Black Mischief

by Carl Hancock

  Mother and son would have been shocked if they could have known the reaction of the master of the house to the startling events taking place eighty miles away in dreary Naivasha. Outwardly, his serious expression and his neutral comments suggested that he, like everyone else, was struggling to give this national tragedy some perspective.

  Inwardly, the man was rejoicing, secretly and carefully. It thrilled him to know that he was the driving force, the puppet master, the sponsor. The world was tuned in to Kenya, eager for news of what he could claim was his work. And the best part was yet to come.

  He had seen the pictures of the lines of bodies and felt no pity and certainly no shame or remorse. These were the casualties of the greater good, his vengeance. Hundreds of his own people had helped the McCall family to create the lakeside farm that was dedicated to producing flowers, colourful, delicate and meant to give pleasure. He revelled in the blackened destruction.

  ‘Abel, what can we do to help these people? They were always so kind to us when we visited. You could send some of the big machines to clear the mess.’

  ‘Get John to make some of that Colombian coffee. While he’s at it, tell him to bring some pieces of the fruitcake your sister sent you.’

  Having given his order, he turned towards his wife. His solemn expression suggested to Sally that he was as moved and shocked as she was.

  ‘Karma, Sally.’

  He held her gaze and waited. When he saw that his words had struck home and the big eyes and the slack jaw warned him that the reprimand was about to come, he went on.

  ‘Sally, all this, er, stuff is most unfortunate. But your kind heart blinds you to deeper realities. These people have been kind to us? My dear, they have always looked down their noses at us. Because we have money they have tolerated us. Like so many of our European citizens, their forebears stole the very best land and used the cheap labour of our wananchi to set up their privileged lifestyle. The White Highlands. White, Sally. And now? Karma is a very good description. We have watched the television. We have read the newspapers. Where did you read that a single white person was burned to death?’

  ‘Abel, the pain of Julius’s death is still strong. But your hard heart is blinding you, too. Compassion, forgiveness, these are not weaknesses. And hope. Don’t forget that God has helped us create a new life in my belly. We can be healed.’

  Reuben wished he was in some other place. He was embarrassed to hear his parents talk in this way. He was relieved when the coffee and cake was set down on the table and took the chance to excuse himself.

  ‘No more coffee for me. I find it keeps me awake if I drink it so late.’

  ‘So late? But it’s only half past seven, boy. Yeah, you just go. I’m about finished here, too. By the way, Sally, my people checked with Londiani about sending some of our big stuff up. Bellengeri was already on the job.’

  ‘Abel, why couldn’t you say before?’

  ‘Well, you know. Look, just pass me a thick slice of that cake. I’ve got work to do.’

  Alfredo Rossi had just switched off the same news program and was about to return to some more study of his file on the next and final stage of this lucrative job. So far he had used his intelligence gathering with spectacular success. The television pictures proved that. Not one of his clever little bombs had failed him. Knowing the positions of all the power points had been crucial. As for the deaths, he did not see that the blame was his. The electronic devices were not killing machines. Those stupid Africans had panicked and let themselves be caught out.

  His mobile rang. He was angry but tried to hide this. Against all his advice, this very pushy man had contacted him. But then, who was paying the bills?

  ‘Mister Rubai …’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Because you are the only person in this country who has this number. This call is not a good idea.’

  ‘I understand that, but I had to congratulate you on such a great piece of work.’

  ‘But the job is not finished. The tricky part is still to come.’

  ‘And I want to ask you a special favour.’

  Alfredo made no response, hoping that his employer might just get the message at last, think again and ring off. No such luck. The man was off again.

  ‘I want us to meet. Yes, I know, but this is something very important to me. I’m ready to double the money.’

  ‘But I don’t want to leave my room here until I’m ready to go back up to complete the assignment. Remember, the one that is costing you a lot of money.’

  ‘At the farm tonight. Two o’clock. No one will see you.’

