Girl with the Golden Voice (26 page)

The euphoria which he had begun to enjoy from the moment when he climbed up those steps of The
Eldoret Express
and grew with his return home and all the celebrations and stayed strong even on his journey down to the hospital was fading. As he walked around the boundary rope of the cricket field, he began to think about work back on the farm, which reminded him of Rebecca. Thank goodness she knew nothing about all this nonsense. Abel Rubai. Who else could it have been? But why did his father make a point of thanking him for help behind the scenes? His thoughts were interrupted by a second recognition.

‘Tom! Tom McCall!' Two young men in batting gear were coming towards him as fast as their pads would let them. Amish and Adil Patel knew him really well from the many times they had played against Pembroke for Peponi in cricket, hockey and rugby. Other team members followed, all wanting to shake his hand but holding back. His story had been the hot topic of conversation in the changing room before the match. There were beaming smiles all ‘round him These young men, mostly from Asian business families, were very happy. When trouble broke out in Nairobi or the other big towns, these were the people who ducked first and here was someone who had survived what they saw as their worst nightmare.

A wicket fell and all but the Patel brothers hurried back to their team group gathered at a table set up outside the pavilion. These two joined Tom on his slow progress around the boundary. This chance meeting was a tonic for all of them.

‘Tom, you should write a book about this.'

‘Right, Adil. Get it out of your system, Tom. Dad would publish it. “Bloody hero, that young chap. I want to meet him!” That's what he said when he got hold of the paper this morning and saw your picture.'

‘Thanks, boys. I'd love to meet your dad, again. He came to Pembroke once to see you two skittle us out. Forgotten, haven't you? Anyway, I want to put something down on paper for myself, while I still remember. You soon forget things, even the horrible parts. Especially the horrible bits, I suppose.'

‘But, where's your plaster? The paper said you'd broken your arm.'

‘No, the doc's not sure. The arm's still swollen. I've got to have another X-ray tomorrow.'

There was a loud shout from the middle of the pitch. Another club wicket had fallen. Their team mates were calling them over to the pavilion.

‘Tom, got to go. One of us is in next. Look, next time you're down, come over. You know where we live. You'd make Dad's day!'

Later, upstairs again, with a pot of tea and toasted sandwiches in front of him, he fell into conversation with an old friend. Rosie had been a maid at the club in all the years he had been coming there.

‘Bwana, do you mind if I finish hoovering this area? I won't …'

‘Rosie, you know you don't have to ask. I was hoping I'd see my favourite member of the club staff. When I saw you coming up the stairs, I was wondering how long you'd been here.'

‘Twenty years when Christmas comes, Bwana Thomas.'

‘And you still won't call me Tom!'

‘Nathaniel would not like me to.'

Rosie's husband, Nathaniel, formed a strong bond between her family and his own. On the same day, almost the same hour that his Grandpa Don had died trying to avoid a pair of angry wildebeest, Nathaniel, the most popular waiter in the club, had been killed as he was leaving after a service in All Saints Cathedral, run down by a drunken youth in a stolen car. Rosie and his grandmother had spent time together after the funerals and Rafaella always said how much Rosie had helped her to get her life back on something like an even keel. The McCalls had bought Rosie and her family a house in a street five minutes walk from the club. Rosie and Rafaella, two strong, handsome women who had lost their soul mates in stupid, unnecessary accidents. Tom loved them both.

‘How are the children?'

‘All working, every one. Robert, my baby, has a duka down by the gates of the hospital. He sells the fruits.'

‘Do you still like it here?'

‘I likes it very much. I see my girls every day.'

‘How many grandchildren now?'

‘Seven, four little boys and three girls.'

‘Do you miss the shamba?'

‘No. You see, just a little walk over there (she pointed in the rough direction of Karen), there is a farm. When I don't have the work at the club …'

‘Day off?'

‘Yes. I walk over there … I help out. I like it very much.'

Tom would have enjoyed sitting Rosie in the chair opposite to share his tea, but it was against the rules and she would have felt embarrassed to have turned him down. A door closed and a lock was turned in the adjoining room. The library was closing and a voice called her name.

