n the day of her ‘second’ wedding, Rebecca McCall woke up in the same bed she had slept in for the whole of her life. For company she had her sisters, Martha and Jane. Her mother knew that her firstborn had done this to please her. Rebecca was the first one up in the village, but she knew that she had company waiting outside. In the last darkness of the night, Maria Kabari had borrowed Hosea’s bike and ridden the short distance to Londiani along a quiet Sunday morning road.
The two friends greeted each other with a long, close, swaying hug.
‘Good morning, Madam McCall!’
‘And good morning to you, Mistress Kabari!’
They sat close together on the flat rock seats that encircled the hearth fire that was at the centre of the small scattering of rondavels. The embers were more grey than red, but there was enough warmth to ward off the chill of early morning.
‘Maria, is this wise?’
‘Tom was full of worries yesterday and the bride today? Sure it’s wise. The day will open out like a rose. Its perfume will fill the valley and the guests will go home full of hope.’
‘Where does all this peace come from? Being with you, it’s … it’s like listening to sweet harmonies.’
‘Rebecca, listen to me. Even before I met you, I knew that this day would come.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Good. It’s better that way. That first concert in the Bomas with Toni and Mary, I was there. The moment you stepped onto the stage, did you hear the gasp of wonder? Maybe not, but I tell you that anyone sitting in that place who had the eyes to see could have understood so many things about you.’
‘But how can you say this, Maria? And who would be interested in a wash girl from Naivasha?’
‘The great teachers talk about vibrations, auras. Hosea smiles when I try to explain. Remember, Julius Rubai and his family were in the front row there. Thomas was further back. Even in that crowd the pain screamed out. What was in your heart was also in your voice. Am I telling a truth here?’
‘I am getting married today and you talk about Julius!’
‘Yes, my darling, because sharing that pain in your heart was love, the purest love I have ever seen in a human being. In those moments of agony the spirit of the universe was with you. Rebecca, this is no crazy idea. What happened to you happens to millions of men, women, children. Children see it clearest. When it comes to us, we are aware of it, but it is hard to understand, to believe, so we hide it away because we are afraid that our friends, our family will tell us that we are mistaken or plain foolish.’
‘Maria, this is too much. You know that I love you and I trust you. I am so glad that you have come into my life, our lives but …’
‘Today is special in ways that I do not understand. I have been carrying these thoughts in my mind for many days, a message, not for me.’
‘For me? What you are saying sounds like a burden.’
‘But a burden that will be light because, even though they may not realise it yet, many, many people will be eager to share it. Without you there would be no dream. Sing on, Rebecca. Look, I have brought a flask of chai with lots of milk and sugar. A girl should spoil herself on such a day.’
By chance the seats they had chosen were facing east. All the while they had been talking, the regular drama of the morning had been unfolding in front of them. Darkness had become full light and the villagers were stirring.
‘I must go home. Hosea will think that his bike has been stolen in the night.’
Rebecca drank down the last of the chai. There was a broad smile on her face.
‘Maria, what dawa did you put in that drink? All of a sudden …’
‘I feel the excitement, too. I must check the sugar when I get home. I have delivered the message. It’s like I am getting married myself. All right, Hosea, I’m coming!’
Eight hours later a red bus bumped its way along the track leading down to Londiani from South Lake Road. For the second time in less than a year a group of singers from Nakuru had been invited to celebrate an important occasion in the lives of a young Naivasha couple. Earlier, Rebecca and Tom were having their first engagement party at the rondavel village. Now, for the second wedding, many of the guests were already gathered a stone’s throw away on the open ground in front of the new Big House.
Four relieved young Welshmen had spent the morning hard at work finishing off a second upstairs bathroom. After a dawn service at the Catholic church, Rafaella and her two gardening boys had been prinking the soil and watering the hundreds of vigorous plants flourishing in her new pride and joy.
No more than thirty of this day’s guests had been up at Pembroke. Father Robert and the two Irish sisters from Nakuru Cathedral were thrilled to be invited to join the locals on a farm rising out of its ashes on a day when the warm afternoon sun had transformed the waters of the lake into a vast, gleaming silver tray.
Following their tradition, the twenty-five members of the Nakuru singers began their performance as soon as they stepped down from their bus. As each man, smartly dressed in blue blazer and grey trousers, got down, he placed his hand on the shoulder of the man in front. The totos in the crowd pushed to the front to get a good view of the drama. When they were all down, the men moved off with slow, rhythmic steps, chanting a wordless lament.
