They stood on a hill near a cluster of wattle trees. Before them spread a tea plantation, extending far into the horizon. The tea-bushes were so well trimmed that they now looked like a huge bed of green.
‘So fertile, this land! ’ Guthera said.
‘Does all this land belong to one person? ’
‘Yes... or to foreign companies. ’
Because they did not know where on the plantation they would find the workers, they decided to walk down between the rows of the tea-bushes, looking out for them. They walked and walked and walked down the slope, but they were still nowhere near the end of the estate. One ridge simply gave way to the next.
Muriuki felt tired and ached all over. When he looked at Matigari, he could not help wondering: What sort of man is this? I haven’t seen him eat or drink anything, and he does not look in the least tired.
After they had walked for several miles without reaching even one of the ends of the plantation, Guthera suggested that they first find a place where they could spend the night, and continue with their search the following day.
‘Look, it’s nearly sunset... The women have left their workplaces by now..
They turned off the track and now started searching for a way out of the plantation. It was not an easy task. They walked through the tea-bushes without finding their way out or coming across anyone who would tell them which way to go. The whole plantation spread out uniformly and endlessly in all directions. No landmarks, not even a cloud of smoke somewhere, broke the green monotony.
Matigari felt sad. The day was about to end. He had not yet found his wives. He had not set eyes on his house. Age seized him. His pace slackened, and he merely dragged his feet along.
They walked westwards, with the rays of the setting sun shining directly into their faces. The heat of the sun was now less intense, but still there was not even the slightest breeze to cool the sweat that clung to their armpits and moistened their brows. Their feet throbbed, and their toes ached.
‘This plantation is so big that the owner can cover it from end to end only on horseback. ’
‘Or maybe on a winged car, ’ Muriuki added, picturing in his mind their yard. ‘Oh, how I would love to fly above this tea estate on a winged Mercedes-Benz or, better still, on a winged horse, with the leaves of these bushes softly brushing the dust off my aching feet... ’
Wonders will never cease! Was this a hallucination caused by the sun shining directly into their faces or brought about by the fatigue they felt? For all of a sudden the three of them saw — or thought they saw — a group of horses galloping westwards, leaving behind them a trail of dust goldened by the rays of the setting sun.
‘Look, there, through the cloud of dust! Aren’t those horses? ’ Guthera asked, fascinated by the strange sight.
They followed in the trail of the horses, although they could not see them clearly. The horses continued galloping westwards. A red cloud enveloped the sun, but the sun continued to peep from behind it, sending out darts of fire in every direction.
It turned out that what had seemed like a group was in fact only two horses. Again, they could not see them very clearly, but they could hear and follow the sound of their hoofs. Suddenly Matigari stopped in his tracks and dramatically pointed to a distant hill in front of them, his whole body trembling with excitement.
‘The house.,. there is the house...! ’ he exclaimed, his voice trembling in tune with the rest of his body.
‘Where? ’ Guthera and Muriuki asked simultaneously.
‘There, on the hill! ’
Guthera and Muriuki strained their eyes to look; and indeed, there on top of the hill overlooking the whole country stood a huge house which seemed to stretch out for miles, as if, like the plantation itself, it had no beginning and no end.
‘Is that house really yours? ’ Guthera asked doubtfully.
‘Yes... that’s it...! That is the house for which I spent so many years struggling against Settler Williams - until yesterday, when he fell and I placed my foot on his chest... How could I not have recognised this plantation, recognised my own? Let us go; let us go home together... ’ Matigari said.
His eyes shone brightly. All the creases on his face had gone, and youth had once again returned to him.
12
A white man and a black man sat on horseback on one side of the narrow tarmac road next to the gate. Their horses were exactly alike. Both had silky brown bodies. The riders too wore clothes of the same colour. Indeed, the only difference between the two men was their skin colour. Even their postures as they sat in the saddle were exactly the same. The way they held their whips and the reins — no difference. And they spoke in the same manner.
They were about to part.
