Girl with the Golden Voice

by Carl Hancock

  ‘Julius has just met, correction, caught sight of your daughter-in-law to be.’

  ‘Not another one!’

  ‘I just missed speaking to her. She was on her way back to school. But I found out a lot about her. And, Dad, do you believe in omens? What about this? She lives on Londiani Farm, Naivasha. Remember those two trucks? Rebecca, Rebecca Kamau. Perfect name, eh? She lives in the farm village. The McCalls pay for her to go to Santa Maria …’

  ‘Londiani? Really?’

  Abel squeezed himself into his comfortable corner and stared out of the window. He shut himself off from the conversation and let his mind click into flower mode. Omens he believed in, certainly. Tomorrow morning he would start things moving.

  Meanwhile patient Mama was reminding her firstborn of the emails and phone calls they kept receiving from him in England.

  ‘I can’t remember any of the names right now, but you seem to change your mind about once a fortnight. English, Americans.’

  ‘This is different. How many times you told us in Bible reading that God can change the way a man thinks in a couple of seconds?’

  ‘Julius!’

  ‘But isn’t God interested in happy marriages any more?’

  ‘Of course He is, but at least speak to the girl first!’

  It was five weeks later that he got to hear Rebecca’s speaking voice. This time, after a concert at the Bomas Centre, there was a reception for artists and special guests. Confident, infatuated Julius did enough talking for three. Rebecca was shy and unwilling to meet his eager gaze He liked that. After half an hour’s excited bombardment and showing off he managed to persuade her to let him take her out to the cinema. She had only agreed on condition that Mary came as well. He liked that, too. This event marked the beginning of a wooing that had been going on intermittently for five years. There had been lots of little distractions for him during this time, but it was the idea and fact of Rebecca that he returned to time and again.

  In those years Abel Rubai had been no more successful in his quest. But Father was one who enjoyed the long game, the sparring. He would win in the end. Julius had made a recent discovery that had shocked him briefly and then set the wells of anger rising in him.

  ‘Bloody McCall! That ace number one bastard! When will I get him off my back for good?’

  Julius’s sources were reliable, especially the two who worked on the farm. Ten thousand shillings had bought a lot of information from this pair. A couple of nights of heavy drinking and he had it worked out. His confidence began to rise again.

  Rebecca owed the McCall family a lot and when the young bwana started to fool around it wasn’t easy for a girl. She was naive. He had seen that for himself. She was flattered by the white man boss’ s attention. ‘She don’t understand the way of it.’ This was a case of misguided loyalty. He would put her straight.

  So the hunt began again.

  Maura took Sally into town to visit the newly opened home for the street children of Naivasha. Sally had just made a two million profit on a resale of public land to the Eldoret Community Council. First thing she did after they showed her ‘round the home was to tithe on the income, a two hundred thousand shilling cheque handed over to the American Peace Corps man who was overseeing the project, Charlie Keys, knew the correct words and gestures for a hearty thank you. Sally had enjoyed the chance to be a friend to God and Mammon, both at the same time.

  Abel enjoyed another skirmish with Alex. It was a pleasure to do business with an honest man. It gave him the chance to play the role of the passionate, straight-talking patriot. He was sure that he was getting closer to getting a piece of the lakeside flower market. Perhaps even today.

  ‘You see, Alex, there are too many Europeans owning land around this lake.’

  ‘Mr Rubai, let me remind you that I am a Kenya citizen, too.’

  His tone was deliberately and stuffily patronising. Abel loved it.

  ‘Hey, what’s this Rubai bullshit? It’s Abel or Nathaniel if you like.’ The chuckle caused the Rubai paunch to wobble with mirth. ‘Kenya citizen, Kenya passport, they don’t qualify you as part of the landscape. How long you been here?’

  ‘Born here. You know that. Born here, just like you. My grandfather was with Delamere when he came down out of the desert. Before the First World War.’

  ‘See, that’s what I mean. First World War. European talk. See, my folks been here ten thousand years, maybe ten million.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Your people robbed my people. My grandfather told me about that railway …’

  ‘The one this government chooses to neglect.’

