Boss Takes All

by Carl Hancock

  The ceremony itself was low-key. Sisters May and Phillipa from Nakuru Cathedral assisted their priest, Father Robert, in a ritual he had composed that was Christian but not Catholic. Instead of readings or a sermon, he had invited Alex and Stephen to say a few words of thanksgiving and blessing.

  The words both fathers had prepared were never heard that day. The handsome bulk of Stephen stepped forward. He clasped his hands together in front of his stomach, but before he could begin to speak, the calm assurance in his expression changed. He had seen something that upset his composure, something that most of the guests could not have noticed from their different sightline. Behind them, three dark blue cars had edged silently around the curve of the lawn and pulled up.

  Doors banged and three policemen stepped out from each car. They covered their uncertainty with the measured swagger of their movement towards the front of their cars, as if they wanted to make sure that they looked good on camera. Caroline and Hosea Kabari, out of uniform for the day, moved quickly to check on the unexpected callers.

  ‘Inspector Caroline Miggot and my colleague from the Naivasha, Sergeant Hosea Kabari.’ (She smiled but did not introduce Maria who was giving the mostly young officers the full force of one her aggressive scowls.)

  ‘We know you, Inspector.’

  The spokesman, the oldest in the group, a hefty man with bulging neck and stomach sneered, confident and challenging, a bully who had never made it above sergeant for all his many arrests he had made of the street scum he had brought into the station, usually in a damaged condition. He had little respect for policewomen above the rank of constable. Caroline vaguely remembered him from her time down in Nairobi.

  ‘Sergeant, do you realise that you are trespassing on private property? And there’s a wedding. If you think you have business with anyone here, get back into your cars and wait outside.’

  ‘Not so fast, madam!’ The sergeant cleared his throat dramatically and then lapsed into police mode. ‘We believe that you are harbouring four aliens somewhere on these premises. They do not have the proper permits to be in Kenya. The government wants them out. These people must be at the airport by six pm this evening, ready to board a night flight to London. Now you will understand why we cannot delay. Help us to do our job and we will leave you in peace.’

  Before Caroline could reply, Maria moved from behind her husband’s back.

  ‘How long did it take you to learn that speech, Constable?’

  ‘About thirty years madam and …’

  ‘Maria, leave this to Hosea and me. I take it, Sergeant, that you have written instructions giving you some kind of authority on this. May I see them, please?’

  ‘No, Inspector, our boss has them. He’ll be with us shortly. Mechanical problem with the vehicle. His driver has radioed through.’

  ‘Then wait outside.’ Irritation was beginning to show through in Caroline’s voice.

  But the sergeant was up for a contest of words and wills. He had ammunition to fire.

  ‘Inspector, I have to point out that if you had done your job properly none of this shaurie would have happened.’

  ‘What!’ She had a problem. She wanted to get rid of this pompous man, but he was enjoying his stubborn resistance. Above all she did not want to let down Rebecca and Tom by allowing this ridiculous situation to continue.

  ‘If you had bothered to check their passports, when they were working in your area. Their work at the coast, sponsored by Mrs Sally Rubai, was sanctioned but finished and …’

  ‘Ah, now we’re coming to it.’ Caroline had recovered her composure. ‘Just one moment.’ She turned to Hosea. ‘Ask one of the Welshmen …’

  ‘They never travel anywhere without them. Mister Iolo …’

  Iolo handed his passport to Caroline. She flicked through the mostly empty pages until she found what she wanted. Unusually, the visa was handwritten by someone who had mastered the art of calligraphy and was unequivocal in its statement. The signature of the Archbishop of Nairobi was endorsed with the stamp of the Department of Immigration.

  ‘Now, Inspector, if you would be good enough to look at this document, which I first checked some five weeks ago, you will see that this man has permission to stay in this country “sine die” while engaged on legitimate, charitable work. His fellow “aliens” have similar entries. Read it carefully.’

  The sergeant was not done.

