Echoes From a Distant Land (35 page)

‘You will visit the Longshoremen. They are becoming very powerful. You will observe them carefully. You will study their methods of organising their membership. They have thousands of members.

‘The Longshoremen's Union is pushing hard these days,' he continued. ‘Now that the war is over they can fight the businessmen and the governments. They are going to push, push, for better pay and safer working places.' Muthuri lowered his voice. ‘I want you to know all their tricks. How they think. I want you to find ways that we can organise thousands of people. Tens of thousands.'

Jelani drained his beer. It was warm and flat, and caught in his throat. He knew Muthuri was no longer talking about union members.

‘As our numbers grow,' Muthuri continued, ‘it will become more difficult to conceal the extent of them. We must eventually prepare for open warfare, but until that time, we must remain hidden.'

The recent oathing ceremony was still etched in Jelani's mind. The procedure had changed markedly in the short time since his own. He was still disturbed by memories of the new initiates dripping blood from the seven cuts on their arms into the fouled food bowls.

The alcohol prompted a question he'd otherwise not ask. ‘I understand it's important to keep our membership secret, but why do we need all that blood and filth?'

‘Already I am thinking we must change our ceremony. The cuts leave scars. There are other ways to bind our brothers closer to us.'
Muthuri smiled thinly. ‘It is important to make the oathing ceremony vile and disgusting. That way no one will admit to being a member. It will separate them from everyone else, except us. The Mau Mau becomes their only family.' His smile broadened.

‘Then how will we get new members?' Jelani asked. ‘No one will want to join us if the ceremony is so disgusting.'

‘That will not be a problem,' he said. ‘Soon we will be like an army in times of war.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean we will have compulsory membership.'

‘But not every Kikuyu will agree with us. They will want a choice.'

‘They will have a choice — they will either join the fight, or die.'

As the day of his departure for America loomed closer, Jelani became overwhelmed by the countless tasks facing him — each one a hurdle and potential stumbling block to boarding his ship.

The only person able to advise him was Chege Muthuri, but he was seldom available. It was therefore only by chance that his boss was around to mention a very important matter — he needed travel papers before he could set foot in America, or anywhere else in the outside world.

‘You need to go to the admin office with your
kipande
pass,' Muthuri said. ‘Find Joe Mbale. He will help you.'

‘Who is Joe Mbale?'

‘A Ugandan friend of mine. And don't worry, he is easy to find. Look for a man with a moon face and a big belly.'

Muthuri was right. Joe Mbale was a big man with, improbably for a government employee, a big smile — after Jelani introduced himself as a friend of Muthuri.

Mbale said, ‘And how is my good friend Chege? Why is he such a troubled soul and always fighting with everybody?'

‘He is very well, thank you. And I'm surprised you ask why he is fighting. I'm sure that even in Uganda you are facing the same struggles as we are here in Kenya.'

‘Ai, ai!' Mbale said, his smile unaffected by Jelani's outburst. ‘I see you are from the same
kali
tribe as your boss.'

‘There is much to be angry about,' Jelani said, trying to remain calm.

‘Mmm, but not for you,' Mbale said, turning his attention to Jelani's papers. ‘I see you are going to America next week.'

‘I am. If I can get my travel papers. Can you help me?'

‘I'll try. Give me your
kipande
and I'll fill in the form for you.'

Jelani slipped the cord over his head and opened the small tin box containing his
kipande
.

Mbale took it and commenced to fill in the details. ‘This is your full name?'

‘Jelani Karura. Yes.'

‘No other names?'

‘No.'

‘These British.' He shook his head. ‘They like to see many names.'

‘Why?'

Mbale shrugged. ‘Who knows? It is their way.'

‘I see … Maybe you can add Zesiro. It was a name I had as a child.'

‘That is very good. See, it fills the space nicely.'

With Jelani's help, Mbale worked his way through the form. ‘There, it is done,' he said, running his finger over the entries, but stopping at the name box. ‘This name, Zesiro: it is a Ugandan name.'

Jelani's childhood discomfort surrounding his appearance and his name fleetingly returned, but now he could put it aside. ‘Yes,' he said. ‘My mother's friend was Ugandan. She suggested the name.'

Mbale nodded, and continued checking the form.

‘It is all done,' he said. ‘Come back in three days for your papers.'

