Petals of Blood (27 page)

Some, led by Njuguna, once or twice let words edged with contempt and derision at a hasty journey, undertaken at the advice of children, drop from their mouths. Karega remembered Wanja’s warning of a few nights before and avoided her eyes. They were now without food and without water. At one stage their thirst became so intolerable it almost threatened their will to proceed: Abdulla led them to a place
where once flowed a stream and they dug up some stones, turned over some rocks and put their tongues on the sides hidden from the sun to cool the fire in their tongues. No herds of antelopes came their way: only a carcass of an eland newly dead. The children clambered back to the cart – how fortunate, every one thought again, that they had brought the donkey, so that the children need not feel the teeth of the sand and the needle stems of the grass – and they continued their journey, with hawks and vultures flying high above them, maybe hoping . . . Nyakinyua, was encouraging them. ‘Don’t despair when you have already done over half the journey. It is said that once in Muranga a child who had bravely put up with hunger a whole day fatally gave up just when his mother was throwing the last mwiko into the pot to mash the irio.’

And then suddenly one morning they came to the bottom of the hills and valleys of the escarpment and the beginning of a green belt of spotted bush and forest trees.

They rested at the foot, exhausted, but not without pride at the many miles they had covered to put the vast plains behind them. One heave, one more heave and the rock will be moved, Nyakinyua encouraged them after they had rested a bit, pointing out that they were bound to find water and wild fruits further up the slopes. Where did she get the strength, this old woman who, like Abdulla, had refused a ride in the cart?

A surveyors’ team had cleared some kind of road that zigzagged through the bush and trees on the side of the slopes. And on either side of the road, the forest department had cleared off wide avenues, treeless belts to arrest the unmitigated spread of bush fires. They resumed their journey along this highway, their hope and faith renewed. A mile or so on, they came to a valley and Abdulla said there was water down there. They went down the shallow valley and indeed there was water. They all knelt to drink, and others, especially the children, stripped to bathe. The elderly people chose more hidden spots. They also found gooseberries, guavas and other wild fruits.

Karega saw to the donkey which drank and ate wildly. Wanja sat with the children. At the voices of children, Wanja often felt a wound inside her smart so sharply that tears would press against her eyelids.
She felt an excruciating love for them and she would have liked, at such moments, to embrace and give milk to all the little ones of the earth. Lord forgive us our sins, Lord forgive us our trespasses, and let the children come unto me. She brushed aside the voices of prayer murmuring in the heart and looked more closely at Joseph, the only one who had not bathed.

His face had fallen, he was breathing with difficulty and he was obviously trying to hide his pain from her. She rose and felt his chest and it was hot.

‘How long has he been ill?’ she asked them. Some turned their faces away, and she had to ask again.

‘Since yesterday and through the night,’ one said. ‘But he told us not to tell on him. I mean, he did not want to add to your worry and hardship.’

The naïveté – well, the selfless fortitude – touched her and she hurried to where Munira, Karega and Abdulla were talking.

‘Joseph is ill,’ she announced without ceremony.

They went to where Joseph was. They were joined by Njuguna and Nyakinyua and soon the whole procession knew of it. Abdulla and Njuguna went into the bush and came back with roots and some green leaves. They gave some to Joseph to chew. But what was needed, Abdulla explained, was for the leaves and the roots to be boiled and Joseph covered together with the pot under a heavy blanket to sweat out the fever and the illness from the joints. So the best thing was for them to move on and go to the nearest farmhouse and seek aid in medicine or a place they could sit and treat Joseph themselves.

They led the donkey back to the road and reharnessed it to the cart. Although the highway ran along the slopes, it was still steep and the donkey’s hooves kept on slipping. Munira, Karega and Wanja helped push the cart, and this way, panting and sweating, they eventually came to the top and joined the tarmac road.

