by Michael Ray
‘I thought you said we’d get there by nightfall,’ Graham muttered whilst trying to keep an eye on Benjamin.
‘I merely reported on the matter; your wife is the one who doesn’t understand the delicate relationship between distance and time.’
‘You think she’s leading us down the garden path?’
‘She’s your wife; you should know.’
They continued for another ten minutes then Graham ground to a halt and collapsed in the shelter of a tree. ‘Time for a break,’ he announced then shouted ‘Benjamin’ who pulled off the path under a tree for shelter. ‘You might as well see what the oracle has to say, there’s always a possibility she’ll be right.’
… ‘She says it’s too far to go in this rain but we’ll be there in time for breakfast tomorrow morning.’
‘Great, so where does she suggest we sleep?’
… ‘Apparently, there’s a mission station nearby, about an hour before the village.’
‘Bloody hell! What is it with that girl? Why didn’t she say so in the first place?’
… ‘She says it is a bad place. Ngai said the men that live there are evil … it is full of bad spirits … the men take the bad spirits as their wives.’
‘Baptists then … Look I don’t care what arrangements they have with the bad spirits as long as they have a roof, a hot cup of tea and chocolate cake. How far is soon?’
… ‘Maybe fifteen minutes.’
‘So thirty minutes max, you’ll make it that far won’t you? Not that there’s an option, unless you fancy sleeping under a pile of leaves.’
‘It works for gorillas, and is more tempting with each step.’
*****
Half an hour later they were still stumbling along in the rain, the dark clouds and forest now reducing the track to murky, overlapping shadows. Graham’s robe clung to his body and his hair felt like wet seaweed, dribbling water down his face. On a positive note, he wasn’t thirsty any more.
‘Bloody Rachel, why couldn’t she just say “I don’t know,” rather than having a guess and passing it over as fact?’ he asked, wiping water away from his eyes.
‘It’s not our way, bwana.’ Paul replied, leaning on Graham’s shoulder for support. ‘When it comes to questions of importance, as a nation we hate to disappoint with ignorance but I’ll ask her for an update anyway … She says a cigarette smoke, that’s about twenty minutes.’
‘I’m guessing there’s another hour of daylight, assuming there’s still a sun the other side of the clouds. Let’s give it another half hour and if we haven’t found the mission by then we’ll … Are you up to it?’
‘Another half an hour I can manage, after that stick me under half a dozen banana leaves and let me be.’
As they continued, the track became a muddy stream. Water channelled down from overhead leaves and wet bushes by the side of the track brushed any part of the body that wasn’t already soaked. They splashed along, Graham supporting Paul, one foot in front of the other.
‘Sod this for a laugh, isn’t it time to start looking for a dry patch under a tree we can call home?’
‘I thought the army told to you not to sleep under trees.’ Paul replied.
‘Difficult in a forest. I’m bloody knackered, we’ve got to start looking for some shelter, even if it’s just a bivouac of branches. I’m surprised you’re still upright.’
‘I must be more resilient than I thought.’ Paul lifted his head and stared through the rain, frowning with concentration. ‘Will that do?’
‘Bloody hell, we’ve arrived!’ A wave of optimism and new energy passed through Graham and he abandoned Paul, strode into the clearing only for the wave to crash against the rocks. ‘Bugger, it’s been hit.’
The path led in a curve across some rough grass and along a row of buildings. On a sunny day, with small children running about, the clearing would have been a pleasant place, sunlit and green. Now, it was just a poorly lit puddle-filled smear of grass and mud that separated the forest from the wreckage of buildings.
‘Isn’t there anywhere in this part of the damn country that hasn’t been trashed?’ Graham muttered to himself as they plodded through the ruined compound, past bullet-splattered walls and collapsed roofs, through an open doorway, the remains of a dormitory. Burnt beams and corrugated iron lay across the tops of metal bed frames and the skeletons of mattresses. ‘This place hasn’t been hit that recently, there’s grass growing in the middle of the floor.’
