“How did you know I was back?” Beryl asked as she looked warily at the iodine.
“Beryl, you don’t think Arthur can leave the house in the mid-dle of the night without my knowing? It was his idea to wait in the stables.”
“That little sneak. He didn’t tell me.”
“You aren’t the only one who has secrets.” Emma laid out a clean nightdress, the kind Beryl never bothered to wear. “Pull off that filthy shirt.”
The Captain’s shirt was stained with blood and dirt from the forest. It wasn’t worth an infection just to irritate Emma. Beryl pulled off the shirt.
Emma touched the barely healed scars on Beryl’s back and sighed. “Let’s get you in the bath.”
“I don’t have a bath.”
Emma held up the lamp to illuminate the darkest part of the hut. She pointed to a canvas bathtub that had not been there in the morning. Beryl walked over to it and saw that it was half full of tepid water. She looked at Emma suspiciously.
“It’s high time you had a proper bathtub,” Emma said. “Get in. We can’t bandage that wound until you are clean.”
Beryl stepped gingerly into the tub. She winced when the water touched her wound. Without a word, Emma handed her a cloth and a bar of soap. Beryl began to wash herself while Emma pulled out more wonders from her basket.
“I’ve brought you some dinner. I can’t believe that you like eating roots, or whatever you find out there. There’s cold meat and some cheese and fruit.”
Beryl couldn’t think of anything to say except “Thank you.”
Emma sat on a wooden box next to the tub. “Beryl, a talk between us is long overdue.”
Beryl slipped under the water. She held her breath as long as she could, but when she surfaced and opened her eyes, Emma was still there.
“Your father was very upset today,” began Emma.
“I know. But he didn’t understand. If he had only asked me…”
“Beryl, what do you expect? He saw you without your clothes, bleeding, and being attacked by a…a…savage black boy.”
“Which bothered him more? That it was a boy, or that he was Nandi?”
“Does it matter? He thought you’d been violated. So did his friends. Don’t you understand what harm a scandal like this can do to a girl’s reputation?” Emma’s voice was bitter.
“Reputation? The only reputation I care about is how good a warrior I am. What will the Nandi think of me now, after what Daddy did?”
“Your father was protecting his good name with the only people who count up here. If you don’t care about your own reputation, think of his, young lady.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Beryl angrily.
“Beryl, look at yourself. No, I mean it: Look at yourself. Your body is changing. You are no longer a child to play games. You’re almost a young woman.”
Beryl slid down so that her chin rested on the surface of the water, but she couldn’t hide what was happening to her. With her physical training, she had not missed the changes. Her chest was no longer flat. Hair was growing where it never had before. Soon her monthly bleeding would start. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Beryl looked over at Emma, whose face was in shadow. The moment felt familiar. But that was impossible. She had never had a tub before. Then she realized that it was a time for talking, such as she had shared with Kibii many, many times. Could she possibly tell Emma her secrets? Emma! Perhaps, this one night, sitting in this remarkable tub, she could.
“I know I’m growing up,” Beryl said. “But I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” Emma’s voice was full of exasperation. “It’s natural, not to say inevitable.”
“Because if I become a woman, I can’t hunt. I can’t go running at night. I can’t wrestle. Right now, Kibii and I are the same; we’re both totos. Once I become a woman, then he’ll become a man. And nothing will ever be the same, will it?” It was the longest speech she had ever made to Emma, and it ended with a question Beryl already knew the answer to.
Emma looked sad and triumphant at the same time. She gestured to Beryl to get out of the bath. A towel lay ready next to the tub, and she wrapped it around Beryl’s body. “It’s not the end of the world,” she said, rubbing Beryl dry.
Beryl lifted her arms over her head to let the towel do its work and glared at Emma from under them.
“Well, for you, perhaps it is.” Emma choked down a little laugh. “Let me put some iodine on that cut.” She gestured for Beryl to sit on a crate. “I do understand. You don’t want to give up your friendship with Kibii. But you’ll have to.”
Beryl opened her mouth to protest, but Emma’s voice cut her off.
“Don’t bother, Beryl. You could kill every lion in the highlands, but you will still be a white girl. You’re the daughter of a respected landowner, his heir. You must stop humiliating him. As if your father doesn’t suffer enough.”
“What do you mean?”
Emma wouldn’t meet Beryl’s eyes, and instead busied herself smearing Beryl’s thigh with iodine. Beryl held back her yelp at the sting. Emma handily wrapped the wound with gauze. As Beryl waited impatiently, Emma stowed her medical gear and then lifted the nightdress over Beryl’s head.
“His position is an odd one,” Emma said finally. “Since your mother left you here, people ask questions about how you’re being raised.”
