by Carl Hancock
He knew well enough that chances were small for a rare happy ending. The only time he could remember when it happened was Tom McCall’s miraculous escape from that hut in the Kakamega Forest. ‘Rubai.’ Maura was certain that he was behind it. She had not wavered from this belief since the moment she heard that he had been taken. Big men in dark suits were a Rubai trademark. The brazen bastard made no effort to hide his handiwork.
There were two possibilities. Simon was already dead or he was being held in a safe hideaway awaiting his fate. It was totally incomprehensible that this could happen to a great healer of the poorest, most disadvantaged people in the country. Big money drew out the brutes and savage bullies.
What could he be going through at that very moment? The pain and the frustration that he was suffering himself was unbearable. What in God’s name could he, anyone, do to help? He contemplated finishing the bottle on the table beside him. Stupid idea and a selfish one.
Rubai was probably sitting in that monstrosity of a house around the corner planning his next atrocity on the people he claimed to serve.
‘Wait a minute!’ David sensed a new thought forming in his befuddled mind. When he and Dorothy had spent the first year of their married life up in the border country at Lokichokio working with refugees Jock Andrews had slipped a pistol into his meagre baggage without telling him. He still had the note it was wrapped in: ‘From a sensible Scotsman to a stubborn fellow Celt, no need to shoot it, just wave it if the time comes. And don’t forget your beautiful wife!’
‘The time has come, Jock lad!’
The plan was simple. Take the gun from the locked drawer in his study, walk over to the pink palace to give his head a chance to clear and tell some bullshit story to the askari on the gate. Another story to get him with the lord of the manor.
‘Mister Rubai, I believe …’ He would think it out on the way over.
He stood up, took a single step and fell down, taking the whisky bottle with him. He lay on the carpet laughing and crying. As he tried to get up, the room started to spin around him. Nausea attacked his gorge. He had a new, pressing problem. Would he throw up before he could escape to the downstairs bathroom?
He crawled towards the door, holding back a new burst of laughter. He pulled down a newspaper from a side table, just in case. He must not vomit onto the newly cleaned carpet. He made to the passageway and gave up. The powerful heaves from his stomach produced a weak stream of phlegm and the smell of whisky. He leaned against a doorpost waiting for possible aftershocks that never came and lamented his pathetic efforts, his general uselessness.
The phone rang and he scooted into the hall like an injured warthog.
‘David … David, are you all right?’
‘Of course, Dot. Just sitting here … meditating.’
Fortunately, Dorothy was more into passing on information rather than seeking it.
‘Llewellyn is going to be okay. Thank God the blow missed his skull. No damage to the vertebrae, but the bruising, the worst I’ve ever seen. Eryl’s having a plaster put on right now. As you said, no break. David, we’ve been blessed. Just one more thing. I phoned Maura. She’s on her way. She’d never have forgiven me if I hadn’t let her know.’
‘I’ve phoned Sonya. She’ll be here in the morning with the boys.’
‘How did she take it?’
He sighed wearily. ‘I don’t know. She didn’t show much. I’ll be glad to have her home.’
* * *
That night, supper for eight around the dining table at Cartref began with a silent prayer. Dorothy had asked the girls to bring out candles for the occasion. A visitor joining them late would have been struck by a theatrical quality in the scene. At first, conversation was minimal and subdued and the focus was on eating. The food was something to occupy the mind. For a time there was little sense of sharing fellowship. Each of them was taken up with their own drama.
Outside the ring of light, the shadows provided an apt backdrop for heavy thoughts. Simon was on their minds, but it was Sonya who held the centre of their imaginations. Each of them had their own vision of where she might be, what she might be thinking at any given moment. In less than twelve hours she and the boys would be there with them. Until they arrived, unless there was unexpected news about Simon, the situation would be frozen. Until then there was nothing that they could do to ease the fears and apprehensions. It was a time of uncomfortable waiting.