Jelani thanked him.

‘By the way,' the big man added as he clipped a cover note to Jelani's form, ‘does your twin also have a Ugandan name?'

‘My twin?' Jelani asked, puzzled. ‘I don't have a twin.'

Mbale smiled. ‘Surely you have … otherwise that Ugandan lady has been having a big joke on you, my friend.'

Jelani made no attempt to hide his annoyance. ‘What do you mean?' he demanded.

‘Your name … Zesiro.' Mbale's belly wobbled with his suppressed chuckle. ‘It is a popular Ugandan name. It means
first born of twins
.'

Jelani felt the blood rush to his face. He snatched his
kipande
from the desk and stormed from the building.

Once outside, the full significance of his name hit him.
First born of twins
. Could it be possible that he had a sibling, a twin, somewhere? Surely his mother would have told him if she knew. She'd said that they dropped the name Zesiro because they didn't know what it meant. They also said the Ugandan who had brought him to Kobogi wouldn't give any details of his birth mother. What could it mean?

It seemed to him that the mystery of his birth had just doubled in size.

With all the uncertainty of his identity returning, his thoughts and dreams for his life with Beth came into sharp focus. How could he hope to hold onto her — a beautiful young educated Kikuyu woman of a good family — when he was a half-caste; a nobody?

 

Jelani met Beth at the River Road bus station on Sunday afternoon; they again walked together to Jeevanjee Gardens. The sun shone from a clear, pale blue sky and the park was crowded, but they found a bench seat under a tree where Jelani took Beth's hand in his.

‘I thought about inviting you back to my house, but …'

She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘It's nice here,' she said.

Jelani looked about them. There were family groups picnicking and young people like them with their heads together, talking and giggling. A small boy collected empty drink bottles and put them into a woven fruit sack held by a friend.

‘Beth, I'm leaving in three days.'

‘I know,' she said softly.

‘Will you miss me?'

She looked at him and her beautiful eyes made him melt.

‘You know I will.'

‘Do you also know how much I loved you when we were kids?' he said, now taking both her hands in his.

‘Were we kids? It was only five years ago,' she said, dropping her eyes to his hands resting in her lap. ‘But yes, I know how much we both felt.'

‘And now?' he dared to ask.

She took her gaze from his hands and looked into his eyes. ‘I haven't changed my mind over these five years. Have you?'

‘No. Never once.'

He swallowed. The time was perfect. His intention was to tell her of his love and then to raise the subject of his involvement in the freedom movement. It was important that he tell Beth of his passionate wish to help to change their world to one that was better for their future together, but he didn't want to risk losing her over an argument about politics. Beth had already indicated that she agreed with the missionaries' view, and he'd heard that they were using the pulpit to turn their congregations against the Mau Mau.

He weakened, and simply said, ‘We have a lot to talk about when I get back.'

‘I'll be waiting,' she said.

 

The engine roar grew louder. Vibrations, which began at his feet, continued up Jelani's legs until he felt them in his chest, pounding and juddering among his ribs. The whole cabin of the Solent flying boat shook and rattled. Whatever fear he felt was subjugated by a great rush of excitement as the plane moved forwards.

Above his window he could see two of the four engines, their propellers a blur. They turned the water below them on Lake Naivasha into a flurry of flying droplets that hit his window and trickled down it in rivulets rainbowed by the morning sun.

Gathering speed, the vibrations merged with staccato bumps coming from below as the keel pounded the wavelets.

The plane struggled to overcome the lake's persistent drag; Jelani hoped the engines would win the battle. They slowly did so as the plane's momentum gathered, and the surface of the lake melted into a blur of blue and white. The bumping stopped, the spray disappeared and the roar of engines increased as the sea plane defiantly hauled itself skyward against the drag of water and gravity. Below them the papyrus and fever trees flashed by, then
farm houses and villages. They climbed to the level of the Rift Valley escarpment and Jelani could see the grasslands rolling up to the distant and densely wooded Aberdare Ranges.

He turned his attention to the thirty or so white passengers inside the aircraft, all of whom had regarded him with suspicion as he boarded the plane. They seemed uninterested in the miracle that was evolving around them; most now had their heads buried in newspapers.

