“After Mike’s accident, I would have written abjectly and invited you back. But I had no way of reaching you.”
“I didn’t want to be reached. I didn’t want to be reminded of what I’d lost. I only thought better of that recently. I was very young. ”
But now you’re here – and no longer very young and once again very welcome indeed. How long are you staying?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. As long as I’m welcome, I guess.”
“Then prepare to stay for life.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but awhile, anyway.” But he asked himself what there was to prevent it, and couldn’t come up with a thing.
The conversation having reached a natural pause, they got up to go to bed. “Let’s get started on tour early in the morning, say 6:00.”
“That sounds good,” replied Andy, and reaching for her with his whole arm, he drew her in for a goodnight hug in which Megan participated with warmth. He gave her a chaste brotherly kiss on her forehead and held on to her for an extra moment or two, enjoying the human contact that had been absent from his life for so long. At the moment his feeling began to be less brotherly, he let go and turned away. That, he thought is definitely not appropriate.
It took both Andy and Megan some time to fall asleep, their heads filled with hopes and memories, ideas and questions.
Andy‘s head was filled with memories. Being in his own bed again brought things flooding back. He remembered the pets he’d had so much fun with: the python, the pair of chameleons he’d watched produce a cluster of tiny replicas, the collection of spiders that had worried his mother so, until she had ordered him to house them somewhere besides his bedroom.
As if he could read Andy’s mind, Buddy waddled in and scrambled up on the bed and burrowed under the covers just as if he’d done the same the night before. He stretched himself out next to Andy, who put his arms around him as of old, and gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. For him, the world was right again.
Andy was moved to tears. He hadn’t experienced such unconditional love for a very long time. Maybe things would come right for him on Matambala again. From that his thoughts strayed easily to Megan, and to their possible future together. His feelings about her were more complicated than they had been. There was still a thread of distrust. She had betrayed him once, would she do so again? He didn’t think he could bear to commit himself again and be betrayed again. There were still wounds that hadn’t completely healed. To feel them ripped open again would be agonizing.
And then there was the whole man and woman together thing. His incipient arousal when he hugged her made it clear that as far as he was concerned it could become a serious issue. Did he want that? More important, did she want that. Were there men in her life now? Could she see him, as anything but the younger brother of her husband?”
Megan was asking herself much the same question. She had not been unaffected when he had hugged her. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. There hadn’t been time to think of anything but the estate, for one thing. For another, an illicit liaison with one of Mike’s Thyolo friends was unthinkable – disastrous in every way. It couldn’t possibly be kept secret. Even the chickens would know within a week. And she’d not been out of Thyolo for more than a day since Mike’s accident.
Would Andy ever think of her as anything but his brother’s wife? She remembered his adolescent adoration. Would that translate into adult passion? She was older, her body no longer as taut as it had been, and her worries had marked her face, as she was reminded every morning when she brushed her hair. Was she too old to attract Andy? She didn’t know, but she decided that she hoped that passion would be established. It would make things easier all round and be an additional factor binding him to Matambala. And, she added, it would satisfy something deep within – the longing for love of every sort that had been in short supply.
Neither Andy nor Megan knew quite what was going to happen next, but they both knew that life would never be quite the same. Megan slept the sleep of exhaustion, but Andy’s sleep was interrupted by dreams he considered, “definitely not appropriate.”
***
Chapter 4 – The Tour
The next morning they set off on a tour reminiscent of the one they had taken when Megan first arrived and Andy wanted to show her around. Only this time, Megan did the driving and the showing around. They stopped at the tea factory, which hadn’t changed a lot, though Megan said that the amount of tea being processed was lower. The rotating ovens to dry the tea, the conveyor belts to move the dried tea to the sorting racks, and the sorting racks themselves were the same as ever. “We have constant trouble with securing spare parts for the drying ovens and other machines. They’re hard to find close by and it takes forever to get them if we order them from South Africa or overseas. “
They didn’t stay long, for even in the chill morning air, the heat in the factory was terrible, but on the way out, they stopped in the tasting rooms, where each batch of tea was carefully brewed, immense pains being taken to insure that the water at exactly 98 degrees hit all the leaves at once.
Then after an exact number of minutes, the tea was sampled and notes about its qualities taken down. Then, as before, they drove through the staff housing area, which was also much the same, though Andy thought there were more piped water sources, some of them with solar heaters. There was the same dirt and dust and nearly naked urchins everywhere, the same identical houses with a privy for every two. What was definitely different was that the women pounding their washing on concrete blocks or putting washed dishes on the racks to dry stopped when they saw Megan and waved. There was no doubt she was popular. One or two of the women stared at Andy in half recognition, but obviously decided he was a visitor.