‘Goodbye, Bwana.'

Tom struggled to his feet as she began to move away. She returned briefly and touched him on the shoulder, very gently. ‘Sorry about your trouble, Mr Thomas. My family have been praying for you. God be blessed and praised for your safe return.' She was gone.

He did not take a taxi back to the hospital, but he walked very carefully along the lumpy earth verge which passed as a pavement. Ngong Road was busy, with a lot of people on their way home from the city. Even old ladies were passing him, but one smartly dressed young man seemed to be keeping pace with him. Twice they exchanged glances and smiles until Tom made to turn down the hospital road. The young man opened his briefcase and fished out a copy of
The Nation.

‘Mr McCall, thank you very much for what you have done. Would you be so kind?' He held out a pen and the paper showing a large photo of Tom on its front page. As Tom signed his autograph, the young man went on. ‘My name is Japheth. I'm so glad you beat that band of thugs. It gives me hope for our people.'

Tom had been caught off guard and before he could think of any sensible reply, the man was gone, striding at speed along the main road.

By nine am next morning the second X-ray on Tom's left arm had been taken and checked. No break but heavy bruising. After a ten-minute lecture on the rules he must follow if he wanted to make a smooth recovery and promising to deliver a letter from Angelo Conti to his mother, Tom was free to go. Maria, the doctor's wife, was happy to drive him to Wilson to meet his father. She had one call to make first, at a pharmacy on Jomo Kenyatta Avenue.

So, there he was, sitting at the side of a beautiful woman, with his body on the mend and on his way home. Someone, something must be looking after him. He was being driven down Nairobi Hill in thick traffic with hundreds of his countrymen crowding the red earth sidewalks. He was ‘in the midst of life', but closing his eyes, he transported himself back to the pitch-black of the hut in the forest and to the door of that other hut in the Shimba Hills where two more of his countrymen were sprawled and close to death. Why wasn't the someone, something looking after them? He sighed, loud enough for Maria to hear.

‘All right, Tom?'

‘I'm so grateful and so lucky. It's … unfair, plain and simple'

‘Ask your mother about that, Tom. She'll put you right.'

He lifted his hand, smiled and drifted back into his reverie.

After the call at the pharmacy, it was on to Uhuru Highway. For the next four kilometres the traffic was very slow moving on this overloaded road which served as the main route to the south coast, the airports and the largest industrial estate in Kenya. On the other side of the dual carriageway things were moving more quickly towards the casino roundabout and Westlands, but for a few moments both sides were on stop. This gave the young men, walking up and down the static lines and offering their wares of roasted peanuts or religious pictures and scores of other items a chance to make a sale to their travelling customers. The driver of a blue Volvo Estate directly opposite and going the other way was leaning out of his window, giving Tom sight of his front seat passenger.

A spasm of shock briefly seized his whole body. Maria did not notice this, but she certainly sat up when her passenger clicked off his safety belt and reached for the doorhandle.

‘Maria! It's her … That car! Thanks for the lift … I've got to go. Oh, damn!'

The Volvo was moving towards the next roundabout where the lights were green. Maria screamed a warning (she was already worrying about what Angelo's reaction would be), but Tom was shouting, and struggling in pursuit of the car that was moving away from him. Hawkers, safe on the central reservation, cheered him on and were doubled up with laughter. Some drivers honked angrily, others stared, incredulous, as he drew alongside them. Green turned red up ahead and Tom cheered wildly when he saw that the blue car had not quite made the cut. He drew level and banged the window on Rebecca's side. She turned sharply, recognised him and fainted. Alfred Wajiru unlocked the back door to let Tom in. He was calm, as if such things were an everyday occurrence. ‘It's all right. I know who you are. I read the papers. I'd like to shake your hand, and then we can attend to this young lady.'

The lights changed and Alfred set off and took the first chance he had to pull into a lay-by. Rebecca lay with her head resting against the neck restraint. Alfred had more to say.

