Burn My Heart (7 page)

Mathew sprinted across the lawn towards the guest huts. Around the corner and before he had even reached the first building, he found a cluster of younger children hiding beneath a thick bougainvillea, cascading with orange-paper flowers. When he pulled out the first child, the rest meekly trooped out and followed him to their ‘detention’.

‘You’re not much good at being Mau Mau,’ he said rather crossly.

Within ten minutes, Mathew and Lance had rounded up nearly everyone. It wasn’t much of a game as no one had resisted.

‘When is your dad going to sign up with the Police Reserve?’ Lance asked Mathew as they marched the last captive to the tennis court. In school Lance had told everyone how his father would soon be a chief inspector.

‘He says he’s going to… if things get worse.’ Mathew felt embarrassed by Lance’s directness.

‘What’s he waiting for? Dad says if we want to get rid of the Mau Mau, we have to do it ourselves.

He reckons we’ll all be dead if we sit back and wait for the government to do it.’

Mathew was silent. He wanted to defend Father… to say that Father wasn’t ‘sitting back’. He had built a second security fence, only a hundred metres from the house. He had it guarded night and day by tall Turkana men from the north who had nothing to do with the local Kikuyu. Father never went anywhere now without his revolver, even inside the house. He had even made Mother take lessons on how to shoot and she had her own pistol. But what if Lance’s father was correct? What if Father was too trusting? Father wasn’t like some farmers who had their labourers whipped. Everyone knew how Lance’s grandfather used to have his foreman whip men with the stinging kiboko made from hippo hide. Father had never let that happen on their farm. ‘
It turns your labour against you.
’ That’s why he thought they were loyal. But how could you tell?

Mathew felt uneasy for the rest of the afternoon at the club. After Lance ordered the release of their captives from the tennis court, they all trooped into the dining room for juice, cakes and biscuits. Mathew found himself looking at waiters who were always polite and who sometimes joked and laughed with him. Was it possible that their smiles concealed other feelings? Did some of them really support the Mau Mau and hate him?

He tried to push these troubling thoughts out of his head. He wanted to talk with Father. In fact, he needed to talk with both his parents. Mother had to learn that he was old enough. She shouldn’t keep trying to protect him from what she said were ‘adult matters’. He wanted to tell them that he had heard the conversation with Lance’s father and also what Lance had said. He resolved to do it while everything was fresh in his head. Yes, he would talk with them in the car as they drove home.

Then he remembered! How could he have forgotten? They would not be alone. This morning he had shared the back seat with Kamau and Mugo on their journey into town. Kamau had come to Father about an urgent message that his sister was sick. So Father had agreed to drop him and Mugo outside the location where his sister lived on the other side of town and then to collect them at four o’clock. Mathew had been present yesterday evening when Father had told Mother about the arrangement. Mother had raised her eyebrows and said ‘I only hope he appreciates you going out of your way like this!’

‘Drat!’ Mathew said under his breath as he walked with his parents and Lance’s family to their cars. He couldn’t possibly talk with his parents in front of Kamau and Mugo. It would have to wait.

‘I’ll follow you,’ suggested Lance’s father. ‘We
should keep together until we get to your place.’

It was ten miles to the Graysons’ farm and a couple of miles further to the Smithers’ place. Mathew watched as his father explained that the others should go ahead because he was going to collect his syce from the location. Mrs Smithers looked pityingly at Mathew’s mother. Lance’s father looked at his watch with an audible sigh.

‘That will take you at least another half an hour. You’d better get a move on,’ he said brusquely.

‘Don’t worry about us. We’ll be fine,’ said Father.

Mugo stared in dismay at the high barbed-wire fence that stretched as far as he could see. The wazungu had fenced in the whole location! The place where Baba’s sister lived looked as if it was now a vast prison. He wondered if there had been a fence like this around the location in Nyeri on Christmas Eve. The news had travelled fast how the elders and their families who refused to take the oath had been murdered there. He wanted to ask Baba what he thought, but it wasn’t the right time.

