Kitafe

by Michael Ray

  ‘No idea,’ Jonathan called over the bar’s owner. ‘Jim, any idea who the gentleman in the corner is?’

  He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no idea; odd accent maybe a bit French, why?’

  ‘Nothing, I suppose a man’s entitled to a quiet drink by himself.’

  ‘I believe him to be an arms dealer, and he’s not French, he’s Seychellois.’

  ‘Evening Paul, nice jacket, been out boating?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Glad you like it, it’s just arrived from my tailor this morning, Greene and Sons, do you know them?’

  ‘I thought around these parts the tailors all come from Delhi.’ Graham said.

  ‘Do they? I wouldn’t know. Greene and Son’s are based in Savile Row.’

  ‘Well they have very good taste in stripes.’ Jonathan said. ‘Spotting you in the dark will be problem free.’

  ‘Just trying to brighten up your drab little lives.’ Paul replied. ‘A pint if you’re buying.’

  Jonathan held a finger up for the landlord.

  ‘I think you’re wrong about the Seychellois. An arms dealer wouldn’t be here, he’d be at the club, wearing a bow tie and shaking hands with the rich folks.’ Graham said.

  ‘He’s here for the fillies as much as anything, and outside the stables, there aren’t too many hanging around the Racing Club; besides, he’s not interested in selling arms to the establishment, they’ve got far more than they need already,’ Paul said.

  ‘So he’s here to arm the international press corp then, new pens and rubbers all round,’ Graham said.

  ‘There are always a few arms to be found on the black market, plenty of buyers amongst the would-be revolutionaries,’ Paul said.

  ‘Probably left over from the First World War,’ Graham said. ‘From what I remember of my time in the army, some of the Lee Enfields were at least fifty years old. They’re more dangerous to those using them than their would-be victims.’

  ‘Damn good rifle though,’ Paul said, ‘used modified 22 versions of it in the cadets.’

  ‘You were in the cadets? What attracted you, the uniform?’

  ‘Certainly not, khaki doesn’t suit me. I was in it a couple of year’s but didn’t like being ordered around all the time; besides, it was getting in the way of the acting.’

  ‘You were heading for the stage?’

  ‘“There’s a time and tide in the affairs of man that taken at the flood leads on to fortune,” though possibly not in my case.’

  ‘Hamlet?’ asked Graham.

  ‘Julius Caesar, didn’t they teach you anything at your grubby little secondary modern?’

  ‘Only that given the opportunity we should beat up oiks like you.’ Graham replied. ‘The cadets must have missed you though. What did they use for a target after you’d left?’

  ‘As it happens, I won several prizes for marksmanship; you never know, it might come in handy one day soon.’

  ‘I keep forgetting, World War Three is about to tee off,’ Jonathan said.

  ‘Things are beginning to build up. Think about it, if you were an arms dealer where would you be? The South of France or some country that’s about to throw off the shackles of an Empire,’ Paul said. ‘The Seychellois isn’t here for a holiday, if he was he’d been on a beach somewhere.’

  ‘He’s probably come here to get away from them, I believe they’re quite common in the Seychelles. I see you returned safely from seeing Henry Ngai,’ Jonathan said, changing the subject. ‘How faired your peregrination?’

  ‘Never found him,’ Paul replied. The blasted driver drove me around the bush for a day, swearing he was going to be around the next corner, until I’d had enough and ordered him to bring me back to town. I’ll try again though. How was your tryst with Brother Sebastian, Graham?’

  ‘Fine, except that by the time Bradley had finished with it, the piece had changed from being a considered analysis of how an intelligent kid becomes a crazed, freedom fighter; into, “look out, there’s a mad man on the loose who’s going to burn down your house and have his way with your wife and daughters.”’

  ‘Such is the power of the Editor in Chief,’ Jonathan said. ‘Bradley certainly knows his market. Look sharp, here comes your wife.’

  Amani was coming through the door; she had a smile on her face, all was going to be well.

  ‘Evening love, beer?’ graham asked offering her his stool.