‘Don't worry. She was exhausted before she saw you. I think she's just sleeping now. And remember, she's just seen a ghost. You scared me, too, when you … dropped out of the sky like that.'

‘She didn't know?'

‘No. Mary phoned and told us to take her home. Let her parents tell her. You don't want her to go into shock with just strangers around. But …'

A car pulled up behind them, a BMW.

Half an hour later and both cars were side by side in the car park at Nairobi Hospital. Angelo Conti now had two patients to check over. ‘If you were a cat, Mr Thomas McCall, I would be reminding you that using up two lives in one week is no good idea. Oh, yeah, yeah, I, too, know all about love and beautiful women. This time, I personally will deliver you to Wilson. What time is your father coming?'

‘Noon, I think, but I'm … maybe it was one o'clock.'

‘As your doctor I have to tell you that, in addition to your other ailments, you are suffering from first degree lovesickness. Come on, let's be out of here.'

‘Do you think it's catching?'

‘Lovesickness? Of course. I have a very bad case. Caught it from you. Got it for life.'

‘Me, too, a very good case, the best, the worst, whatever.'

Rebecca and Tom were sipping sodas under the umbrella of a small cafe inside the airport complex. They had been there alone for half an hour. Already some big decisions had been made. The wedding had been set for sometime in May. There would be no seeking permission. The shock and pain of the last few days had blown away all fear and uncertainty. They were down to fundamentals, ‘the power that drives the universe' as pastor, Stephen Kamau, described love to his little flock. Their view was more earthy, but no less sacred.

The time was free, a whole hour of it until Alex McCall brought in his plane to pick up his passenger for the journey home. Tom and Rebecca held hands but said little. It was conversation through eyes and vibrations. Being together like this was as near to bliss as they could cope with.

Alex was very pleased with the surprise that he had two passengers to ferry home. It was no surprise, however, to discover within five minutes of take-off that there would be a wedding at Londiani in the next few months. Soon after Rebecca spoke to him about her main anxiety.

‘Bwana, how is it with my father?'

‘Rebecca, great news about you and Tom, so let's forget about “bwanas” from now on. Alex or anything that you are happy with except the b-word!'

‘Thank you, Bwana …' She put her hand to her mouth and giggled.

‘Your father? Rebecca, I'd be lying if I said he wasn't upset when you went off without coming home first. More bewildered than upset, but I tell you I'd love to see his face when he sees you just now.'

‘So he's all right?'

Alex turned back to look her in the eye, smiled and nodded his head in a very relaxed way.

They were leaving the outlying villages of Nairobi behind and Alex picked up the marker he always used for journeys between Londiani and the city, the track of the Lunatic Railway which passed through spectacular scenery five thousand feet below. Rebecca was fixed on those sights and when she spotted a landmark, she squeezed Tom's hand and urged him to look down. ‘Ooh, we're right over the crater. What if Old Longonot decided to come back to life right now?' and, gazing up to her right, ‘Thomas, you must tell me. Is that Mount Kenya? It looks small from here.'

‘Yes it is. I'll take you up there soon but look up ahead.'

At last, the lake and, somewhere to the right, home. She pulled back and let the tears well up. When she looked out again they were skimming the dark waters as Alex began to line up the dusty line of the airstrip on Crescent Island.

Angela, alone and happy in the laundry garden, was singing when she turned to see her eldest girl come ‘round the edge of the cei-apple hedge with her arm through Bwana Tom's. She gaped, she shed a tear, her face burst into a dazzling smile, all in the space of five seconds. In marginally less time her mind had taken in many implications from the scene in front of her even though her thoughts had not formed themselves fully. The tears flowed more freely when mother and daughter held each other in a long embrace. At last, Angela leaned back and looked up into Rebecca's eyes.

‘But, child, how has this thing happened?'

‘Mama, it's a long story, a fairytale, just like those that Papa tells the children of the village. Later we will have a drink of chai and gossip like mad.'

‘Papa, we must tell Papa. Memsahib …'

Maura wheeled forward the heavy old bike that everyone in the household used, mostly to ride up and down to the fields.