‘Wild animals? Lions?’
His slight smile was bleak. ‘There are a few lions, but not many. They have been hunted to death, to give white men trophies to hang on their walls. Those that are left have learned to avoid humans. There are sometimes packs of wild dogs, but the great danger is from people. The military, or gangs of bandits, or terrorists …’ He spread his hands. ‘So I sometimes slept at the school, but I would rise very early, to go back home to tend the animals.
‘It was not an easy life, but I was learning much. And then my father was killed by terrorists.’ He said it in a matter-of-fact way that chilled my blood. ‘I was at school, or they would have killed me, too. My mother and my sisters were working in the fields and ran away, but the terrorists burned down our house and stole all our animals. Nothing was left for us.’
My coffee was cold, but I drank some of it anyway. I couldn’t think of anything to say in the face of such stark tragedy.
‘I stayed at the school. There was no other place for me to go. The priest, Father Ron, was good to me. I worked for my keep, tending the chickens they kept for food, helping teach the younger ones. Father Ron worked very hard to learn what had become of my family, and was finally told that my mother had found work as a cook in an orphanage in Nigeria. My sisters …’ Again he spread his hands, and I thought I saw in his eyes what might have become of his sisters. I tried not to think about it.
‘And that is my story. Father Ron saw that I was very good in scientific studies. He arranged for me to sit my examinations in Nigeria, and took me to Lagos. I learned later that he paid the examination fee himself. He helped me apply for scholarships and paid, himself, for my transport to England. He has been like a father to me.’
I swallowed. ‘He is a white man?’
‘Yes. But his heart, I think, is African.’
‘Then – forgive me, Mahala, but I must ask – why is it that you seem to hate white people so? The other students …’
Again that unamused smile. ‘I do not hate them because they are white. I hate them because they are lazy. They have had everything handed to them on a plate, all their lives. They do not know what it means to study with no books, with an empty belly, after a long day of hard work. They do not know what it is to live always in the shadow of terror. They think it is a hard thing to have to write an essay instead of going out to play, on the river or the tennis courts or the football field or the cricket pitch. And they hate me because I think such things are foolish.’
‘Then why don’t you hate me, too? Anyone can tell by looking at me that I’ve never suffered any serious privation. I’m well fed, too well fed. I have clothes to keep me warm, and a car to drive and a house to live in. The only frightful personal loss I’ve ever experienced was the death of my first husband, and that was of natural causes. I’ve never had to struggle, not really.’ I was jeopardizing the fragile relationship I’d built with him, but I really wanted to know why he’d accepted me.
He took his time about replying. ‘I do not know,’ he said finally. ‘Perhaps it is because you are kind. You are like Father Ron. You have shown that you care about me, and about my rats. Even though you are afraid of them.’ This time the smile was almost genuine. ‘You do not like them, but you helped me with them anyway. That is the sign of a good heart. So I trust you, and I am going to answer your questions.’
Now we’d come to it. I swallowed again. ‘Thank you for telling me about your life. It helps me to understand a lot. And forgive me for not … well, not being able to overcome my fear of rats. Maybe one day I’ll learn better. But right now I need to know all you know about what’s been happening at St Stephen’s. Tom Grenfell is still missing, and I’m sure his mother is worried sick about him. I hope that together you and I may be able to work out what’s happened to him.’
‘I do not know where he is. I told you that.’
‘I know you did, and I believe you. But you do know much more than you’ve told us about the goings-on among the students in the Hutchins Building.’
To my alarm, he stood, but all he said was, ‘I will get us more coffee.’
The first cup had been pretty dire, but my mouth was dry. Maybe if I put enough milk and sugar in it, I could down another. ‘Decaf again for me, please.’
When he had brought our coffees and sat down again, I said, ‘Now. You didn’t tell the truth about how you got that cut on your arm. I’m sorry, by the way, that I made it start bleeding again.’
He looked down at his cup. ‘No. I did not want you to know that I had been fighting.’
‘I thought it might be something like that. But, Mahala, isn’t it dangerous for you to get into a fight? Even a slight blow might be very serious for you – internal bleeding and so on.’
‘My disease is a rather mild form of haemophilia. I do not have the bleeding at the joints that afflicts some, but, of course, I bruise very easily. It was much worse when I lived in Africa. There was no access to the medications I need, and several times when I hurt myself on the farm I bled for a long time. That is one reason I never participate in games of any kind. It makes the students here despise me. They think I am a coward, or that I think myself better than they. And I do!’ he added fiercely. ‘I am smarter than they are. I work harder. I am worthy of respect!’
‘No doubt,’ I said rather drily, ‘though generally the English give more respect to those who don’t demand it. You’d have more friends, Mahala, if you didn’t show so clearly how you feel about your classmates. However … You got into a fight.’
‘It was because of my rats. The other students wanted to play a joke – a prank, they called it. Foolishness! At first they intended to take one of the other animals – a guinea pig – and make him appear as if dead, and then make him come alive. They planned to scatter blood around to make people believe he really was dead, and they asked me if I would extract some from one of my rats. The rats are big, you see, and very healthy, and the students said it wouldn’t hurt them to lose a small amount of blood.’