‘Harding was talking about a Methodist mission that had been attacked, maybe this is it.’ Paul said.
‘If Harding knew about it then maybe the British Army are nearby.’
‘That was months ago, I doubt there are any squaddies this far north anymore.’
They continued through the rain, past more burnt outbuildings, smashed windows, the charred stumps of wooden frames and twisted corrugated iron.
This looks like home for the night,’ Graham said, poking his head through an almost complete doorway. ‘It’s the only one that’s still got a roof.’
‘They’d probably run out of matches. It looks like a classroom,’ Paul said.
‘Pity, I was hoping for the canteen, I’d swap my granny for a steak and chips.’
A few desks and broken chairs were piled up in one corner and writing boards were scattered about the floor. Graham picked one up and took it to the door for better light. “My uncle has a black cat, it sits on a red chair. My name is Nathaniel.”
He tried to imagine Nathaniel, sitting there, board and chalk in hand as the soldiers arrived. Now, he was either dead or carrying a Kalashnikov. Bloody Ngai and his friends, they were no better than cockroaches. If only someone had a boot big enough.
Graham heard a noise behind him, Benjamin had dropped his rifle. He was staring at the blackboard and muttering to himself, ‘Embrace the prophet, Ngai is love, Embrace the prophet, Ngai is love,’ nodding his head in rhythm to the words. He stared at Graham then back at the blackboard. ‘Embrace the prophet, Ngai is love.’ Getting more agitated and disturbed, he fled out of the hut and into the rain.
Graham went to the entrance but he’d vanished.
‘Paul mate , he’s …’
‘You can’t go after him.’
‘But …’
Rachel had sat down on the floor and was also staring at the blackboard, still covered with the remains of the last lesson.
‘They know this place,’ Graham said.
‘It would appear so.’
Paul spoke to Rachel, but she didn’t reply, just kept staring at the blackboard. He sat down next to her and put an arm around her. She let him draw her head against his chest then spoke.
… ‘They were here when the men came.’… ‘They killed the teacher and some of the children.’ … ‘They burned the school and they killed Mamma Joyce and they killed Mister Timothy.’
‘Fuck, so what do we do about Benjamin?’ Graham asked.
‘Hope he’ll turn up again.’
‘But he’ll get soaked.’
‘He’s already soaked. He knows this place, so he’ll know where he might find shelter and he’ll know how to get back if he wants to.’
Graham went over to the wall facing the door and slumped down against it then got up again.
‘Well I’m going to wring my nightie out, tell Rachel to look the other way.’
… ‘Do you know she almost smiled when I told her?’
‘Did she now.’ Graham turned his back to them lifted the robe over his head and squeezed it.
‘Your back’s a mess,’ Paul said, taking off the remains of the shirt he was wearing and giving it a wring as well.
‘Thanks, I know.’ Graham rubbed himself down, gave the robe another squeeze then put it back on and sat back down against the wall.
‘Don’t worry Graham, he’s a smart kid.’ Paul said.
‘He’d be even smarter if they’d hadn’t interrupted his English lesson.’
He got up again and
went over to the pile of desks and chairs and rummaged through them. Finding a bench in one piece, he brought it over to Paul and sat down.
‘Plenty of room on board for both of you.’
‘Thanks I’m fine down here, not so far to fall,’ Paul replied. ‘So how did you end up in Ngai’s camp?’
‘I rolled up at The Black Cat for an interview and they grabbed me. I gave them a false name; I even made up a fake press pass but they knew who I was.’
‘Famous then. Did it take them long to find the revolver?’
‘They grabbed and frisked me as soon as I got out of the car … How did you know I had a revolver?’
‘After you vanished I went to see Jean Vert.’
‘Bloody arms dealers, you can’t trust them.’
Graham got up from his chair and went to the doorway. ‘There’s nothing outside apart from rain. I reckon it’s getting a bit brighter though, maybe it will clear up just in time for sunset.’
