by Michael Ray
‘And then he took you to the Racing Club.’
‘I didn’t want to go there, I wanted to get the car fixed, but he insisted. Bloody funny seeing all those memsahibs getting upset because one of the peasants had walked through the door. Do you know the Colonel? Lovely man the Colonel.’
‘I wouldn’t let anyone in The New Kongoni hear you say that. So what did you talk about?’
‘Oh I can’t tell you that, a bit hush hush. You know the Colonel, every thing’s very hush hush with the Colonel.’
‘But Graham, we are family, you can tell me.’
Graham stared hard at James, he was going in and out of focus. ‘Very well, but you must promise not to tell anyone else.’
‘Of course I won’t.’
‘Promise?’
‘My friend, of course I promise; now tell me, what did he say?’
Graham leaned forward and whispered to James. ’That I should be nice to you, invite you round for supper, that sort of thing.’
‘Well, how jolly good of him.’ James put a hand on Graham’s shoulder. ‘Graham, we are family, I am your brother. There is no need for you to be told by some mzungu policeman to be nice to me or to invite me around for supper. If you want to see me, I will be there for you as you would be for me.’
He leaned back, smiled and nodded. ‘Now, you must get some sleep, I will do the interview for your newspaper when you are not so tired and I have more time.’
‘Good idea mate, when we’re not so tired.’
‘I will call for you when I’m ready and now I think we should find you a taxi to take you home, Moses will help you.’ He looked over to the other table, ‘Moses, find our friend a taxi.’
Graham got up, clutching the remains of his beer with one hand and hanging onto the back of the chair for support with the other.
‘Here, you had better take this for the fare.’ James held out some change.
Graham let go of the chair, wobbled a bit and took it. ‘Thanks mate. Look, about Rose, you won’t say anything to Amani.’
‘There is nothing to say to Amani. Goodnight Graham.’
‘Come my friend, I will find you a taxi,’ said Moses taking Graham by the arm.
‘Bless you mate,’ Graham said, gratefully accepting the assistance as they left the bar. A few watched him leave, but now he was under no threat.
The taxi set off towards his house. It wasn’t a good taxi, good taxis didn’t ply their trade in the west side of town, and it had seen many years of service on rough African roads before being conscripted into the noble profession. Its shock absorbers had long since left this mortal coil, and it bounced through the potholes of the west side of town as though it was driving across a rough sea. Graham looked for a way to lower his window, hoping to clear his head a little. The driver, realising Graham’s dilemma and worried that the back of his cab might suffer if he didn’t succeed, passed a winder back to him. He needn’t have worried, Graham’s constitution was far too experienced in the ways of alcohol to let him be sick. Besides, he was having to concentrate far too hard on getting the winder on its spindle to have any time for throwing up. After five minutes, he succeeded and started to wind down the window only for the winder to come off. So he began the process again. It kept him occupied for the rest of the journey.
They arrived outside his front door and Graham exited the taxi, avoided falling into the gutter, and went to the driver’s window. ‘Thank you brother.’ He took the change out of his pocket and attempted to sort it, gave up, shook the driver’s hand then handed it all over.
Slowly and carefully, up the steps, one at a time, up to the front door muttering to himself. ‘Mustn’t wake up Amani, lovely girl Amani.’ He searched his trouser pockets, couldn’t find his keys then worked through his jacket, still no keys. Returning to his trouser pockets, he found them tangled in a handkerchief which he dropped onto the steps. He knelt down, picked them up, selected the front door key and carefully lined it up with the keyhole as if threading a needle, giving a small cry of triumph when he succeeded. ‘Sshh, mustn’t wake Amani.’ He turned the key and slowly pushed the door open.
‘Where the hell have you been?!’ Amani shouted at him. A short, wiry young woman, somehow she completely filled the space left by the open door.
‘Hello love, with your brother, James,’ Graham replied, wobbling a little in an attempt to keep his balance.
‘Like hell you have, you were seen leaving the Stardust with some tart.’
‘No love, that wasn’t a tart it was Rose Muturi.’