‘But you said you wouldn’t, and that’s when the fight started.’
‘Not then, not yet. I thought a bit and said I was going to kill a chicken soon. I told them it was for a ritual.’
‘But you’re a Christian. I don’t understand.’
‘In Africa, the old religions are often mixed in with Christianity. Father Ron never worried about that. He said God would understand. Here, though, I do not practise the old rituals. The English do not like it. They are afraid of the old religions.’
‘Why did you tell them that’s what you were doing, then?’
Again he avoided my eyes. ‘I keep chickens for food, for eggs and meat. I am poor. I did not want them to know that I cannot always go to the supermarket and buy my food, as they can.’
‘And then for some reason you couldn’t get the chicken, after all.’
‘Foxes had taken most of them. There were only two left. I could not spare one.’
‘So you brought a cat. I heard that part of the story from Terence, and I have to say I don’t like it much. I may be afraid of rats, but I’m very fond of cats, and the idea of killing one appals me.’
He looked at me in astonishment. ‘But there was never any talk of killing it! I would have extracted its blood, as they wanted me to do with the rat. It was a big cat, a stray, but strong and healthy. The loss of a little blood would not have hurt it at all. But then …’
‘Yes. What happened then?’
‘The students could not agree about a schedule for their joke. Some thought it should wait until the end of term; some wanted to do it right away. Of course, the blood would have to be extracted very near to the time they wished to use it, because even with an anticoagulant added, it would not stay fresh forever. So I let the cat go. I knew I could catch it again when they were ready, if I chose to do so. I was growing more and more impatient with the foolishness, in any case. It was taking time away from my studies and my rats, and my work is important! It ma
y one day help feed my people, and other peoples all over Africa.’
‘So you let the cat go.’
‘I took it back to near the house where I live. It is familiar with that area, and there are, I think, people there who feed it. I had no wish to leave it in a place where it would starve. I am not a cruel person, whatever you think!’
‘I don’t think you’re cruel, Mahala. I did, when I thought you were going to kill a cat, but that was before I saw how much you care about your rats, and before you explained about the cat. But you still haven’t told me how your arm was injured.’
‘There is a student, a first-year. I do not know his name. I do not like him. He has quarrelled with me, tried to tell me I was feeding my rats improperly. He has no idea what I am trying to do! He knows nothing about rats, nothing about zoology, nothing, nothing!’
As his voice rose, people turned to look at us. I touched his hand and brought out my schoolteacher voice again. ‘Now, Mahala. Calm down. I’m not arguing with you. We’ll agree that the boy is ignorant and annoying. Go on with your story.’
He was shaking. ‘He came to me, this stupid boy. He is one of the leaders of the group planning the foolish joke. He said that they had changed their mind about what they wanted to do, and they would need a great deal of blood, because they were going to use a huge rat. “Ratzilla”, they would call it. They would pretend it was one of mine, grown to almost human size, but it would really be a robot. And it would run about over the college grounds, frightening everyone, and one of the students would try to stab it with a knife, and it would spurt blood, lots of blood, but it would not stop.’
Mahala was trying to control his voice, but he was shaking with anger. ‘They would make me a laughing stock, me and my rats. They would treat my work like a joke. He said they would need a great deal of blood, and perhaps I should kill the cat, after all, or there might be enough in one of my rats. He had a scalpel in his hand and he waved it about as if ready to kill one of my rats, and I struck out at him, and the scalpel cut my arm, over a vein, and it began to bleed and would not stop, and he was afraid and ran away.’
I sat silent for a few moments, considering what I learned. I was certain it was the truth. It fit with what I already knew, and moreover with Nigel’s robotics idea. I could see how it all could have happened. But …
‘I see,’ I said at last. ‘Why did you then take the blood to the lab downstairs? At least, I’m assuming this didn’t all happen in that lab. You don’t work there, do you?’
‘Sometimes. Not that day. It was upstairs in my room, with my rats. It upset them, the shouting and the smell of blood.’
‘They can smell blood?’
Mahala gave me a pitying look. ‘Even humans can smell blood. Rats have a better, a much better sense of smell than humans, even than dogs. They are intelligent, sensitive creatures.’
‘I’m learning that. But I still don’t understand why you saved the blood, or at any rate took it downstairs.’
‘I bled a great deal before I could put on a bandage and then inject my medication. Fortunately there was a basin at hand. I held it under the cut until I could get the bleeding stopped, so there was only a tiny amount spilt on the floor. I took the basin away to dispose of it properly; there are strict rules about the disposal of blood, especially human blood. But as I carried it downstairs, I was still very angry. I thought I would find a way to turn the joke back on those fatuous students. I would use their own idea against them. I was too angry to think clearly, but I was sure I could find a way to use blood to make them look as foolish and stupid as they are.
‘There are anticoagulant chemicals kept in the zoology lab. I thought I would add them to my blood, which does not coagulate well anyway, and see how long it could be kept liquid in a sealed container. Then I would have time to plan my revenge. But I was angry, and somewhat unsteady from the loss of blood, and when I heard someone coming into the building from the rear, it startled me, and I stumbled and spilt the blood out of the basin on to the floor.’