In response, the forest edge was momentarily lit up by lightning, followed by a crash of thunder. He shrugged and returned to the chair. ‘Bloody rain on tin roofs, hell of a din.’
‘It’s not as loud as it was, the rain must be slackening off.’ Paul replied. ‘I went to the Black Cat soon after you disappeared; your car was still there. I got one of Harding’s men to take it back; just in case you ever felt like driving again.’
‘Thanks mate but I don’t suppose I’ll be able to afford the petrol. I was hoping I could claim the insurance and live on it for a while’
‘I doubt you’re covered for acts of war. Maybe Bradley will give you some backpay.’
‘And maybe hippos will fly … Damn Ngai, why couldn’t he have left this place alone? I was looking forward to a cup of tea. Maybe there’ll be something in the rubble.’
‘You’re hoping to find a caddy of PG Tips?’
‘Wouldn’t make any difference if I did, we haven’t got a teapot. You could put Ceylon out of business if you wanted to, there’s loads of room in this place for more plantations.’
‘On that I agree. The British planters are hardly trying but once we’ve taken over things will improve.’
‘So you think farming’s a growth industry?’
‘It will be after we’ve nationalised the plantations. Centralised and government controlled; they’ll be far more efficient than the dispersed and uncooperative colonialists. Profits will go into education and health instead of the pockets of rich foreigners.’
‘You won’t get any argument from me but I never took you for a Socialist. You told me you were going to be a kingmaker. Kingmakers don’t support a people’s Utopia, they support kings.’
‘I’m a Nationalist not a Socialist. The land doesn’t belong to the British; they came here and they stole it. The land belongs to the people not the thieves.’
‘Well long live international proletarianism. Who’s going to be king then?’ Graham asked.
‘Our president will be James Obuya.’
‘So, you’re in bed with James but he is a Socialist.’
‘Of course he is and he’s also the right man for the job.’
The room was momentarily lit up again but this time the thunder didn’t arrive for several seconds. Graham got up to take a look and stuck his hand out of the door. A few drops, soon be over, until the next deluge the next evening. At least the weather here was predictable, unlike Manchester.
He went back into the room, knelt down in front of Rachel and smiled at her; she was still staring at the blackboard. He stroked her cheek, maybe he could start giving her English lessons, carry on from where she left off when Ngai’s army appeared. He smiled at her, but she didn’t respond so he sat on his bench again, neatly spreading his robe over his knees and turned his attention back to Paul and his newly revealed political ambitions.
‘You know mate, I think you’d make a good president. Given a vote and enough beer I might even support you.’
Paul laughed. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve read enough of your history to know that being in charge is a dangerous lifestyle choice.’
‘So you’re better off sticking someone else at the pointy end, while you collect all the benefits without poking your head above the parapet. Anyone else involved in the junta?’
‘There’s something I might have forgotten to mention. As well as my busy life as an internationally respected journalist, I also work for the Colonel, he’s responsible for me turning up at the camp.’
‘But he can’t be part of your conspiracy, he works for the Governor!’
‘He’s a practical man and accepts that the Governor isn’t going to be around that much longer. He’s keen to give James whatever help he can.’
‘In exchange for a job after the Governor’s sent packing. Still, he sent you to find me, I’m touched.’
‘Officially I came out here to interview Ngai. Just a cover, though I’d have made enough for a replacement pair of brogues. Important as you are to me, I was actually sent out here to find out what your American chums were up to.’
‘Any luck?’
‘According to the American administration, they’re crooks, independently acting between Ngai and the Eastern block.’
‘At least they’re now admitting to their existence. So who are they really?’
‘CIA. The US are funding Khashoggi to bring in arms from Czechoslovakia; some Oxford chums helped me with the paper trail. Your friends are out here to make sure the arms arrive at the right place and are all accounted for.’
Graham picked up the rifle Benjamin had dropped and held it up against the light from the door, and then passed it to Paul. ‘If you’d care to look at the markings by the safety catch, I think you’ll find it was made in China.’
