by Ireland, Tom
'I don't know. We've got to do something. Sirra, what are your thoughts?'
'He is my son. I would give my life to save him. It is killing me to see him in this state. I have thought and prayed, prayed and thought. Binta and Ebou have tried but we do not know the words he needs to hear. She lies here, in African soil, from which all human life sprang, but that is no comfort. My son had worked hard in this village to make a home for her long before she arrived, even before he knew she would arrive. And now he sees no reason to live. He knows that I am well provided for and that my old age will be comfortable, God willing. He has no purpose, and that kills a man.'
Rachel was thoughtful. She remembered a kiss. She had supposed that he might well die, and she'd coaxed a kiss from him. But it was his girl who had died, and he seemed intent on following her into the darkness. Sirra was staring at her.
'I would welcome you into the family, Rachel. You are brave and resourceful and strong. Your parents are good people; they knew my husband before I met him, and they saved the life of my son and gave him back to me. They are most welcome here. But my son is slipping away from me. Are you strong enough and wise enough to save him?'
'Sirra, you're putting a heavy burden on my daughter. She's too young, maybe.' Andrew spoke, looking worried. If Jane, who had been unbelievably strong and determined, had failed, what chance had his daughter, an innocent abroad, of saving the young man?
Binta joined the discussion.
'Sirra, my chief, Andrew, Lizzie, Miss Rachel; we in the village are sure that Ed-Lamin will die if a miracle does not save him. Miss Rachel, I know you do not have magic powers but if you are by his side he will not be alone. Just be there; you have saved his life once and you may do so now; but if you do not try it will not happen. Please, I love him as if he was my own son.'
'I can't help him. He needs some sort of specialist. Perhaps he needs detaining, what's it called? Sectioning? Something to stop him being a danger to himself. Perhaps sedatives might help? I'm only a girl. I've never had a boy friend. I don't know about boys. Boys don't like me. I've only ever been kissed once and …'
'And it was my son who kissed you?'
'Only after I begged him. I just wanted to know what it would be like?'
'Rachel, my son does not need chemicals or help from strangers. You do not have to do anything; it's harder than that. You simply have to be. To be there with him, to be there for him. If it is to be that he recovers, and if you are there by his side when he recovers, we will see what happens. Be there. Be there, but only if you want to be. Do you?' Sirra gazed at the young woman, and saw her fear. 'Rachel, you have the strength. You sailed a tiny boat here. You held the lives of your parents, and Jane's life too, in your hands. You once held the life of my son; he was safe with you. You have strength. You have strength to succeed, and you may have the strength to fail, if that happens. I pray that you will not fail, we all do. But be there, with him and for him and we'll see.'
Henry, Rachel's brother, had joined the group and listened to the debate. He nodded agreement;
'Sirra's right. You can do this, Sis. Ed-Lamin's a bright young man. He'll find a dozen reasons to reject any advice he's offered. His world's just ended; he lost his child, his woman, his way of life. Somehow he endured. But his world's changed. It's good that he's here, where his life began; maybe it can begin again. There's a quotation I vaguely remember - "Everyman, I will go with thee and be thy guide …" I don't know the rest, but it implies just that - be there. It doesn't say anything about yakking your stupid head off with so-called advice. Just be there. You'll be good at it Sis, you are the strong, silent one in this family.'
