Weep Not Child (16 page)

They came near her home. She said, ‘Let’s go in.’

Njoroge protested. Her face darkened. Quietly, almost inaudibly, she said, ‘I know. It’s because father is a chief.’

‘Please–’

He knew he was beaten. She had seen into his heart. They went in. Jacobo’s home was not as awesome as it used to be. Long ago when Njoroge and the other children of the ridge used to work for Jacobo picking pyrethrum flowers he had always felt a weight in his stomach whenever he came near this house. He did not like looking at it for a long time because he had always feared that Jacobo or Juliana might come out only to see him staring at their European household. But even now the whole place was quite impressive. Njoroge hoped that Jacobo would not be there. The chief was rarely seen. And when someone saw him approach his home, he automatically knew that something was wrong. The name of the chief was becoming a terror in the land. Njoroge could remember how he once saw three women dash into a bush as they were coming from the market. Njoroge had wondered why. But on looking in front he saw the chief. He too had feared, but it had been too late for him to disappear.

When Mwihaki went into the kitchen he stood up and looked at the photographs that were hung all around the room. There
was Lucia as a child, as a teacher, and two taken at her wedding. There was her brother, John, who had gone overseas. Where was Mwihaki? He longed to see how she looked in a photograph. Then there was a sound of feet at the door. Njoroge turned. Jacobo, his wife, Juliana, and three homeguards with rifles were entering the house. Njoroge, still looking at them, went to his chair and sat on the edge with his left hand on the seat while with his right hand he played with a button.

‘How’s school?’ Jacobo asked, after he and his homeguards had found seats. Juliana had gone to the kitchen. Jacobo looked tired. He was not the proud farmer of old.

‘’Tis all right.’

‘In which class are you now?’

‘Standard VIII. I’m doing KAPE this year.’

‘Then you’ll go to high school?’

‘Yes, if I pass.’

Now Njoroge felt a little brave and sat on the chair squarely. Jacobo’s face was a little wrinkled. There was a change in his voice as he said,

‘I hope you do well. It is such as you who must work hard and rebuild the country.’

Njoroge felt something jump in him. He saw himself rebuilding the whole country. For a moment he glowed with that possibility…

He stole a glance at the homeguards. He found them looking at him. Their red jerseys reminded him of the dead barber.

They went to a hill. It was near their home. She lay on the grass on her left side and faced him. He sat upright and looked at the plain below. The plain was usually full of water, especially during the rainy season. Now it was dry. Mwihaki played with the button on his back pocket. Then she sat upright and also looked at the plain.

She said, ‘I was afraid.’

‘You should not be afraid,’ Njoroge said.

‘But I was – when the teacher said the world would soon come to an end.’

Njoroge turned to her and looked at her for a moment. He tried to smile indulgently but he failed. His face remained contracted into small creases as if he were recalling something.

‘It is very hard to imagine everything destroyed – I mean flattened out into a plain like this one. You imagine the blood and the bones of all people, white and black, mine and yours, all…’

‘Stop!’ She shut her eyes as if she did not want to see the sight of a lake of blood and a plain of bones.

‘I see you are afraid,’ he said, again trying to smile indulgently. He truly felt brave because she was afraid, and she was only a woman, a girl.

‘You see,’ she said when she had recovered, ‘it frightened me to think that I may go to bed one night and wake up to find everything gone – all destroyed.’

‘But you would be destroyed too, so you won’t see anything.’

‘Don’t laugh.’

‘I am not laughing.’

This was true for he too was thinking of the possibility of what she had said. What if all people were destroyed and he alone was left? What could he do with his learning that he had hoped to use in rescuing the country from ruin? Then he thought: What if it was only his family that would be de-stroyed? He shivered in the stomach. He quickly asked, ‘When are you going back?’

‘Next week.’

‘So soon?’

She didn’t hear.

‘Njoroge, do you think all this was actually prophesied by Isaiah and all the other prophets?’

‘It is in the Bible.’

‘Because I was thinking that if Jesus knew, really knew, about this thing in our country, He could have stopped it. Don’t you think so?’

Njoroge believed in the righteousness of God. Therefore he thought all this would work out well in the end. And he felt a bit awed to imagine that God may have chosen him to be the
instrument of His Divine Service. So he just said, ‘God works in a mysterious way.’

‘You know what really worries me is this. It is my father. He used to be so kind and gentle, especially with me. He annoyed me sometimes of course but that was nothing. He always came to my side when Mother scolded me. I enjoyed his smile and thought I would like a husband with teeth like his…’ She stopped, and thought for a moment. Then she looked down as if she was puzzled by something. ‘But now he is uncommunicative. The gun and the pistol he carries make him a stranger to me. Oh, if only I was bigger and really strong, I would do something…Perhaps you don’t believe it, but–’

‘It is the same everywhere,’ he said irrelevantly. All things would change. Only people had to believe in and trust God.

She went on, not seeing that he was not really attending. ‘I hate to think that he may have killed some man because at night he wakes and says that he heard some people talking of his own death. And people you know are always avoiding me, even girls my age. It is, oh–’

She burst into tears. Njoroge was horrified to see the tears of a big girl. All girls were like this, he thought. Yet he would not have believed this of Mwihaki. He pulled a blade of grass and chewed it. And Mwihaki took her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. Njoroge looked away. The plain below was quiet and big. For a time Njoroge forgot Mwihaki; he was lost in speculations about his vital role in the country. He remembered David rescuing a whole country from the curse of Goliath.

‘You must think me a silly weak girl, but you know I think the people have sinned.’

