Boss Takes All (16 page)

‘Mostly? Don't like the sound of that. Reminds me of my village and the red mud when the rains came. Tell him to ditch the bike and climb in with you or it will be dark by the time we get there.'

Now when he looked through the car windows to the left and right, Reuben saw nothing but an apple green landscape.

‘Papa, I never knew there was a place like this in Kenya. Like being in a different world.'

‘Perhaps we should buy a place up here. Your mother likes her tea. Just down the road, sugar plantations. Plenty rain, too. No, I think I prefer it down south these days.'

Abel was pleasantly surprised when they turned off the metalled road. The murram was firmer than he expected and they soon covered the distance to the Uchome place. He was glad to get down to stretch his legs and look around. He soon discovered that Patrick's extended family owned three large plots in the area, all producing tea. There was a big turnout for the funerals and he and Reuben were led through the crowd to a small group of well-built stone houses. To one side of a large vegetable garden heavy with crops, he could see the two graves with the mounds of earth stacked neatly all around. Just beyond, and in the fields, stood a large, open shed, a simple structure of pine poles topped with a thatch of reeds and straw. On working days the pickers brought their baskets here to be weighed. Today it was transformed into a gathering place for family and friends. Abel groaned.

He had known that there must be a service but had not given much thought to how it would be. He would have liked a simple but speedy farewell. This set-up suggested something more elaborate and, more important, longer. Regular churches made him feel uncomfortable. On the few occasions when he had been obliged to go along with Sally to the cathedral or one of the other big Nairobi churches, he had his technique worked out. He let Sally belt out the hymns or spill the overflow of emotion while he let his thoughts wander or, better still, fixed his concentration on a minor problem. In those places he found that he could work without distraction.

Here he knew he would be a focus of attention. Eyes would be on him. He would be expected to react … properly. He had seen to the Nairobi side of the arrangements, had the bodies removed from the morgue before there had been a full autopsy, paid for the expensive oak coffins, hired the only double hearse in the country. To the casual observer, these might have seemed to be the actions of a considerate friend anxious to demonstrate his compassion and his sympathy for the bereaved family. In fact, they were little more than a mask to protect his own interests. He wanted Patrick in particular safely under ground as quickly as possible.

His personal ordeal was about to begin. He and Reuben led the Rubai contingent on the walk to the tea shed. There was plenty of give in the grassy verges. He did not enjoy the suck of the mud pulling at his shoes as they squelched towards the waiting family. The bottoms of his trousers were soon saturated, making his ankles feel uncomfortable.

‘Bwana Rubai, my name is David. I am Patrick's brother. My mother and father want me to tell you how grateful they are to you for your kindness to them in bringing their boy home and coming yourself …'

Abel was switching off. Twenty years on the political scene had helped him hone the art of presenting an interested face to company, to filter away the parts of exchanges that had no relevance to him and to be alert and attentive when it suited.

So the ritual began. The coffins were carried in, the bodies inspected and grieved over painfully. Words were spoken impassionately, songs were sung interspersed with prayers. The big man looked on with an impassive expression. He cast an eye out into the rolling fields and noticed that the afternoon was far gone. Just when he was wondering if the burial would take place in the dark, everything stopped abruptly.

There, directly in front of him and supported on her husband's arm, stood Sophie Uchome, Patrick's mother. And he who was no friend to her son, who had been wishing himself a hundred miles away, looked into that beautiful, old face and wept, sobbed with total sincerity. He was overwhelmed by a sense of loss. This unexpected reaction stunned Reuben and shocked his men, but in Abel there was only a feeling of release. He reached out to grasp the two old people in front of him and held them in a tight embrace. The room might have been totally empty to judge from the silence of the two hundred people gathered there. Every one of them heard the whispered plea from Abel's lips.

‘I am so sorry!'

The seconds ticked by and the moment was passed.