  ‘Yes please, darling.’

  ‘Look, about last night …’

  ‘… It’s alright, I understand.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Of course. Last night I was waiting here with Jonathan and when you didn’t turn up, he explained to me how important your work was; didn’t you Jonathan?’

  Jonathan looked a bit surprised, ‘but of course.’

  ‘So has my baby had a good day?’

  ‘Yes thank you,’ Paul replied.

  ‘I wasn’t asking you, you bad man,’ Amani said patting him on the knee.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’re likely to be seeing your brother in the near future?’ Graham asked.

  ‘Why darling?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just that there’s a rumour that he’s going to be arrested.’

  Amani frowned at him then turned to Jonathan. ‘Do you know about this rumour?’

  ‘But of course my dear, it’s all over town.’

  ‘Jonathan, I do not believe you, but never mind.’ She turned to Graham. ‘So, what are you telling me?’

  ‘I’m telling you that James is about to be arrested and that if you can contact him, you should.’

  Amani stared at him, ‘and how do you know this, who have you been talking to?’

  ‘I have my contacts. I’m a political reporter now, political reporters have contacts.’

  ‘And who are these contacts … not Colonel Harding?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Graham lied; ‘It’s confidential. I can’t even tell you.’

  Amani’s smile disappeared, he could sense her tensing up. ‘And when do these contacts tell you he will be arrested?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow, around lunchtime. He should leave well before then.’

  She seemed to relax a little. ’Darling, you work too hard, and you should be paid more. What do you think, Jonathan?’

  ‘Oh yes, definitely, I was just telling him the same thing.’

  ‘That Mr Bradley, he is a bad man. He lives in his big house with his dogs and garden and his big car and his servants and you do all his work for him, and he pays you hardly anything. Am I right Jonathan?’

  ‘Dear, don’t worry Jonathan,’ Graham interrupted.

  ‘Why not? He has more sense than you, he works for a proper paper; anyway, I will do as you say … tomorrow.’ She put her hand on Graham’s knee and smiled at him. Relieved, he took her hand and gently squeezed it.

  Six

  ‘What have you done!’ Amani cried, staring at the newspaper over breakfast the next morning.

  ‘Just reported what I heard. Bradley edited it a bit,’ Graham replied from the other side of his toast.

  ‘But are you crazy? You want to die, you stupid man? You know even here Ngai has supporters. You’ve called him a psychopathic maniac, a perverter of religion, a pagan!’

  ‘I didn’t do that, Bradley did.’

  Amani threw the paper down on the table. ‘It has got your name on the bottom, not Bradley’s! What about me when you die?’

  ‘I’m not going to die, Ngai doesn’t even know what I look like.’

  ‘No? You just wait, you stupid man, you and your stupid boss, and if he changed it, why did he put your name on the paper? He is a coward and you don’t care,’ and she burst into tears.

  Graham got up and went to put an arm around her, but she shrugged it off.

  ‘Get off me!’

  He retreated back to his toast.

  She sniffed a few times then blew her nose. He had to remind her to warn James, the timing was going to be tricky.

  She got up,
wiped her eyes, and picked up her handbag.

  ‘You will remember to get a message to James,’ he said nervously.

  ‘And why do you want to warn him?’

  ‘Because he’s family.’

  Amani stared at him, ‘I do not believe you.’

  ‘What does it matter as long as you warn him? If he doesn’t believe me, he doesn’t have to act; anyway, he must know he’s in danger of being arrested. He should at least lie low.’

  ‘Because your contacts have told you, you and your stupid contacts. I think it is all make believe, it is all in your mind.’

  ‘Think what you like, but let him decide whether I am mad or not.’

  ‘After that piece in your newspaper about him, do you still think he’ll look on you as family?’

  ‘I saw him yesterday, he loved it; anyway, my piece was positive, it was just the editorial that was against him, and he didn’t even mind that.’

  ‘What, calling him a disruptive influence, someone who needs crushing before he gets out of hand … and he loved it?’