He felt as he had felt when the old preacher talked about sin. If Gikuyu people had sinned, then he might be sent to them by God. He remembered Samuel and many other prophets. But he said, ‘Is it possible for a whole nation to sin?’

‘One man sins, God punishes all.’

He thought: She is right. God had done this often to the children of Israel. But He always sent somebody to rescue them.

‘…and the sin could be committed by anyone, you or I…’

He was startled out of this vision. He had at times felt like this. For instance, that day his mother quarrelled with his father. He had felt guilty as if he had been responsible. He suppressed this and looking at Mwihaki said firmly, ‘Peace shall come to this land!’ His task of comforting people had begun.

‘Oh, Njoroge, do you really think so?’ she said, creeping near him as if he was the comfort himself.

‘Yes. Sunshine always follows a dark night. We sleep knowing and trusting that the sun will rise tomorrow.’ He liked this piece of reasoning.

But he was rather annoyed when she laughingly said, ‘Tomorrow. Tomorrow never comes. I would rather think of today.’ But her eyes dilated like a child’s as she looked hopefully at him. An idea came to her. She held Njoroge by the neck and shook him excitedly.

‘What is it?’ asked Njoroge, startled.

‘Something. Suppose you and I go from here so that we come back when the dark night is over…’

‘But–’

‘I could be such a nice sister to you and I could cook you very tasty food and–’

‘Just a minute.’

‘It is a good idea, isn’t it?’

Njoroge was very serious. He saw his vision wrecked by such a plan. And what would God think if he deserted his mission like this?

‘No. No. How can we leave our parents alone?’

‘We could–’

‘And tell me where would we go and what could we eat?’

She looked disappointed, but she easily laughed it off. She said, ‘Don’t be so serious. I was only joking.’

Njoroge was puzzled and felt slight irritation against this girl. He could never understand her. But he too tried to laugh and said, ‘Of course I knew.’

She thought that he was annoyed and soothed him.

‘But we shall remain friends and always trust each other.’

‘We
are
friends,’ he said.

‘But you never come to see me when–’

He became at once aware of the difference between them.

‘We don’t see each other.’

‘When I come back, you will not let me alone?’ she appealed, again her eyes dilating. She was sitting close to him. She touched the collar of his shirt and then rubbed off an insect that was walking along it. He looked at her in a brotherly fashion. He had now quickly forgotten their differences. To him she was a girl who might have easily been his sister.

He said, ‘When you come back, I shall be with you.’

‘It is a promise?’

‘Of course.’

They moved together, so as not be caught by the darkness. A bird cried. And then another. And these two, a boy and a girl, went forward, each lost in their own world, for a time oblivious of the bigger darkness over the whole land.

Mr Howlands felt a certain gratifying pleasure. The machine he had set in motion was working. The blacks were destroying the blacks. They would destroy themselves to the end. What did it matter with him if the blacks in the forest destroyed a whole village? What indeed did it matter except for the fact that labour would diminish? Let them destroy themselves. Let them fight against each other. The few who remained would be satisfied with the reservation the white man had set aside for them. Yes, Mr Howlands was coming to enjoy his work.

At the beginning of the emergency, when he had been called from the farm, he had been angry. He had at times longed to go back to the life of a farmer. But as the years passed, the assertive desire to reduce the blacks to obedience had conquered, enabling him to do his work with a thoroughness that would not have been possible with many of his age. He looked up at Chief Jacobo. A wicked smile lit his face. The desire to kick the chief was uppermost in his mind. The chief was grinning.

‘Are you sure it’s Boro who is leading the gang?’

‘Well, one can’t be quite sure, but–’

‘What?’

‘This man, as you are aware, is known to be dangerous. I told you so when you and I talked together before he ran away. Well, I think, I mean there are rumours that he probably comes home…but even if this is not the case, Ngotho surely knows his son’s hiding place.’

‘Haven’t you planted men to watch Ngotho’s movements and report on them?’

Mr Howlands always felt that soon he would come to grips with Ngotho. Ngotho was his foe. But Mr Howlands could not explain to himself why he always waived plans to bring Ngotho to a submissive humiliation. Yet this was what he wanted. This would be the crowning glory of his career before his triumphal return to farming life. Meanwhile he would resist all Jacobo’s moves to have Ngotho arrested just now. He had often resisted this just as much as he had resisted his wife’s requests that she and Stephen should go back to England for this time being. Stephen was now in the high school for Europeans, which was a few miles from Siriana.

Jacobo was long in answering.

‘I have, Sir, but there’s something else. I didn’t, you know, want to tell you, but a few days ago I received this note in an envelope dropped at my door.’

The chief fumbled in the inner pockets of his coat and took out a handwritten note which he handed to the curious Howlands:

STOP YOUR MURDEROUS ACTIVITIES. OR ELSE WE SHALL COME FOR YOUR HEAD. THIS IS OUR
LAST
WARNING.

‘Why! Have you received more?’

‘Yes – two. But–’

‘What did you do with them, you fool?’ Mr Howlands was furious. He stood up.

Jacobo moved a few steps back to the door. Howlands could never understand such ignorance. To receive two notes of warning and keep quiet!

After a time he cooled down.

‘All right, leave this one with me. Where do you think they come from?’

‘From Ngotho.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Who else could easily come to my house? A few months ago, his youngest son was at my house–’

‘Doing what?’

‘Well, he’s really a schoolboy, and, he had, eh, I mean, my daughter–’

Mr Howlands could not understand all this. Jacobo must be mad.

‘All right. Leave this with me. You can have more homeguards if you want. You must not leave your house without a guard. Watch Ngotho’s every step.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And by the way, when the new homeguard post is ready, you and your family better move there.’

‘Yes, Sir.’