  ‘No one will see me!’ Alfredo’s tone was meant to spell out his frustration. He was wasting his time.

  ‘You sure you’re not English? That voice sounds like it belongs to Lord Something.’

  ‘Right. I didn’t tell you, it’s Lord Brooklyn.’

  ‘I’ll phone again when we’re ready to move. And, relax. No one will see you.’

  ‘Better be a big laundry basket!’

  Chapter Thirty-four

  s Laurie Buckle taxied his plane along the airstrip on Crescent Island, a small group stood waiting impatiently at the far end for the engines to stop. Rebecca was not surprised to see the McCall family there, including Eddie and Rollo, called home from their English school. But her mother and sisters, this was a first for them. The smiling face of her father was not there. Rebecca let go. She was soon holding her mother, Jane and Martha in a close embrace.

  ‘So, he is not found.’

  Her mother smiled tearfully and shook her head. ‘No, he is not. They did not find him with the others who did not escape. How could he just vanish like this? Child, what do you think? Am I foolish to hope?’

  ‘No, Mama. Hope is never foolish. Martha, do you remember Papa saying that?’

  ‘No, ‘Becca. Mama sent us to school today. Everyone was saying sorry to us. Jane ran home. Mister Bweiga let me do my work in his room.’

  Rafaella put her arms across the girls’ shoulders. Come on. You are forgetting the cake we made for the homecoming.’

  Jane had lost her enthusiasm for the project that had distracted her earlier. ‘I do not feel hungry now. Rebecca is home now, but she never eats cakes. Perhaps we could save some for Papa.’

  Maura could see where all this negative emotion could lead and pressed for a return to Londiani. ‘Don’t worry, Jane. Eddie and Rollo are always hungry. You make sure that they don’t scoff the lot.’

  Tom helped out. ‘Scoff is what boys in English schools are always doing. They will eat every crumb, if you let them.’

  The acrid smell of burnt vegetation and timber was strong in the air as they all made their quiet way back to Big House. Tom was glad that from where they walked they could not see any of the devastation not fifty metres away.

  Inspector Caroline and Sergeant Hosea were standing on the steps of the veranda and looking down towards the lake when Maura led the families around the corner from the laundry garden to the front of the house.

  ‘Maura, we are very sorry for dropping in like this without letting you know.’

  When Caroline gave no reason for their unexpected visit, Alex was not the only one who believed that there must bad news about Stephen, the worst. Caroline knew that any attempt at polite pleasantries would neither be useful nor welcome. Rebecca went forward and grasped her friend’s hands.

  ‘It’s Papa, isn’t it? You’ve found him. Is he …’

  Hosea stepped in. ‘Rebecca, everyone, I suggest we all sit down for a few moments. There is a lot to be said and we must be calm if we want to avoid any confusion.’

  Caroline made a request. ‘Maura, with your permission, I want you, Angela and the girls to sit at this table, close to Hosea and me.’

  The tension mounted. Angela found the situation doubly difficult. She was being asked to go against her instincts and custom by sitting down in a place where she was much happier serving the needs of Bwana McCall’s family. Worse
still, she was afraid that she would let herself and the girls down in the way she reacted to the worst news of her life. She grasped her daughters close.

  Caroline was quickly into her news. ‘Yes, we have found Bwana Kamau.’

  ‘Papa is alive! When is he coming home?’

  ‘Martha, sweetheart, help me. I will be as quick as I can. For all of us.’ Caroline took a deep breath and began again.

  ‘It was the morning of the fire. The flames were finished. It was quiet out on the fields. Hosea and I walked down towards the lake. Maria was with us. We needed a time to gather our thoughts. A terrible thing had happened and it was our job to find out why it had happened. And we found him.’

  Caroline did her best to ignore the gasp of surprise and quiet sobbing.

  ‘He was lying on a bed of reeds with a pair of waterbuck cropping close by.’

  ‘But was he …’

  ‘Rebecca, Rebecca.’ Another deep sigh before she went on. ‘He looked as if he was in a deep sleep. His face was serene, but his clothes were burnt rags.’