  ‘We never wanted it. Grampa was in the raiding parties running down those Nandi Hills to pull up the track.’

  ‘Yes. Perhaps that’s why they called it the lunatic railway.’

  ‘So you will sell? How much land you got here?’

  ‘The same amount as when you asked me the last time and the time before. Four thousand acres, one thousand down here, the rest up in the hills. None for sale, as usual.’

  ‘Sell me the rough stuff, grazing land for the dik-dik and the zebra. I’ll give you good price. You keep the good land. Grow your roses. No problems.’

  Tom was playing his part in the hosting of the guests. Simply by introducing Lucy to Julius he had sent the spirits of the Rubai son soaring. On their walk out to Crescent Island Julius became very animated. He stood tall and took long strides. He was out to impress this blonde. In a matter of seconds he had played the Eton College card, making inquiries about possible mutual acquaintances. Next he was boasting about his ambition to win the East African Safari Rally, about the money the family were channelling into new film studios in Nairobi.

  Tom had been hearing tales of personal brilliance from Julius Rubai for years, mostly in the time they were boys together in Pembroke House. They had never got on. On leaving the school one of Julius’s more pleasant thoughts was the realisation that he would no longer have to put up with that little shit from Naivasha, that cool dude pose that made McCall so popular with staff and pupils.

  He was especially glad to be going after the incident that bubbled up in his last days in the school. It had begun on the evening of the day when the Common Entrance exams ended. Julius was very high on exhilaration. First, serious schoolwork was over for the year; second, half-term began next morning and third, for Julius alone, a bonus. Papa was taking him off to England. He was visiting his new school. He would not shut up about it.

  ‘Well, even you guys know it’s the best school in the world.’

  ‘Yeah, Jules, but last week you said you didn’t know what school you were going to.’

  The sixth formers were sitting around on the beds in the head boy’s dormitory area. Pete Potts, the bright spark of the year group, threw in another spanner.

  ‘I know for a fact that to get into Eton, your name has to be put down when you’re born.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, they told us that.’

  ‘And you’re still going over?’

  ‘Sure. There’ll be no problem for me.’

  Julius began to read from a prospectus celebrating the glories of the place. He was ready to take bets.

  ‘No thickos in there, Jules. If it was Pottsy now …’

  ‘I’m not thick. And they like class.’

  ‘The trouble with you, Jules, is that you believe what your family tell you about yourself.’

  ‘Let’s face it, fellahs, you’re just jealous …’

  ‘Oh, bollocks, can’t we cut it now? I’ve been looking forward to this night for ages.’

  But Julius could not cut it. Next day his father took him to England. He got into the school.

  ‘My dad sat across from the headmaster. He just slid this cheque across his desk … Hakuna Matata! He showed us ‘round the place himself. So, it’s nothing but the best for me. None of those second rate places like some I could mention.’

  The shower queue had started. Six at a time, two minutes eac
h. If a sixth former came along he got to cheat the queue. Tom had just hung his towel on the rail and was about to step into the shower. A hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

  ‘You’re not in the sixth form yet, McCall!’

  ‘And you’re not in Eton yet. I’ve hung my towel up. You’re too late.’

  ‘Watch it, McCall! You could suffer some serious damage here.’

  ‘Get your hand off my shoulder.’

  The queue of boys, naked except for the towels wrapped around their torsos like kikois, was growing. They started jostling to get a good view of what was going on in the shower room. A small, pale third year slipped off downstairs in search of the duty master.

  ‘I’m going in front of you, McCall. You know the rules.’

  ‘Yes, I do and you’re trying to break one.’

  ‘It’s your last chance!’

  ‘To get your hand off me.’

  Tom wrenched his shoulder from Julius’s grasp The elder boy’s hard nails drew blood from the younger one’s flesh. Tom, stung to fury, swung a right to the ribs and a left to the jaw.

