Twisted Times: Son of Man (Twisted Times Trilogy Book 1) (29 page)

Kennedy Maina was a man of steel nerves but feeble morals. His hush-hush flings with the triplet sisters of his friend came ad lib but the backwashes of these pleasurable moments weighed heavily on him like tons of thousands of bricks.

He wanted to face life the way it was for he couldn’t keep on running, but not as unprepared as he was. In fact he was not prepared to deal with the triplets, all pregnant for him. He could deal with anything else but not this. He had to get himself out of the mess and there was only one way open for him. That’s the road he decided he would take.

He decided to keep everything to himself and continue normally just as he used to – kissing those who had to be kissed, laughing with them the way he used to, affable as ever. But his escape plan was all laid out.

On the night before the D-Day he checked and counterchecked the house that had been given to him by his host for his important documents. There was no two way about this. He had to do it.

He was rummaging through the contents of the study desk in the study room when he saw one of Meira’s love notes to him. It was an acrostic poem she had composed for him those days she was burning with the desire for the man of her desires.

He took it, held it in his hands, and read it. He could not help thinking about the woman he loved and he was about to abandon, with his kid.

As he read the poem, he thought of love. Love – an emotion of immense joy but great sorrow. Meira loved him. He loved Shirli. Shifra loved him. He loved only one of them.

He couldn’t help wondering why people kept chasing for whatever they wanted even when odds were against it. Were it not for Meira insisting on having him he would not be in the mess he was with her. She should’ve seen that he was not interested and looked for somebody else. And were it not for Shifra taking their relationship for granted from the very first day and using it as a way to shag he would not be in the mess he was with her.  He wondered why he had given in to such amorous behaviour so easily. He knew better than to blame anybody now, himself or the triplets. He had a flight to catch the following day.

As he headed to the bedroom, the words of Meira’s acrostic poem reverberated in his head.

                           
Meira Loves You

                            My heart aches for you.

                            Every time you see me not

                            I die a million deaths;

                            Roses and violets I send

                            And get none in reciprocation.

                            Love is what I want,

                            O thy prince of my heart,

                            Villain I am, daily I cry

                            Either way my best I try;

                            Surely, I love you, can’t you see?

                            Yearn for me as I do for you,

                            O my beloved heart robber

                            Unless you’re a desert of love.

Tuesday, 27
th
September,

Tel Aviv, Israel;

At last I decided what to do. I was going to run again, running from myself this time round. I kept the plan to myself.

I was, as usual, at the office thirty minutes early. I did my usual checks around as the workers reported for work and cashiers checked and counter-checked the previous day’s sales and the sales manager went about balancing transactions in his books.

At around eleven o’clock I left my assistant to finish off the day for me. I had a migraine and I needed to relax.

I grabbed a cab that took me straight to Ben-Gurion Airport. My escape plane was to take off at noon local time.

An hour later I was airborne, the machine that was aiding me in my escape from my amorous deeds humming softly high above the sky in the clouds.

It was not after I heard the pilot’s cackle over the intercom announcing that the plane would be landing at the JKIA in ten minutes when I knew that I had made it; without fighter jets in sight to intercept the plane.

I was going to start a new life.

October;

I was silently back in Kenya just the way I had left, the home I had run away from, where everything had started and it was going to end. I was back running from reality, my life, and my mistakes.

My major-domo was still there, taking care of my home.

Everything I had done I was going to leave behind, I decided, make sure that my past was much of a landscape that had been altered like a point in the dark recesses of my mind. It was that easy because I couldn’t change what had happened, I couldn’t change the past.

I wanted a change, and a greater change for that matter. I wanted a silent life away from the limelight, even if it meant being a monk. I imagined Hanan coming over to Kenya looking for me after my obscenities were brought to light by the inevitable passing of time with the entire Israeli intelligence community. He would get to me easily. I had to do something, and something I did.

I decided I would give up everything and lead an obscure life. No phones. No emails. Perhaps go back to mattress banking. Nobody would ever know of me, nobody would ever think of me. I’d be something different from what I actually was. But before this I had some unfinished business with somebody: Susan.

Since I did not have her contacts, I had to look for her – if the mountain won’t go to Macbeth, Macbeth must go to the mountain. I started my search for her, trying the only place I guessed she could be.

She was not at the Nairobi Hospital. It was confirmed to me that she had come from the United States of America a month earlier but had got a job with the United Nations World Health Organization. I could get her at the UN offices in Gigiri, Nairobi.