Rachel felt the bile rise in her throat. What was this strength that everyone but her could detect? If her boat was not beneath the waters of The Gambia River she would have been on it, sailing away to some happier place. Would there ever be another boat? She felt stranded, more alone than ever before. And then the thought came to her; perhaps this might be a little like Ed-Lamin was feeling? Just a little: he had lost the most important humans in his life; she had lost a boat. But that boat had been her world; her place of safety. Jane had been his world, a world he had hoped to populate with their children, and now that would never be. She walked out of the compound and down the sandy trail to the river, out to the end of the jetty. This was where Ed-Lamin had come, and where Binta had found him. It was a peaceful place, a resort. There was not another human being in sight, no sign of a hut even. But moored below the jetty, half in and half out of the water, was a boat. A canoe, hollowed out of the trunk of a tree, a boat so delicate it might have blown away, but the design was that of an art-work, a link, frail as it was, to a tradition dating back into pre-history. A design that had reached perfection long before the modern world was born, still functional, a tool to earn someone a living. She jumped down from the jetty and landed, ankle deep in mud, alongside the little craft. She could build a boat, she was sure of it. Maybe Ed-Lamin would join her in the task of creation. Maybe, maybe, maybe and perhaps and maybe again. She would try. She rinsed her feet and walked slowly back to the compound.
Rachel gathered together the tea-making equipment. She filled the brazier with charcoal and coaxed it into life. She filled the little teapot with tea and water and sugar and set it on the heat to boil. She washed the tin tray and the two glasses and settled down to watch the water boil. She had seen Sirra and Binta make tea; there was a ritual to follow. She noticed Ed-Lamin sitting at the far end of the veranda, just sitting and staring. What was the correct way to serve the tea? Would he even notice if she got it wrong? The water boiled; she poured some of the brew into a glass then poured it back and to from one glass to the other a dozen times. About half the original amount spilled in the process. She wondered if she should top it up but decided against doing so, it probably tasted dreadful anyway. She placed the half full glass on the tray and carried it to where Ed-Lamin was sitting. She paused in front of him and offered the tea with a little bow. Slowly, he reached out a hand; slowly he took the glass and sipped the contents. He drank half, then offered the remaining liquid to her. She swallowed, and resisted the impulse to vomit; it tasted foul. Confused and shamed, she turned back to her place; she saw he was watching her. Binta joined her, poured a little into a glass, tasted and pulled a face.
'Perhaps more sugar? Perhaps a little mint? Perhaps we re-boil it and pour and pour and pour it many times?' She did not offer to do the job herself but smiled encouragement. She was aware that Ed-Lamin was watching them. Rachel set to work again. Eventually a half-decent brew emerged. Again Rachel offered him a drink and this time he took and drank all of it.
''Enough, sister, enough for one day. You have made a start, you have made a plan and it has gone well. He drank; he looked at you; that is a good day's work. He has gone inside the house to rest, perhaps to sleep. Do not rush; the rest of your life deserves to be started slowly. See, Sirra has been watching; she smiles. Here are your mother and father; say nothing, but smile. You are entitled to smile.'
'Today Madam Lizzie cooks for us; she has been to the market and bought rice and fish and onions. I have helped with tomatoes and spices and there will be a fine meal to eat. I will serve it out into the bowl and we will all eat.' Sirra was indeed smiling. Lizzie had been a competent pupil and Rachel had been left alone to work out whatever plan she had decided on. Henry had returned to his laboratory in Bakau, Andrew had been working on Ebou's accounts and had been offered, and accepted, a job as clerk in the office. The family was settling into Gambian life, a little tentively but with determination. Rachel did not join in the chat but her father noticed that she was drawing what looked like the plan of a boat in the sand near her feet.
24
It must have been, thought Lizzie, the slowest courtship on the planet. The villagers wondered at the slow development of what might become a romance. Rachel seemed to have decided that not only did they have "Worlds enough and time" but that "Time's winged chariots" were n
ot going to arrive and spoil things. She made contact with Ed-Lamin perhaps once a day; a glass of tea, a smile, the return of an article of clothing which had been washed and dried and ironed, some days no contact at all.
On one day they had shared the jetty, he at one end, she at the other, just sitting, gazing into space. It happened that they walked back from the river to the compound at the same time but they did not speak. Their eyes might have followed the flight of the same flock of migrant birds, but nothing detectable was made of it.
After a month he was seen to pick up and return to her a book she had, perhaps accidentally, dropped; much was made of this in the darkness of bedrooms in several village houses. On another occasion, when the piped water supply failed, it was remarked that Rachel was the only woman Ed-Lamin helped to draw water from the well; he even carried a bucket full of it to the kitchen for her. She affected indifference; he affected invisibility.
