by Carl Hancock
The CNN camera had Abel and Reuben in close focus. Paul Miller and Inspector Caroline moved into camera range. Paul stood in front of Rubai.
‘You’re a bigger fool than I thought. Cold-blooded murder in front of millions of witnesses.’
‘You all saw him put his hand into his pocket. It was obvious what was going to happen.’
‘He was going to shoot you with a letter!’
‘Paul, do I charge him now, or wait until we get to court? This is new territory for me.’
‘Book him, Caroline! We’ll sort out the protocols later.’
The murmuring began. Arms were thrown out, pointing angrily towards the Rubais. Abel, knowing that he had no friends in the crowd, tried to turn to get back into the relative safety of his house but was held firmly by two Nairobi policemen in plain clothes.
‘Let me go, you oafs! Come on! Come on! I can make you rich!’
As he stared around wild-eyed, looking for help, or at least some sympathy, he caught sight of Rebecca McCall kneeling over the body of Simon Nyache and looking straight up at him. In a single moment he recognised a truth that sent a shock of pain through his whole body. In the purity of the compassion revealed in that beautiful face, he was overwhelmed by a sense of his own selfish, filthy arrogance.
Distracted as he was, he did not notice two young men hurrying out of that part of the crowd where the Daniels family was standing.
Eli and Sammy Akamba threw themselves down onto the steps right in front of him, determined not to be moved. He vaguely recognised them. Eli reminded him.
‘Bwana, do you not know us? We are two brothers.’
The bitterness in Sammy’s tone was sharper.
‘We had a younger brother. He was the wild one. Remember that day at the loony hospital in Gilgil? The three of us were wearing clothes that you had bought for us.’
‘The old man down there. You told us to take your car and follow him. Bwana, you did not like to soil your hands.’
‘Bwana, we failed and broke our mother’s heart.’
‘See those people over there? We know them. They are healers. They brought our broken bodies back to life. To life, Bwana, to life! They paid attention to us and tried to bring peace to our minds.’
‘And we came so close, so close. But the wildness was too deep.’
‘Sammy, Eli, I remember you so well. I saw to everything after Saul was taken. Ask your mother. I owed you money. I still owe you money! I can give it to you now, if these gorillas let me have five minutes. Where have you been? I’ve looked everywhere for you.’
‘Bwana, it is good that you are ready to pay your debts. Next time you want to find us, you must look in that place they call hell!’
It was over quickly. Abel was still in the grasp of the policemen when one knife ripped across his throat and the other plunged into his heart.
Epilogue
o the battle was over. The shock of the swift, brutal dispatch stunned everyone who was close enough to see the gush of life-blood as Abel tumbled down the steps of his own home, dragging his guards with him. The head of the falling corpse struck the bottom step, inches from where Rebecca McCall held the body of Simon Nyache in her arms. The sound of the cracking skull sent an electric shock of horror through the length of her body. She feared for the life of her child. She drew the lifeless body of Simon tight to her as though it had the power to protect her against the sight of that leer of terror frozen on the dead face of the man who, in life, had tested the goodness of her heart to its limit.
The single cry of ‘Thomas!’ cut the morning air like the scream of a lion on the point of death, but it was Maria Kabari who was first to her side. She released her grasp on Simon Nyache, lifted her and passed her into the arms of her husband. As he turned to take her away, back to Londiani if that had been possible, he found himself looking into the warm, comforting eyes of Dorothy Daniels.
‘Tom, my car is close by. We’ll take her over to Cartref. There is going to be a lot of noise and activity here soon.’
Messy. Physically, mentally, spiritually messy.
The dark red blood from Abel Rubai’s body was spattered down every step with splashes and spots on Simon Nyache. The blood of the old man made no more than a stain on the coat of his dark suit. Even in that moment of deep crisis, Rebecca was concerned that the blood be cleaned away quickly before liquid congealed into a permanent mark in the surface of the granite. She was led off before she could think of some way to do the job herself.