I was driving out of the Nairobi Hospital parking lot when I saw somebody in my rear view mirror who made me slam the breaks. I had to go and say hi to him. I had not seen him for over ten years, almost fifteen if my memory served me right. My mind couldn’t be playing tricks on me. It was him – Randolph Wainaina.

Randolph, my primary school buddy. While in school he used to help me with languages but we became archenemies the minute his friend told him that I was having a liaison with Pauline Njeri, his girlfriend, when we’re about to do our end of primary school exams.

It was not true because Pauline just admired me secretly and when she decided to tell me of her feelings towards me she wrote a letter. I never got the letter. It ended up in the hands of Ralph’s friend who was Pauline’s secret admirer. This not only ruined my relationship with Ralph but also with the girl I wanted, Kate.

After culmination of our primary school education with KCPE exams we never made up our differences and since everybody went different ways I never saw him again, until now. Pauline too, I have never seen her since then. Though, I did try to look for her. When I realized that Kate was gone and had left because she thought I was having an affair with her best friend, I tried to make it happen. I was in seminary then, my high school days. I wrote a letter to Pauline who was studying at Moi High School, Kabarak, Nakuru, and gave it to Maryanne, her friend from the ‘hood.

In the letter I detailed how I had not gotten the letter that she had written to me, and that I sure wanted to be with her, and if she didn’t mind, could we please start over again. Did I love her? No, I did not tell her that in the letter, but yes, I felt something for her. If we gave ourselves time together we would know. She never replied the letter, but one day my sister, June Wambui, told me that she had met with Pauline and Pauline sent her to tell me that what I had asked her about was not possible. It was not a mature thing to do, to send my little sister, but I understood. I never saw her again. However, do I still feel for her? Hell, yes! This is because I never got the chance to tell her, and I never told her partly because there was no one to tell and partly because she went off the face of social arena.

Beside Ralph was a bunch of beauty, and not Pauline. We could still make up and be buddies again and be of help to each other. He too had not forgotten me. It was a nice encounter.

The beauty, Harriet Nasimiyu, whom I gave an eight-point-five beautiful rating on a scale of one-to-ten, was his fiancée. At last. I wondered what became of Pauline. “Teenage love affair,” he said as though he had read my mind.

He introduced me to Harriet as his long lost best friend, and quite to my consternation, welcomed me for lunch at his house. I was about to turn him down but he said, “I won’t take NO for an answer. I also think Harriet won’t be pleased with it.”

I did not want to sour the just renewed relationship with my once best friend.

As Harriet drove to their Parklands home I followed closely behind.

The Toyota Celica came to an abrupt halt in front of a huge iron gate. A burly gateman opened the gate and Harriet drove to a four port garage. The house was a one-storey building with a touch of American architecture. They welcomed me to feel at home in their home.

Lunch was served and we ate in nostalgic conversation, I reminding him of how he helped me in languages, he reminding me of Pauline. We were now grownups. He told me that even if Pauline wanted to be with me now he would have no problem with that. Hell, yes, I would love to, but the compass needle of my life was pointing somewhere else. Harriet was the love of his life. They were to marry in two months. He invited me.

We filled each other with what had happened in our lives in the years. He went to Nakuru Boys’ High School where on culminating his high school education he went to the US New York School of Law. After completing his doctorate he returned to the country where he was an advocate of the High Court.

There was no much to say about me apart from the edited version.

It came the time for me to leave. It was half past two in the afternoon. I wanted to go straight to Gigiri before they closed for the day. I told him so. He enquired slightly but delved not too deep when he realized that I was not saying what I wanted to do in Gigiri.

“You can go with Harriet? I was to drop Harriet there then I go my office in Hurlingham. She has applied for a job there and her contact told her to go in the evening. Would you mind giving her a ride? You’d really save me the after-lunch traffic rush.” Of course no, I didn’t mind.

Harriet’s contact happened to be none other than one George Marete. George and I were in the same class at the university. It was now that I knew he worked with the UN as the systems administrator. He told Harriet that everything was okay. Her application had been accepted and she was to go for the interview the following day. He gave her some forms to fill and while I waited for her to finish off, George and I killed time catching up on each other.

I asked George whether he had heard of Susan, my girl since the university days and before he could ask the question I was sure he would ask, I told him that we had lost contact for two years – I had gone to Israel and she America. Much to my relieve he knew alright, but more than I had gambled. He knew where she worked, in other words, where the WHO offices were. There I could get what I wanted. That was good news. The bad news was that Susan was not around. She was on internship and she and other interns had travelled to Mandera district with other interns as part of their induction into the United Nations organization in Kenya.