‘Rose, buy me one beer, I love you, what is your name, Muturi? You drunken bastard, and what was she like? A good fuck was she?’
No love, I didn’t, I wouldn’t, she isn’t like that, she just wanted to take me to see James.’
‘I do not believe you.’
She came up to him and slapped him hard enough to knock him off balance and, as he grabbed at her in an attempt to remain upright, took hold of his shirt with one hand and dragged the nails of the other down the side of his neck. ‘You bloody bastard!’ She screamed. He made another attempt to hang onto her, but she pushed him back down the steps and into the road.
‘Get lost, you … you bastard, go and find your Rose Muturi if you want somewhere to sleep!’ She slammed the door shut, leaving him in the dirt.
He heaved himself into a sitting position, but gave up trying to get any more vertical. The combined effects of beer and the fall had left his brain on a slow tick-over. It was peaceful sitting in the dirt, comfortable. His eyes closed and his head gently nodded downwards as he dozed off … suddenly his world was full of light and the sound of a car horn.
‘Stupid idiot, get out of the road!’
The car continued past him and somewhere, deep down, sufficient neurones were still working to push a message through to what remained of awareness. Maybe the road wasn’t quite as comfortable as he’d thought.
He struggled into a standing position, staggered as far as the bottom step and sat down. He attempted to brush some of the dirt off his jacket then touched his neck, it felt warm, wet. He winced from the stinging as his fingers worked their way over a series of weals then he looked at them. There was some blood, and the top of his shirt was feeling sticky. He probably ought to clean it, probably ought to clean the scratches as well. He got back up and shambled off down the road in the general direction of a cheap hotel, one that would give him a bed for the night and let him pay later. He’d been a good customer in the past under similar circumstances.
Two
‘Good God, what happened to you, run into a leopard last night?’
Graham was sitting in front of Mr Bradley’s desk, blood stains on his shirt and a trail of scratches down the side of his neck.
‘No Mr Bradley, Amani was a bit upset with me.’
‘A bit upset! What did you do to get her a bit upset?’
‘Just a misunderstanding.’
‘She’ll kill you one day over a misunderstanding. Where were you?’
‘I went to see James Obuya last night, that’s why she tried to kill me.’
‘Because you saw her brother?’
‘No
‘I don’t suppose you could let me have an advance, I’ve hardly got any cash to pay the garage.’
‘No, you can’t have an advance, you’ll just drink it. By the time your car’s repaired it will be next week, you’ll have your wages and you can pay them then. Now get on with it and clean yourself up, I don’t want one of my reporters walking around looking as if he’d just been in a drunken brawl.’
Graham left Mr Bradley’s office and the building, it was only half nine. He knew it was going to be a hot day, he’d already begun to sweat.
He went up King George Street and arrived at Browns Motors. A few people stared at him, but looked away quickly in case he made eye contact. Jack Brown had originally sold him the car and as far as Graham was concerned was responsible for everything that had go
ne wrong with it ever since. Jack Brown thought that if anyone were idiotic enough to buy some of the heaps he sold, any misfortune was their own responsibility. He went past the petrol pumps, nodded a greeting to the pump attendant and entered the small showroom. A couple of new cars rested there, shiny and sleek; newly imported from Europe and far beyond his spending power. He kept cars for Graham and the like around the back, well out of the way of his wealthier clients.
‘Morning Margaret.’
The receptionist looked up, ‘My God, what happened to you?’ She came out from behind her desk went up to him and tilted his head to one side for a better look. ‘Do you want me to clean it for you? I’ve got some antiseptic in the back office.’
‘It’s all right love, I’ll be fine.’
‘You know what happens to scratches in this climate if you don’t treat them.’
‘I’ve got a first aid kit in the car …’
‘Nonsense, wait here.’ She disappeared and came back a few minutes later with a bowl of water, some cotton wool and a bottle of iodine.
‘Margaret, please, that’s going to hurt.’
‘Of course it’s going to hurt, it wouldn’t work if it didn’t hurt. Now sit down and stop being a big baby.’
Five minutes later after much sharp drawing in of breath and other expressions of pain, Graham’s neck was cleaned and of a deep purple hue.