‘See you at the party tonight. ’
Just as they were about to ride off, they saw Matigari walking towards them. They checked their horses and waited.
Guthera and Muriuki had already stopped behind a cluster of bushes, and they watched from a safe distance to see what was going to happen. They were each asking themselves the same question: Is this man sane? Were these not the houses which had once belonged to the colonialist settlers but now belonged to the very rich, the foreign and the local people of all colours — black, brown and white? Yet Matigari seemed to have no qualms or any inhibitions. He walked past the two men on horseback and reached for the gate.
‘Hey, mzee, ’’ the black man shouted. 4 ‘Can’t you see that sign? Hakuna njia. Ha-ha-ha!... Or can’t you read? That isn’t the way to the servants’ quarters. ’
Matigari turned, looked at him for a while and then asked him:
‘Is that where the keys are? ’
‘What keys? ’
‘The keys to this house... this home! ’
‘Which house? Which home? ’
‘This house! ’
‘What do you need the keys for? ’
‘To let myself into the house. I have wandered for far too many years in far too many places over the earth, ’
‘So you think that this is a hotel? ’ the black man said with angry sarcasm. ‘Bob, come and listen to a bloke who claims that my house belongs to him. ’X
The black man now got off his horse; with one hand on the reins, he walked towards Matigari. His white companion, still on horseback, came nearer. Matigari held the gate with one hand.
‘Is he all right? ' the white man asked the black man, ‘Amuse him a little, eh? A piece of comic theatre, eh? I will be the audience and you two the actors. ’’
‘I was ever such a poor actor, ’ the black man said. ‘And I would prefer a tragic role. But to amuse you, I'll try, Who are you? ’ he now asked Matigari.
‘Matigari ma Njiruungi. ’
‘Matigari ma Njiruungi? ’
‘Yes. ’
‘And what do you want? ’
‘The key to my house. ’
‘Do you know whose house it is? Do you know whose home this is? ’
‘Of course I do! It’s mine. It belongs to me and to all my people.’
‘Bob, he says that the house is his and his family’s . . . How is it yours?’ He now spoke condescendingly to Matigari, as a sober policeman would question a drunkard.
The question ‘How is it yours?’ triggered other memories in Matigari, and his thoughts transported him back to distant places, years before. He let out a sigh. Letting go of the gate, he turned to the black man and began talking to him. Now it seemed as if it was Matigari who was explaining complex things to a child, in a language which only a child would understand. He was not condescending, however, but tolerant and gentle.
‘My child, did you ask me how this house was mine? It is a long story. . , there is so much to tell. , . Do you see this house? Do you see these tea plantations and this road? Who do you think built them all? And, mark you, I did not begin yesterday. I have seen many things over the years. Just consider, I was there at the time of the Portuguese, and at the time of the Arabs, and at the time of the Bri
tish — ’
‘Look, I don’t want history lessons! I only asked you about the house.’
‘This house? Do you think that this house has a story different from the story of these hands? Hands are the makers of human history. Do you know Settler Williams? The white colonialist who used to live here?’
‘Bob, the fellow claims to know your dad..’
‘My father? He disappeared in the forest years ago. Fate unknown, but presumed dead
‘Yes, together with my old man. Don’t I know?’
‘Ask him what happened to them. This play is more interesting than our evening rides'
The black man once again turned to Matigari and asked him:
‘Williams? Howard Williams? The white man who lived here?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. What about him? What do you know of him?’