Bwana Grayson had left them at the side of the road in sight of the closed gate. Ahead of them, two Kikuyu police guards stood vigilant and alert in white shorts and black shirts with long sleeves. Their tall red hats looked like the memsahib’s plant pots turned upside down with a thick black tassel hanging from the top of each hat. Around each guard’s neck hung a long white rope carrying a whistle that was secured into his belt, next to a
shiny buckle. From the side of each belt hung a baton. Mugo thought how hot and uncomfortable it must be under all that uniform in the burning sun. It could make someone bad-tempered. Mugo hadn’t heard anyone on Bwana Grayson’s farm say a good word about these ‘red hats’. He had even heard Mzee Josiah recently say, ‘
Some of them think they are bwanas themselves.
’

As they drew near, Mugo felt the intensity of their eyes. Baba greeted them both politely.

‘We want to enter,’ said Baba. ‘This is my son and we have come to visit my sister.’

‘Where are your papers?’ The guard’s outstretched palm shimmered with sweat.

‘I did not know that I need papers to visit my sister.’

‘Everyone must have papers! It’s the Emergency! Have you been sleeping?’ The guard was much younger than Baba and his rude tone shocked Mugo.

‘My sister is sick,’ Baba said quietly. ‘She sent for me. That is why I am here.’

‘We don’t have permission to let you in without papers. You must go and get them.’ The guard waved his hand, dismissing them.

Anger jumped into Mugo’s throat. This red hat was talking to Baba like he was nobody. But Baba remained calm.

‘Did you not see us come out from the bwana’s
car? If we are coming to make trouble, will we be travelling with a mzungu?’

Mugo saw the guard glance at his companion. It was clear that they had seen Bwana Grayson and his car. Baba persisted. He told them how the bwana had specially brought them to the location and that this same bwana would return at four o’clock.

‘You can ask Bwana Grayson yourself. He will tell you that we work for him. He will be upset that you did not let us in.’

Mugo saw the guards’ eyes begin to waver. They would not like a problem with a bwana.

‘Come with me to my sister’s house,’ Baba continued. ‘You will see that I am telling the truth.’

Mugo marvelled at his father’s assurance. Suddenly the second guard, who hadn’t spoken so far, pointed to the bulge in each of Mugo’s trouser pockets.

‘What have you got there?’

Mugo swallowed hard. He had heard about guards who helped themselves to things they liked. He put a hand in each pocket and reluctantly pulled out two little wooden elephants. Each had outstretched ears and a raised trunk as if ready to charge.

‘Where did you get these?’ The man’s eyes narrowed.

‘They are mine.’

‘They are very well made. Perhaps you stole them?’

‘I made them myself!’ Mugo heard his voice rise. ‘They are for –’

Baba cut him short. ‘My son is good at carving. When the bwana comes you can ask him.’

The reminder about Bwana Grayson worked. With an abrupt wave, the second guard signalled to the first to let Baba and Mugo through. Mugo slipped the elephants back into his pockets. Baba’s smartness had got them on their way.

A few days earlier Baba had received a message that his sister was ill and she wanted him to come. But when Baba had asked for a day off work, Bwana Grayson said he must wait until Saturday. The bwana had added that he would be driving into town himself and would give Baba a lift. There had been no choice… and the lift certainly saved hours of walking. Mugo had begged Baba to ask the bwana to let him come too. He had been dying to give the newly carved elephants to his brother Gitau and his cousin Karanja. These days Gitau rarely came home when not at school. He preferred to stay with Baba’s sister in the location and to earn a little money by working for one of the Asian shopkeepers in town. He had not even come home over Christmas. Mami had especially missed him and given Mugo a message. ‘
Tell your brother I hope
he is well. He must come before he goes back to school. I am waiting for him.
’ Mugo was also longing to see his brother although he knew that Gitau might be out working. If so, he would ask his cousin Karanja to pass on his present and the message.

Mugo followed Baba through the maze of narrow alleys between the cramped mud and wooden houses. There was always much to see here. Some people sat outside their doorways, making sandals from old tyres, belts and bags from leather, baskets from reeds, boxes and buckets from tin, and items Mugo had never seen before. In almost every alley, someone stocked a few shelves of tinned food, oil, maize meal and sugar while someone else would spread out a few vegetables or pieces of meat to sell. Even the prison fence had not stopped the bustle of activity.