  ‘Caroline, why didn’t you bring him home? All this time …’

  ‘Angela, I told you that Maria was with us. No one here has seen her since Monday.’

  Caroline hesitated, half expecting Rebecca to say something, but Stephen’s firstborn merely narrowed her gaze. The beginning of a new thought was troubling her.

  ‘Angela, his chest, his arms were burned. Now the hard part. Our bodies are fragile and when they are burned very badly, we cannot save the life.’

  The members of the McCall family, except for one, anticipated Caroline’s next words quite wrongly. Rafaella felt a flutter of hope.

  ‘Maria said medical teaching would say that his wounds were too bad. But Maria, well, she told me to bring my car … Stephen is in Nairobi.’

  ‘Nairobi?’

  ‘Rebecca, you know the place.’

  ‘The little surgery, Hosea?’

  ‘But nobody spoke about this.’ Angela was halfway between puzzlement and anger. Caroline reached out to grasp her hands.

  ‘We were afraid to give you false hope. Rebecca knows what Maria can do, but sometimes …’

  Hosea took it up. ‘Caroline stayed with him. Maria and I rushed home. Soon we returned and prepared him for the journey. Caroline phoned ahead and we arrived in time to see the Daniels family set off for Londiani. Thank God, Sonya stayed behind. Like for all of us, I had been thrown into an unreal world. One hour I stayed with them, to help them lift him onto the table in the surgery.’

  Angela’s body was shuddering with grief as she dropped her head towards the table, drawing Martha and Jane with her. Rebecca struggled to speak for her mother.

  ‘Mama would bless you for loving us so much.’ Many seconds passed before she was able to go on. ‘So, you have come to tell us that you are bringing him home soon …’

  ‘No.’

  Rebecca did not expect such abruptness from Caroline, but the inspector had not finished.

  ‘Angela, you can see that Maria is not with us.’

  She gave the families time to take in what she said before going on.

  ‘Maria and Sonya have not left his side for three days.

  Rebecca, remember those hours when you were together with Simon …’

  Rebecca’s face burst into a shocked, wonderful smile. ‘But …!’

  ‘This morning he spoke. It is not finished. The danger has not passed. Please, remember this. But it is time for you to see him.’

  * * *

  The door was open, but the light spilling out did not reach far into the darkness. Inside a woman was singing. Her voice was soft, but her words were clear though they were in a strange language.

  ‘This is a spooky place.’

  Jane longed to be back in the rondavel village. Her friends were there and she missed their noise. She did not feel safe here with the shadows all around.

  ”Becca, is Papa really in there? Will there be lots of strangers inside?’

  Rebecca wanted to be quiet. Her sister would have her answers soon enough. They were not quite at the door, but a call came from inside.

  ‘Angela, bring the girls in. Stephen is waiting.’

  The air inside was heavy with a sweet perfume, chilly, too, like in the early morning out on the lakeside. The high windows in the walls all around were inlaid with coloured glass. A large table raised off the ground was the only furniture in the room. On it was laid a figure draped in a white robe. The head was at the other end where two women in yellow robes and multicoloured headscarves stood close together on a platform. Martha, more bold now that she was inside asked, ‘Is that Bwana Kamau on this table? He is our father.’

  Angela had a greater worry. ‘Maria, Memsahib Sonya, is there witchcraft happening here? Stephen does not approve of those things.’

  ‘No, Angela. Rebecca will tell you that we are using ancient teachings. All our medicines are mentioned in the Bible - oils, herbs, the bark of trees. Think how many times the writers tell us about oil for healing. For sure, his skin approves of our healing ointments.’

  ‘Can we see him?’

  ‘Martha, I cannot understand why you are all holding back.’