Imperceptibly there was a shift in the collective mood. The wine flowed more freely than was usual at a party at the Daniels home. Tongues began to loosen. An unexpected change was taking place. Sonya’s arrival time was a barrier and, on this side of it, the eight friends around the table were moving back to their normal lives. The anxiety, the compassion for the Mboya family became an overhanging backdrop.
Maura sat across from Bertie. When the call from Dorothy came, Alex and Tom were up in Meru on flower business and Bertie drove her down to Karen without hesitation. He was a charming, lively guest, as usual, and only Maura understood the emotional cost he was paying for coming to her rescue. He was spending the night away from Ewan for the first time since he had brought the tiny baby home to Rusinga. He was missing his son, but there was something else to trouble him.
There was another pain which was as raw at the dinner table that night as it had been almost three years before in that same room. Sonya had been Anna’s gynaecologist. She was the one who had first brought the little bundle of life to him and with it the cataclysmic shock of news that still reverberated down his life. Anna had insisted that they save the child even at the risk of her own life. Sonya had brought him and his son to ‘Cartref’ and looked after them until they were ready to travel back to Naivasha when Maura and Alex came to take them home.
Sonya had been with Anna to help her bring Ewan safely into the world. Sonya had cried with him in his grief. Now Sonya would soon be with them with an agony of her own.
Yet the atmosphere in that room was anything but gloomy. He had never known a family who laughed so much. With so many doctors in the family joy and pain were part of their daily work, constant companions which added an emotional richness to their world. Eryl, in her new plaster and sling, told the story of her accident as a hilarious drama. The Daniels family of Karen had the gift of living life with light-hearted seriousness.
None of them misunderstood the prognosis for a prominent man who was snatched off the streets in broad daylight.
Maura McCall, the mother of one who had defied the prognosis, wished that Tom had been able to be with them. He would have been a living proof that survival was possible. She had a suggestion.
‘Bertie and I passed the pink palace on our way here.’
‘The candy floss castle. Belongs on a beach somewhere. Gives this place a bad name.’
‘Rhys, you’ve got no taste. Abel Rubai, man of the future, he knows about these modern trends. “Open Sesame” in Swahili is Abel Rubai!’
Maura took up the point. ‘Gareth, I wish we could find some magic words to get inside that twisted mind and straighten it out. Look, something was working in my mind all the way down.’
‘Oh, that explains why you hardly spoke a word to me.’
‘Sorry, Bertie. That man scares me stiff. He’s so unpredictable. He’s vicious, he’s … crazy. There’s not much going on in this country that he doesn’t know about. We all realise that. Deadly as a cobra. Where will he strike next?’
‘I met the baby cobra this afternoon. Another nut case. Weirdo. I think a cobra could have controlled that motorbike better.’
‘When Tom was taken, the worst thing was not knowing. That was unbearable. You remember Lucy? She could tell us what she had seen, the cars, the big men, Tom being bundled into the boot of a Mercedes. Then, nothing. Simon gets a visit from three big men in smart suits and he vanishes.
‘“Rubai.” Look at me. I’m still trembling. I know he was behind all that … stuff.’
‘But, sweetheart, something puzzles me here. Why w
ould Rubai go through all that trouble with Tom? And then bring him back? Remember, I was in Londiani when the Rubais arrived and then that fantastic phone call that Tom was alive
… and the inspector from the Nakuru police. And Alex’s speech thanking Rubai for his work behind the scenes.’
‘Dot, that was not the way it really happened. I’ll tell you another time. Rubai’s a snake. He’s … he’s hard. He can look you in the eye, smile and stab you in the back all in a single second. His warmest emotion is anger. Look, love, I’m sorry for working myself up! But have you ever met Sally, his wife?’
‘I think I’ve seen her passing in the car once or twice.’
‘She’s a one off and she loves him. And, more to the point, he loves her. And she’s pregnant again at forty-three, I think.
And if he’s behind this, this stuff, Sally’s our best hope, perhaps our only hope. David, you’re looking at me as if I’ve just escaped from the loony bin! The point is we try to put some pressure on her, get her on our side. We have to go over there, and soon.’