Half an hour later, the powerful motors of the four Rubai cars were started up. By now the hearse was well on its way back to its Nairobi yard. On the short journey back to the main road, they caught up with Patrick's uncle on his way to retrieve his bicycle and Abel invited him to sit by his side. For the last few metres Abel got down and walked with the cheerful man who had such an impressive zest for life.

‘Do you have a lamp on the bike, Shadrack?'

‘Bwana, why would I need a lamp? I have been living in these plantations for sixty-five years and more. Even on the darkest night, there is some brightness up there. On my way home tonight I will be singing because I am happy. Bwana Rubai has brought honour to our family.'

‘But how will you find your bike now? You have come too late.'

Reuben, riding in the car that was moving at walking pace, was watching his father with curious interest. Since the outburst of emotion in the tea hall, some of the sharp edge had left him. He was giving time to people he would normally have ignored. Listening in to the conversation with the Uchome uncle and seeing his concern for the old man's bike, he would not have been surprised if his father had pulled out his wallet and handed over a few thousand for a new machine.

‘To find it, that will be easy. Ah, we are close now. I left it near that pile of stone just where we turn onto the big road. They are special marble, paid for by businessmen in Nairobi. I expect you will know them.'

‘And why would they do that?'

‘A Kericho stonemason will soon be building a place where we will remember the good doctor. They found him just there. They had killed him with knives, left him naked by the entrance to the big plantation.'

Abel snapped back into his old self in seconds. His system had been struck by a second shock, this one unpleasant and totally explicable. Without another word, he left the old man to look for his cycle and slid into the seat next to Reuben.

‘I have changed my mind. We will not go to the farm to spend the night. The road through Kakamega Forest can be dangerous. I know that the President will not be at State House Nakuru. I will phone ahead. Obi, pick up the speed!'

He was regathering his composure.

‘Yes, yes, a much better plan. I can get in some practice for when my time comes. I should have thought of it before. Yes, Reuben, when you are elected, you will come and visit. Perhaps you will bring your family.'

‘If they elect me.'

‘I don't like that little word. You will be the chosen one.'

It was Abel's turn to will the journey to pass more quickly. He would like to have had some interesting conversation to distract him on the way. He was well aware that Reuben was not up to the mark on this score. There was not much common ground of shared interests.

‘Your mama went to the hospital today. A check-up on the new child. He is coming soon now.'

‘She asked me to go with her. I don't like hospitals much.'

‘So I rescued you.'

‘Well, yes, except …'

‘That you don't like funerals either.'

‘Not all the way up here and for someone I never even met.'

‘Okay, son, we'll agree on a truce. I'll just lay my head back and let the tyres eat up the miles. They are getting dinner prepared for when we arrive.'

He closed his eyes, but the hoped for doze into temporary oblivion did not come. Instead he felt the uncomfortable presence of someone he had thought he had rid himself of weeks before. ‘The good doctor' were Shadrack's words. Abel had no regrets. Simon Mboya would have been as big a threat to the stability of the state as his Uncle Tom before him, another Luo meddler. They were popular with some of the wananchi. Their careless tongues could blab all the nonsense they liked. Dreamers do not make sensible leaders.

At last, the lights of Nakuru gleamed in the distance. In twenty minutes he would be in State House, back in familiar territory.

After sending three cars straight on to Nairobi, he noticed that his driver, Obi, had a wide grin on his face as he sorted out the formalities with the guards on duty at the gatehouse.

‘Hey, boy, share the story. Me and Reuben here could do with a smile ourselves.'

‘Bwana, just thinking how lucky I am to be driving your car. This place is so … relaxing.'

‘So I made a smart decision to spend the night here? You approve.'

‘Bwana, any decision you make, I approve. But I get on well with the staff here and I like the garden.'

‘Given me an idea. Reuben, make yourself useful. Go inside and check on things. Treat it like a test, practice for the future. I'll go for a stroll and have a chat with Mama Nature.'