It was the biggest wedding ever seen in the town. So many people dressed in their colourful best, so much orderly chaos. The choir sang from the veranda steps. Their audience responded with tribal songs, with hymns, then, following the briefest lull, a woman’s powerful voice struck out with a sweet cooing of the names of the bride and groom.
‘Re-becc-a, ahhhh, Re-becc-a, ohhhh!
‘Tho-mas, ahhhh, Tho-mas, ohhhh!
‘To-geth-er, To-geth-er,
‘For ever, for ever, for ever!’
Soon the throng was standing, clapping and moving rhythmically from foot to foot. The excitement was building rapidly. On and on they went with calls shouted from all corners. What had begun as a peaceful gathering of friends and neighbours was turning into a spontaneous prayer meeting.
‘The nightingale and her Lazarus
‘More beautiful than the rose of Sharon
‘Stronger than Samson himself.
‘O, Lord of the wedding feast, bless your two children here this day.’
‘Alleleuia, praise God for his goodness.’
Without warning, the hero and the heroine were standing in front of them on top of the veranda steps. A gasp of silence was followed by a noisy rush to the semicircular wooden barrier festooned with a mass of white ribbons set up ten metres out from the steps. The singers stood aside for a group of five to pass through. The Reverend Elias Mbathi was followed by the two fathers and, two steps behind, by Rebecca and Tom holding hands. They would be married facing the people, the lake and the sun that was beginning its decline towards the western shore. As the bride’s maids and pageboys were moving in from the side to stand behind the bride and groom, Stephen Kamau raised his arm. He had a request to make.
‘Sammy, Sammy Koskei, where are you?’ He explained. ‘Many of you know my good friend, but I cannot … Ah, here he comes.’
Sammy, an eight year old but small for his age, was lifted over the barrier. Stephen took Sammy’s hand and gave it a single shake.
‘That’s better. Sammy, is there anything you would like to say to Rebecca and Thomas?’
Sammy had his eyes closed and was scratching his forehead as he replied.
‘Will I have to call you Memsahib when you are living with Bwana?’
‘If you do, I will not be your best friend! So watch out then, young man. And just tell our friends why you have the best seat today, there on the veranda. I have to tell you all that his teacher told me that he is a fine artist. So?’
‘I am drawing two pictures of the wedding, one for Rebecca and her Thomas. The other one will be for my sister, Rita and our brother, Thomas, if Jesus will let them come back to visit us.’
Very few people present did not know that the Koskeis were the only family to lose two in the explosions and fire that had devastated the flower fields of Londiani just weeks before.
Sammy had been to village weddings before. The young boys saw them as great places for playing around without being told off too much and after the boring part was over being allowed to eat and drink too much.
As the ceremony began, Sammy sat with his chin resting on his hands, watching carefully. He did not draw a single line. Yes, he had been to weddings before, but this was the first time he had paid attention to what was going on. He knew that the big business was between Rebecca and Bwana McCall, but he soon became bored with what they were doing. They were having a chat with the old man in the black suit who sometimes read from a book that looked like Isaac Mumbo’s blind man’s Bible. He liked drawing pictures where people and things were on the move, like a car crashing into a big bus, or the cops chasing after crooks and firing their guns. He did his best picture ever the day he returned to school after the fire down at the flower fields.
Teacher gave him a big sheet of paper and a new box of coloured crayons. He kept them with him until home time. When he showed the picture to Ms Mbarka, she had taken one long look and started to cry.
‘What’s wrong, Miss? Is my work very bad?’
‘No, Sammy, it’s the best picture I have ever seen from a student in my class. It’s beautiful. It’s the fire, isn’t it?’
‘Rita and Thomas were there. Can I take it to show Mama?’
‘She will cry, just like me. Let me show it to your friend Bwana Kamau first.’
‘Bwana Kamau, God let him come home from the fire. I pray with him and we ask God to let Rita and Thomas come back home, too.’
Sammy shifted in his seat to look at the people who had come to share in the wedding. He had never seen so many gathered in one place. They were not so still. There was plenty of moving about, plenty of chatting going on out there. Some of his friends were swinging from branches of trees. Boys and girls were walking towards the lake with the four young mzungos who had been working on Big House. Better watch out for the hippos. They sometimes come out of their water on warm afternoons.