‘You ask me what do I know of him? The white-man-who reaps-where-he-never-sowed? How can I, black-man - who- produces, not know the white-man-who-reaps-where-he-never- sowed? Or how do you think the whole quarrel began? Yes, it was the very fact that I had come to know who he really was that began it all. Right there. Just like that. You can imagine it. One early morning, I woke up, cleaned my ears and eyes and then went to Settler Williams; and I told him. You clan of parasites, there is no night so long that will not end with dawn. And no day dawns like another. Today is a new day, and the sun is shining brightly in the sky. Let me ask you a few questions. Who built this house? Who cleared and tilled this land? Listen to me carefully. The builder demands back his house, and the tiller his land. Who does the white-man-who- reaps-where-he-never-sowed think he is? Does he think that he is God’s representative here on earth? Go home. For, from this day on, the builder refuses to beg for a place where he can lay his head; the tiller refuses to starve; the tailor refuses to go without clothes; and the producer refuses to part with his wealth. I sang:
You foreign oppressor,
Pack your bags and leave!
For the owner of this house Is on his way!
‘When he heard this song, the settler ran to the telephone, and I rushed to the safe to get the gun . . . But there is nothing worse than slavery in this world. Slavery! Ah, slavery! The chaining of the mind and of the soul! Who do you think it was that screamed to warn Setder Williams? Who do you think it was that leaped on my back, making me drop the gun before I could pull the trigger? None other than John Boy!’
‘Boy? John Boy? Do you know him also?’ the black man asked, startled,
‘Who in this country doesn’t know John Boy? He used to be the settler’s cook. That man! He was really fat - as fat as a pig; no, like a hippo. But what do you expect from anybody feeding on the left-overs from the settler’s table — ?’
Crack! Crack!
Matigari felt as though his body had been cleaved into two. His muscles gave way. He sank to the ground. None of those present expected to see such a thing take place. Even Guthera and Muriuki were taken unawares by the sound of the whip as it shot through the air and landed with a sharp cracking sound on Matigari.
As the black man raised the whip a third time, the white man intervened.
‘ What’s the matter?' he asked, still remaining on horseback.
i Insulting the memory of my late father ... to my face! Oh, the cheek . . .’
‘Does he know him also? Didn’t he also disappear at the same time as my dad?’
‘ Yes. And this scarecrow seems to know everything. I’ll flay him until he squeals everything.'
‘Cool it. Remember you are playing a comic role; the tragic role was played by our fathers. Ask him a few more questions. Maybe he will provide the missing link in my theory about the fate of my father.'
Matigari reached towards his waist. Then he remembered that he had girded himself with the belt of peace. He tried his best to endure the pain without letting it show; getting up slowly from where he lay, he held on to the gate for support.
The sun had set by now, but it had left behind a blood-red glow in the evening sky, lighting up the house, the gate and the road on which they stood.
‘You’ve dared to raise a whip against your own father?’ Matigari said, still clinging on the gate.
‘You’re not my father! Take a proper look at me, before darkness sets in. I am John Boy junior. Mr Boy, whom you are insulting, happened to be my father. He was a man of class, an important man. He was very wise, and he had great foresight. He sent me to school, at a time when people here did not know the value of education. He put me on a ship and sent me to Fort Hare in South Africa. Then I went to England, where I studied at the London School of Economics, better known as LSE. There I got a number of diplomas in administration. I used to eat dinners in the Inns of Court, where I learned how to dress like a gentleman, and from where I was called to the bar. And just as I was about to return home and show my many degrees and certificates to my father, I received a letter informing me that he had gone to the forest with Major Howard Williams, to hunt down terrorists. That — ’
‘Stop. . .just stop there!’Matigari said, trembling with new excitement. ‘Are you the boy we sent abroad? The boy the cost of whose education we all contributed to, singing with pride: Here is one of our own and not a foreigner’s child over whom I was once insulted? The boy for whom we sang: He shall come back and clean up our cities, our country, and deliver us from slavery? The boy we sent off to study, saying that a child belongs to all, that a nation’s beauty was borne in a child, a future patriot?’
