It’s surprising you don’t get bored of it, considering how samey it always is. There doesn’t seem to be much you can do different, or if there is we don’t know (and Ted probably wouldn’t approve, just like breakfast isn’t breakfast if he doesn’t have porridge). Actually, I wonder whether I’m quite telling the truth about that. I believe I might have been getting a wee bit bored, without noticing it, ’cos I do think it’s got much more new and interesting again since I sent my letter to Mr de Lancey. Ted sent it for me, actually. I showed him the sketch I’d drawn of the woman on the ladder so he could see it was only about art, and he popped it in with his reports.
Funny how you don’t understand things till you write them down. They’re just feelings, till then. But yes, there is something extra. The secret. The game. Ted not knowing. He spends most of his day-times trying to stop Africans cheating and bribing. He doesn’t really believe he’ll do any good, but I think he gets a special sort of pleasure out of being so honest and decent when everyone round him’s so absolutely rotten and corrupt. And then he comes home to me and we chat and have supper and put on the gramophone and dance till we both feel ready and then we go to bed … and he doesn’t know but I’m bribing him! It’s exciting. I don’t know why. It sends a kind of tingling shiver through me. It’s like the sprinkle of salt on your food which makes all the difference.
Of course it’s a risk. That’s part of the excitement. If he found out! Oh, idea! Is that why I so badly want to write this all down, ’cos it gives him a chance? Not much of one—I can’t imagine dear Ted reading anything I’d written without my permish. But aren’t I extraordinary? I’d no idea!
Wed April 30
A horrible two days. I honestly believed I’d spoiled everything and we’d never be happy again, but I think it’s going to be all right after all. Just. If dear Ted had an ounce of suspicion in his nature—if I hadn’t worked so hard keeping him happy … Well, day before yesterday, quite early … Ted was gone over to Kiti for his weekly confab with KB. I’d got a bit of an upset tummy—you get them all the time in Africa, however careful you try to be—and I’d just got back from the B.G. thinking I’d have a lie-down ’cos I was feeling a bit washy, the way you do, and there in our dining-room was Mr de Lancey! I just stared. Of course I see now he must have known it was confab day and he’d come up the river by canoe and camped just down stream so he’d catch me alone.
He didn’t apologize for barging in. Just “Good morning,” and then, “Mrs Jackland, will you please take me to this village you say you found.”
He had my letter in his hand. I tried to start talking about who the Italian painter was, but I could see it was no use.
“Shouldn’t we wait for Ted?” I said. “I mean it’s his district.”
He stared at me with absolute contempt. “Have you told your husband, Mrs Jackland?”
I should have said yes, and pretended, and hoped, but I was sort of hypnotized. I just shook my head.
“Let me make one thing clear, Mrs Jackland,” he said. “You came to Kiti against my wishes and recommendation. I would now be sorry to see you leave, but if I thought it necessary I would not hesitate to report to Kaduna that you had been interfering with the work of your husband’s district and intriguing with tribesmen behind the back of the Native Authority. If I were to do that they would have you out like a shot.”
“Please,” I said. “I’m not feeling very well.”
“You had better sit down. I can see that you are not well and I apologise for choosing such a time. Perhaps I had better wait for Jackland after all.”
“No. Let me think.”
“Very well. Perhaps you will tell me how you stumbled on this village.”
“Elongo took me.”
“Why should he do that?”
“I wanted to learn women’s talk. In Kiti, you know.”
“I see. In that case Elongo can take me, and I need not trouble you to make the trip. Would you please send for him.”
I rang my little bell and he was there at once. I told him (in Hausa, I don’t know why) I wanted him to take Mr de Lancey to Jabu. He just looked bewildered, but then he always does, a bit.
“I do not know this place,” he said.
We both tried. I pleaded, Mr de Lancey bullied. It was no use. He totally refused to admit he’d shown me anything anywhere. I didn’t know what to do—I was desperate to get Mr de Lancey out of my house. In the end I switched to Kiti.
