Kitafe

by Michael Ray

  ‘What do you propose to do about the kids when we get back?’ Graham asked.

  ‘What do I propose to do?’

  ‘We’ve got to do something, we owe it to them but we can’t just send them off to school.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not? Because they’re trained killers. Can you imagine the carnage Benjamin could wreak in the playground?’

  ‘I have an aunt who operates a home for waifs and strays, perhaps she can help. Should we get back, I’ll be sure to ask her. Anyway, it’s time to head south, we’re far enough away from the road.’

  There was little change in the scrub, occasionally small animals, dik dik or groundhogs would dart out their way, the groundhogs trotting off sideways, tails held high like radio aerials. Graham glanced over his shoulder; no aerial, so no radio tucked away; bollocks.

  *****

  Late morning, they came to a wall of trees, any gaps filled by undergrowth; an impassable forest. So they continued east along its border then stopped.

  ‘We’re out of fuel,’ announced Paul, turning the engine a few times for confirmation.

  ‘Just as I was just getting used to first class travel, what now?’ Graham asked.

  ‘We continue by foot.’ Paul replied wearily, getting out of the Land Rover. ‘We can’t take much, just one AK with a spare clip for Benjamin, the hand gun and the canteens.’

  ‘And the bananas.’

  ‘And the bananas.’

  *****

  ‘Animal trails,’ announced Paul, some time later.

  ‘Jolly good,’ Graham replied, ‘let’s go the other way.’

  ‘We’ll follow them.’

  ‘You mean animals with big teeth and a huge appetite?’

  ‘No, elephants, Forest Elephants to be more precise,’ Paul said, staring at a large pile of dung.

  ‘Elephants in a forest? I thought they lived on the wide open plains.’

  ‘Forest Elephants don’t, Forest Elephants live in the forest. They’re smaller.’

  ‘Still big enough to produce that lot.’

  ‘They’ve come out of the trees for a reason, either food or water.’

  ‘Well, I vote we keep out of their way,’ Graham said.

  ‘No need, we’ll be lucky to see any; they don’t like people. We follow the track and hope it goes in the right direction. With a bit of luck, they’ve been raiding a local farm.’

  ‘I’m not sure that there’s much difference between walking along a road with trucks threatening to run us over and tracks with elephants nurturing the same ambitions,’ Graham said a while later.

  ‘Elephants don’t carry machine guns.’

  ‘And you still think they’ll lead us to civilisation? I reckon they’ve been taking the piss.’ He slumped down next to a tree. ‘Bloody sandals, the rubber cuts into you like a geriatric’s wedding ring. I daren’t take them off anymore, my feet are so swollen I’d never get them back on. When we get back, I’m going to spend my life savings on a decent chiropodist.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had any life savings.’ Paul said joining him.

  ‘I don’t, I was just trying to encourage my feet.’ He looked up at the sky, the sun was vertically above them. ‘It’s a bit difficult to tell which direction you’re heading this time of day.’

  ‘Still east, there’s been a breeze behind us the whole way.’

  ‘Unless it’s changed direction. Still, we’re on course with the elephants, there’s a pile of the stuff over there.’

  ‘Should keep the beetles busy for a while, its covered with the things.’

  Graham hauled himself up then helped Paul. ‘Time to go mate, can’t have you hanging around enjoying the wildlife.’

  *****

  ‘Cholla!’ Paul stopped and put a hand on Graham to balance himself.

  ‘Let there be boundless joy, you’ve found a big cactus.’

  ‘Cacti don’t come from Africa, they’re South American!’

  ‘We’ve walked to Brazil! Pina coladas all round!’

  ‘No you idiot, it’s not just cactus, it’s cholla! The settlers imported it to use as a hedge. We must be near a plantation.’

  ‘Bloody hell, the elephants were right. Do you see what I see?’ Graham asked.

  ‘See where?’

  ‘Behind those trees, it’s your bloody plantation … I think.’

  He stumbled ahead up to the row of trees, linked by an impenetrable hedge of the cacti, turned and shouted excitedly back to the others. ‘From what I can see through the spikes, we’ve found Surrey!’

  On the other side of the hedge was a perfectly kept lawn and a large, white, Georgian mansion with a dark blue, tropical wisteria growing up the front. To one side of the house, behind a picket fence, a pair of chestnut horses quietly grazed in the same field as a small herd of zebra.