But now the area of local houses was much bigger. Those outside the old housing boundaries were more varied – some with grass roofs, some with corrugated aluminum ones. Some were built with mud bricks, others with baked bricks. Some were trim and well kept, others dilapidated. And surrounding them were large areas of maize fields.
“About ten years ago, the local DC with a chip on his shoulder ordered us to make areas of the estate available for settlement. Mike was all for defying him, but was persuaded it wouldn’t work and that things would be better for all the estates if he cooperated. Because we cooperated, the DC ‘graciously’ allowed us to choose the area, which made a huge difference. We chose to put all the locals living on the estate in one place – right in the middle, unfortunately, but on the least valuable land. All we sacrificed were some pasture and gum tree forest. We provided piped water and privies for the immigrants and allowed small shops. All in all it hasn’t been too bad, though we had to reduce the dairy herd, and of course with more strangers about there’s been more petty thievery. But it’s also made hiring casual labor easier. And it’s far enough from the house to keep us from hearing the noise.”
“It’s like a great wound on the body of the estate.”
“Yes, but it could be a lot worse.”
“Yes, I see that.”
Then they carried on up the hill until they came to the picnic place. The benches and tables were derelict, but the view was as magnificent as ever. To the East there were the neighboring estates – a glowing patchwork of emerald green tea fields, grayish gum plantations, and lime green pastures, nearly black pine plantations - all stitched together with rust red laterite roads and punctuated with estate buildings. To the north was Matambala, looking from this distance hardly different than it had been 20 years before. The tower of All Saints’ Anglican Church was prominent at the far end. To the south the world ended in a 6,000 ft drop to the Lower Shire Valley, the river barely visible as a thin silver thread in its middle. Below them, they saw a pair of Augur buzzards soaring, and on the valley floor you could make out the areas of sugar cane, and the forested areas of game park. It was a magnificent view and Andy thought his heart would break at sublimity of it. This once had been hi
s.
But when they turned toward the West, where the mountain forest had begun, his heart plummeted. For several hundred yards there was nothing but devastation. Magnificent forest giants hacked off at the base, their massive trunks’ worth a fortune as planks, left lying for lack of transport, only the smaller bits suitable for firewood harvested. What had been full of birds, some endemic to the mountain, was now empty of indigenous wildlife and waste exotic plant invaders covered the ground in a thick carpet.
“There’s perhaps 50% of the original forest preserved. Thank God for that,” Megan said seeing Andy’s face.
“But I can’t stand to look at what isn’t,” Andy said fiercely “It’s awful. It’s desecration. Let’s go.” And he almost ran to the Landrover, almost leaping inside and slamming the door.
When Megan got to the vehicle, she saw that he had been crying. “I’m sorry!” he said wiping his eyes. What a silly wimp I am! But all that beauty gone. Everything destroyed by greed. Somehow it seems symbolic of our lives.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Megan. “Much has gone or been damaged, but there’s a lot left; life still goes on and we can either moan at the losses or enjoy what we have and work to make it better. “
Andy looked at her, and then at his stump. “Yes, I suppose so. I’ll recover in a bit, but I’m never coming up here again.”
***
Chapter 5 – A Look Back
They got back to the house in time for a late lunch of cold meats and salads, after which Megan had to do some business in the little string of Indian shops on the highway they called “Tinky Town” and left Andy to explore the library and take a nap. The library was more museum than book storage facility, full of artifacts, pictures and documents relating to Matambala’s 150 year old history. Andy devoured the albums dating from the years of his youth. It had really been paradise then. They had lived and behaved like royalty, and they’d no sense that it was soon going to end, no conception of the embedded injustice that wasn’t sustainable. They were surrounded by beauty; their every desire had been catered for. If they wanted to ride, there were horses; if they wanted to play tennis, there was a tennis court; if they wanted to swim, they could choose between the swimming bath and the pool in the river where Megan had so nearly drowned. Andy was moved to tears by his grandfather’s Order of the British Empire medal and the pictures of Megan and Mike’s wedding, which seemed to him in retrospect to have been the last page of the last chapter of the fantasy. It had all been serene, the calm before the storm. Nobody had heeded the storm clouds on the horizon.
He was moved to think rationally about his brief time as Assistant Manager. That had been part of the fantasy. He had inherited the position without any qualifications for the job like the younger brother of the heir apparent that he was. It would never have worked even if Mike hadn’t turned against him. He had loved Matambala without knowing how it worked and love was not enough. He was a naturalist, not a manager. He was passionate about preserving nature, but not about growing perfect tea.