  Rebecca was pushed to the front to lead the way. The line of Kamaus moved slowly, each of them struggling to keep a hold on the mix of conflicting emotions. When they stepped up onto the platform, they discovered that their bwana was asleep. Anticlimax, but at least it spared them the task of coming up with the perfect opening words. The covering of the white sheet was folded back to the waist.

  Stephen’s four womenfolk showed their astonishment in their own way, but the gasp, the clapping of the hands to the mouth was a shared reaction.

  ‘Maria, but how …?’

  That was as far as Angela could speak out her feelings. Her eyes moved quickly to take in every square inch of that familiar muscular body. She had helped to lay out the corpses of the mostly young people who had perished in the fire just days before. Where there were burns, the flesh was crusty and peppered with ugly red sores. But here in front of her, Stephen’s flesh was undamaged but covered in a skin that had the texture of soft leather. There was not a single blemish of a sore. Sonya explained why this was so to a bewildered Angela.

  ‘Maria is a healer. I’m a doctor. I studied in a famous London hospital that did wonderful, amazing work. My main task now is to help mothers bring healthy babies into the world. Maria’s teacher? She will tell you.’

  ‘I only wish I could. I know that the knowledge has come down to us from long, long ago. You remember that Jesus himself had many followers who were women. Some say that he spent many hours instructing them. Some say that a woman, Dorcas or Sophie perhaps, wrote down this teaching. It is a mystery. There are prayers and songs, all in the languages of ancient times.’

  ‘Mama, I have watched Maria at her work.’

  ‘Angela, the danger is not finished. We have taken away the pain of his body. Now there is the pain of the heart and the mind. Sonya’s word is “trauma”. Bwana must want to come back to us. Wait! He is restless. Angela, place your hand on his forehead. I will sing. My words will be Aramaic, Jesus’ own language.’

  She began. The voice was soft, but it filled every space in the room with a sweetness and power that cast a spell. Jane and Martha buried their faces into their mother’s side and clung tight. For their young minds it was as if they were being carried off into some mysterious land where the safe familiar ways had deserted them. They did not utter a single syllable, afraid that they would be noticed.

  This music went on and on until another sound pierced their ears. It was laughter, coming from close by. It was the melodious chuckle that they heard a thousand times. The healing was complete and their father had returned to them.

  * * *

  ‘Not many people around at this time of night. But, even at this hour, I could not risk a meeting at your hotel. I would be recognised and, well, it would cause problems. You understand
these things.’

  ‘Understand, yes, but I don’t like it. My work is delicate in certain ways. My timing has to be perfect and I do not like showing myself around. You want value for money? Trust me. So, Mister Rubai, what gives? You have some special request. Tell me.’

  ‘Yes. This family, these McCalls, these opportunists, these robbers …’

  ‘These killers of your son, I understand. Revenge, a lot of my clients are into this.’

  ‘I want their punishment to hit hard, to hurt, no mercy.’

  ‘And the request?’

  ‘I want to be close enough to watch.’

  ‘Impossible! I work alone, always. I trust no one but myself.’

  ‘Work alone, of course. I have a very fine pair of binoculars. I would be a hundred, two hundred metres away.’

  ‘With half a dozen of your men around. It won’t work.’

  ‘Absolutely alone.’

  ‘No. Perhaps it would be better if I went back to the hotel and get the first plane out.’

  ‘Not a good idea.’

  ‘Mister Rubai, are you threatening me?’

  ‘I don’t see it that way. Patrick Uchome, you met him in this very place. He is desperate to get back on a good footing with me. I look on him as a kind of insurance policy. Only a fool would not look to protect his investment.’

  ‘Or I could shoot you right here and now. No, too noisy, but I never travel without my good friend, Mister James Bowie.’

  Abel chuckled and held out his hand. ‘At last, we speak the same language!’

  Alfredo did not accept the handshake. Instead, he gazed directly into his boss’s eyes. It did not make pleasant reading. Rubai had him cold and was enjoying the experience. Alfredo’s instinct provided him with his best plan to ensure that he would leave the country still breathing and with his payout.