  ‘We go this way,’ Graham announced and he stumbled off to the left gesturing wildly at the others to follow.

  The hedge came to an abrupt halt at a twelve-foot grass verge by a gravel driveway. The house stood a couple of hundred yards away and a black Labrador bounded towards them.

  ‘If it wasn’t for the blisters on my feet, I’d think I was dreaming. Where the hell are we?’ Paul asked.

  ‘Epsom maybe, though I didn’t think we were that far out of our way. Do you think the dog’s going to attack us?’

  In response, the Labrador stopped in its tracks, gave out a half-hearted woof and lay down in the middle of the driveway.

  ‘How in God’s name did Ngai miss this place?’ Graham asked.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t, maybe it’s his new headquarters,’ Paul replied.

  ‘And that’s his pet dog, Fido? I don’t care any more. If he’s here, we’re dead; if he isn’t then it’s tea and cake all round.’

  ‘Probably best if you go first,’ Paul said. ‘Knowing some of your countrymen, the dog may have been trained to attack us black folks.’

  ‘That thing attack? Seems unlikely.’ Graham replied. He tossed the remaining bananas over the cactus hedge and, taking out his revolver, walked up to the dog and tickled its ear. It got up, wagging its tail and they continued towards the house together.

  ‘Stop right where you are!’

  An elderly white woman wearing a long beige skirt, cream blouse and stout footwear was standing at the front door, pointing a rifle straight at him. She reminded Graham of Annie Oakley’s grandmother, so he did as he was told.

  ‘Gerald, disarm the blighter.’

  An elderly black servant came out from behind her and approached Graham. ‘If you wouldn’t mind sir.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you brother,’ Graham said, holding out the revolver butt with one hand and proffering the other for him to shake. Gerald looked at him unsure what to do, so he shook his hand then took the gun.

  The woman’s rifle went off into the air, startling everyone except the Labrador which happily trotted up to her, still wagging its tail.

  ‘Put your hands in the air and approach.’

  ‘Graham Theakston, pleased to make your acquaintance.’ responded Graham holding out the hand of friendship.

  ‘Put your hands in the air! How do I know that you’re telling the truth?’

  ‘That I’m Graham Theakston, or that I’m pleased to make your acquaintance?’

  ‘Don’t come any closer or I’ll set Jasmine on you. What are you doing here?’

  ‘We’re trying to get home.’

  ‘Graham Theakston … you’re not that Trotskyist fellow who writes for the Standard are you?’

  ‘The very same but I’m a fan of Man City not Trotsky. Would you mind? My arms are knackered.’

  She lowered her gun and held out a hand. ‘Dorothy Straker-Squire, very pleased to meet you. Sorry about the gun, thought you might be one of those revolutionary types I’ve been hearing about.’

  ‘And that’s my mate, Paul Kabuye.’

  Paul waved a hand, ‘hello.’

  ‘The kids are refugees w
e’ve picked up on the way. Quite harmless, I assure you.’

  ‘That one appears to be carrying a rifle of some sort.’

  ‘Self protection, we’ve met all sorts on our travels.’

  ‘Well, you’d better have your revolver back. Can I offer you a cup of tea?’

  ‘You most certainly can. I don’t suppose you have any scones do you?’

  ‘Scones? Don’t be ridiculous, haven’t seen strawberry jam for years. If you’re hungry, I dare say I could find some tea cakes.’ She headed into the house. ‘Gerald, tell Joyce to make tea for the Sahib and organise some chai for his entourage in the servants quarters.’

  Graham shuffled uncomfortably after her into the house, ‘Actually, Paul isn’t a servant, he’s a prince.’

  ‘The native chap, a prince? Don’t be ridiculous. He can have his chai with the others.’

  ‘And he’s not very well.’

  ‘I dare say it’s nothing that can’t be cured by a decent cup of tea.’

  ‘And none of us have eaten anything but bananas for the last week.’

  ‘Should have kept you regular. I’ll get cook to rustle up something for you, there’ll be ugali in the servants quarters for the others.’

  ‘I suspect they’d rather have meat and two veg.’

  They walked through a large, marble-floored hallway and she stopped and sniffed theatrically. ‘Doubtless you’ll be wanting a hot bath? When you’re done, I’ll get cook to organise tea and teacakes in the Drawing Room.’