The doctors who were already gathered around were concerned only with making a last check that the men were dead before having them carried inside and laid head to head under sheets on the large table in the conference room.
The numbing confusion generated by the shock of the two deaths affected everyone close to the entrance, even the CNN crew who had experience of death and destruction in war zones in Asia and Africa. But for those whose minds and bodies had been concentrated in making sure that their defendant be presented on time in front of a judge in a Nairobi court, there was no luxury of taking in events slowly and musing on them in some philosophical, leisurely way.
In particular, Paul Miller and Daniel Komar were landed with a crisis of their own that might prove more dangerous to them than getting a living Abel Rubai down to the city. A whole new series of events lay in wait for them. New thinking and planning were needed and their instincts and anticipation must be accurate if they were to be able to present the truth to the people.
Convincing the legions of Rubai supporters presented a massive, if not impossible, problem. First there had been the kidnapping and now the ritual execution of their beloved leader. Vengeance would be the top item on their agenda.
Blood must have blood, if possible in a public way.
Up there in the relative safety of Karen, issues were being dealt with competently. The Daniels family knew how to deal with everything associated with the dead men. Two policemen were guarding Reuben Rubai in a small room at the back of the house where he could carry on screaming out his grief and his curses and not be heard in the front of the house.
Maria Kabari sat alone with the Akamba brothers. She felt no danger from the two powerful young men, although she had just watched them make a savage attack on a defenceless man. Yes, there was a kind of madness in them, but she was confident that the heat of their passion would cool and they would return to themselves and perhaps be ready to unburden themselves to her.
Outside, quick decisions were being made.
Daniel asked the CNN producer to stop transmitting pictures but to use her experience and judgement about continuing to film.
Paul’s first call was to Mary Mtambo.
‘Have you seen the television pictures on CNN?’
‘No. They are not going to be shown inside Kenya until this evening.’
‘Mary, listen to this …’
Half an hour later a newscast went out that the trial of Abel Rubai would not be going ahead that day. The speaker of the parliament had been asked to call a meeting of the house for noon with as many members present as possible. He was given only a partial reason for the request.
Daniel had a sister living close to the Rubai farm in the north.
‘Susan, ask the reverend to make a casual call on Sally Rubai and her family. Ask him to take his wife. Give me his mobile number. We will phone when we know more.’
* * *
Hosea, with Caroline at his side, drove one of the borrowed police cars into the city. The other passengers were Paul Miller and Daniel Komar. They were surprised and delighted that their journey was totally without incident, an easier drive than on a normal weekday morning.
By noon more than a hundred and fifty members had gathered in the house. The excited hubbub in the chamber was not calmed when the speaker announced that members would be addressed by the leaders of the Serena Party. He silenced the shouts of protest and outrage with a threat to call off the meeting. Paul began.
‘Honou
rable members, my name is Paul Miller and this is my colleague, Daniel Komar. We know that you are not happy about our presence in this chamber today. We have some important news, but we will be brief in relating it. Daniel will explain.’
‘You will probably know that the proposed trial of Abel Rubai will not be taking place today. Paul has something to read to you.’
‘I have here a letter written last night by a member of this chamber, Simon Nyache, the representative for Nakuru South. It is addressed to Mister Abel Rubai, whom I note is not a member of this parliament.
‘Dear Abel, we have known each other for many years now, most of that time as good friends. You are a man of intelligence and energy. When you became financial adviser to our late president, I considered that this country was fortunate. You guided our country through many difficult times. You grew more powerful and, in time, in my humble opinion, too powerful. I fear that you became more and more estranged from the interests of our country to the point where you, with your small army of paid men, have seen it as satisfactory to run Kenya as your personal fiefdom. Rubai’s interests took priority over the interests of the state.
‘That is why you are facing trial tomorrow. For the sake of our people, I hope you will be found guilty. Abel, you have misused your gifts. What a great leader you could have been!