And that, I thought, was literally where I came in. ‘Yes, all right. And then after I left, you came back and cleaned up quickly, but something prevented you from doing a thorough job until Friday afternoon.’
‘There were people using the lab later that day and all day Thursday. And then on Thursday evening, when it was not scheduled for a class, one of my pregnant rats was showing signs of distress. She is not due to deliver for a week, but I had to stay with her.’
‘Of course you did. Well, that explains it all, doesn’t it? Except for what has happened to Tom. And why you were so frightened earlier this evening, when Alan and I tried to talk to you.’
His face, which had been candid and friendly until then, closed up. ‘I have told you I do not know where Grenfell is. I have told you that I do not like the police. I was not frightened. I was anxious about my rats. And I must go now and tend to them. Goodnight.’
‘Thank you for my coffee,’ I called to the door as it closed behind him.
TWENTY-ONE
Well, so much for that. I gathered up my purse and jacket, and headed for the door. The café was, I thought, about ready to close for the night. There were only two other customers, and they were finishing their coffee. I fished my phone out of my bag, turned it on, and noted the time. After ten. Heavens, Alan would be frantically wondering where I was. I figured out how to check for messages, and, sure enough, there were three from him.
Oh, dear. I really shouldn’t have caused him all that worry. The only thing to do now was to call and ask him to come and get me. He would be really angry if I walked back alone through dark and mostly deserted streets. Cambridge on a weeknight is nothing like as crowded as during the day, and the café was on a side street far from the pubs. I took a deep breath and punched the buttons that let me return Alan’s latest call.
‘Dorothy! Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m at a café in – wait a minute.’ I looked up at the clerk who was counting the money in the till. ‘What’s the address here? My friend brought me and I wasn’t paying attention. Here, could you tell my husband?’ I handed her the phone, taking it back after she’d given Alan clear directions about how to get here. ‘It’s only a couple of minutes from the college; don’t bother to drive. I could have walked back, but I thought you’d rather I had an escort. No, Mahala’s left. I’ll tell you everything when I see you. And I repeat, stop fretting. I’m fine.’
The clerk kindly let me wait inside, though she was ready to lock up. She looked to be all of nineteen or twenty, and I suppose to her I was a doddering old lady with one foot in the grave, and off my rocker as well. Wearing a hat, of all things! Definitely not safe to be out on the dark street alone.
When I was a child and strayed away from my parents in a department store, or stayed longer than I was supposed to at the zoo or the skating rink or a party, I was greeted, when I finally rejoined them, first with relief and then with fury. ‘Oh, thank heavens you’re back, where have you been!’ pretty much summed it up, the last few words spoken in absolute rage. I’m the same way now when one of our pets is missing for too long. So I knew what to expect from Alan, and he didn’t disappoint me. I listened and nodded and murmured understanding and apologies as we walked back to our home-from-home.
‘Very well, then, love,’ he said as we walked into our room and shut the door behind us. ‘I’ve got that out of my system. Now we sit down and have a civilized drink – I laid in supplies while you were gone – and you can tell me what you think was worth frightening me out of seven years’ growth.’
‘I think you’ve done all your growing.’ I took off my hat and ran my hands through my short hair. ‘And if you start getting shorter in your old age, along with everybody else, I refuse to take the blame. Make mine a stiff one. It’s been a trying day.’ I piled pillows against the headboard and a couple under my knees and stretched out on the bed with a luxurious sigh.
‘Here you ar
e, madam. Now, your story, please.’
I took a long, satisfying pull at my drink. ‘Aah! I needed that. Well, for a start, I didn’t find out anything at all about Tom’s whereabouts. I didn’t get around to asking about that until the end of my little chat with Mahala, and I do mean the end. The question shut off communications as if I’d flipped a switch. “I don’t know, I have to go see my rats, goodbye.”’
‘Which means he does know something.’
‘Knows or suspects, and whatever it is, it scares him to death. He denied that, too. Being scared, I mean. Just said again that he didn’t like the police. Alan, he’s an amazingly courageous person. It would take something really dreadful to frighten him. Listen to what he’s been through in his young life.’ I tried to summarize, but the story still brought tears to my eyes. ‘I can easily see why he’d hate people like us, who know nothing about suffering on that scale.’
Alan nodded. ‘Gangs of bandits, the army, terrorists who killed his father and destroyed his home – yes. That could teach him to hate. It could also teach him violence.’
‘But then there was the other influence in his life – the priest who was kind, who taught him to value his own abilities, who helped him on the way to Cambridge and the achievement of his heart’s desire – helping his own people. He has some admirable qualities, Alan, truly. But there’s something more going on in his life, something he hasn’t told us about, and I don’t have a single idea what it might be.’
‘Hmm.’ Alan put his glass down on the bedside table and tented his hands in his familiar lecturing pose. ‘Let’s think about it. He’s frightened, and most particularly frightened of the police. That implies that he’s involved in something illegal.’
‘Ye-es,’ I said reluctantly. ‘But what?’
Blood Will Tell Page 18