  ‘So, working for a local building contractor on a house owned by a flower farmer counts as charitable work? I don’t think so!’

  ‘Sergeant, and in what part of the universe have you been travelling in for these last few weeks. We have a family of our fellow countrymen who have their house - and farm - completely destroyed by criminals, whom we have yet to catch, who are helped in rebuilding their lives by four young men who receive not a shilling for their efforts, and this is not charitable work? I remind you. This is private property and you are trespassing.’

  This kind of treatment was a new experience for these big city policemen. They were being bullied and they swapped puzzled glances hoping that one of them might find the inspiration to reverse the situation or at least find some way of making a dignified exit.

  Maria Kabari was ready to send them on their way with a fiery farewell.

  ‘What a bunch of jerks. Sergeant, you know this word “jerk”? American. My brother lives in America. He keeps sending me these new words. He is here today. Would you like to speak to him? He is a lawyer.’

  ‘And I’m her other brother, a lawyer, too!’

  ‘I recognise you, Mister Miller.’ The sergeant’s puff and bluster were gone. His men were climbing back into their cars. He was eager to join them.

  ‘Sergeant, my sister is normally a gentle lady, but get her angry and well … But I have to say that she has expressed our sentiments with her usual sharp precision. Kwaheri!’

  The interruption was over. The wedding guests applauded. The bully boys had been routed.

  The two mechanics sent out from the motor pool in police headquarters to fix the immobile vehicle were astonished when they found the cause of the problem.

  ‘Inspector, your driver knows less about how a car engine works than my Uncle Solomon and he’s been dead two years. You’ve run out of gas!’

  ‘But the red arrow is pointing to full! See!’

  The inspector who did know a lot about cars felt some shame. He had doctored the gauge, a simple job. He had also made sure that the vital warrant had not left his pocket. A colleague had told him the first source of the order to send four cars up to the school in Gilgil. As a secret member of the Serena party he had taken a big risk by virtually sabotaging a piece of police business. He had thrown a few grains of sand into the well-oiled machine of Rubai Inc. It was time.

  Back up in Gilgil, Father Robert, after a few words with Stephen and Alex, moved to the microphone. ‘I can’t speak for all of you but, for me, I thank God for a piece of very witty deliverance just now. Ivor, David, Phillip and Iolo, my Celtic brothers, I am so glad that you are not already on your way back to the beloved land of your fathers! And, to answer a question I have been asked several times today: of course, these two wonderful people are joined together as man and wife in the presence of God.

  ‘Now, children, everyone, Maura and Angela tell me that it is time to celebrate in the good old up-country way.’

  For a wedding feast, a surprising amount of business took place in the following hours before sunset and young and old went their ways, most of it around two large round tables set in a corner of the field. The music played and the people danced, but for once Rebecca, the new Mrs McCall, did not sing.

  At the ladies’ table a lot of the talk was about hospitals and the building of one special one. Debbie Miller had returned from Boston with her parents. She had brought detailed drawings of the plans and some pleasant surprises.

  The men’s business was more sensitive. A party out under the open sky was not the place to risk being overheard eve
n by friendly ears. And there was also the important matter of drinking the health of the happy couple. Barnie Miller had his news from Boston and New York. It would wait for a more convenient time.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  imon, how are you? Good to have you with us. I see Sally has taken Margaret off to see young Julius.’

  ‘Yes, Abel, and congratulations on the new arrival. And the new house. You seem to be creating a park out there.’

  ‘You haven’t been here before? I think it’s four years since we moved in.’

  Simon was uneasy and on his guard. He had travelled down to Nairobi to pick up his personal belongings from Parliament House. When the next session began there would be someone else sitting in his place fighting the cause of Nakuru South. Forty years was probably too long to do the job properly all the time. He had sat with Margaret in the empty chamber, quietly remembering.

  ‘Margaret, I should have gone ten, fifteen years ago. I suppose I got into the habit and enjoyed being a somebody, but what did I accomplish for our people?’

