Tefuga (19 page)

Ted didn't get back last night. I still haven't made up my mind. I know I ought to tell him, but … you see, I also know what he'll say. He simply won't believe in lots of hidden villages all over Kiti. Perhaps there are one or two we've never found so they aren't paying taxes, but
lots
? It is a difficulty. I do see that, but … oh, the way her fingers loosened from mine when she thought I'd let her down! I don't know.

Thurs April 17

Well, I've done it now. I mean I haven't. I suppose I could still go back, but I don't think I shall. I'm talking about not telling Ted. It just happened. He got back tired and a bit sore 'cos of having to ride Tan-Tan all that way, and we had a nice snuggle and then I brought him a big b. and s. and he lit his pipe and he asked if I'd kept out of mischief while he was away and I showed him the picture of Salaki. He was terribly pleased. It's the first of my pictures he's ever really liked, and he just likes it 'cos he can see it's her and not any old mare. In fact, I caught him trying what it might have been like without Elongo by putting a corner of paper across that bit. Dear man, he can't possibly see that you need that sort of wedge-shaped blob of weight that side. I'm going to mount it for him to hang in his office.

After that we just chatted. That was when I could have told him about Jabu, and Atafa Guni, and shown him the picture. I could have done it so it seemed I didn't understand it was important. But I didn't. And I didn't this morning at breakfast, either. And each chance I miss, the more I see that I'm really not going to at all, and I shall send the sketch to Mr de Lancey, and then see what happens. I promised her, didn't I? I've got to do something.

I know it's a terrible risk. I think I can rely on Mr de Lancey not to let on to Ted that it's got anything to do with me, but you can't be absolutely sure with someone as tricky as that. Suppose he lets me down, or it comes out some other how, what'll I do? Make out I was just too silly to understand? No go—we've talked about this sort of thing too much, Ted and me. No, I'll have to own up. Floods of tears. Terrific wheedlings. You see … you see, in a funny way I'm not sure Ted wouldn't rather enjoy all that, having me crawling about on the floor and clinging to his knees and sobbing like billy-oh, and him being ever so honourable and upright and forgiving. It'd all be part of the big KB-ish bullying Ted he's always been too frightened to let out. (Mustn't blame him too much. After all, there's a side of me too that rather longs to sob and cling and be trampled on, so in a funny way I might rather enjoy it too—tho' we'd both be just acting, really. I'm much stronger than he is in some ways.)

Anyway, one thing's obvious. I've got to go on making absolutely certain he really really needs me, so much he couldn't bear to give me up, whatever I've done. I do love him, I truly do, so I won't be pretending something that isn't true. That's all that matters.

Fri April 25

Not quite so hot last night, and a shade cooler now too, I think. Ted says it's too soon for the hot weather to really break, but you can't help looking for signs. Oh, how I sometimes long for England, deep winter, lying close, close all night, sharing our warmth, with the bedroom air icy round us! That's something I've never had. I keep thinking what a funny business all that is. Before I got married, when I didn't suppose anyone would ever ask me anyway, I used to wonder about it. I'd finish a soppy novel and then try and dream myself into the heroine's nightie, but it was all misty and stupid. It never even struck me that it was going to be great fun when you got it right, like tennis when your eye's in. I do rather long for someone to talk to about this sort of thing. Some woman (Atafa Guni?). Poor Ted's no use. If I say “That was nice” when we've finished he just grunts (supposing he's still awake!).

The only thing they do tell you is about mystical union (is that right, or am I thinking of the Prayer Book?). I wonder. I
am
truly fond of Ted, not just grateful to him for getting me away from Daddy, as well as admiring him for being so decent, and doing it is a way of saying that sort of thing, as well as making us feel happy with each other and belonging together, but it isn't at all mystical and holy, especially with our tummies going suck and smack like rubber cups because we're so hot.

It's surprising you don't get bored of it, considering how samey it always is. There doesn't seem to be much you can do different, or if there is we don't know (and Ted probably wouldn't approve, just like breakfast isn't breakfast if he doesn't have porridge). Actually, I wonder whether I'm quite telling the truth about that. I believe I might have been getting a wee bit bored, without noticing it, 'cos I do think it's got much more new and interesting again since I sent my letter to Mr de Lancey. Ted sent it for me, actually. I showed him the sketch I'd drawn of the woman on the ladder so he could see it was only about art, and he popped it in with his reports.