But for Joseph’s illness, they would all have felt immeasurable happiness at the sight. For they could now see the city below them. Wanja could even recognize the Hilton and the Kenyatta Conference Centre dominating the city centre.

They hurried down the road and it was almost dark by the time
they finally reached the first farmhouse. Karega and Munira were about to open the iron gates when a European woman came toward them, told them that there were no vacancies, hakuna kazi, and ordered them off the premises without waiting for an explanation. Karega and Munira could not help laughing as they continued down the road. ‘Why did she think we would go to her house in the evening to seek employment?’ Karega wondered, and he was going to say something about white people when he remembered his own struggle in the city and kept quiet.

At the next iron gate they took care to first read the signpost. Their hearts beat with hope and indecision. Rev. Jerrod Brown, Karega read again. They would have preferred an African but then a man of God under whatever skin was a soul of goodness and mercy and kindness. They sent Karega and Munira and Abdulla. Abdulla’s bad leg would be evidence of their good intentions.

The driveway leading to the house had a very neatly trimmed cypress hedge on either side. Beyond the hedges spread very neatly mowed grass lawns. Here and there on the lawns stood single cypress trees whose leaves and branches had again been nicely trimmed and brought together into beautiful cones as if in perpetual supplication to heaven. A well finished application of sweat, art and craftsmanship over a number of years, so much energy and brains wasted on beautifying trees, Karega reflected. The house itself was a huge bungalow with red tiles and steep gables, so imposing.

Suddenly two dogs came rushing toward them. The volume of their combined barking was enough to make one halt and take to his heels. But a man emerged from behind a pine tree and ordered them to halt. A watchman, they thought: he had a blue uniform and a white cap on which the words
Securicor Guards
were written. Another man, with a green kanzu, a red fez on his head, and a red band to match, around his waist, emerged from the big house and joined the Securicor guardsman who was now holding the two Alsatians by their collars.

‘Who are you and what do you want?’ asked the man with the red band who was obviously the Bwana’s cook. The Securicor guardsman was patting the fat panting animals, at the same time raising his eyes as if he would only be too glad to let them loose on the vagabonds.

‘We have come from afar and we would like to see the owner of the house. We are in a little trouble.’

‘You look it,’ said the Securicor guardsman, ‘and you may be in more trouble unless you can state your business quickly.’

‘But what is it that you want?’ insisted the man with the red band. ‘You see, Reverend Brown is praying and after prayers he generally retires to his study to prepare a sermon or something. He is a very busy man and he hates to be disturbed.’

‘We are in difficulties,’ reiterated Munira. ‘There are more of us at the gate. We have a sick child. We certainly do not mind waiting until the Reverend Bwana has done with prayers.’

‘You can come and wait in the verandah,’ he said, once again giving each one of them a thorough look-over. And really it occurred to Karega that they must indeed be a sight to see: what without a proper bath and without a change of clothes, for so many days.

They stood in the verandah. From there Karega could just manage to see the workers’ houses of mud-walls and grass thatch in two lines. And all along Abdulla was thinking: and we fought to end red fezes and red bands on our bodies. Munira was imagining his own father in fervent prayers of devotion.

Soon the Reverend came out and stood just outside the door, and they could hardly believe their eyes. Rev. Jerrod Brown was a black man. Munira’s heart missed a beat. He recognized the man: he had, once or twice, seen him at his father’s house. But at home he was known as Rev. Kamau. Jerrod Brown were his Christian names. He was one of the most respected men in the Anglican hierarchy: he was even considered a possible candidate for a bishopric.

‘How are you?’ he asked them in a squeaky voice.

‘We are well,’ they chorused, hopes rising.

‘It is only that we are in difficulties,’ continued Munira.

‘We have come a long way,’ explained Karega.

‘We are thirsty and hungry and we have a sick child at the gate,’ added Abdulla.

‘Where do you come from?’

‘Ilmorog,’ they again chorused.