And suddenly, without him thinking about it, his picture of the wedding was sitting in his mind as if it had been waiting for him to come and collect. Such a lot of colour. He would ask Martha and Jane if he could borrow their crayons.
The fire he saw a hundred times a day was there, but this time, like in Bwana Kamau’s stories, there was a happy ever after ending. Tommy and Rita walked out. They were wearing their Sunday clothes. Look, standing there with Mama, they were waving at him.
Rita pointed at him and nodded seriously.
‘Oh, so we have a new Mister Big in the family! We only have to turn our backs for five minutes!’
‘Rita, you look so beautiful again.’
* * *
Evie Koskei was proud to see her Sammy in a position of honour at the wedding. By now all the guests were sitting on the soft grass, so she had a clear view of him alone up there on the veranda. She turned away for a few seconds, drawn by the last few moments of the ceremony and hoping to catch the climax, wondering whether Rebecca and the bwana would actually exchange a kiss in front of so many hundreds of people. When she stole a quick glance at Sammy, he was gone. She rose and made her way over the tangle of outstretched legs and ‘round to the back entrance to the house. She found him sitting against the wall and talking to the woman, Maria, the wife of the new police sergeant.
‘Mama, Mama! I have seen them. I have just told this lady. Mama, listen!’
She would listen but was fearful of what she would hear. When would her boy be free of these memories of fire and destruction? If only she had been home to keep him back from rushing down to the fields with the other children!
‘Mama, they were here at the wedding. I saw them …’
‘But, Sammy, you know that …’
‘Mama, this lady believes me. Ask her. I will draw you a picture. Rita spoke to me. She called me the new Mister Big in the family.’
‘Memsahib, tell him.’
‘But I believe him. Sammy, your mama will look at your picture and she will understand. And so will you. Sammy, you know what love is?’
‘I know it.’
‘Your love brought them back, for a visit. They wanted to tell you that they are well in their new home.’
Others joined them.
‘Bwana, Kamau, I have something to tell you.’
‘And perhaps you will show me your picture, too.’
‘I have seen Rita and Thomas!’
‘Wonderful news. I want you to tell me when we are together in the village later. In private. But you are needed elsewhere. Ivor and David have brought their football.’
‘Yeah, the mzungos need a goalie for the match against the village totos. We’ve got Eddie and Rollo on our team.’
‘Give the brain a rest. Half an hour until the feast and the singing and the dancing.’
‘And then I will draw my picture!’
* * *
The new married couple were chatting to the Reverend Elias when, from somewhere out of the back rows of the guests, Rebecca heard her name being called out by a group of voices in unison. ‘Rebecca McCall. Paging Rebecca McCall!’ As they called, the group began waving.
She climbed the steps to have a better view. There were ten familiar faces dressed in band uniform and ready with their instruments.
‘Mary, Toni, I was afraid that you wouldn’t come.’
The long distance conversation continued from Toni Wajiru’s side.
‘We got a new song for you. “Wedding of the Year”. Corny, but we think you’ll like it. Bring Tom and the Nakuru boys.’
The music played, the singers hummed a melodious background and, arm in arm, Rebecca and Tom led their helpers in the samba rhythm through the crowd parting in front of them. Mary broke off from her singing only long enough to give her oldest friend a whirling hug and a sheet of music score. Holding her at arm’s length she looked into Rebecca’s eyes.
‘To think that we almost missed all this. Rebecca, wonderful, wonderful day.’
So began a concert that went on and on until the sun was about to sink behind the glowering bulk of the heights of Eburu. Filled with food and drink and exhausted by the most exciting day of their lives the children were ready to be led home long before darkness fell. By six the red bus was bumping back up the track. The singers wanted to be clear of the A104 and safely back in Nakuru before dusk. At seven minibuses arrived from the country club to take Toni and his entourage back to their accommodation and their evening concert. Charlie, the drummer man, had been impressed by his first visit to Naivasha.
‘Rebecca, to think that I used to feel sorry for you wanting to stay in your piece of up-country bush. Paradise more like. Any land for sale in these parts for a rickety old drummer boy?’