“Elongo Sisefonge,” I said. “You will take Mr Dlanzi to the place where I talked to Atafa Guni.”
I don’t know why—I think ’cos it was the strongest way of putting it I knew—I used the tones Atafa Guni had taught me for when the “aunts” give orders to the lads in their huts. Elongo stared at me as tho’ I’d hit him. Then he said, “I will do it.” I almost collapsed from relief, in fact I don’t really remember much after that for a bit, except that Mr de Lancey went away and came back with some medicine from his famous chest, his own special gippy-tum brew. He wasn’t being kind. His eyes absolutely glittered while he stood over me and explained how much I ought to take, how often (I hardly understood a word!). Then he watched while I gulped some down and off he went, and I tottered to my bed and lay down.
Actually it was v. good stuff, ’cos soon I started feeling quite a bit better. Terribly weak still, and terribly worried, but suddenly seeing everything absolutely clear, specially, just as if I’d been there, what was going to happen. Elongo would take Mr de Lancey out into the bush and get a good way away and then he’d ‘forget’ how to find Jabu after all, and that would be the worst thing that could happen ’cos Mr de Lancey would come back furious and tackle Ted. I’m saying what I thought then. It seemed totally obvious what I’d got to do was go after them and make sure Elongo did what I told him. (Actually now I can see I was being stupid. Much the best thing I could have done was stayed where I was and waited for Ted to get back from Kiti and then told him how bad I’d been—stopped playing my silly game—asked him to forgive me—let him take over. It would have been alright. I know it would. He’s just too decent for anything else.)
So I got up and scribbled a note for Ted and took another good swig of Mr de Lancey’s magic potion to be on the safe side, and then went and found Mafote and told him to water and saddle Tan-Tan for me—Ted had taken Salaki to Kiti. I’d never ridden him before. I just knew I could, because I had to. Then off I rode. I felt wonderful, light as air, strong as steel. Tan-Tan tried to have his own way and fought with the bit but I showed him who was master and he gave in. Almost before I’d noticed we were right out through the thorn-belt. I don’t remember any of that part at all, but suddenly there was the big, empty, flat bush, Africa for ever. I felt like riding right across it, but I knew I had to find the others so I set off the way Elongo had taken me. It wasn’t difficult. I knew the way. I could remember everything, tree and ant-hill and tussock, clear as crystal. I said I would, didn’t I? They sang to my eyes. I don’t remember having any trouble with Tan-Tan at all. I felt as tho’ I was floating through a kind of dream Africa, looking for my Elongo, knowing I was sure to find him. And I did.
Actually they found me. I was floating along when I heard a shout, miles over on my left. I looked, and there they were, quite the wrong place. Lucky they’d seen me at all—it was just while I was crossing one of the opener bits of bush. Soon as I got near I saw there’d been a row. Mr de Lancey was furious and Elongo was frightened but stubborn. It turned out he’d taken Mr de Lancey down one of the inlets into the thorn-belt, and of course they hadn’t found anything there, and Mr de Lancey knew he’d taken him to the wrong place, and Elongo knew he knew and Mr de Lancey had tried to bully him and he’d stuck it out. (Secretly I was rather pleased!)
“But you haven’t gone nearly far enough,” I said. “It’s miles on!”
Mr de Lancey looked at me v. oddly.
“Are you sur
e, Mrs Jackland?”
“Course I am. Come on!”
So off we went. I had to slow down a lot ’cos the others were only walking tho’ Mr de Lancey made a v. good pace, spite of being a fat little man. He’s a lot less pansy than he looks. He kept worrying about whether I was sure I knew my way and I kept showing him my landmarks and telling him what we’d see next and there it was! So we couldn’t argue. Tan-Tan started playing up and I had to fight him most of the way so I was too busy to talk a lot and Mr de Lancey hadn’t much puff to spare, but spite of that he got interested in my illness again and I told him how terrific his medicine was and I’d had some more and I was quite all right now. He looked at me again and then looked at his watch and warned me it would wear off quite soon.