‘Ilmorog! Ilmorog!’ he repeated slowly, looking them up and down,
from one to the other. If they had asked for work, he could have understood: but such big and obviously very fit, able-bodied men begging for food? He sighed more in pity than in anger.

‘Come into the house!’

His voice was filled with pity and understanding. As a Christian he knew wherein lay his duty. And Munira, full of happiness, was thinking: maybe I should tell him who I am.

The sitting-room was very huge. The wife, a huge matron, very much like his own mother, Munira observed, sat on a sofa by the fireside knitting. She gave them a quick glance, asked them if they were well, and continued with her work. Near her, against the wall, was a glass-cased bookshelf full of gold-lettered Children’s Encyclopedias and Bibles of various sizes and colours. Above the mantelpiece hung a wood-framed slogan behind a face of glass: Christ is the head of this house, the Silent Listener to every conversation at every meal. On another wall was a framed picture of King Nebuchadnezzar naked, hairy, on all fours like an animal, with words of warning printed below the picture. Otherwise on the walls mostly hung group photographs of the Reverend with various dignitaries.

Munira coughed in readiness to introduce himself, but the Reverend after fetching a Bible from the shelf had already asked them to join him in prayers. He prayed for the poor in spirit; the crippled in soul; for jobless wanderers, and all those who were hungry and thirsty because they had never eaten the bread and drunk the water from the well of Jesus. He prayed for everything and everyone under the sun and his voice touched something, a softness in their hearts.

He ended the prayer.

Munira coughed, cleared his throat to start the self-introduction. But the Reverend had already opened the Bible.

They sat patiently through the reading and the sermon that followed, thinking that it was only a necessary preliminary, though a rather long one: but what else would they have expected from a Church minister?

‘What the Bible is talking about is not so much a physical illness as a spiritual condition. For note that the man never went inside the Temple until he was cured of his spiritual lameness. He never begged again. The Bible is then clearly against a life of idleness and begging. This is what’s wrong with this country. Most of us seem to prefer a life of wandering and begging to a life of hard work and sweat. From the moment man ate the fruit of knowledge in complete disregard and defiance of God’s express command and wishes, he was told by God that henceforth he was to work and sweat, that never again was he to get free things, manna provided by the Lord. Even my own children, when they come from boarding schools at Lenana, Nairobi, Kenya High School and Limuru Girls School, I make them work: cut grass and trim up the hedges and feed chicken for their pocket money. As for the child who is ill (and why indeed did you not bring him in?) I have already offered prayers for him. Go ye now in peace and trust in the Lord.’

‘But Reverend Sir . . .’ Karega tried to say something, and could not proceed.

‘We need . . . we only need . . .’ Abdulla also tried and something blocked his throat.

Munira was so stunned he could hardly speak. Inwardly he was so glad that he had not made himself known to Rev. Jerrod. They stood up to go, but at the door Karega could not help it and turned round and quoted a passage he knew.

‘That is it my son,’ said the Reverend gravely . . . ‘the bread and fish of Jesus!’

Bitter and empty-handed, the recalcitrant three went back to the group waiting at the gate. They did not know how to break the news but their very faces and silence told them everything. Abdulla said: ‘Let’s try another house. This time we must avoid Europeans and clergymen.’

Wanja joined Karega and asked him what had happened. Karega suddenly burst out with laughter. ‘Do you remember the hymn we were singing at the beginning of the journey?’ He recited the words. ‘They are hungry and thirsty, those who have not eaten the loaf of Jesus. Do you know the Reverend holy bastard could only offer us the food of the spirit, the bread and fish of Jesus?’

They passed several houses not knowing which they should choose to enter. Most had Asian and European names, for this was one of the most fashionable farming and residential districts around the city. For Wanja the whole area brought back unpleasant memories of that experience in the city, and she did not want to venture into any. Munira abruptly stopped and his heart gave several beats. He read the name again before calling Karega. ‘Raymond Chui,’ Karega read, and looked up at Munira.