She returned behind her desk. ‘Good, that’s better. So what else can I do for you? You haven’t come to clear your account have you?’
Graham grimaced slightly, ‘Sorry, no, but I get paid next week; I can clear it then. Actually, I was after a favour; the car broke down a couple of miles out of town yesterday. I wondered if I could borrow Benjamin for an hour … please?’
Margaret made a show of disapproval, but she had a soft spot for him, particularly when she’d seen the glee on her husband’s face after he had sold him the now defunct car. ‘Very well, but don’t move, I don’t want Jack to know you’re here.’ She left the office, returning a minute later with a mechanic.
‘Morning Mister Graham Sir.’
‘Morning Benjamin.’
‘So where is the car exactly?’ Margaret asked.
‘A bit out of town, towards Holbrook’s place.’
‘That’s not a bit out of town, that’s halfway across the country.’
‘Not as far as his place, quite a bit before you get to place. I don’t suppose we could use one of your cars? I haven’t the money for a taxi.’
She stared at him, wondering at his audacity.
He smiled sheepishly back at her. ‘Please love, just this once?’
‘Just this … once?’
‘I know you have helped me in the past, but …’
‘So next week you’ll pay off the account?’
‘Well, some of it; I get paid on Wednesday.’
‘The two don’t necessarily follow, they never have in the past. So how much is some?’
‘Tell you what, I’ll make up for any delay by writing an amusing little piece about the whole incident for the paper, telling everyone how helpful you were.’
‘You’d better not, if Jack ever found out I helped you …’ She took a deep breath, hesitated then opened a drawer and passed over a set of keys to Benjamin. ‘Take the Morris and if possible don’t let Jack see either of you … and Benjamin.’
‘Yes Ma’am’
‘Oh, never mind, just don’t let Jack see you.’
‘Yes Ma’am,’ Benjamin took the keys with a broad smile and they left.
‘Bloody hell!’ Graham exclaimed. They’d arrived at the car to find all the wheels had been replaced by rocks.
Fifty yards away two small boys watched on with interest.
‘Bad thing, Mr Graham.’
‘You don’t suppose those boys know anything about it?’
Benjamin followed Graham’s gaze, called out to them and the boys came over. After a brief exchange, he turned to Graham. ‘They say they know nothing of the missing wheels, but know where they can get four others that will fit your car.’
‘What, you mean someone just happens to have four wheels for a ten-year old Ford lying about their shamba?’
‘That’s what they’re saying Mr Graham.’
‘How much do they want?’
Benjamin asked the boys.
‘They say they want a hundred shillings.’
‘A hundred! Tell them I’ve only got ten.’
Benjamin took deep breath as if embarrassed to pass on this information then talked to the boys. ‘They want to know if you have a watch.’
Graham shook his head, ‘it died last week.’ He patted his pockets, found half a packet of cigarettes and held them out. The boys talked briefly with each other then gave their answer to Benjamin.
‘They say OK, those and the ten shillings. Mister Graham, I could always beat out of them where they’ve hidden the wheels.’
‘You’d never catch them; anyway, it’s just another bill to pay. Tell them they have a deal.’
Benjamin gave Graham’s reply to the boys and one stepped forward, solemnly offering a hand. Graham shook it and the boys disappeared around behind a nearby rock, returning with a wheel a piece. Then they opened the car boot, took out the jack and spanner and put them back on before returning behind the rock for the second pair. Meanwhile, Benjamin had the hood open and was inspecting the engine.
‘The filter is full of dust Mister Graham, when was the car last serviced?’
‘I don’t know, maybe a year ago.’
Benjamin shook his head; ‘I haven’t seen this car in the in the workshop since you bought it. You haven’t been going to some dirty jua kali mechanic have you?’
‘I’m broke, I can hardly afford the petrol.’
‘You have hardly any oil in the engine either.’ Benjamin fetched a can from the Morris.
‘How much is that stuff?’
‘Maybe fifty cents a gallon.’ Benjamin went into the car and tried the starter, it made a half attempt to turn the engine then nothing. ‘Perhaps you have used the battery too much?’