  ‘The editorial said that not me. It’s how he wants his supporters to see him, someone fighting against the establishment, not grovelling to it.’

  ‘But it was in your newspaper, you idiot!’

  ‘The Standard represents the establishment, his people will love the establishment getting nervous about him.’

  ‘And if he gets into power, where will that leave you?’

  ‘No idea, maybe he’ll need someone to write his jokes. Just warn him, and he can make up his own mind.’

  Amani stared at him in disbelief. ‘Why didn’t you warn him yesterday when you saw him? Why do you need me to contact him now?’

  ‘Because I heard the rumour after I’d met him, and I don’t have access to the bush telegraph like you do. Tell one of your friends downtown something and it’s like broadcasting from a radio station. Within minutes most of Subsaharan Africa knows what’s happening.’

  Amani went to the door and glared at him. ‘Very well, I will get word to him, and I will tell him about your stupid establishment.’ She slammed the door behind her.

  Graham sighed and slowly finished his cup of coffee. He put the dishes in the sink for Waridi, and left for the office.

  He felt the morning sun against his face and his mood lifted. Amani had been as sweet as anything … until the moment she’d lost it over breakfast. He liked walking into work; it saved petrol and only took twenty minutes. It gave him a chance to think. He turned left into the King George Street and headed downhill into town, the opposite direction from the Stardust. You rarely saw Whites walking into town, they all had cars as did many Asians. Nowadays even one or two Africans had them, using them even if they only had to travel half a mile. Occasionally he’d be offered a lift, but usually turned it down. He enjoyed the walk.

  In danger of getting into the office ten minutes before he needed to, he went to Aristotle’s cafe, got a coffee, and sat staring out of the window at the early morning traffic. Everything was working; everything was in its place. The workers off to be a cog in a machine, shopkeepers opening the doors of their shops. Jack went past in a new Jaguar with Margaret in the passenger seat; it wouldn’t be his but some rich client’s new toy. He sipped his coffee, it was hot so he blew over the top, took another sip and put it down. Two smartly dressed men came in. Graham nodded a greeting, but even if they saw him from behind their dark glasses, they ignored him. Must be Americans he thought. Their suits and haircuts were a giveaway; hair that looked like the Wimbledon lawns on the first day of the fortnight, very even and very short.

  He heard Aristotle taking their order, he was right, Americans; unusual in this part of Africa but not unheard of. He continued watching the cars going past; maybe one day he’d make enough money to buy something decent. On the other side of the street, a white policeman was chatting amiably to a shoeshine man whilst having his shoes polished. He’d seen it before and it made sense. If you wanted to find out what was going on in town, then a shoeshine boy was a good starting point; probably time to treat his own shoes to a regular waxing. He wondered if Bradley would let him put it on expenses, probably not. The policeman quietly slipped the man some notes, certainly more than a ten minutes’ polishing cost then he carried on his way. Behind him the Americans were talking quietly to each other. That in itself aroused Graham’s curiosity, particularly when the Colonel’s name came up in the conversation, so he got out his notebook.

  *****

  That evening he headed off to the Stardust for a pint or two and a chat. He was beginning to realise the importance of meeting up with fellow political journalists and chewing over the fat, a time for discussing the slowly developing collapse of the British Empire. As a political journalist it was important to discuss the slowly developing collapse of the British Empire. The beer was just a bonus.

  ‘I think that unlikely, what interest would the Americans have in this place?’ Jonathan asked. ‘There’s little for here here, apart from a bit of coffee, a bit of tea and a few cows. They showed little interest before the war and I’m sure there are better candidates for their meddling.’

  ‘They’ve got their listening post in Ethiopia, plenty of US Army knocking about up there, maybe they’re thinking of extending south.’

  ‘But they’re there to keep an eye on the Red Sea and the Gulf, it’s where the oil is. There’s no oil around here.’

  ‘Not forgetting the mess next door in Somalia. You know the Russians have been arming them? Maybe the US is worried about loosing out in East Africa and are planning on moving a few thousand advisors into the area like they’ve been doing in Vietnam. I didn’t catch everything they said, but the conversation was definitely about getting arms into the country,’ Graham replied.