The wedding was over, but an even more important event of the day was about to begin. With only a half moon to lighten the full darkness, Luka and Erik were on constant patrol around the house and garden. The lanterns hanging from the veranda ceiling gave out enough light for those scattered in a loose circle around a large low table. For the first time there was to be a completely open discussion. Everyone was aware of the danger posed by unwanted eyes and ears. Abel Rubai had his paid spies everywhere. Paul was first to speak.
‘Rebecca, Tom, not a great choice of times for you, but this is our best chance for getting ourselves organised for the final, big push.’
‘Tom and I are an old married couple now. We all know how important this meeting is.’
‘So some of the wedding guests stay on to put the day to sleep. What could be more natural than that?’
‘Right, Tom. And I would like us to remember that there are hundreds, no, thousands of silent supporters out there …’
Hearts sank when a breathless Erik hurried up the steps and went straight to Alex.
‘Bwana, we have caught someone, a man creeping down the driveway. Luka is bringing him. He pretends that his car is broken down.’
Paul Miller and Daniel Komar exchanged wry smiles. Daniel defied his mounting sense of tension and spoke calmly.
‘Let’s just wait and see. Won’t it be great when we no longer have to jump out of our skins just because some driver forgot to put enough petrol in his car to get him home?’
Luka had his prisoner in an arm lock, pushing him along at a speed that the little old man could not handle.
‘Bloody hell! Simon, what are you doing here? We thought … I don’t know what we thought.’
Simon Nyache was fighting to get his breath.
‘I haven’t run so fast in fifty years … Paul, I am so glad … your people in Langata said you might be here …’
Maura and Rafaella eased the old man into an armchair while Sonya moved in to check him over. The feeling of relief in that open-sided room was palpable, on both sides, Simon because he had reached a safe haven and the others because the fear of discovery and exposure seemed to have evaporated.
‘Could I have a glass of water, please?’
‘I’m sorry about the welcome, Simon. Luka, Erik, great job. Memsahib will look after you later.’
There was quiet while Simon sipped his water, gathered himself and began his explanation.
‘He knows. Someone must have seen me coming or going. My God, it was frightening. I made up a story about visiting the lake farms as a kind of farewell to folks who never voted for me. Didn’t believe me, of course. He can hide his thoughts, but those eyes, half smiling, half threatening. You all know what I’m talking about. Yes, and he wants me to show his boy around Nakuru South, an introduction for my successor. Next Wednesday. For a while there I thought I’d never get out of that house alive. I should have realised he never does his killing himself and it never happens on his own territory.’
A downcast Stephen voiced his fear.
‘Bwana, seems to me that the whole country is his territory. Maria, you know about these things.’
‘Stephen, I know you’re a coastie and there is a lot of black magic down there, but this man makes his own magic.’
‘That is for sure. From the moment I left that place until your boys brought me here, Alex, I’ve been expecting … something bad, a bullet, a knife, a pick-up. I drove Margaret to her sister’s house by the back roads, parked under a tree in the garden. Covered the car under two big blankets.’
Paul and Daniel crossed to Simon and shook his hand.
‘Welcome to Serena. Sorry we don’t have membership cards, yet!’
‘Too risky. Get picked up with one in your pocket, it could lead to big trouble.’
Bertie, from experience, knew as well as anyone in that place how dangerous it was to fall into the range of Rubai’s interest. What this tough old trooper needed above all was a sense of safety, as far as that was possible.
‘We stick together. We’ll get the murdering … fill the gap. Bastard will do. Sorry, Raf, I know …’
‘No, Bertie, this time you have found a very suitable word.’
‘I want to get one more thing off my chest. I know why we are all here, but … why don’t we take a short cut. I mean one bullet in the right place … play him at his own game.’
Paul was in very quickly. ‘Very tempting, Bertie. Quicker? Easier? Not even in the short run. Gun a villain down and you’re in danger of opening the floodgates of sympathy. When they worked out who got him, we would become the villains.’
Daniel backed him.
‘The law is slow. Mister Dickens tells us that the law is an ass. But it’s our only real hope. And, let’s not fool ourselves. We have just one chance. If we miscalculate …’
‘He’s going down. That’s lawyer talk, isn’t it, Paul.’
‘Maria, I’m glad you’re on our side. I’m being very serious here. When we get into court, you’re going to be right next to Daniel and me. You’ll have a title. “Amicus Curiae”, Friend of the Court. If we get into a jam sometime, we are going to turn you loose. So pay attention, sister. Now, what evidence do we have? Will it be enough to, Maria, “send him down”?’