‘Listen to me carefully. Mzee, I would ask you to learn the meaning of the word “individual”. Our country has remained in darkness because of the ignorance of our people. They don’t know the importance of the word “individual”, as "opposed to the word “masses*’. White people are advanced because they respect that word, and therefore honour the freedom of the individual, which means the freedom of everyone to follow his own whims without worrying about the others. Survival of the fittest. But you black people? You walk about fettered to your families, clans, nationalities, people, masses. If the individual decides to move ahead, he is pulled back by the others. What’s the meaning of the word “masses”? Mzee, let me tell you that what belongs to the masses is carried in a bottomless pail. How does the song go? “Go your way and let me go mine, for none of us is carrying the other.” - My father knew this; that’s why he sent me to school and ignored the idiots who were mumbling nonsense about sharing the last bean,’
‘Wonders will never cease! Don’t you remember how people contributed money to send you to study? Has nobody ever told you? Don’t you remember that you intellectuals arc greatly indebted to the very masses whom you are now calling idiots?’ ‘Where did you sign a contract with my father, so that I can pay your money back at once?’John Boy Junior shouted as if he were now addressing a huge crowd. ‘Yes, where is the contract? I will pay back your money this instant, plus interest . . .! Let me tell you, old man, what is mine is mine. If you want me to share what you have, that’s up to you. Go fetch it. I shan’t disappoint you. Get up and go home before you land yourself into serious trouble. The sun has already set, and darkness will soon cover the land. The play is over. You’d better leave now in one piece. This house belongs to another.’
‘To another, besides the builder? I am that builder.’
‘This fellow is adamant that the house is his,’ the black man now said to Robert Williams. ‘I'm going to end this monkey business. We shall otherwise be late for the party for those making arrangements for the minister’s visit tomorrow.’
'/ agree,' Robert Williams said. 1 And I have to find out the latest about the strike. Tell him to piss off Or, better still - ha-ha-ha-hat - why don’t you ask to see his title-deed to the house? His house! Ha-ha-ha-ha! ‘Do you have the title-deed to this house?’
My hands are the surest title-deed there ever was. What other deed do you need that is greater than the blood that I shed?’
‘I’ll gi
ve you some advice. This is my house. This house and the land around it are mine. They were sold to me by the son of Howard Williams, this one you see here.’
‘Him?’
‘Yes. He is the first born of Williams. He is a somebody. Yes, watch out, for he is not just anybody. He is a director of Anglo- American International Conglomerate of Insurance (AICI) and Agribusiness Co-ordinating International Organisation (ACIO); and he is also a director of the local branch of Bankers’ International Union {BIU)5 We are both members of the board of governors of the leather and plastic factory. The Minister for Truth and Justice is coming to pay a visit tomorrow. The estate you see across the road belongs to Robert Williams. Is everything clear, old man? Do you now understand who this is? He is my witness because he sold this house to me.’
‘Is this really the boy who hardly knew how to blow his nose? Who gave him the right to dispose of our land, our factories, our homes, our inheritance? Where did you two meet? We used to think that you educated ones would stand firmly against the whites-who-reap-where-they-have-not-sown. What did you do in Europe? Where did this friendship between you and the clans of the white parasites come from?’
Robert Williams and John Boy drew their heads together and whispered to each other. Then Williams turned his horse and rode away. Matigari began to open the gate and let himself into the compound. John Boy said:
‘Wait a minute, old man! Since you said that you don’t have the title-deed, how can we know that this house is really yours?’ He spoke sarcastically, but Matigari ignored that. An irresistible desire to enter the house had suddenly gripped him and this had transported him back to the years of struggle, sweat, fatigue, rain, wind, pain and all the suffering that he had been through.
‘Come!’ he said, looking straight at John Boy. Matigari had a quality about him, a kind of authority in his voice and demeanour, which made people listen to him. Now he and John Boy faced each other as though weighing up one another to see who was the braver. ‘Come, let us go to the house, and I will show you all the nooks and crannies of my house, take you round all the rooms of this house for which I’ve suffered so. Come, my people, one and all, let us enter the house together; for my heart has neither envy nor selfishness!’ Matigari now said in a raised voice as if addressing a huge crowd, ‘Yes, come all, and let us light a fire in the house together! Let us share the food together, and sing joyfully together!’
Matigari Page 5