Beryl lifted her arms and pushed them through the sleeves of the nightdress. “What blasted business is it of theirs? Daddy and I are just fine, thank you very much.”
Emma took a comb and sat behind Beryl to untangle her mane of hair. “Beryl, didn’t you ever wonder why I came? Your father needs to have a woman here for you.”
“We don’t need you,” said Beryl, knowing she was being rude, just when Emma was acting rather decently.
Emma ruthlessly forced the metal comb hard through a mess of tangles.
“Ow!” said Beryl. There was no response. Finally, she glanced behind her and and was surprised to see Emma blinking back tears.
“Beryl, I know you hate me.” Emma dragged the comb across Beryl’s head again. “But if I hadn’t come here, your father would be nagged constantly to send you away.”
“No! He wouldn’t do that.”
Emma kept talking, unsurprised by Beryl’s outburst; after all, Beryl had been shrieking “No” at her for the past year. “So I came. But since I am married to someone else, the wives of the other settlers won’t come to call. That is why your father has so few visitors.”
“That’s the way we like it!” insisted Beryl, but she could hear the doubt in her voice.
“Your father does not like it,” Emma retorted. “He loves parties and company. But he’s an exile up here. Because of us.” Her angry combing became gentler.
Beryl found herself feeling sorry for Emma. She shook herself; her shadow on the wall looked like a quivering monster.
“My father is fine. I’m fine, too.” Beryl wasn’t sure who she was reassuring.
“Are you fine, Beryl? Truly? Your father wants me to find out.” Emma’s hands had finished her deft teasing out of the tangles, and now she stroked a brush through the length of Beryl’s wet hair.
“Why doesn’t he ask me himself?”
“Men aren’t always comfortable asking their daughters difficult questions.”
Beryl didn’t answer.
Emma took a deep breath. “Has Kibii ever touched you?”
“Of course he has. All the time. He taught me to wrestle.”
“Has he ever…done more than touch you?”
“How do you mean?” Beryl wished Emma would just say what she meant.
“Well, a man…and a woman.” Emma was overcome by embarrassment, then inspired by a new approach. “Do you know where babies come from?”
Beryl took pity on her. “Emma, I’m a farmer’s daughter. I put the stallions out to stud all the time.” Beryl’s eyes opened wide as the point of Emma’s questions finally dawned on her. �
��Kibii and I aren’t those kind of friends.”
“Are you that kind of friend with anyone?”
“No, of course not.”
Emma looked relieved.
“Is there anything else that Daddy wants to know about?” Beryl’s face became as guarded as any Nandi’s.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Good night, Emma.” Beryl paused, and then remembered some remnant of her manners. “Thank you for bringing me dinner.” And, as an afterthought, “And for the bathtub.”
“You’re welcome.” Emma got up quickly, as though she couldn’t get out fast enough. The door shut behind her with a bang.
Beryl sat cross-legged on her bed and began to wolf down her dinner.
LOCATION: Somewhere over the North Atlantic
DATE: 05:00 A.M. GMT, 5 September, 1936
The storm clouds close in, tossing my poor old Messenger in every direction. Each slam of air sends me off course, bit by bit. I have so little spare fuel, I dare not correct until I know where I am…until I sight land. I scrape the ice from the glass of my cockpit to improve my visibility. No luck.
My hand is cramped and shaking as I unscrew the top of my last thermos of coffee and pour the lukewarm liquid into a cup. A gust of wind buffets the plane and the coffee—the last of my supply—spills all over my lap.
I’m so weary, so cold. For the first time since I was a child, I am near tears.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BERYL PERCHED HIGH IN THE BRANCHES OF A CEDAR TREE AND watched as the new settlers headed out on horseback. The sun beat down hard, and they wore hats to protect the bald spots on their skulls. Captain Clutterbuck was to be their guide for two weeks, perhaps more, as they inspected new settlement sites. Her father’s straight back made it easy to pick him out of the crowd. But no matter how hard she willed him to, he didn’t look back.
When the horses had disappeared from view, Beryl half fell, half climbed down from the tree. She must go to the village and see Kibii. It had been three days since the incident with Mehru, and she had seen no one. She had waited up each night, hoping in vain that Kibii would come.
She approached the village feeling like a stranger, unsure of her welcome. What if Mehru had been badly hurt? Was Arap Maina angry? Why had Kibii not come?
The village was deserted, except for the women minding the babies crawling in the dirt. The dogs lay sleeping in the sun, barely rousing themselves to bark at her. With relief, Beryl spied Naipende sitting under a tree, sewing beads onto a bright scarlet shuka.
“Hodi,” Beryl said. It was Swahili for “I’m here, am I welcome?”
“Kaaribu, Beru,” Naipende said in her serene way. It meant “Come, you are welcome.”
