love her, just as I do.’
‘I know I will.’
She made a slurping sound with the drinking straw.
‘Oops!’ She giggled. ‘We’d better go,’ she said, lifting her handbag and slipping her arm through his.
Jelani felt apprehensive as he walked with her back to where her mother waited. He didn’t like making farewells. It was not in his nature, nor those of most of his countrymen, to make a public display of emotion and he hoped that he could show Emerald how much he’d miss her without too much embarrassment. He would rather have parted the previous day at the hotel.
Dana was waiting for them and stood when they reached her.
‘We must hurry, darling,’ she said to Emerald.
‘I suppose so,’ she said reluctantly. Turning to her friend, she said, ‘We’ll write, won’t we, Jelani?’
‘We will … yes.’
‘And we’ll discuss that other matter, won’t we?’
‘Yes.’
‘What other matter, dear?’ her mother asked.
‘Oh, it’s nothing, Mother. I’ll tell you later.’
Dana appeared unhappy, then, businesslike, said, ‘I’m sorry, Jelani, we must go. It’s been very nice meeting you.’
‘It has also been very nice for me, Mrs Middlebridge,’ he replied.