  A bath, tea, teacakes? He hadn’t had a hot bath for months, hadn’t had a teacake since his parents used to drag him off to Paulden’s. All those Saturday afternoons wasted while his mother looked at hats and shoes. She hardly ever bought anything but it gave her something to boast about at work the next week. Teacakes provided the only highlight to those afternoons; sticky, burnt raisins on the outside and as much butter as you could soak into them. ‘Teacakes,’ he muttered.

  ‘Well, do you want them or not?’

  ‘Yes … teacakes, thank you. You’re right about the bath, I probably smell like a ferret with halitosis.’

  ‘Jolly good, come on then,’ and she continued towards a wide sweep of hardwood stairs. Halfway up she stopped and turned. ‘Is there any particular reason you’re wearing that ridiculous nightdress?’

  Graham stumbled to a halt behind her and inspected the filthy remains of his robes, concluding that Dorothy had a point. ‘You probably wouldn’t want to see me without it.’

  She looked him up and down. ‘Hmm, you look about the same size as Reginald, bound to be something that fits. Follow me.’

  The master bedroom was seemingly based on the taste of an eighteenth century, european nobleman: flamboyant cornicing, trompe-l’oeuil walls and velvet curtains pulled aside to reveal the estate. Graham wandered over to the side windows and looked out over green fields, horses and zebras towards the edge of the forest they’d been trekking through. Turning to the front, the lawn and driveway came to an abrupt halt a quarter of a mile away, where it met a track and Africa took over again. The estate had been cut out from Country Life and dumped in the bush.

  ‘I missed having a man’s wardrobe in the room, so I moved Reginald’s clothes back after Baboo disappeared.’ Dorothy said from a large, heavily carved wardrobe. The words washed over Graham, he had no idea who Reginald was, must be her husband. He didn’t get as far as wondering what a Baboo was.

  ‘Come over here then, I’m not dragging the wardrobe over to you. Any particular colour? I’m afraid most of Reginald’s shirts were white, though he was more adventurous with his ties.’

  She held a shirt up against him. ‘That will do, sort out a tie later.’ She picked a pair of trousers, frowned and picked out another pair. ‘These look about right; Reggie brought them out with him, didn’t stand a chance of getting into them as he got older. They’ll be a bit slack around the waist but I dare say we can find you a pair of braces. Underwear in the drawer over there, socks underneath and shoes at the bottom. Take your pick, he doesn’t need them anymore. I’ll be in the drawing room when you’re done. Bathroom’s third on the right, should be plenty of hot water.’

  He sat in a vast enamel bath, surrounded by bubbles He really shouldn’t be resting they should be getting the hell out of it but the water was so warm, so comforting. He should be seeing how Paul and the kids were but Paul was an adult and the kids were capable of looking after themselves. Even his feet, relieved of the car-tyre sandals, were returning to their normal size and he felt clean, lathered down with a sponge and scented soap. He sank into the water and rested his head against the back of the bath. He breathed in the scent of lavender and roses, closed his eyes and started to fantasise about cream scones; opening them abruptly as Dorothy came through the door. He quickly hid his manhood with the sponge and splashed the floor with water.

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that, saw worse things in the Great War. I’ve brought you a tie to go with the shirt. I suppose you’re married?

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Well either you are, or you aren’t.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Graham replied in self-defence.

  ‘Pity. Tea in the Drawing Room, five minutes. If you need anything else, you know where the wardrobe is.’

  *****

  Graham came downstairs wearing a blue flannel jacket, sand-coloured trousers, white shirt with red braces, a red and gold striped tie and a pair of Church’s brogues. He looked as if he was on his way to the Long Room for a day’s cricket.

  ‘Good, that’s much better.’ Dorothy said looking him up and down. ‘I’ll get Gerald to throw your nightdress into the incinerator.’

  She reclined back on a chaise longue and rang a bell. ‘You may sit on the Chesterfield, just shove Jasmine out of the way.’

  He did as he was told. The Chesterfield smelt of dog and warm leather; masculine, probably Reginald’s domain, unlike the pink flowers adorning the chaise longue. He refocused from soft furnishings to Ngai and his army. ‘This is absurd, we’ve got to get out of here; Ngai’s heading south and you’re in his way. You’re in grave danger.’