Between the sniffles and the tears she was struggling not to break down. ‘I’m no brain box. I know you won’t laugh at me, but, please God, don’t pity me.’
David’s expression was grim and startled both at the same time, but there were tears as well. He sighed and when he spoke his voice had a tremble in it.
‘No, you’re not crazy. We’re the stupid ones. Yes, the Daniels family. Stay cool at all times. Even today with all this crap raining down on us! Look at us. My old mam would have been straight down onto her knees. What did she call it? “Pounding on the windows of heaven!” We are much more sophisticated. When trouble comes, we smile, get on with our dinner and tell our stories. Not a lot gets done that way. Tell you the truth, I’m bloody ashamed. Listen. This afternoon, I was in the house on my own, feeling pretty useless. Dot, remember that gun Jock Andrews gave me when we were up north?’
‘David! No!’
‘Don’t be daft. Not me! I was going to go over there and, well, put one between his eyes.’
‘And?’
‘I fell arse over tip as I tried to get up out of the chair. Some assassin, me.’
After a long silence, a weary Maura croaked a single question before leaving the room.
‘What time does Sonya’s plane get in tomorrow?’
Chapter Twelve
ext morning at the respectable calling hour of ten o’clock, two women passed through the wooden gates of Cartref, the Daniels’ house in the district of Karen, and turned right. Sonya Mboya and Maura McCall were on a mission. It was rare to see two white women out walking on these quiet roads at any time of the day. Three cars had been offered for the short journey, even a couple of volunteer drivers, but all were refused. Walking would give them a chance to get better acquainted and they could work themselves up for the ordeal that lay ahead.
They had met at half a dozen social occasions but never shared a long conversation. On the way back from Jomo Kenyatta, David had mentioned Maura’s idea of confronting the Rubais at their home. Sonya’s mind was on thoughts of Simon.
‘Why would she want to do that?’
‘Sonya, we all know who’s causing all this strife.’
‘I do, too. So, we knock on the door and ask if the man of the house can come out to play! They’d never let us near him.’
‘Wrong, sweetheart. Maura can get you in. Listen.’
* * *
The two women drew curious glances from the busload of pupils from Hillcrest School as they passed on their way up-country to play a series of hockey matches against Saint Andrews Turi. The dark one moved with quick, clipped strides that sent her frizzy black hair bobbing attractively. The heavier built Sonya, younger, with the handsome head of thick auburn hair bustled along, swinging her arms across her body and swaying her hips in rhythmic counterpoint.
Maura raised a hand to the bus, guessing where those young, friendly faces might be going. It reminded her of the many times she and Alex travelled to support their boys in their matches with the other prep schools scattered up and down the Central Rift. In eight hours these same children would be returning home on this same road, weary from their matches and the long journey at the end of a good day’s sport, a very ordinary day.
Out there with morning air still fresh, the task that lay ahead of them had an awesome menace about it. All the support in the world could not deliver any real help. They turned left at the corner. Up ahead they could see the lodge at the end of the Rubai drive. Inside the fence of the estate, heavy machinery was at work converting scrubby bushland into parkland. They stepped onto the tarmac road and changed their shoes. Each supported the other as they swapped tackies for something more suitable. It was their first physical contact. They paused before going on and made eye contact.
‘Last chance to change your mind, Maura.’
‘Wouldn’t miss this for anything. I’m terrified.’
‘You don’t have to do this. Out here I can see we haven’t got a lot to go on. But I hope and I believe. Not because I have to …’
‘I can get us in there. Sally, she’s got a good heart. And he loves her. That’s our chance.’
‘Hold my hand. The power of two.’
They moved on and Sonya dried her tears.
‘Maura, I’m still not sure whether I’m in Wales or Nairobi, but I’m so desperate, I’ll do anything. But there have been threats, so many.’
‘Threats?’
‘We talked a lot. Simon was convinced it was the articles and books. He’s been writing them since long before the children were born.’
‘I know. I read a lot of them. He’s got the gift.’