Paul gave the rifle a brief once over then put it down.
‘You can stamp them with anything you like but there are other, small differences. If you know what you’re looking for it’s easy enough to tell where it was made. There are people in London who could tell you who bolted it together and probably what they had for breakfast.’
‘A bit embarrassing if it comes out.’
‘It won’t, the British will sit on it. They don’t want to offend their friends, however devious; particularly as the US recently agreed to hand over a load of aluminium at a rock bottom price.’
‘Generous of them, what do they want it for?’
‘Telephone cables, apparently too many people are making telephone calls and they’re running out of copper.’
‘But why are the US supporting Ngai and undermining the British?’
‘They don’t want James in charge. He’s an outspoken socialist, which translates into American English as communist. The Russians are gaining influence in half the surrounding countries and the US is worried about losing out. Ngai, on the other hand, is seen as a fundamentalist Christian which translates as Commie hater. Never mind that he’s a fruitcake, he’ll be their fruitcake.’
‘So no embarrassing disclosures, not even from an internationally respected journalist such as yourself. What are you after in exchange for your silence?’
Paul thought for a moment then smiled in anticipation of a future victory. ‘We expect the Americans to be most generous with their assistance in helping us build a modern infrastructure, roads and the like. If not, as well as broadcasting their connivance to the world, we will turn to our Russian friends.’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘Of course not, I’ve absolutely no interest in taking my holidays on the Black Sea but don’t tell anyone. We’re already getting the Americans to put pressure on Ngai to come to the negotiating table.’
Graham laughed. ’Not a hope in hell, he’s far too much of idealist.’
‘He won’t but David will and he’s the real force behind the army; Ngai’s just a figurehead.’
‘A bit more than that, David’s besotted with him.’
‘But David is still a pragmatist.’
‘If you say so.
Don’t look now but Benjamin is standing at the doorway with a big bundle of something. Hope it’s not a head.’
Paul greeted him, hoping to put him at ease and, looking agitatedly around the room, Benjamin came over knelt in obeisance in front of Graham and presented the bundle.
‘Bless you mate,’ Graham said, rummaging through it. ‘Benjamin has found us a couple of papayas and half a hundredweight of bananas! Starvation has been sent on his way.’
He passed the bundle to Paul then put a hand on Benjamin’s head and solemnly recited Man City’s last three home results.
‘Have some supper,’ Paul said to Graham, cutting off a chunk of papaya with the bayonet.
‘Thanks mate, I don’t suppose you’ve got a lime have you? A gentleman never eats papaya without lime, it’s unnatural.’
‘In your dreams and don’t spit out the seeds! They’re perfectly edible.’
‘They are?’ Graham chewed thoughtfully. ‘Nice, a bit peppery, would work well in a prawn cocktail.’
‘They’re good for worming as well.’ Paul passed a piece to Benjamin then, after a bit of persuasion, got Rachel to take the rest and started to dismantle the second one.
‘Well, if you and your mates manage to win, I’ve already written a constitution for Ngai, you’re very welcome to it,’ Graham said.
‘No thanks, we’ve already got one. When I was at Oxford, I spent a bit of time going through the constitutions of all the major powers with a view to combining the best from each into a new, modern, African constitution suited to the needs of the modern age and the needs of the African people, not their overlords. More papaya?’
‘Thanks mate; so you’re kicking out the British and declaring a bright new future where everyone will have a house, a sports car and a never ending supply of fresh fruit?’
‘We would never be so cynical as to make promises we couldn’t fulfil; lying politicians will never be an acceptable part of our future.’
Graham finished the papaya then handed out a round of bananas. ‘Pudding, apologies for the lack of chocolate sauce. So, in your bright new world, you’re going to have an honest, corruption free government which will toil to the point of exhaustion on behalf of the great unwashed and not just for the benefit of an elite cartel of businessmen and politicians? The best of luck with that one.’