  ‘Simon, you have been honest, hardworking and the people loved you. Think how many of them have asked you to stay on.’

  ‘Better the devil you know.’

  Now he was sitting alone in the presence of Mister Big for the very first time. Abel Rubai was being friendly and attentive, but Simon was waiting for him to come to the end of the small talk. He had an idea about why he had been summoned, but the essence of this man remained a mystery. How could a person who never stood for let alone won any public office dominate the happenings in the country like this? He was very clever with money. That must have been the key to his rise from financial adviser up the magic ladder to the very top rung.

  ‘Simon, Nakuru South. How many years now?’

  ‘Too many, Abel! We need some young blood up there.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. I’ve been giving a lot of time to how we move on in this very important constituency.’

  Abel did not miss the sudden raising of the eyebrows and the expression of surprise.

  ‘Of course, Simon. Think about it. You have the army camp. The road and rail links pass through. Then there is the wealth and employment generated by the farms around the lake. More than just important, vital.’

  ‘Can’t say that I’ve noticed much interest in the place from Nairobi in my time up there.’

  ‘Because the government knew they had a man up there they could trust. You must have been aware of that.’

  ‘Abel, let me be frank with you.’

  ‘I would want nothing less. Fire away.’

  ‘The hospital.’

  Abel was the one caught off guard. He felt his gorge rising. Surely Simon Nyache was not supporting the crazy idea of the Naivasha tart! His mind was soon put at rest.

  ‘There is a desperate need in Gilgil. We have abandoned five hundred or more of our people who have some sickness of the mind. Three, four million shillings would transform lives.’

  ‘That’s a disgrace! Why have I never heard about this? You must write a memo. Send it directly to me.’

  Simon hated the hypocrisy. Memo. Treating me like a bosom friend. Nauseous stuff. But there was something else to come.

  ‘Next time I’m travelling up that way I must call in. Your successor will have to give it high priority.’ A slight pause and Abel Rubai had reached his destination. ‘While we are on the subject of the man to take over from you, I should like to ask your advice.’

  Simon smiled. ‘That’s a first.’

  ‘What do you think of the idea of my boy Reuben taking over from you?’

  ‘I know nothing about him, not even how old he is. Is he keen?’

  ‘Perhaps you would be ready to take him under your wing, introduce him to some people.’

  ‘They would take a lot more notice if you took him around.’

  ‘What if the two of us … just had an idea. Take him to see that terrible place in Gilgil.’

  ‘Mister Rubai, I’ve been ‘round the area saying my farewells.’

  ‘So I hear. Someone was saying that you were seen visiting some of the farms on the lake.’

  Alarm bells clanged in Simon’s head. So this was what it was all leading up to. And how much more had this ‘someone’ told him? But wily old Simon had prepared an answer for just this situation. If it didn’t work he would give him the real works about supporting the McCall boy and Serena. It was time to step out of the shadows.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. There’s no secret. In all my years as MP I never once went to any of those farms looking for a vote. I had some spare time one afternoon so I called in to introduce myself. They all knew me …’

  ‘All, Simon?’

  ‘They were really friendly, thanked me but said nothing about where their vote would go this time.’

  ‘Did you call in on the McCalls?’

  ‘First stop. That family has suffered so much and their workers even more. All my people, and I could not offer them even the smallest bit of assistance.’

  ‘European thieves. Got what was coming to them. But that’s not our concern here. Let’s organise a meeting for some time next week. I’ll make the arrangements and let you know. You’ll stay for tea?’

  ‘That’s kind, but I have to get Margaret home. She’s promised our daughter that she will babysit tonight.’

  * * *

  ‘Simon, you are trembling.’

  ‘Margaret, in a minute. Let me drive us out of this place before I talk.’

  Simon turned right at the gatehouse and right again at the crossroads. He parked on a verge close to a pair of open wooden gates. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.

