Green City in the Sun (48 page)

     And in the end her father had confessed that while the thought of the spectacle of his son galloping down Central Road waving a saber did not appeal to him, he had to admit that at least Arthur would be doing something manly for a change.

     Arthur knew none of this. Mona sheltered him from life's bruising realities and from much of his father's disappointment in him. All Arthur knew was that for some reason the governor had reconsidered using his nephew and had invited Treverton's heir to open the celebrations instead. That had been four weeks ago, and Arthur had been a changed boy ever since.

     "I
will
be all right," he said to his sister as she straightened his collar, "won't I?"

     "You'll be wonderful."

     "What if I have a seizure?"

     "You won't! You haven't had one for a year, have you? Oh, Arthur, you'll be marvelous! I'm so proud of you!"

     He beamed. He couldn't recall when anyone had been proud of him last. It was probably never. He adored his sister; she always managed to give
him confidence. He was glad she was out of school for good now and living at home. His secret hope was that she wouldn't marry Geoffrey Donald because then she would move to Kilima Simba and he would be all alone at Bellatu again.

     "Would you do me a favor?" he asked quietly, looking around at the crowd getting ready to line up for the parade.

     "You know I will." Mona would do anything for her younger brother. After all, with their mother living her own life in the eucalyptus glade and their father rarely at home, all they really had in the world was each other. Mona was also glad she was home from school for good, and by coincidence, she, too, was thinking that she didn't want to marry Geoffrey Donald. "What's the favor, Arthur?"

     He pulled an envelope from out of his sleeve and pressed it into her hands. "Give this to Tim, will you?"

     She slipped it into the bodice of her harem costume. Mona was their go-between. She was glad Arthur finally had a friend, despite what everyone whispered about their relationship.

     "A kiss for luck," she said, and pecked her brother on the cheek. Then, pausing to look at him, at the tender boy's face beneath the hunting cap, and thinking how she was going to take care of Arthur from now on, Mona gave her brother one final hug and went off in search of Tim Hopkins.

     The theme of the pageant was the opening up of Africa by the white man. Although the British had been present on the coast of Kenya for more than a hundred years, the year 1887, fifty years before, had been chosen as the "founding date" because that was when the first real settlement of missionaries was established in Mombasa. Geoffrey Donald, who was to ride on the Vasco da Gama float with Mona, enjoyed a unique reputation in that his grandmother had been among those first missionaries, while his father, Sir James, having been born in 1888 to the missionary woman and her explorer husband, enjoyed the singular honor of being one of the first white men born in Kenya.

     Dressed in Elizabethan doublet and padded jacket for his portrayal of the Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama, Geoffrey circled the float and inspected the papier-mâché replica of the town of Malindi and its braces of
coconut palms, wishing his father were on hand for today's celebrations. The parade was just the beginning of a week of festivities, and it was only proper that Sir James Donald be here to enjoy the prestige and recognition that were rightfully his. But there had been another outbreak of blackwater fever in Uganda, and Geoffrey's parents were in the jungle, helping the stricken tribes.

     He finished his inspection of the float, satisfied that it was the best of them all and that it was going to represent a perfect reenactment of the historic meeting in 1498 between da Gama and the sultan of Malindi, and having made certain that the truck hitched to the massive wagon was capable of pulling it down Government Road, Geoffrey searched the crowd once more for Mona.

     He spotted her across the lawn, laughing with Tim Hopkins. Geoffrey pursed his lips. Why was she wasting her time on Tim Hopkins when it was no secret that Tim had eyes only for her brother?

     Geoffrey's annoyance dissolved when he took in her costume.

     Beneath her head-to-foot wrap of bright pink silk he could make out the harem skirt of such transparent material that one could almost see Mona's legs. He could also see the tight bodice that was like those which Asian women in Nairobi wore—edged in gold and cut high to leave the midriff bare. While it was true that Mona's face was modestly veiled and the pink silk wrap covered her head and that nearly nothing else of her showed, except for hands and feet, Geoffrey realized in mild shock that it was an extremely daring and provocative costume.

     Tim Hopkins, dressed in an old-fashioned safari outfit and Victorian pith helmet, was to portray the famous explorer Sir Henry Morton Stanley. On a float decorated with trees and jungle vines, he was going to strike a historic pose with Hardy Acres, Jr.—Dr. Livingstone—commemorating the day in 1871 when the explorer found the "lost" doctor.

     As Geoffrey walked up to fetch Mona back to their float, he tried to avoid getting into an exchange with the handsome young Tim, who made him decidedly uncomfortable. But it was unavoidable. As soon as Geoffrey came near, Tim turned his bright smile to him and said, "We've just been talking about the Fort Jesus crowd, Geoff!"

     "Oh? Come on, Mona. The parade's about to begin."

     "Look at them, Geoff!" she said, pointing to the wagon that supported a balsa replica of the coastal fort. The scenario was supposed to depict the year the Portuguese came down with the plague, and those climbing on board in their costumes looked as if they were playing the part rather realistically.

     "Got a bit too heavy-handed with the champagne last night," Tim said. "They've all got hangovers!"

     Geoffrey took Mona's arm. "Your brother's getting ready to ride off. We'd better get aboard our float."

     "He's not even on his horse yet," Mona said, drawing away, smiling to hide her irritation. Geoffrey's possessiveness was becoming tiresome. "I must find Aunt Grace. She has a pair of earrings to finish off my costume. Remember, I'm the sultan's chief wife!" Turning quickly so that Geoffrey wouldn't see, Mona tucked a folded piece of paper into her bodice—something from Tim which she would give to her brother after the parade. "See you at the float, Geoff!"