“But I know where she lives.” He gave me the address. The induction was to be over in a week. That’s when I could see her. It was fine with me.

A week later I got Susan’s house at the Nairobi’s Muthaiga demesne. Quite a development. A broad-shouldered man in G4S uniform opened the gate for me after confirming from
madam
that I had an appointment and quite a hell of amateurish security check. He directed me to the parking lot.  I couldn’t wait to see Susan,
my
Suzzy.

She was at the loggia. She had been watching me. Mistake to be seen first, but I had no otherwise. It was her home. She rose to her feet when she saw me. “Hi Ken, what a pleasant surprise?” she said as she descended. “It’s been long…”
No “babe.” Good.

I stared at her. Her beauty was baffling. I fought the urge to hug her. So much had happened since the last time we were together. I couldn’t just rush. She had grown her hair long and had plaited it to a single braid. I could see she was surprised especially how I had known where she lived.

“Welcome, Ken. Let’s get in,” she said when we shook hands. No hug, no nothing. Just a casual handshake. Good.

Alright, we got in to the house. I was shocked. In fact, I was not stupefied because of how grand the inside of the house was, nor because of the beauty that money could afford. Nay. Not that. The first thing that caught my eye was a photo of a couple taken at a certain pleasure resort I could not place. The couple was smiling at the camera exposing a set of well-formed snow white teeth. I knew the lady far too well, and the guy was no stranger to me. In fact I knew the guy as much as I knew the lady. Holding Susan by the shoulders was the man I was not only resentful of but also feared – Samson Ndolo.

Susan saw what I was looking at and instantly she excused herself to offer me a drink. I was not interested. Not in the least.

When she came back a female servant trailed behind her carrying a tray with two glasses of a yellowish juice. I presume it was passion juice because I never took it. I couldn’t. Of all people, Susan and Samson?

Before she said anything I turned to her in anger. “What have you done, Susan?”

She said nothing.

“Susan, I loved you, gave you everything a man could to the woman he loved. What did I get back?”

She now spoke. “Would you stop it, please? I made my choice, Ken.”

“Have you forgotten what you told me on our last day? Do you remember?”

“Ken, I love you. Never doubt that. We were just not meant to be. I remember I told you that I was not ready to get married
to you
. We were in the Maldives. Do you remember?”

I couldn’t forget that day. How could I?

“All along I feared it’d come to this, but I never imagined you would run to the arms of the same man who was behind my woes. Sue, what did I do to deserve this?”

“It’s not like I knew who he was before. I put the blame on you for keeping it from me. But he opened up to me, much later when the damage couldn’t be undone. A woman needs an honest man, and that was enough for me,” Susan told me. “Let it be, Ken. I love him. I just hope you’ll find a place in your heart to forgive me…”

For an instance I thought of Shirli. Gosh! Susan was the one who made me look for another woman in Israel. She was responsible for my
in
fidelity, if I was.

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into, Susan?”

“Don’t! I know a lot about you now than you think. I just learned what love is. It’s quite unfortunate I found comfort in another man. I couldn’t lie to you and call you babe. Not me.”

There was long silence in the room, air tense. “Did you think of me, Sue? What about me? I loved you. I did everything for you,” I began to rant again.

“Couldn’t bring myself to telling you over the transatlantic distance that separated us, I knew one day I’d do it. Please Ken, I’d regret my meeting Samson, but I’ll never regret meeting and knowing you. I mean it.”

What’s the use of more talking?
I was just but wasting my breath.

I believed that if a woman believed that she were better off without me I too had nothing to do with her. The same with when a woman lost a place in my heart. There was no going back.

At that moment I wanted to get the hell out of her presence, out of her house. She had cheated on me and left me for my nemesis. She had told me that she knew of that a long time ago. Good. Samson had used our differences as his wooing chip, and the bitch slept with the enemy!

I said my last words.

“Susan, I would’ve been a good husband for you. You chose otherwise. I hope I’ll never ever meet you again. Not ever.”

I turned to go. It was over. I had expected that after all. I was not hurt.

“Do me a favour, will you, Ken? For the sake of the love we once shared. Please, find a place in your heart to forgive me.”

I was at the door, my hand on the doorknob, its movements nervous.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Susan. I too screwed my way around in Israel.”