  ‘He knows everything. That night I went to Londiani. He has spies everywhere.’

  ‘You mean that someone at the meeting …’

  ‘No, no, no. I would never believe that. Someone on watch outside. Money buys him everything, or so he thinks’

  The handsome old couple sat silently, calculating the fallout of the hour-long visit to the pink palace that Margaret had enjoyed. Ahead of them were a hundred metres of a wide verge, bordered on the house side by a well-built sandstone wall. The grass on the verge had had been cut short and broken up by beds of flowers in full bloom.

  ‘You chose a beautiful place to stop. I wonder what the inside must look like.’

  ‘No coincidence. I know the family who live in this house. I was here not many weeks ago. The Daniels family. Welsh. See the name, “Cartref” means home. You have forgotten?’

  ‘Um, give me a moment …’

  ‘If I said “Simon Mboya”?’

  Margaret clasped her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, Simon!’ Margaret had been associated with the politics of Kenya enough to draw a frightening conclusion.

  All fear and trembling had vanished from Simon’s mind and body.

  ‘I feel safe here. If we went inside now we would be made welcome. I could tell our story and they would look after us. I was here for Simon’s funeral.’

  ‘Are you afraid …?’

  ‘That I could be next? Not afraid, not for me. Annoyed, yes. I missed my chance to spell out - what did Don McCall say - “a few home truths”. But in that place, he is so intimidating. Me a little flyweight against the big bully heavyweight.’

  ‘Are you enjoying this?’

  ‘No, my dear, but my tail is up. The big old lion will not find this dik-dik so easy to catch! And I have the beginnings of a plan.’

  ‘You sound like you’ve been down the Lucky Bar!’

  ‘I’m going back into the city to drop you off at your sister’s place. No arguing. Then I’m going to call in the troops.’

  ‘The troops!’

  ‘Yes, and this time, Mister Rubai, you’re going to be the one with the bloody nose!’

  ‘Is it wise to talk like this?’

  ‘Wise? Perhaps not, but here I am, eighty years old and about to be put out to pasture and, all of a sudden, I find myself in the middle of a big ad
venture!’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  n the day of her ‘second’ wedding, Rebecca McCall woke up in the same bed she had slept in for the whole of her life. For company she had her sisters, Martha and Jane. Her mother knew that her firstborn had done this to please her. Rebecca was the first one up in the village, but she knew that she had company waiting outside. In the last darkness of the night, Maria Kabari had borrowed Hosea’s bike and ridden the short distance to Londiani along a quiet Sunday morning road.

  The two friends greeted each other with a long, close, swaying hug.

  ‘Good morning, Madam McCall!’

  ‘And good morning to you, Mistress Kabari!’

  They sat close together on the flat rock seats that encircled the hearth fire that was at the centre of the small scattering of rondavels. The embers were more grey than red, but there was enough warmth to ward off the chill of early morning.

  ‘Maria, is this wise?’

  ‘Tom was full of worries yesterday and the bride today? Sure it’s wise. The day will open out like a rose. Its perfume will fill the valley and the guests will go home full of hope.’

  ‘Where does all this peace come from? Being with you, it’s … it’s like listening to sweet harmonies.’

  ‘Rebecca, listen to me. Even before I met you, I knew that this day would come.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Good. It’s better that way. That first concert in the Bomas with Toni and Mary, I was there. The moment you stepped onto the stage, did you hear the gasp of wonder? Maybe not, but I tell you that anyone sitting in that place who had the eyes to see could have understood so many things about you.’

  ‘But how can you say this, Maria? And who would be interested in a wash girl from Naivasha?’

  ‘The great teachers talk about vibrations, auras. Hosea smiles when I try to explain. Remember, Julius Rubai and his family were in the front row there. Thomas was further back. Even in that crowd the pain screamed out. What was in your heart was also in your voice. Am I telling a truth here?’

  ‘I am getting married today and you talk about Julius!’