Abel was not far into his walk along a wide path when he remembered that it would bring him to a wooden bench on a grassy mound at the top of the garden. Sitting there brought him a double bonus. The line of jasmine bushes that encircled the base of the mound gave off a scent that was made more intoxicating by the evening dew. The view was special, too. From there he could look down on lower ground that stretched out to the lake and beyond. There it was half a mile beyond the lights of the A104, a flat, glassy, irregular shape reflecting light from some, to him, invisible source. One of the askaris had once told him that on very still nights up there he had heard flamingos paddling noisily around the shallows eating their way through the night.

After half an hour in that place, the low moments of the day were already fading into insignificance for him. He was renewed and had returned to his confident best self.

Before supper he phoned Sally to check on her day.

‘Abel, in two weeks little Julius will be with us. He has been a very busy boy today. I have had to ask him to remember that his mama is not as young as she was. Makes no difference. This one will be his own bwana. Oh, sorry, I am forgetting. The funeral, how was it?'

‘Huh. It passed. What can one say? I suppose the one person I will remember will be Patrick's mother. She reminded me of Mama. Caught me by surprise. I'm over it now.'

‘Pity.'

‘And what does that mean?'

‘Oh nothing. You are such a strong person. Sometimes it is good to have some tears.'

‘But I did. You can ask Reuben. I think he was shocked.'

The pause on her side was brief. ‘Abel, I will be happy to have you home. Are you at the farm?'

‘No. Much closer. Reuben and I are, shall we say, trying out the facilities at State House in Nakuru. I think you know why. We will be home tomorrow.'

Next morning Abel decided that he would make a small diversion on the last leg of the journey back to Karen. His confidence was high and he was ready to negotiate the sale of a piece of land. He had failed to buy twice before, but circumstances had changed since those days. He felt lucky.

Alex McCall was standing at the end of the driveway that led up to South Lake Road. He had walked over there to have a panoramic view of the house and garden now that the site had been cleared. A dozen and more bodies were bent over or kneeling in the earth on this the first day of the new creation.

So firmly was he focused on the work going on in front of him that he did not hear the large black car gliding down the track behind him. A door closed and Alex swung ‘round. He was shocked to see the bulky figure of Abel Rubai sauntering towards him with a hand outstretched.

Alex restrained the reflex reaction to scream at the brass-necked intruder to get off his land. He ignored the proferred handshake. He found it more difficult not to launch himself at this smiling, arrogant, hateful lump of humanity. Rubai was in first.

‘McCall, I hear there's a piece of land for sale here.'

‘Now which one of your bonehead acquaintances gave you that stupid idea?'

‘Is it just the farm or are the fields included?'

‘I would have thought that with all your money, you could have afforded a hearing aid! I hear there's a doctor in New York who can fit you up with the newest piece of technology. If you hurry, you could be there by Christmas.'

Abel chuckled. ‘Hey, sarcasm doesn't suit you, boy!'

‘Boy, is it? Would you like me to call you bwana, too? Look, let's get this finished quickly so that you can be on your way to the next poor sucker on your list. Not a square inch of this place is for sale, especially to a person of, I'll put it delicately, of dubious character. Now, please, shove off!'

Abel shifted awkwardly. The smile on his face was long gone. How was it that these McCalls knew the way to needle his family so easily? He would never be able to forget how the piggy face son had been bad news for Julius from they moment they crossed paths up in that European man's school in Gilgil. What a fool he had been to send him there so that he could learn to act like a proper English gentleman.

He looked towards the house. Obviously a lot of work had gone on there already. These stubborn fools were going to rebuild. That crowd was fixing the garden. How did these bastards manage to win out all the time? He could feel the control slipping, and fast. There were Africans over there kneeling in the deep soil and they were singing. He never noticed any singing from the workmen converting the bush into parkland on his Karen estate. The next stop in the logic of this painful train of thought was the memory of the lines of burnt corpses stretched out in lines on the lawns that used to be over there by that ruin of a farmhouse.