And then, at last, we were there. I rode down the inlet feeling absolutely triumphant, waiting for the moment when we’d come out from between two tree-clumps and see the tilted pale roofs.
But the roofs weren’t there!
I couldn’t believe it. Everything had been so right till that moment, my eye-memory so exact, it absolutely couldn’t be true. I rode on, with my heart hammering. It was just like that moment when you’re having a delicious dream and something goes wrong and you know, before anything else happens, that it’s going to turn into a nightmare now.
It did.
The huts weren’t there, but they had been. Where they’d stood, where those lovely women had thatched so cleverly, there were just eight black circles on the ground. Ash. My heart stood still. How had Kama Boi known? I mean, he’d have known the village was there, but how had he known they’d talked to me? Had someone heard my shout, after all? Was it all my fault? I could see it so dreadfully in my mind’s eye, the flames roaring up (it would have been night, wouldn’t it?) the women running out of the huts, the firelight glinting off the spear-points, the smoke streaming away. At least I couldn’t see any bodies—perhaps they hadn’t actually killed anyone.
Mr de Lancey walked to the edge of one of the black circles and poked the ashes with his toe. He found a stick and poked around. Just ashes. No pots, no ornaments, nothing. The Kitawa don’t have much, but the spearmen must have taken everything. In a few months, after the rains, you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone had ever lived here. They’d even taken the mats from round the gardens and thrown them onto the bonfire. They didn’t want to leave any trace.
I started to feel awful again—the shock, and the medicine wearing off. Then I had one of those terrible warning spasms and had to rush off behind some trees and cope with things. Too beastly. I really felt I couldn’t face any more. I longed to get hold of Tan-Tan and slip on his back and sneak off home, only I knew I wouldn’t be able to ride him now. I was so weak. And sore—not just the sickness, it was the ride out. I must have had to fight him much more than I’d realized. All the time I felt I was just floating, my poor silly body had been wrestling away!
Anyway, after a bit I managed to drag myself back to the burnt huts. Mr de Lancey had gone off to look at the nearest garden. You could see where the lads had been working at the poor, thin soil, getting rid of a frightful crop of weeds. After a bit he came back and stared at Elongo.
“Come here you,” he said in Hausa. “Get down.”
Elongo knelt and grovelled, the way natives are supposed to in front of chiefs. Ted says it’s just the custom, no different from me curtseying if I met the King, but I think it’s disgusting. Mr de Lancey kept him grovelling there while he barked at him in Hausa. Who had lived here? What were their names? Who had burnt the huts? Why? Were there other villages like this? Did they pay taxes to the Hausa? And so on.
Actually Elongo didn’t tell him anything. He just kept mumbling that he didn’t know. I knew it wasn’t true for some of the questions, but I was so much on his side I didn’t care. Then Mr de Lancey started real bullying, calling him a thief and a liar and saying he was going to prison for twenty years and suddenly I couldn’t stand it any longer. Tho’ I was feeling awful inside and scared out of my wits at what had happened, something snapped. I saw Mr de Lancey swing round and stare before I realized I’d been yelling at him to stop. I burst out before he could say anything.
“You’re doing this all wrong,” I said. “All quite wrong. You won’t get anywhere with the Kitawa by shouting and bullying. They won’t tell you anything. It’s useless. They’ve kept quiet for years and years because they’re afraid, so it’s no good trying to make them more afraid than ever. It’s not just that they think Kama Boi’s going to send his spearmen to burn their villages—it’s much more than that. They’re afraid because they think he’s a kind of god. They really believe that. When I told Atafa Guni we weren’t going to kill him at once, she suddenly stopped trusting me any longer. She was terrified. Absolutely terrified. Of him. Much worse than anything you can ever do.”
“What course of action would you propose, Mrs Jackland?”