Funny how you don't understand things till you write them down. They're just feelings, till then. But yes, there is something extra. The secret. The game. Ted not knowing. He spends most of his day-times trying to stop Africans cheating and bribing. He doesn't really believe he'll do any good, but I think he gets a special sort of pleasure out of being so honest and decent when everyone round him's so absolutely rotten and corrupt. And then he comes home to me and we chat and have supper and put on the gramophone and dance till we both feel ready and then we go to bed … and he doesn't know but I'm bribing
him
! It's exciting. I don't know why. It sends a kind of tingling shiver through me. It's like the sprinkle of salt on your food which makes all the difference.

Of course it's a risk. That's part of the excitement. If he found out! Oh, idea! Is that why I so badly want to write this all down, 'cos it gives him a chance? Not much of one—I can't imagine dear Ted reading anything I'd written without my permish. But aren't I extraordinary? I'd no idea!

Wed April 30

A horrible two days. I honestly believed I'd spoiled everything and we'd never be happy again, but I think it's going to be all right after all. Just. If dear Ted had an ounce of suspicion in his nature—if I hadn't worked so hard keeping him happy … Well, day before yesterday, quite early … Ted was gone over to Kiti for his weekly confab with KB. I'd got a bit of an upset tummy—you get them all the time in Africa, however careful you try to be—and I'd just got back from the B.G. thinking I'd have a lie-down 'cos I was feeling a bit washy, the way you do, and there in our dining-room was Mr de Lancey! I just stared. Of course I see now he must have known it was confab day and he'd come up the river by canoe and camped just down stream so he'd catch me alone.

He didn't apologize for barging in. Just “Good morning,” and then, “Mrs Jackland, will you please take me to this village you say you found.”

He had my letter in his hand. I tried to start talking about who the Italian painter was, but I could see it was no use.

“Shouldn't we wait for Ted?” I said. “I mean it's his district.”

He stared at me with absolute contempt. “Have you told your husband, Mrs Jackland?”

I should have said yes, and pretended, and hoped, but I was sort of hypnotized. I just shook my head.

“Let me make one thing clear, Mrs Jackland,” he said. “You came to Kiti against my wishes and recommendation. I would now be sorry to see you leave, but if I thought it necessary I would not hesitate to report to Kaduna that you had been interfering with the work of your husband's district and intriguing with tribesmen behind the back of the Native Authority. If I were to do that they would have you out like a shot.”

“Please,” I said. “I'm not feeling very well.”

“You had better sit down. I can see that you are not well and I apologise for choosing such a time. Perhaps I had better wait for Jackland after all.”

“No. Let me think.”

“Very well. Perhaps you will tell me how you stumbled on this village.”

“Elongo took me.”

“Why should he do that?”

“I wanted to learn women's talk. In Kiti, you know.”

“I see. In that case Elongo can take me, and I need not trouble you to make the trip. Would you please send for him.”

I rang my little bell and he was there at once. I told him (in Hausa, I don't know why) I wanted him to take Mr de Lancey to Jabu. He just looked bewildered, but then he always does, a bit.

“I do not know this place,” he said.

We both tried. I pleaded, Mr de Lancey bullied. It was no use. He totally refused to admit he'd shown me anything anywhere. I didn't know what to do—I was desperate to get Mr de Lancey out of my house. In the end I switched to Kiti.

“Elongo Sisefonge,” I said. “You will take Mr Dlanzi to the place where I talked to Atafa Guni.”

I don't know why—I think 'cos it was the strongest way of putting it I knew—I used the tones Atafa Guni had taught me for when the “aunts” give orders to the lads in their huts. Elongo stared at me as tho' I'd hit him. Then he said, “I will do it.” I almost collapsed from relief, in fact I don't really remember much after that for a bit, except that Mr de Lancey went away and came back with some medicine from his famous chest, his own special gippy-tum brew. He wasn't being kind. His eyes absolutely glittered while he stood over me and explained how much I ought to take, how often (I hardly understood a word!). Then he watched while I gulped some down and off he went, and I tottered to my bed and lay down.