Karanja greeted them solemnly at the door. He was only a little older than Mugo and in the past had always given him a special greeting. Today, there was not even a quick grin or a wink as he led them to the small yard at the back. Mugo had expected to find Karanja’s mother in bed, but she was on her knees, scrubbing clothes in a tin tub. She was normally a cheerful person and much livelier than Baba, her older brother. But now, when she looked up to greet them, her eyes seemed lifeless. She remained on her knees.

‘What is wrong?’ Baba asked. ‘We heard that you were sick!’

‘Ndio! My heart is very sick! I couldn’t tell you in the message, brother. The wazungu have taken Karanja’s father. They came with so many guards. They beat him even in front of our own eyes. I asked them, “
Why? Why are you doing this
?” I begged them to stop but they pushed me –’ She broke off, fighting tears.

Mugo saw Karanja’s eyes become wet and angry. Karanja’s father worked for the Public Works Department and, when little, Karanja used to boast that his father had built all the roads and that was why there were so many cars.

Baba helped his sister up and led her inside the house. They sat down on wooden stools, facing each other, with the two boys standing beside them.

‘Where did they take him? What did they say?’ Baba probed.

‘They wouldn’t tell us!’ Karanja blurted. ‘Anyone can say you are Mau Mau and those thugs take you away. But my mother has more to tell you.’

Baba’s sister drew her fingers like claws down her cheeks, not looking at Baba.

‘Brother… The police asked for my son Maina… and for your son Gitau.’

‘What?’ Baba rumbled.

‘Our sons were not here so they could not take them.’

‘Have you news? Where are they?’ Baba demanded.

Sour air invaded Mugo’s lungs.

‘We think they have gone with the others, uncle.’ Karanja lowered his voice as if the walls might have ears. ‘It’s better to join the Muhimu in the forests than to let those torturing devils take you away! People say they beat you until you confess. They can kill you even if you know nothing! It’s better to fight!’ Mugo had never heard Karanja talk like this before. It was as if his tongue was on fire!

‘I hear what you say, Karanja. But war is not porridge. It does not feed you,’ Baba said tersely. ‘The way you are talking, the police will come for you next! What do they teach you in school? Use your head!’

Karanja fell silent, but Mugo saw his clenched fists. His school in the location was not like the expensive government boarding school attended by Maina and Gitau, where lessons were in English. It was run by Kikuyu people, who had built a schoolroom and who could only afford a teacher who had reached Standard Two. As well as learning to read, the children learned Kikuyu songs and customs. The government had already shut down some Kikuyu schools because it said that the children were learning to be Mau Mau.

Baba turned back to Karanja’s mother. ‘This is
not a good place for you, sister. It will be better for you to go to your husband’s people in the village until he returns.’

‘No, brother, the wazungu have forced too many people to the village. How shall we eat there? Here I can earn a few shillings in town.’ She was reviving. ‘Karanja will also find work and –’

‘Let the boys get us something while we talk,’ Baba interrupted. He drew a few coins from his pocket and handed them to Karanja. ‘Take Mugo and get potatoes, cabbage and beans. I want to taste your mother’s irio before we leave.’ It was obvious that Baba wanted to talk to his sister in private.

Karanja complained the moment they were outside in the alley. ‘Your father treats me like a child. Doesn’t he know things are changing? If he’s not careful, he’ll get a pain in his back!’

‘What kind of pain?’ asked Mugo, although he knew exactly what Karanja meant.

‘That bwana of yours keeps you stupid, doesn’t he?’ Karanja jibed. ‘Did the Muhimu not visit you?’

‘Ndio! They visited some time ago but we haven’t seen them again.’ Mugo hoped Karanja wouldn’t question him further. He felt sure that Karanja must have taken the Muhimu oath. It would be too embarrassing to confess his own story.

‘How do you know they haven’t returned?’ Karanja challenged. ‘They have their eyes everywhere. As I said, your father should watch what he says.’

At once Mugo felt defensive. Karanja was going too far.

‘Don’t get the wrong idea, Karanja. Baba wants us to have our land and our freedom from the wazungu, just like the Muhimu!’

‘Then he should not say to me “War is not porridge.” Does he not know that we are at war? If someone doesn’t want to fight for our
ithaka na wiyathi
, is that person not a traitor?’