Below him was another lake, this one fringed with a filament of pale pink flowers. While he watched, a strong wind seemed to lift a cloud of pink petals from the flowers and send them whirling over the lake surface, but then they wheeled and spread and he realised they were flamingos — millions of flamingos. The vision flashed in and out of view as the Solent bumped through the clouds, until the plane was totally engulfed in white fluff.

He sat back and closed his eyes, reflecting again on the night at the bar in Mathare discussing the purpose of his visit to New York. He was to absorb all he could of the protest movements in the union organisation and elsewhere. The impression Jelani gained from Chege Muthuri was that when he returned, he would be given an important position within Mau Mau. One that would bring him into close contact with the enemies of the organisation — the police and the government members who opposed true freedom.

And from what he'd already witnessed of Mau Mau tactics, he knew the leaders expected him to fight their enemies, not by words as he'd done in the union, but with violence.

He knew it was not the life that Beth had in mind for them. But was Beth's vision of their future realistic? Even if the two of them were somehow exempt from the injustice visited on black Africans by the Europeans, how could they find contentment and happiness while the white government continued to force the Kikuyu and others into native reserves, or to condemn them — the rightful owners — to become squatters on their own land?

1951

Emerald Kazkusi Northcote-Middlebridge strolled down Piccadilly swinging her hips, aware that the cab drivers outside the Park Lane Hotel were watching her. She had her mother's olive complexion and startling green eyes, which she accentuated with a little eyeliner uplifting the corners so that she had a touch of the feline about her. But her curves were more rounded than Dana's, which made her look older than her nineteen years.

The outfit she'd chosen that day suited the May afternoon with its hint of spring in the air and low western sun struggling to break through London's nondescript sky. Her suit was navy blue — a popular colour that season. The skirt hugged her hips and the short flared jacket emphasised them. The cuffs and collars were turned back to reveal a leopard-skin print. A loosely tied scarf of identical material and a three-row choker of pearls circled her elegant neck. Her hat, perched perkily towards the back of her head, matched her ivory-coloured gloves.

One of the hotel's boys gave a low whistle. She ignored it, of course.

She could have been going to a tea party in Mayfair, but instead she was taking a bus to Chelsea for her friend's twentieth birthday do. It was in a marquee in the grounds of Chelsea Hospital, adjacent to the flower show.

Emerald's mother had almost insisted on driving her, but she would have none of it. At nineteen, Emerald told her, and in that day and age, she was quite capable of going to a late-afternoon party on her own. What she didn't tell her mother was that she had arranged to meet a very nice young man at said party. She and her
girlfriend Fiona had met Peter and his friend Michael at a boat race in April. They were in the Oxford Blue's reserve boat, and the girls had enjoyed two rendezvous with them since.

Peter was a tall young man, square chinned and broad shouldered. She had chosen him over his friend Michael because of his mop of fair hair and cheeky smile.

Emerald was quite taken with her first conquest. The thought of seeing him again made the nape of her neck tingle with excitement.

 

Dana had only reluctantly agreed to allow Emerald to go to the party in Chelsea on her own. She trusted her daughter, but she didn't know the Parke-Hollaway family and wondered if they were the right type. Fiona seemed a rather quiet, introverted young person, in contrast to all Emerald's other friends, who appeared to be more sophisticated and worldly than her daughter. But Dana still had her concerns. Emerald had shown indications she was developing an awareness of the many young men in her social life, and Dana could well remember what had followed that revelation in her own life.

Dana's teenage pregnancy may well have been kept a secret, but she didn't want a similar episode to risk Emerald's chances of inheriting the Middlebridge fortune.

Oswald had inherited the Middlebridge collieries in Lancashire. Unfortunately, he was childless, and the family had only ever entrusted one of their own to take the reins. His options were to anoint either his brother's idiot son or his stepdaughter Emerald as his successor. If Emerald were to get involved with the wrong boy, she would risk losing Oswald's confidence — and control of his family fortune after his death.

Emerald had no shortage of distractions from the opposite sex. At first it was her interest in the latest fashions. She would drag Dana through endless stores, seeking the right outfits for the many society events she had begun to attend.