They hadn’t been equipped for the inevitable collapse. Only Megan, who had never been wholly part of the community, had survived more or less intact. He thought to himself that though he was not intact either emotionally or physically, he had survived and, he realized suddenly was determined to continue to survive. He had come home and it was still home, no matter how damaged and dilapidated, and he, with Megan’s help, would work for something better. Though the past could never be recovered, the future could be made to work.
With that decision, he went for a nap, sleeping until drinks time before dinner.
***
Chapter 6 - A Look Forward
When Megan joined him, pouring herself a gin and tonic, she had done a lot of thinking and Andy had already become part of her plan for Matambala. A woman alone had great difficulty running a tea estate singlehandedly, no matter how skilled she was at management. Andy had been a child when he had left, but had grown into a man. With her help, he could face the reality of Matambala today. She had his love for the place to work with and, she thought with a small tremor of shame, his love for her. She’d always known that he had formed a puppylike attachment for her when she came to Malawi and she had to admit that though her adult passion had been for Mike, she’d had a lot of affection for Andy, maybe more than she’d ever had for Mike. That was a foundation to build on, and however cold-bloodedly she used it, it was congenial to them both. She had dressed appropriately for the task she was engaged in, and was very fetching in it.
Settling in one of the easy chairs, she asked, “How did the afternoon go?”
“Very well, actually. I went on a trip down memory lane and was wallowing in nostalgia, but also seeing things in a new and more accurate light. It was a beautiful life, but there was rot at its core.”
“Oh yes, indeed. I saw that almost at once and tried to make Mike see it. But he couldn’t and that’s part of went wrong both with the estate and between us. The idea frightened him, so he pushed it away furiously and every time reality impinged, the fury broke through. I soon learned not to mention it. I knew, for instance, that sacking you was a mistake he’d deeply regret, but if I had objected, it would have made him even more obdurate.
“How are things now, really?”
“Well, we’re making it, barely. But there’s so much to be done and not enough money to do it with. And the government is dysfunctional when not actively malign. You can’t blame them. They got power suddenly without training; they have a mindset that doesn’t fit the way the modern world works, and have to deal with 200 years of mistreatment on top of that. But in fact, the economy is a shambles, which makes things very difficult for businesses, especially on estates like ours that existed with near slave labour. “
“And frankly, I need help I can depend on. The staff I’ve gathered are knowledgeable, intelligent, reasonably hard working, but they don’t have the loyalty that family members would have, and when the chips are down they regard their families and their clan as more important than Matambala.”
“And you’ve got your beady eyes on me.”
“Well, that’s putting it too strongly, but if you decided to stay indefinitely, it would be a pleasure and a boon. But you must decide. I’ve no intention of pressuring you.”
“I admit it’s crossed my mind.” He suddenly realized the assurance he’d felt in the afternoon was gone. “But I’m not ready to commit to it – or anything for that matter. I’ll stay for a few weeks and then we’ll see. “
***
Chapter 7 – A Failure
“OK, we’ll see how it goes. A glass of wine with dinner?”
Andy hesitated. He was careful with alcohol, though not teetotal. “Sure, why not?”
So, Megan asked Joshua to open a bottle which they finished off between them during a delicious curry meal, and afterwards on the verandah for coffee, Megan offered Mulanje Gold, the local cream liqueur, which had come on the market after Andy had left and was produced on a nearby estate. Andy accepted, though with misgivings, with the result that when it was bedtime they were both very relaxed and free to be themselves.
As they rose to go inside, Andy reached out to hug Megan with his good arm as he had the night before, but unlike the night before, Megan turned the hug into an embrace and kissed him on the cheek. Andy drew back looked at her. There was tiredness in her face that moved him deeply, and he wanted very much to wipe it off her face. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Is this going where it seems to be going?”
“I think so Andy, if you want.”
“I want. I’ve wanted for years. It was torture watching you and Mike making out and even worse, heading into your room at all times of the day and night.” He took her lips in his, gently at first and then hungrily as she responded.
After a moment Megan drew him towards her bedroom and once inside, she began to undress him, beginning with his jersey and his shirt. She took his injured arm in both hands and tightened her grip wh
en he tried to jerk it away. “It doesn’t matter, Andy. It’s not your hands I’m particularly interested in. She kissed the surgical scars above the stump. Besides we’re neither of us the people we were when we first met. I’ve been scarred too, though in less visible ways, perhaps. You’ve seen my hair. There are strands of grey inside my head too.
Paradise Revisited Page 2