Actually it was v. good stuff, 'cos soon I started feeling quite a bit better. Terribly weak still, and terribly worried, but suddenly seeing everything absolutely clear, specially, just as if I'd been there, what was going to happen. Elongo would take Mr de Lancey out into the bush and get a good way away and then he'd ‘forget' how to find Jabu after all, and that would be the worst thing that could happen 'cos Mr de Lancey would come back furious and tackle Ted. I'm saying what I thought
then
. It seemed totally obvious what I'd got to do was go after them and make sure Elongo did what I told him. (Actually now I can see I was being stupid. Much the best thing I could have done was stayed where I was and waited for Ted to get back from Kiti and then told him how bad I'd been—stopped playing my silly game—asked him to forgive me—let him take over. It would have been alright. I know it would. He's just too decent for anything else.)

So I got up and scribbled a note for Ted and took another good swig of Mr de Lancey's magic potion to be on the safe side, and then went and found Mafote and told him to water and saddle Tan-Tan for me—Ted had taken Salaki to Kiti. I'd never ridden him before. I just knew I could, because I had to. Then off I rode. I felt wonderful, light as air, strong as steel. Tan-Tan tried to have his own way and fought with the bit but I showed him who was master and he gave in. Almost before I'd noticed we were right out through the thorn-belt. I don't remember any of that part at all, but suddenly there was the big, empty, flat bush, Africa for ever. I felt like riding right across it, but I knew I had to find the others so I set off the way Elongo had taken me. It wasn't difficult. I knew the way. I could remember everything, tree and ant-hill and tussock, clear as crystal. I said I would, didn't I? They sang to my eyes. I don't remember having any trouble with Tan-Tan at all. I felt as tho' I was floating through a kind of dream Africa, looking for my Elongo, knowing I was sure to find him. And I did.

Actually they found me. I was floating along when I heard a shout, miles over on my left. I looked, and there they were, quite the wrong place. Lucky they'd seen me at all—it was just while I was crossing one of the opener bits of bush. Soon as I got near I saw there'd been a row. Mr de Lancey was furious and Elongo was frightened but stubborn. It turned out he'd taken Mr de Lancey down one of the inlets into the thorn-belt, and of course they hadn't found anything there, and Mr de Lancey knew he'd taken him to the wrong place, and Elongo knew he knew and Mr de Lancey had tried to bully him and he'd stuck it out. (Secretly I was rather pleased!)

“But you haven't gone nearly far enough,” I said. “It's miles on!”

Mr de Lancey looked at me v. oddly.

“Are you sure, Mrs Jackland?”

“Course I am. Come on!”

So off we went. I had to slow down a lot 'cos the others were only walking tho' Mr de Lancey made a v. good pace, spite of being a fat little man. He's a lot less pansy than he looks. He kept worrying about whether I was sure I knew my way and I kept showing him my landmarks and telling him what we'd see next and there it was! So we couldn't argue. Tan-Tan started playing up and I had to fight him most of the way so I was too busy to talk a lot and Mr de Lancey hadn't much puff to spare, but spite of that he got interested in my illness again and I told him how terrific his medicine was and I'd had some more and I was quite all right now. He looked at me again and then looked at his watch and warned me it would wear off quite soon.

And then, at last, we were there. I rode down the inlet feeling absolutely triumphant, waiting for the moment when we'd come out from between two tree-clumps and see the tilted pale roofs.

But the roofs weren't there!

I couldn't believe it. Everything had been so right till that moment, my eye-memory so exact, it absolutely couldn't be true. I rode on, with my heart hammering. It was just like that moment when you're having a delicious dream and something goes wrong and you know, before anything else happens, that it's going to turn into a nightmare now.

It did.

The huts weren't there, but they had been. Where they'd stood, where those lovely women had thatched so cleverly, there were just eight black circles on the ground. Ash. My heart stood still. How had Kama Boi known? I mean, he'd have known the village was there, but how had he known they'd talked to me? Had someone heard my shout, after all? Was it all my fault? I could see it so dreadfully in my mind's eye, the flames roaring up (it would have been night, wouldn't it?) the women running out of the huts, the firelight glinting off the spear-points, the smoke streaming away. At least I couldn't see any bodies—perhaps they hadn't actually
killed
anyone.