Andrew and Lizzie, together with Henry, speculated on the likely outcome of such a tenuous relationship. Henry was himself starting to notice that there was a female of the species; a bright, intelligent Gambian Ph.D. student who occasionally shared his research. He also eventually noticed that she was beautiful, an attribute he had only recently discovered. He pretended to himself for a while it was her brain he admired but after a joint visit to a village, purely for furthering their research, beyond Janjanbureh where they had to share accommodation, he dared to remark on some other of her features and was delighted by her response. She proposed a relationship, he proposed marriage and within a month they had moved in together - after suitable and proper negotiation with her father, of course. Kola nuts changed hands; a bride price was discussed; a bed and several cooking pots were purchased and handed over; a bride price of many thousands of dalasi was agreed. It was most satisfactory. There was a marriage ceremony, satisfactorily celebrated in a long and very noisy motor cavalcade from Banjul to the market place at Malinding. The villagers wondered whether Ed-Lamin and Rachel were even on the same planet.
Eventually though people were beginning to speak of them in the same breath. The couple spoke together, first about trivia - weather, the flight of birds, the ways to catch fish and such. Lizzie and Sirra and Binta held their breath.
Rachel was the first person Ed looked for in the morning; he was the last person
she spoke to before he slept. Eventually they were seen to take long walks, usually down to the river. There they sat, close together, dangling feet over the water. Sometimes he placed his arm round her shoulders; it became natural for him to help her to her feet. She did not protest; she smiled, and occasionally took his hand as they walked back to the compound. Eyes watched, heads nodded, knowing smiles were exchanged. One evening, as light faded, he kissed her. The next night she was in his bed. They seemed to be the only people in the village who were surprised by this outcome.
25
'Please don't cry.'
'I'm not.'
'What's this, rain?'
'Rachel, you know why I cry, you must do. You know why I still breathe, why I go on eating and drinking and living. You know who I grieve for and you know who I live for. You're as much part of me as this, this face or this arm. You're not Jane, you couldn't be; I don't want you to be. You're Rachel, the girl who saved my life twice.'
'Ed-Lamin; shut up. Please don't see me as some sort of Florence Darling. Is that the right name? Grace Nightingale? Perhaps I should go back to school? Could you be my teacher?'
'Me? Teach you? What could I ever teach you?'
'You taught me some very nice things last night.'
'Erm ...'
'Erm? Is that all you can say? Erm? I think I could get to like Erm. I think you could be a very good teacher. I'd read about it. The Internet's full of it but the practical demonstration last night was, was, Erm … I'm going to blush. Shut me up. Kiss me. Thank you; that's the twelfth time.'
'You're counting?'
'Of course; first time was on the boat just before I threw you overboard; once again the night before last and nine times last night and once again just now. Total, twelve. I failed maths but I can count kisses.'
'What do we do now? I want to tell the world, well, I want to tell the family …'
'Can we have a shower first? I'm hot and sticky. Nice sticky, but …'
'Rachel, you can't go round saying you're hot. Nice girls don't tell people they're
hot and they certainly don't tell people that they're hot and sticky!'
'They don't even tell the person who made them hot and sticky?'
'Certainly not. They may, perhaps, drag that person into the shower with them and demand that person washes them nicely and dries them carefully. That might just be considered acceptable.'
'Perhaps, in the interests of saving water, that person might possibly be encouraged to make them even more hotter and stickier and then have the shower?'
'Rachel!'
'I was only thinking of saving the planet, and conservation of limited resources and …'
'And what?'
'And I'd like us to do in daylight what we did last night after you blew the candle out. Please. I want to watch us making me hot and sticky. I want to watch us making love. Then we can have a shower together and then we can go and tell the world.'
'Tell the world that we've had a shower?'
'Um, possibly they'll be able to work that out for themselves.'