‘On a personal level, I know that I have displeased you and you have seen fit to punish me by taking from me my beloved wife, Margaret, and my granddaughters. Please, God, they are still alive! So, in hope I beg of you, once more, to restore them to the family. I solemnly offer my own life in their place. Take this worthless thing from me in any way you choose. Take it now!’
There was a pause. When Daniel judged the moment to be right he looked ‘round the chamber very slowly and went on.
‘This evening, make sure that you are near a television set that shows CNN news. Let me explain. Four hours ago, Simon Nyache stood in front of Abel Rubai. He reached into his pocket to take this letter out. As you will see, before he could do so, Abel Rubai, in front of millions of witnesses, drew a gun and fired two bullets into the old man’s frail body.’
The chamber erupted. The shouts of anger and outrage drowned each other into a chaotic roar of noise. All over the chamber fights broke out between doubters and believers. Order was only restored by unusual but effective action by the speaker. He fired one shot into the floor and another into the ceiling. While the members took refuge behind their desks, Paul moved forward with his arms outstretched in a gesture of supplication.
‘My fellow Kenyans, I have one more piece of news, one more important thing to say. Abel Rubai will not face a court today, nor on any other day. He, too, is dead. Abel Rubai is dead.’
A moment of silence and a collective gasp of shock were followed by a wide range of personally instinctive reactions. Most KANU members were on their feet hollering, jumping up and down and waving their arms about. Others sat quietly grieving, but Daniel and Paul were taken aback that not one member was pressing them to explain how the great man had died and by whose hand. Perhaps they were preoccupied with working on how the cataclysmic event would affect their own lives. They seemed to have lost interest in the messenger. Paul turned to Daniel and shrugged.
‘Why were we so worried? The king is dead. Long live self-interest!’
In the confusion, Paul and Daniel slipped out by a back door and were hurried away from the city centre by Hosea Kabari.
Next morning there were thousands of wananchi on the streets, but what took place out there could not be described as riots set off by the death of a beloved leader. Long rows of young men and women stomped down Uhuru Highway and into Kenyatta Avenue, smiling and chanting rhythmic war cries. But there was no fire, no passion. No cars were turned over, no shops looted. Most of the marchers had watched the evening broadcast on CNN news. As they sat in front of their screens, any anger they felt had been directed at Rubai. In the morning, when they had read the list of charges against him as republished in The Nation, there was a ring of truth about them that they had not acknowledged when they had read them before.
Three short weeks later and the country had settled into a kind of peace. The people of Naivasha had returned to work, many of them on the lakeside flower farms. It had become a custom for families to take evening strolls to the edge of town to check on the progress in the build of their new hospital.
Sally Rubai had taken her family back to their home in Karen. She grieved at the loss of Abel. Every day, visitors came to offer their sympathy, many of them giving well-intentioned advice on how she might cope with the shock of her loss. Most were surprised with the new widow’s composure which they saw as some kind of reward for her life of prayer.
Sally herself hardly dared to admit to herself that with Abel’s passing, some tensions in her life were lifted. She no longer had to pretend about certain aspects of her married life. Abel’s secretiveness, particularly in the last year, had troubled her. She had been afraid to bring her suspicions out into the open. It was becoming more difficult to play the role of the innocent, trusting wife. She looked forward with a kind of hope, surprised that she felt no guilty feelings about this readiness to let herself be changed. She thought many times about her up-country friends. Perhaps one day she might be able to visit Londiani. She sent a very large cheque to her much loved Rebecca for her new hospital.
The hospital fund administered by Barney Miller was drawing money from all over the world. His daughter, Debbie, took a year off from her studies in Boston to supervise the build of her design. On a short visit home she had taken Lydia Smith and helped her with the formalities of beginning her nursing training in the hospital on the university campus. Jim Sawyer had helped his three Welsh friends to build a chapel next to the new hospital, Capel Dewi Sant.
The first baby born in the new maternity wing was later baptised Stephen Alexander McCall.
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