‘At first, everyone loved his work: Down to earth doctoring for today’s Kenyans, Stories from my casebook. Those days seem so far away. We were so naive. Then came the change.’
‘He stopped writing.’
‘For a long time. It was little Noah’s fault. We were on our way home from Nakuru. It was a Sunday evening, the usual heavy traffic. I was still two weeks from my time with him. Suddenly Noah sent the message that he couldn’t wait any longer. We were just past the bumps in the road, you know, the old tollgate this side of Gilgil. There was no real pain but I knew. I would, wouldn’t I?’ She smiled. ‘I remember saying I wish Dr Satchwell was here. David calls him the best baby puller in Africa. It’s funny to look back now. Simon got more and more agitated. “I am not having my son born on the side of the road! Hang on! Got an idea. We’re going into Naivasha. There’s a hospital.” Those were his last words until he almost crashed the car as we turned into the hospital car park! Maura, he loves life so much. I’m so blessed. Just talking about him. There will be a miracle.’
‘I wish Tom was here. He’s a proof …’
‘Please, God.’
* * *
‘No, we don’t have an appointment, but if you’ll just let Memsahib know that her good friend from Londiani has come to call. You did say that she is in?’
‘I will check. One moment, please.’
The tall young man in the dark green uniform disappeared briefly into his office and returned with a pleased smile on his face.
‘Ladies, a car will be coming. Two minutes!’
‘We can walk.’ Maura was already leading Sonya through the gate. ‘My friend and I love gardens. We’ve heard that you have made a new one here. We can have a peep on our way.’
They lingered on that final part of their walk, trying to compose themselves and to think of first words to say. None came.
Sally was at the front door to meet Maura, her only visitor, as she thought. Her smile of welcome froze when she recognised that Maura’s companion was Sonya Mboya whose picture she had just seen in The Nation in a family portrait alongside the article covering the kidnap of Simon.
‘Oh, my God! I have just been reading. Oh, I am so sorry, so sorry! Please, forgive me! Maura, it is good to have you in my home at last! And, Sonya!’ Sally reached out to grasp
the hands of her guests, but for a few seconds had to struggle to find the right sympathetic words..
‘Sonya, words. No use. But, our hearts speak better, clearer. Isn’t that so, Maura?’
A gentle pull from Sally and the three bodies were locked tight together in a silent embrace. There was no awkwardness possible in this simple communion. The shared pain was the bond. Maura tightened her grasp and broke the silence.
‘Ladies, life can be a complete bastard! But if we can hold on to hope, surely to God there’s a chance for us!’
‘Who can have done this cruel thing? Ladies, please, come inside. We will take some refreshment.’
They broke apart and soon they were sitting in the same golden chairs where, six months before, Rebecca Kamau had taken afternoon tea on the day she had arrived at the Rubai house, wet and bedraggled, to break the news that her engagement to Tom McCall was over.
Sally was over her initial shock and understood at once why Maura had brought this unfortunate woman here to the house. ‘You want to see Abel.’
‘Is he at home, Sally? The house seems so quiet.’
‘He is in his screen room. When he is here in the morning, we meet together for coffee at eleven. But …’
‘Please, don’t disturb him.’
‘He’s never late. I am sure he will try to help. Remember when Thomas was taken …’ She broke off.
Straightaway Sally showed signs of distress. Maura had suspected that this would happen but had taken the risk. Tom was alive, Sally believed, because Abel had acted quickly. If Tom had not survived, perhaps her Julius … Once again Sally was fighting off the temptation to blame Tom and, by association, his mother for what had happened to her beloved firstborn. Maura had seen this struggle in Sally before but steadfastly refused to indulge it in the slightest degree. The risk was that this time Sally would take the easier way and see the ‘truth’ that Abel and Reuben had pressed on her so many times and let the ensuing resentment sour her attitude to Sonya and her distress.
Sally rode the storm of her temptation. She refused to conveniently forget the Rubai family tragedy was a Rubai family creation. Her doggedness cost her. The old wound was as raw as ever. She smiled at Maura through the lens of tears.