Maura was puzzled. ‘How many murders does a man have to commit before he gets punished in this country?’
‘Actually carried out with his own bare hands? Possibly none.’
‘But what about the word “accessory”? Our law teacher in Oundle said that was almost as bad …’
‘Right, Tom. And this is where we are strong.’
Bertie was relieved. ‘Surely, Paul, not almost as bad but just as bad. Dickens was being too polite. The law is not an ass but an arsehole. All right, Rafaella?’
‘Bertie, still too polite! And, Alex, don’t look so surprised. I know lots of juicy Italian words!’
‘So why was he pointing a rifle at me from twenty metres the night that Londiani was blown up?’
‘Yes, Tom. And what was he doing out on the farm at two o’clock in the morning with that nutcase of a son? Waiting for a bus?’
‘Alfredo Rossi, alias Alfred Ross, we all remember him. Why do we have a photograph of him paying a visit to Rubai’s secret farm outside Nairobi?’
‘Barnie, this is where you come in.’
‘Sure. Most of you know that I am Paul’s brother, another lawyer. My practice is in Boston. I think the ruthless Mister Rossi could be a very expensive weakness in Rubai’s defence. I have associates in several New York law firms and friends in the NYPD. Mister Rossi has a thick file with the FBI. Normal families run stores or go on the subway early in the morning to work for accountants or construction companies. The Rossi family of Brooklyn have an unusual line of business. They kill people to order. I’ll spare you the details on his work in Kenya, but we are close, very close to making a deal on evidence from Rossi that will be acceptable in a court here. We have him on toast or over a barrel, take you pick!’
Paul had warning.
‘There are fifteen of us in this room. Doesn’t sound a lot. But, Maria, remember Papa’s favourite Bible story?’
Maria smiled. ‘Well, wouldn’t that be the one where little David gives that philistine Goliath a nasty headache with a couple of pebbles?’
Barnie took up the story.
‘And the moral, children, is, shall I put it this way, if a little guy wants to whip a big guy, he must have surprise up his sleeve and move quicker than an angry cheetah!’
While everyone pondered the implications of Mzee Miller’s teaching to his children, Sonya shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
‘You know, perhaps I shouldn’t have stayed on for the meeting. I think I’m inhibiting you.’
‘You mean by not talking about Simon?’
‘Maria, you are the most sensitive person I’ve ever met. You understand that my thoughts on Simon never stop, like some endless painful background music.’
Paul took over in his compassionate way.
‘Sonya, you are half right when you talk about some of us holding back. Simon is never far from my heart. We all see the bloodstained hand of Rubai in this. But … Hosea will explain better.’
‘Madam Sonya.’
‘Just Sonya, please.’
‘I’m sorry. This word, “accessory”. We try very hard to find a link to tie in Rubai. Patrick Uchome, he was Rubai’s Kenya number one man.’
‘The one killed with his wife on the road by the Italian chapel?’
‘He was in charge of the kidnap. His boys drove Simon up to Kericho, expecting to … I’m so sorry to be so cruel, harsh, to … so sorry for the tears. They expected to finish their work and return to Nairobi that evening. They were angry when Uchome said that the boss wasn’t ready.’
‘But, Hosea, how do you know all this?’
Hosea forced himself on. ‘Two of them did return to the city, without Simon. They drew lots. Simon was kept in a hut outside the town. Two local idiots saw a big payday for helping out. Two days later at noon, Uchome sent word …’
Maura moved to Sonya, knelt down and burst into tears.
‘Sonya, it was just before twelve when we left the Rubai house. If I hadn’t forced you to go to that place, perhaps Simon …’
There were no tears from Sonya. When she spoke her tone was calm and businesslike.
‘No, Maura. There would be no mercy there. But where are these men now? They were not at the inquest. Why?’
Paul took over again. ‘Sonya, often criminals refuse to speak. It can be like signing their own death warrants. Some very angry Kericho cops, shall we say, persuaded them to tell their story. Almost killed them. On advice from some anonymous CID man on Nairobi Hill, they were kept in custody. They were nursed over the worst of their injuries by two Sisters of Mercy. That took weeks. Now they are holed up in an old tea store on one of the estates and under constant watch. Daniel was up to see them last week.’
‘Sonya, they won’t be the best of witnesses if we manage to get them to court. Rubai’s money might get someone to let him know who they are and where they are.’