  ‘Grave danger? Tosh! I’ve lived here for the last forty years. The nearest I’ve come to danger was when Baboo brought home a leopard cub. Almost took my arm off before we shot it.’

  ‘Baboo?’ Graham asked, wondering what a Baboo was.

  ‘Of course not you silly boy, the leopard cub; the idiot thought he could domesticate it. Baboo was my second husband, some sort of Italian. We kept it from the authorities during all that unpleasantness, though it didn’t stop him running off to Abyssinia after it was all over. Last I heard he was up a mountain chasing baboons with some American, though it might well have been the other way around. Haven’t heard of him since.’

  ‘And he built the house?’

  ‘Good God no, couldn’t build a chicken shed. I came out here with Reggie after the Great War. Not enough money for an estate in England but enough for one here. He had all the bricks made out of local mud then used more mud as mortar. Even set up a sawmill for the wood.’

  ‘So what happened to him?’ Graham asked, wondering whether he’d made some sort of bid for freedom.

  ‘Oh, the silly man was out in the bush one day without a gun and got caught by a charging rhino. Head on the wall in the library if you’d care to see it.’

  ‘Reginald’s?’ Graham let his head rest against the back of the Chesterfield and stared at the ceiling. It was starting to get a bit grubby; nothing a coat of distemper wouldn’t sort. He abruptly straightened up … ‘Ngai … we have to leave!’

  ‘Not until you’ve had your tea.’ She rang the bell again. ‘Where is that girl? They get dopier every year. Stuck Reginald in the ground and planted a flame tree on top of him. He’s in the Italian garden if you’d care to meet him.’

  ‘Sorry, where, what?… There’s a rebel army led by a mad man on its way and I really think we need to head south as soon as possible.’

&n
bsp; ‘Stuff and nonsense; some government chappie gave me that line a couple of months ago. Soon sent him packing and of course his rebel army never turned up. I have half a dozen guns and Gerald’s a pretty good shot for a native. We’ll soon make short shrift of any tribal uprising.’

  ‘It’s not an uprising; it’s an army; several thousand heavily armed men. Trust me, they’ll hardly notice your guns.’ He got up from the Chesterfield, full of new determination. ‘Much as I’d love a cup of tea, I really need to see how Paul is, and then I think we should leave.’

  ‘Oh, very well, if we must.’ She rose off her chaise longue, swept a mound of hair out of her eyes and pinned a floppy hat with a large brim on her head. ‘I’ll tell Gerald to get the Lagonda ready.’

  ‘You drive a Lagonda?’

  ‘Certainly not, I leave that sort of thing to Gerald. Long wheel base, probably room for your entourage if you wish.’

  ‘What about the workers on your estate, in your house?’

  ‘Blighters all disappeared a few weeks ago … damnation, forgot, no wonder the tea’s late. Some bunkum about a rebel army and they all hightailed it out of here. Only Gerald had the sense to disregard the rumour, not that he’s capable of hightailing anymore.’

  ‘We really need to leave.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘You, me, Gerald, Rachel, Benjamin, Paul.’

  Dorothy looked a little puzzled. ’Paul, native boy, emaciated, bit out of shape?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Come on then, tea won’t be arriving for another five minutes … bother. I’ll pick up my medical bag on the way and we’ll take a look at him.’ They went around the back of the house and headed towards an idealised English village.

  ‘Reginald built a school and a small hospital for the workers. Very keen on the Arts and Crafts movement and of course they loved him for it. I was a Fanny during the Great War, it’s how we met.’

  ‘Sorry, you were a what?’

  ‘F.A.N.Y, First Aid Nurses Yeomanry. Daddy didn’t want me to, of course, but felt I had to do my bit.’

  ‘Reginald was a doctor?’

  ‘Gracious no, he started off in the cavalry. Fine on a horse, but then they put him in one of those armoured things. Absolutely hopeless, couldn’t tell his port from his starboard, kept crashing until they got fed up with him driving over the wrong people and stuck him in an aeroplane. By the time I’d met him, he already had a reputation of being quite a good shot, bit of an ace, in fact, but hopeless at getting out of the way and lucky to be alive. They’d installed us in a rather glorious eighteenth century chateau. Wonderful riding, though of course it wasn’t long before they’d sent the horses off to the front. Terrible; I shall never forgive General Hague for that. One day they brought Reggie to our little hospital, broken collarbone and right tibia.’