     Grace was on the hotel veranda, looking, with a troubled expression, across the road at the King's Way Police Station.

     Something seemed to be going on. There was an unusual amount of activity around the grounds. Too many policemen ...

     There were quite a few people with her on the veranda—those who hadn't been accorded seats in the grandstands and who didn't feel like standing along the roadside to watch the parade. They preferred to sit in comfort with their gins and watch the parade depart. While she kept an eye on the police station, Grace overheard pieces of conversation.

     "I say that the Italian invasion of Ethiopia is the best thing that's happened to us," came the voice of a cattle rancher whom Grace knew. "I'm making money right and left, supplying the Italian Army with beef. You ask Geoffrey Donald. His ranch hasn't done this well in years!"

     "It's done us all some good," said his companion. "Provided the Eyeties don't decide to push on down and invade Kenya."

     "No fear of that, Charlie."

     "There's war brewing in Europe. You mark my words."

     Startled, Grace looked at the two men.
War brewing...

     "If there's anything I can't stand," said another voice from the far end of the veranda, "it's an educated wog that comes up from Nairobi in a suit and loud tie, talking court English and thinking he knows everything about everything."

     Grace returned to staring at the tin-roofed building of the police station. David Mathenge was in there, behind bars. She had been upset to hear of his arrest last week because she knew how much Chief Muchina hated the boy and how certain "special" prisoners were treated in jail. Grace was fond of Wachera's son; she had watched him grow into a fine, educated young man. He had never allowed friendship with Grace, but there was a sort of wary respect between them. Whenever Grace saw him, she could not help recalling the night of the first Christmas party at Bellatu, nearly eighteen years ago, and Chief Mathenge's tragic death.

     
He is very like his father
, she thought now.

     A truck pulled up in front of the station, and uniformed men with guns climbed into the back. As it sped off down the road, Grace felt her anxiety rise.

     Was trouble anticipated?

     An officer emerged through the front door of the police station, adjusting his cap and giving orders to someone inside. As he struck off down the street, Grace called out to him.

     "Good morning, Dr. Treverton," he said, coming up to her.

     "Can you tell me what's going on, Lieutenant?"

     "Going on?"

     "Your men seem particularly active this morning. Surely it isn't for the parade!"

     He smiled. "Oh, it's nothing to worry about, Doctor. Just a bit of native business up country. Something we're looking into."

     "What sort of business?"

     "We got word that there's a gathering of Kikuyu outside Nairobi. Coming from all over, I'm told. Some from as far north as Nyeri and Nanyuki. We're just going out there to keep an eye on them."

     Grace felt herself go cold. Kikuyu coming from as far away as Nyeri. "What do you suppose it means?"

     "Who knows? But I assure you it's nothing to worry about, Doctor. We'll see they don't interfere with the parade. Good day to you."

     As she watched him go, Grace could not shake the feeling that beneath his smile and relaxed manner, there was a very worried policeman.

     "There you are!" called a voice behind her.

     Grace turned to see her niece sweep onto the veranda in a cloud of pink silk, her eyes smiling over the veil that hid her face. Grace also saw men's heads turn.

     "You should be getting 'round to the Stanley, Aunt Grace. The parade's about to begin."

     Grace looked at her watch. She had come to the Norfolk with Mona and Arthur to help with costumes and floats. A seat was reserved for her in the grandstands, and it was time she was driving her car around the back streets to be on hand to watch Arthur cut the ribbon across Lord Treverton Avenue.

     "What's the matter, Aunt Grace? You look gloomy. If you're worried about Arthur, don't be! He's such a dear. You should see him on his horse. And that outfit has done wonders for his confidence! I can't wait to see the look on his face tonight when he sees the surprise I have for him."

     "And what is that?" Grace asked, distracted.

     "You remember. The elephant gun!"

     "Oh. Yes. But I wasn't thinking about Arthur just now." Grace was thinking of the unusual police activity, of the gathering of Kikuyu outside the city, and realizing that it could be no coincidence that such a gathering was taking place on the day of the big parade. The Africans were planning something ... "I was thinking of David Mathenge," she said, "in that horrible jail."

     Mona's smile vanished for an instant. She looked across at the police station, her expression briefly dark and intense; then she was smiling again. "What do you think of my costume?" she asked, twirling around.

     Grace forced a smile. She thought Mona's outfit too risque. But then, Grace reminded herself, this was 1937, and young people today were so different from when she was young. Besides, Mona had had little choice in what part to play in the parade. The women riding on the floats had been at a loss to find historical characters from Kenya's past to portray—unless, like Sukie Cameron, one dressed as a man. There were more than enough men
in African history, from sultans to explorers, traders to hunters, but women were sadly absent from the centuries, as if they hadn't existed. And so Mona and her friends had had to settle for such pale roles as harem women and the wives of famous men.

     There were no Africans taking part in the parade, and no historical African figures were going to be represented.

     "Come along then," said Grace abruptly, turning her back on the police station and her mounting worry. "Let's get you into the harem before Vasco da Gama has a fit!"

     A
RTHUR, AT THAT
same moment, as he prepared to mount his horse, was worrying about exactly the same thing—fits.

     He hadn't had one in more than a year; Aunt Grace's simple bromides and sedatives were a marvelous stopgap for his incurable illness. Still, the threat of a seizure hung day and night over Arthur Treverton like an ax suspended on a thread. He never knew when one was going to strike, what would bring it on, where he would be when he fell, and in front of whose eyes he would disgrace himself. It was for those reasons that Arthur had never attended school, could not travel anywhere alone, was not allowed to handle a gun, and would never be accepted for military duty, all of which he dreamed of doing one day.