'Was that an "um" not an "erm"?'
'I'll let you know. After my lesson.'
26
First Chairman Geoffrey Bibby, Lord Protector of the United Republic of England, stared out of his office window at the River Thames. Nothing moved. Nobody was going anywhere, not without his permission. Three months in office. Twelve weeks of total authority. The country cleansed of immigrants; the Church disestablished; parliament suspended; the Royal Family sent into exile.
Suddenly it was all so simple. All the years of plotting, planning, spying, betrayal, fear and suspicion had finally paid off. It had been all worthwhile. There was no opposition - all gone, fled or dead. The population down to forty million, all hard-working white self-sufficient citizens; not a foreign trace of a face among them. State Education was a thing of the past; the National Health Service was freely available to all who had the means to pay for it. The few criminals who escaped execution were devoting their lives to voluntary work, unpaid of course. Slavery? Of course not; rehabilitation. Work or die. Docks, airports and railways had closed, redundant in this bright new age of total self-sufficiency. Trade with foreigners? All untrustworthy thieves. England stands alone!
Chairman Bibby snapped his fingers. Theresa tiptoed into the room, stood waiting by the door.
'Come in. It's time for your reward. Here, now. Good girl. No, you can keep your clothes on for the moment. Now, what was it I promised you?'
'My lord, you promised me my freedom.'
'So I did. So I did. There was just one more task, wasn't there? I don't think I explained it to you, did I, my lover?'
'Sir, you said you would explain it to me when the time was right.' Would he kill her? Please God, let him do it quickly. He was smiling. He waved her to a chair opposite his.
'Now, there is a foul rumour that must be laid to rest. There is a whisper that my late daughter, poor Jane, gave birth to a coloured child before she went mad and died. Have you heard this?'
'No, my lord. I am sorry to hear of your loss.'
'No matter. Now, listen carefully. It is a fact that poor Jane was pregnant. Her late mother and I took her to the clinic and I learned that she gave birth there. It was supposed that the child was still born, but Jane insisted it was healthy and that lie has survived, even if the bastard did not. You, Theresa, must discover the truth. The child must not survive; it could do the State great damage if this rumour were to live. Rid me of this lie and I will guarantee you free passage to any part of the world you wish to visit. Truly: you need not doubt my word. In your way you have been of
service to me.' He opened a drawer in the huge desk and threw a sealed envelope to her.
'Memorise the information in this. There's also a Warrant that authorises you to work for me for one more month. There's also payment for you - two years wages and as much again for any expenses you incur. When you have evidence of the child's death call the number I wrote on the envelope and record a one-word message: "Completed". You can then leave the country by any means you choose; you will not be prevented. You can strip off for me one last time. He was almost gentle.
'Get out now. Walk out naked; I want to remember that arse. Oh, send in the girl you'll see waiting on the other side of that door - she's your replacement. Give her a few words of advice, will you? I don't want to waste too much time breaking her in. Good girl.'
Theresa gathered her clothing and the letter. She curtseyed to her master and backed out of the door. The child sitting in a huge armchair stared at her, wide eyed.
'He's waiting for you, love. Don't ever keep him waiting. Whatever he tells you to do, do it. Never question him. Try not to cry; that excites him. He'll hurt you. You know he's going to fuck you?' The girl nodded. Perhaps she had been drugged. Theresa hoped she had. It wasn't much to hope for. The child stood up and walked slowly through the door, ready to meet the Lord Protector of England.
Theresa dressed, then made her way out of the palace. Doors were opened for her, footmen bowed. A taxi was waiting outside the gate.
'Where to, my lady? Do you want to go to the hotel?' What hotel would that be, she wondered.
'Yes, to the hotel, please.' The hotel whispered quiet quality. A servant carried a case from the taxi to the reception desk. Her suite was on the fourth floor, overlooking a park. The same servant carried her case, offered to unpack for her, assured her that the hotel would be proud to render any necessary service. She was again addressed as "My Lady."