Then it was the theatre. Although Dana preferred the more expensive seats, she agreed to attend a Henry Wood concert at the
Royal Albert Hall and join the
prom
— the milling crowds in the cheaper seats. It was while
promming
with Emerald that Dana realised her daughter was too rapidly growing up. She turned a lot of male heads, which was understandable given her eye-catching gown, but it was the way that Emerald handled those glances that surprised Dana. She realised that Emerald already knew when a man was looking her way. Furthermore, when Emerald wanted to take a closer look at an admirer, or to send him an encouraging signal, she would turn and bend as if to see if her stockings were straight, or she would touch the brim of her hat and steal a glance, or simply take a sweeping scan around the crowd without making obvious eye-contact with the person who took her interest.

She also sent signals, ranging from a brief glance, to a twitch of amusement on her lips, to an alluring smile. They all seemed to find their mark as a constant stream of young men presented themselves to Dana, begging to be introduced. Dana felt it had been only moments since young men had clamoured for her attention too. At fifty-one, she felt extremely old in comparison.

The following week they would attend the Royal Windsor Horse Show, were already booked for the Royal Academy Summer Exhibition, and were considering Wimbledon. Emerald wanted to see the Henley Regatta on the Thames, but at this Dana had baulked. Standing in July sun was not a prospect that enthralled her. Unless they had an invitation from someone with a comfortable barge or a riverside lodge, she would not attend.

Oswald showed no interest in any of the season's social events, and none of the sporting events except for the cricket. This year it was the South Africans, and Oswald said they would see the second test at Lord's.

But Emerald was not content with even this whirl. She insisted it was time for her official
coming out
, when she would be presented to the King. Dana knew it would be difficult to postpone this for much longer as she and Oswald had always indulged the girl. She could see through her daughter's plan, though: once Emerald had made her debut, she would expect to have more freedom than her mother presently allowed her. Dana hoped nevertheless to prevent
what she feared was her daughter's journey down the same path she had herself taken so many years before.

 

Emerald knew most of the girls at the party — there must have been thirty of them — either from school or through her school friends. Many had escorts: either male relatives foisted on them for the occasion or boyfriends.

Emerald and Fiona had colluded with Clarice, the birthday girl, to have Peter and Michael added to the guest list because neither had yet told their parents they'd commenced a friendship with Oxford boys — who in some circles were considered characters of dubious reputation. In Emerald's case, she wasn't sure if her relationship with Peter could be called more than a friendship because there'd been very little physical contact. From what she'd heard exchanged in confidence among her closer girlfriends, a certain amount of caressing, either attempted, permitted or encouraged, had to occur for a relationship to exist.

‘Hello, Em,' a girl in a floral dress said.

‘Oh, hello, Miriam,' Emerald replied, thinking the cut of the floral number emphasised her friend's ample breasts. She wondered if she should add some padding to her own bra.

‘Wasn't this simply divine?' Miriam went on. ‘People are starting to leave. But it has been nice, hasn't it?'

‘It has. I suppose we'll be leaving soon too.' Emerald avoided adding that her mother had insisted she send the driver to collect her at nine.

‘It's been ages. What have you been doing with yourself?'

‘Not much. Switzerland.'

‘Lovely,' said Miriam.

‘Not really, but I did have a chance to practise my watercolours.'

‘Oh, you too! Isn't it fun?'

‘It was,' Emerald said. ‘But now I'm back Mother has insisted I do something
noble
for a couple of days a week.' She rolled her eyes.

‘What do you mean
noble
?'

‘Oh, you know, charity work and such. She's insisting I go down and volunteer for work at the Red Cross.'

‘Ghastly.'

‘And how about you, Miriam? How's life?'

‘The usual. We went to the Cotswolds for three weeks. The weather was abysmal.'

‘I simply hate the Cotswolds.'

‘Quite. Well, must dash, but I'm glad we've had a chat. I've been trying to catch your eye all evening, but you've been busy. I have to ask — who's the handsome man who's been taking up all your time? Did you come with him?'

Emerald understood that arriving with a boy at a social engagement had its own connotations. Definitions were important.

‘Peter? He's … a friend. He's getting me another drink.' The
friend
label was sufficiently ambiguous to avoid a detailed discussion about him, but was proprietary enough to dissuade all but the most predatory of competitors. ‘What about you? Are you with someone?' Emerald countered.

‘Me? No, I've been going with a chap for a while, but … you know how it is.'

‘Quite,' Emerald said, nodding, but having no idea.

Fiona and Michael returned to the marquee and Miriam, having exchanged brief pleasantries with them, wandered off.