He said it in his usual sneery way but I hardly noticed. I was so dizzy I almost fell over. Elongo was muttering with his face in the dust, Kiti, something about Kama Boi. He was terrified too. All of a sudden, for a moment, I understood what it’s like to be a Bakiti. Here we were in this utterly lonely place, miles from anywhere, but we weren’t hidden. If Kama Boi looked this way he would see us, he would smell us, he would send his spearmen, we would never escape. He was here too, all round us, above us. You couldn’t see him, you could feel him tho’, everywhere, like the dull weighing-down heat of the sun, pressing everything into the dust. You carried him on your shoulders wherever you went. He was your never-ending sickness, fever, buzzing, aches, a huge pressure on you making you feeble and helpless.
I waved my arm at the jigging black circles.
“Isn’t this enough?” I said. “Isn’t this evidence?”
“Mrs Jackland, this is not the work of Kama Boi. This village is a fraud, and the people you saw here left it as soon as you were out of sight, taking their possessions and setting fire to the huts. I have not the papers with me, of course, but I seem to remember earlier censuses reported a village in roughly this area, which was abandoned because of the failure of its water-hole. You can see for yourself. No crops have been grown in that garden for at least three rains. Where are the food husks and the animal bones? Where is the excrement?”
I didn’t understand. I still don’t, properly.
“There weren’t any flies,” I said.
That’s the last thing I remember.
Now I’m lying in bed, feeling weak and stupid. I think everything’s going to be all right, when it could have been dreadful. Yesterday was dreadful, lying here, feeling ghastly, worrying about what Ted would say and do, not knowing what Mr de Lancey had told him, not daring to ask. In fact I just pretended to be worse than I was so’s not to have to answer questions, only I didn’t want to get him so worried he’d send for the doctor, so this morning I thought I’d better perk up a bit, only be drowsy—I was feeling better inside, too—and when Ted came to see me he was very loving and gentle and not even hurt or angry, and he said Elongo had done very well and I must say thank you when I saw him. So it does look as tho’ Ted doesn’t know yet what really happened, and that means Mr de Lancey is going to do his best for me.
Now I’m tired after writing all that. It was terribly strange. I’ve never felt so odd. I think there must have been something in the medicine, ’cos when I asked if Mr de Lancey had left some for me (he’s gone now) Ted just laughed and said “You’re not having any more of that!”
Thurs May 1
It is all right! So extraordinary. Ted’s been in and made everything easy by calling me a silly girl and asking how much I remembered and all I had to say was I didn’t remember anything and he just told me. Mr de Lancey came up the river ’cos he wasn’t far and he wanted to talk to me about the picture I’d asked him about and he found me with my gippy turn gave me some of his special medicine and then went off to
fish till Ted came back ’cos there were things he wanted to talk to him about. But he’d left the bottle behind, and I must have had another swig at it when you’re only supposed to take it in tea-spoons, four hours apart. The point is it’s full of opium! (That does rather explain things!) So I’d got up and gone and found Mafote and told him to saddle Tan-Tan and just ridden off, but Elongo had seen me going and so he’d run and fetched Mr de Lancey and they’d tracked me right out into the bush and found me wandering about, drugged silly, looking for Ted. Tan-Tan had got his reins tangled into a tree so they caught him and strapped me into the saddle and led me home.
So that’s three of us lying like troopers! Elongo’s only a native, and you expect them to lie, and what I say to my husband’s my look-out, but de L.! Mind you, I don’t suppose he told Ted all that, straight out—he’d just have said enough to let Ted work it out. And I bet he’ll say, if it ever comes out what really happened, he had to tell Ted something different in order to protect me! (As if he gave a hoot!)
Ted called Mr de Lancey all sorts of names for leaving such dangerous medicine where I could get it but secretly he’s rather pleased ’cos de Lancey was very apologetic and anxious, when normally, Ted says, he’s not famous for his civility to anyone below the rank of Lieutenant Governor. He left me a note.
Dear Mrs Jackland,
I must apologize profusely for not having realized that you were in no state to understand my instructions about my “brew”. I do hope that you now make a speedy recovery.
I believe I can discover the painter of the Deposition about which you wrote to me, but shall have to do further research. If I were you I should not trouble my mind with this particular problem for the moment. You will only confuse the design of the picture. Leave it in my hands, and I will do my best.
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