‘It was almost dead anyway, there’s a starting handle though.’ Graham went to the boot and brought it to the front of the car, but Benjamin took it from him before he could try it out.
‘If you get in the car Mr Graham, as soon as you hear it fire, just a little push on the accelerator … not before it fires though.’
Watched by a couple of small boys, now puffing away on cigarettes, Benjamin swung the handle and miraculously the engine fired into life.
‘Firing on all four,’ Graham shouted gleefully, leaning out of the window with his thumb in the air.
Benjamin held his arm up. ‘Turn the engine off Mr Graham.’ Graham did as he was told. ‘This is bad thing, very bad thing.’ Graham got out of the car fearing the worse.
‘Your car overheated because the fan belt wasn’t turning, look.’
Graham looked, there was something lodged at the top of the belt, trapped against the top pulley wheel. ‘Looks like a bone.’
‘Bad thing Mr Graham, chicken bone, bad thing.’ Benjamin pulled on the belt moving it backwards and the bone dropped to the ground, he looked genuinely scared. ‘It’s a bad thing.’
‘You keep saying that, it’s just a chicken bone.’
Benjamin shook his head. ‘It’s a curse Mr Graham, someone bad has put it there, you should pray to Jesus that he removes the curse.’
‘Couldn’t I just stop running over chickens?’
‘Please Mr Graham, don’t make fun. I will pray for you.’
‘Bless you mate, and I’ll pray for you.’
Benjamin looked at him seriously and gently nodded his head. ‘Thank you and now we will start the car again. You go first Mister Graham, I will follow,’ and they left, two small boys waving their farewells.
*****
Graham finally got back to the office, greeting Jenny at the reception. She stared at his neck then, realising she wa
s staring, looked down at her desk in embarrassment. ‘Oh, sorry, this came for you.’ Still staring at her desk, she passed him a note. Down the corridor he could hear Bradley shouting at someone … at least it wasn’t him, and he headed for his desk. From out of Bradley’s office a very sheepish looking Sam emerged,
‘Theakston!’
How the hell does he l know I’m here? Graham wondered again as he went into Bradley’s office.
‘Well?’
‘I’ve got the car back.’
‘And?’
‘Sabotaged by a chicken bone but now it’s fine thanks.’
‘Not the blasted car you idiot, have you contacted your brother-in-law?’
‘But I haven’t had time … hang on.’ Graham had a look at the note Jenny had handed him. ‘He wants to meet me this evening at the New Kongoni … I’ll never get out of there alive, I’ll never get there alive.’
‘If you’re worried, take Amani along for protection.’
‘I don’t think …’
‘I’m joking you idiot; anyway, I thought the last time you met you had a disagreement. Your neck still looks as if it had a disagreement, in fact it appears to have turned bright purple with disagreement. Maybe you should avoid her until you’re fit for purpose.’
‘Yes, well, I’ll think of something.’
‘Good, I like my reporters to be resourceful. In the meantime here’s the feed from London, I want you to give me a couple of thousand words from the football reports.’
‘Right away Mr Bradley, will do.’
‘And for God’s sake put on another shirt.’
‘Yes Mr Bradley as soon as …’
‘ … and there should be more dribbling down the wing, dribbling with defence splitting crosses.’
‘Yes Mr Bradley, lots of dribbling down the wing with defence splitting crosses,’ and he went to his office and an ancient typewriter.
*****
After two hours of imaginatively expanding the first division football results into tales of skill and heroism, Graham left the office and headed back to his house. Amani wasn’t there, so he had a quick wash, inspected his neck and tried to get rid of the iodine stain, giving up as the first drop of soap hit the first scratch. He found a clean shirt then, having considered what Amani was likely to say when she turned up, headed off to the Stardust for a supportive beer.
He walked along the side of the road, head down to keep an eye out for rocks and tree roots that seemed to rise out of the hardened mud of the path like sea serpents on an old map. He tried to emulate the heroics he’d just being writing about, kicking ahead a corn husk, the remains of a cheap meal from one of the many jikos by the side of the road that offered burnt corn to the local servants and ayahs.