Emerald discreetly picked a sprig of greenery from Fiona's blouse.

Fiona giggled. ‘We've been in to see the Chelsea Flower Show,' she said.

At that moment, Peter returned with the drinks and the four began to discuss attending the Henley regatta.

‘What do you think, Emma?' Fiona asked. ‘Can you make it by mid-afternoon?'

‘I'm not sure I care to go,' she replied, taking a sip of her drink.

‘You're not?' Peter asked. ‘But I thought you had arranged it. We'd even spoken about where to meet on the Thursday.'

‘I know, but I'm actually still thinking about it.'

She couldn't admit that she'd been unable as yet to convince her mother to allow her to go, and decided to change the subject.

‘Come, Peter,' she said. ‘Let's take a walk in the flower show.'

She led him from the marquee to the hospital grounds, where they spent a few minutes admiring the flower displays. Then she found a narrow path leading from the main area into the shrubbery.

‘Emma, what are you doing?' he asked.

She turned to him and put a finger to her lips. ‘It's a secret,' she said. ‘Just follow me.'

In a grove of trees, surrounded by camellias and rhododendrons, she stopped.

‘Is this it?' he asked.

‘Yes. They're pretty, aren't they?' she said, nodding at the flowers.

‘Yes … But they're not part of the show, are they? I mean, they're nice, but there are others far more beautiful in the exhibits, don't you think?'

‘Perhaps, but this is our private show.' She made a performance of studying the camellia's petals. ‘And I thought you might want to be alone with me.' She gave him a coy smile.

Peter moved close to her and placed a hand gently on her elbow.

‘I do …' he said, but remained where he stood — half a pace away from her.

‘I thought you might want to … you know … kiss me,' she said.

‘As a matter of fact …' He moved towards her, lifting his right arm as she lifted her left. There was an awkward moment as they shuffled their feet and shifted positions. They seemed to have too many limbs between them and nowhere to put them.

At last, he wrapped his arms around her slim waist and she ran her hands up to his shoulders before clasping them behind his neck. She raised her face to him and closed her eyes.

When Peter's lips met hers she was transported. It was the most exhilarating feeling she'd ever experienced. At that moment, as her head whirled and her breath caught in her chest, she knew she would remember that kiss for as long as she lived.

He continued to press into her until their teeth grated together and it was hard for her to breathe. Finally she had to break away. She clung to him, gasping. His arms were strong around her waist and she could feel his hips pressing his lower body to hers.
Something other than the earlier euphoria claimed her. She was now very conscious of his body on hers. She could feel the press of his thighs and the thrust of his groin. A flush of warmth rose from her shoes through her thighs to her breasts.

Peter was taking quick, shallow breaths and muttering to her that he loved her and wanted her.

She didn't know what to do or what to say. But she felt a power over Peter that until that moment she'd never known existed.

 

When the policeman rang the bell in Belgrave Square and Dana found him in the doorway with his bobby's helmet in his hands and a nervous look on his face, she knew it could only be bad news. She also knew it wasn't as bad as it could be, as Emerald was standing behind him and not dead.

‘Afternoon, mum,' he said, lifting his chin and straightening his back.

‘Hello, officer,' Dana said as calmly as she was able.

‘I'm afraid I have some matters to report that might be distressing to your ladyship.'

The neighbourhood was bristling with diplomats and lesser royalty. The sergeant was having an each-way bet with Dana's elevation to the peerage.

‘Won't you come in?' Dana said, stepping aside and not telling him she was no longer a countess.

As Emerald passed she tried to catch her eye, but her daughter kept her face averted.

In the drawing room, she indicated a Louis XIV chair, but the policeman gave it a look and remained standing.

Seeing this, Dana decided to take the initiative. ‘What seems to be the trouble, sergeant?'

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, mum, I'm not sure how to say it.'

‘Come, come, I'm a mature woman. You can speak frankly.'

He coughed again. ‘At about six o'clock this evening, I was patrolling the Chelsea Flower Show in the grounds of —'

‘There's no need to go into detail,' Dana said with more edge on her voice than she intended. She smiled and continued. ‘I think we all know where the Chelsea Flower Show is held. Can you please get to the point of your visit?'

‘While patrolling the grounds of the … while patrolling the grounds, I saw the young lady here being led into the bushes behind the —'