  The crowd watched in total silence as the blur of fists flew about. A tall, naked black body and a shorter, muscular white body bumped and thrashed, thudded against walls and sinks. There was no standing off, no science. The sound of heavy, panting breath rose and rose. They were reaching the first levels of exhaustion. The fight was ended not by a bell but by the strong arms of Jack Read, the deputy head. Two senior boys were late for supper that night but very early to bed.

  Twelve years on, Tom was still not interested enough in Julius Rubai to try to work the shifts of his thoughts and moods. On other occasions when Papa Rubai came to press for a sale Julius was dragged along, sullen and uninterested. Today Julius was wilfully, irrationally optimistic. McCall had got himself a white woman. Perhaps soon there would be the announcement of an engagement, better still, a summer wedding. Far more important for him, he knew that Rebecca was seeing McCall and this girl, this up-country type white woman together. She would understand the truth at last. In the end the English always do the sensible thing.

  Euphoria loosened his tongue. He was ready to try out his truth.

  ‘It’s so good to see you together like this.’

  Tom was puzzled by the remark but not suspicious. Rebecca had not whispered a word to him about Rubai’s intentions.

  ‘Do you think you’ll like living here, Lucy?’

  ‘I’m just on holiday, you know. I’ve got a job in London.’

  ‘I love this place, the lake, everything. I’m reading a book about wildlife. Birds, all that stuff. I really want to know … well, the difference between a woodpecker and a hawk, or something. Remember Rob Hunt up in Pembroke? He was our housemaster, Lucy. I used to think he was a bit crazy. Out before sunrise with his binoculars, wandering about the playing fields and the golf course.

  ‘Saw forty species in an hour. Come on, you boys. You’ll be late for breakfast.’

  Tom was becoming more and more sure that Julius had been drinking. This affable, expansive side was something new in him.

  They stopped to watch a family of giraffe lope their way across a patch of open ground up ahead. The creatures had scarcely passed out of sight when Julius became more bold.

  ‘I’ve heard talk of an engagement,’ he lied.

  ‘What are you on about? Engagement? What do you mean?’

  ‘I was in the Muthaiga last week. Someone at the next table mentioned the name Londiani and … well, you know how it is. I half heard. That was the problem. Summer wedding. I put two and two together.’ He gestured with his hands to suggest confusion.

  Tom moved in very quickly. ‘You’re so full of crap, Rubai. You always were!’

  Lucy was taken aback to see the level of anger between the former schoolmates rise so quickly. She moved up the slope towards the airstrip, leaving Tom and Julius facing one another across a rather fat log.

  ‘Hang a minute, McCall. Any one can make a mistake. Don’t get so worked up. I was hoping I’d be able to congratulate you.’

  Tom held himself in check. A deep sigh cleared some of the mounting anger from his system.

  ‘All right. Only … no engagement, no marriage. Right? And don’t apologise. It would only make things worse.’

  Julius was undaunted. ‘I’m hoping to have some good news of my own soon, marriage-wise.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Tom was about to follow Lucy when Julius went on.

  ‘Tell you the truth, I’ve got your family to thank for a lot.’

  Tom looked across the log very intently. Julius was avoiding eye contact. He was rubbing his hands together nervously. ‘Well, your grandparents sponsored her.’

  Tom felt a cold, sharp pain attacking his gut. No, no, this could not be happening. Julius was gathering confidence again.

  ‘In the kind of life she’ll have she’ll be meeting some pretty powerful people. Five years with the nuns, just the thing she needed. I think she ought to do more singing. Train that voice.’

  Tom was hanging on with difficulty. ‘Just tell me. Let me be sure. Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Rebecca Kamau, of course, your house girl. You know well enough.’

  At the sound of that name, Lucy turned sharply to look at Tom’s face. The expression was calm, but he leaned forward and pointed his head aggressively. ‘So I take it that you’ve already asked the lady to marry you.’

  ‘What’s with “the lady”, McCall?’ There was a distinct slur in the voice. Lucy picked that up even from twenty metres away. Tom was past caring about tones of voice.

  ‘Anyway, McCall, from what I’ve heard, you don’t treat Rebecca much like a lady.’