  ‘You said they mentioned AKs,’ said Paul. ‘Are you sure they didn’t have a Russian accent?’

  ‘If they were Russian, why would they talk in English, or what passes as English? Mind you, I’ve no idea why Americans would want to undermine the British.’

  ‘Like they wouldn’t undermine the French in Vietnam?’ Jonathan said. ‘Of course they would if should they think it in their interest.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s the French, the Americans are our friends.’

  ‘And officially they were France’s friends, but after the war, they had little interest in letting France keep it’s empire, and unofficially were still chummy with the Viet Mihn, having helped them fight against the Japanese. They had no interest in France hanging onto to an East Asian Empire, so officially they didn’t support them until it was too late, and unofficially they undermined them.’

  ‘Well we couldn’t have beaten Hitler without help from them.’

  ‘Or without help from Stalin. The US made a fortune out of us, and bankrupted us in the process. We’ll be paying back war loans for another fifty years. Why do you think they waited so long before joining in the Second World War?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea, still hoping to find more Indians to shoot first?’ Graham replied.

  ‘Ideology, they knew that if we were broke there would be no way we could hang onto the Empire. Now India’s gone as well as Malaya, and that just leaves the few remaining African countries and a few odds and sods. Graham dear boy, They hate the idea of anyone having an empire.’

  ‘Anyone else you mean.’

  ‘Not at all, they’re not interested in empires, it goes against everything they stand for. The US is very happy for countries to be independent, just as long as the US controls whoever is in charge and through them any trade. Very wise, if it all goes wrong they don’t get the blame.’

  ‘Same as the Russians then, except no one there is likely to complain if it all goes wrong.’

  ‘It’s called spheres of influence. The Americans sell arms to one half of the world and the Russians to the other half, or at least that’s what they’re both aiming for. Lots of arms sales, lots of money and lots of influence; win win all round. A
s long as they can keep their friends terrified of their neighbours, they’ll sell arms to them, it works for both of them.’

  ‘So cynical,’ said Graham; ‘anyway, if they had influence over half the world, it would be a hemisphere, not a sphere.’

  ‘Whoever they are what are they doing here? Asked Paul. ‘They can’t be thinking of supporting Ngai, so at present that just leaves Obuya. I don’t suppose Graham, that he’s mentioned any crates of assault rifles turning up on his doorstep?’

  ‘He seems more interested in cold beer than bullets; but seriously, I don’t think armed insurrection is his style.’

  ‘So why don’t you ask him?’ Paul asked.

  ‘What, whether he’s planning on an armed rebellion? I can’t do that! Maybe you should ask your Seychellois friend in the corner, he might know what’s going on, maybe he’s working for the Americans.’

  Paul turned round, the Seychellois was there, sitting with a couple of girls and a row of beers. He turned back. ‘No, I think not; I just can’t see him turning up with a shipload of arms. Have you had a chat with the Colonel, asked him if he knows anything about it?’

  Graham shook his head. ‘I wasn’t going to, do you think I should?’

  ‘I don’t see why not, you can hardly write a story on it at the moment. Why not give it a bit of a shove and see what occurs.’

  ‘Bloody bastards,’ Amani said, coming into the Stardust, out of breath. She came over to them and sat down hard on the proffered bar stool. ‘Bloody, crazy, mad bastards.’

  Graham held a finger up to the barman who came over with a beer for her. ‘What bloody, crazy, mad bastards?’

  ‘Bloody bitches, singing their hymns and waving crucifixes around, bloody bastard bitches.’

  Jonathan looked her a little bemused. ‘Who or what are you talking about my dear?’

  ‘Outside the Stardust; they called me a whore because I was wearing western clothes and coming in here, crazy, bastard bitches.’

  ‘They did what!’ Graham said, getting off his barstool. Paul put a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Not now old chap.’

  Graham shrugged it off and headed to the door, glass of beer in hand.