Jebbta came up carrying a large pile of scarlet fabric. Beryl wondered why. The last time she had seen so many new togas, there had been a wedding in the village.
“What are you doing here, Beru?” Jebbta asked in an accusing voice.
“Since when do I need a reason, Jebbta?” Beryl shot back.
“You have caused too much trouble. You should not be here. Not after what happened to Mehru.”
“Jebbta, is that any way to greet our guest?” Naipende scolded.
“Mehru wasn’t hurt, was he?” Beryl said. She couldn’t keep the anxiety out of her voice.
“Beru, he is fine. Just some bruises,” said Naipende. Despite her reassuring words, Beryl could see that her dark eyes had worried shadows.
“Because of you, the boys have to grow up early,” Jebbta blurted out.
“What are you talking about?”
“Arap Maina has decided that the boys should be circumcised this season,” Naipende said, her hands busy sorting out the fabric.
“But that’s wonderful—Kibii thought he would have to wait at least another year.” Even as Beryl said it, she wondered if it really was good news.
“I’ll have to work twice as hard,” Jebbta cried. “Because there won’t be any boys to help!”
“You’re just upset because Mehru won’t look at you once he is a murani,” Beryl retorted.
“It’s still your fault.”
“Why?” asked Beryl.
After a sidelong glance at Naipende, Jebbta refused to answer.
“Naipende,” Beryl said as she sank down next to the older woman. “What’s going on?”
“Arap Maina was afraid that the boys would do something foolish. To avenge Mehru.”
“Against Daddy?” Her father had never had trouble with his native workers, but Beryl had overheard him talking about violence in other settlements, especially the Boer colonies to the south. “Could that really happen?” she asked softly.
“The rituals will keep them busy. They have already forgotten what happened.”
“Are they in the clearing?” Beryl asked.
“You cannot go there, Beru,” Naipende warned gently.
“Let her go,” said Jebbta spitefully. “She will soon see she is not welcome anymore.”
Beryl barely heard the last words; she was running fast toward the boys. As she reached the trees that ringed the clearing, she stopped. She knew she had no place at the preparation for the male ritual. Dropping to her belly, she crawled forward in the tall grass, like a lioness stalking her prey.
Arap Maina, standing tall in his red tunic and wearing his necklaces of cable wire, was speaking to a large circle of boys. There were more than she had ever seen in the village. Arap Maina had called in all the boys from the outlying pasturage. The ritual was held only every four or five years, and many boys were waiting to become men.
Beryl edged forward so she could hear. Arap Maina’s sharp eyes did not miss her arrival, and with the slightest tilt of his head, he told her to stay hidden and quiet. As soon as Beryl heard what he was saying to the totos, she didn’t need to be told twice. He was explaining the reason for the circumcision ritual. The boys hung on every word, although they surely knew what Arap Maina was going to say.
“The pain you will feel has a deep meaning,” Arap Maina said. “The cut is the break between childhood and adulthood. You will take on responsibility to protect the family and the tribe. You will be consulted on important decisions.”
Kibii was in front, his back straight with pride just for being his father’s son. Mehru was there, too, his right eye plastered shut with swelling and a barely healed cut across his forehead. Beryl chewed her lower lip, remembering the sound of her father’s boot on Mehru’s skull.
Arap Maina’s kind face was at odds with his harsh message. “No matter how the cut hurts, you must not move a muscle or even blink.”
Beryl touched the knife wound on her thigh and winced as she thought of the pain Kibii would feel. But she knew that it was all he dreamed of. They all did.
“The slightest movement on your part means that you are a coward and your family is disgraced.” There was no comfort in Arap Maina’s voice. “If you flinch, the cut will still happen, even if the elders have to hold you down.”
None of the boys would look at each other. Despite their brave demeanor, Beryl could smell their fear.
“But do not despair.” With a tiny shift in tone, Arap Maina again became the gentle man she knew and loved. “Every warrior in the tribe has undergone this ritual. I did not raise any of you to fail. You will support each other, as brothers.”
Solemnly the boys nodded, never taking their eyes off Arap Maina.
“Next week, we will begin with the ritual of the Horn of the Ox. Now it is time to prepare. You must gather feathers for the headdress you will wear when you are a man. An elaborate headdress is a good omen for your future as a warrior. Now listen, and I will tell you how to make it.”
Beryl slunk away and walked slowly back to her father’s farm. No one called for her to stay. No one even noticed she was gone.
A week later, on the eve of Kibii going under the knife, Beryl slipped down to the village in the middle of the night. She went to Kibii’s hut and left two enormous ostrich f
eathers at his door.
“Good-bye, Kibii,” she whispered.
LOCATION: Off the coast of Newfoundland, Canada
DATE: 11:50 A.M. GMT, 5 September, 1936
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