  ‘And just what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Just that I heard …’

  ‘From the same people at the next table in the Muthaiga?’

  ‘You always had too much to say for yourself up in Pembroke. You’d better watch your mouth.’

  ‘Don’t threaten me, Rubai!’

  ‘I know a lot of powerful people.’

  ‘Yes, and my daddy can fight your daddy and my brothers can run faster than your whole family. Get real, Rubai. You haven’t asked that lady to marry you. And, if you ever get up enough guts to do it, she’ll laugh in your face.’

  Two hundred metres as the fish eagle flies, in a shaded part of the garden the papas were still exchanging views in a forthright but civilised manner. By the time Sally and Maura returned, the husbands were on to the malt whisky. When Tom and Julius joined the group in the garden, all four parents saw that no warmth had filtered down to the next generation. Tom made polite apologies especially to Lucy and disappeared indoors. Julius took up an offer and joined the fathers at the whisky. He ignored his mother’s disapproving look but stopped only long enough to down his drink at an acceptably decent speed. Then, with a very polite thank you to host and hostess, he pleaded business in Nairobi for an early departure. No tea and cakes for him.

  * * *

  Rebecca was in her bedroom brushing her hair and listening to Jane read out a letter from their grandmother in Malindi. Both girls looked up when a shadow suddenly blocked out the light from the front door.

  The shadow moved and, without invitation, joined the girls in the bedroom. At the sight of the perspiring visitor, Jane dropped the letter and ran off through the front door in the direction of Big House.

  ‘On my way home. Papa’s buying land from the McCalls. Couldn’t be impolite and not call in.’

  Rebecca smiled and nodded shyly. She had not seen Julius for several months and was glad for that. Being in his presence always made her uneasy. On his breath she detected a smell that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

  Unbidden, he sat on the only other upright chair. His eyes darted around the room without focusing on anything in particular.

  ‘I hope your parents are well.’ It was an effort for her to be polite. The brushing was going on much longer than planned.


  ‘Fine, fine. I’m the one with the problem. You are the only one who can help me out.’

  Nothing in her expression gave him a hint of the inward groan that these last words had given rise to in her mind.

  ‘Just spent an hour with McCall, Bwana Thomas.’ He managed a whining, fawning tone for the name. ‘You remember this person?’

  She put down her brush and let her hands fall limply to her lap. He misunderstood the gesture and detected an opportunity.

  ‘You believe me, now. This Lucy will be the big woman over there soon enough. They need a new crop of white kids. Colonials, they stick together. This is how the English do it. I’ve seen it. And the McCalls are very English. Don’t let those Kenya passports fool you. Yeah, sticking together, that’s what we should be doing.’

  Rebecca was taking long, steady breaths, her face a blank, the expression of a person who was being reluctantly forced to confront an uncomfortable truth. But what he saw as resignation was revulsion. She wanted him to get out of her bedroom, her home, to leave her alone.

  ‘Please, I want you …’

  ‘Rebecca, you know that I love you more than anything in the world.’

  Even in her rising panic, she noticed that there was not even a tinge of tenderness in his voice as he spoke those words. Tears welled up.

  ‘Rebecca, I know you may be hurting a bit just now. But I want you to be my wife.’

  She lifted her hand to mask her eyes but said nothing. A moment she had long dreaded was with her. Her revulsion deepened, but she knew that she could no longer hide her feelings under a cover of silence. She wanted to rush out, to feel the clean air against her flesh. She had to stay, to make her stand, to speak.

  ‘No, Julius, it would not work …’

  There was an instant and massive shift in his feelings. The old frustration rose in him with the speed of hot volcanic magma. Anger was rising uncontrollably.

  ‘So the white witchdoctor …’

  ‘No one has anything to do with that answer but myself.’

  Refusal sharpened his hunger to possess her. The effects of the alcohol tipped the balance.

  With two swift movements he had kicked shut the bedroom door and pulled her onto the bed. He pressed down her arms and pushed his wet face down onto hers. Wrenching her left arm under his right knee left him free to tear at her clothes.