Girl with the Golden Voice

by Carl Hancock

  The heaving of her breasts inflamed his crazed passion. His strength was irresistible. He pawed and caressed her flesh. He ripped loose his trousers.

  Her body wriggled and twisted ceaselessly. She reached up to bite his ears, his cheeks, any place where she could cause pain. Her voice was silent. He moaned her name as he reached down and with his legs began to force her thighs apart. He was ready to die as long as he could thrust himself into this perfect body.

  Ready to die herself, Rebecca closed her eyes and tried to freeze tight every muscle in her body.

  Without warning, without sound, the heavy burden of flesh was lifted away from her. The beginnings of a scream from Julius were silenced by the sharp sound of bone striking on bone. The cool touch of a sheet soothed the heat and ache of her body. The sinewy arms of her mother enfolded her.

  ‘It is finished, child, finished. But tell me now. You must.’

  ‘No. Mama. No, he did not.’

  She looked beyond her mother’s shoulder. The huge figure of Stephen Kamau was carrying the unconscious, naked body of Julius through the door of the rondavel and into the late afternoon sunshine.

  Minutes later the figure of Londiani’s chief foreman appeared around the hedge of the front garden and stunned into silence those sitting there. The body of the still unconscious Julius lolled across his arms as relaxed as a sleeping infant.

  The perspiring, hard-breathing Stephen approached his boss. ‘Mr Alex, sir, please excuse my intrusion. I am bringing back your son, Mr Rubai. I am so sorry that this has had to happen.’

  Julius had a sheet draped over him as Stephen placed him tenderly on the back seat of his mother’s Mercedes. Abel motioned to the driver. ‘Lock the doors on him, Peter.’ There was no emotion in his voice.

  Alex filled another tumbler and set it on the table before his guest. There were no words on either side. Rubai’s hand trembled as he raised the glass to his lips.

  Chapter Five

  ulius Rubai travelled to his Karen home with his head cradled in his mother’s lap. He spent the journey in a daze as Sally read aloud the Sermon on the Mount. Sally’s delighted bodyguard followed close behind in the BMW.

  The inquest began later that evening. The lights in the south sitting room were dimmed and Mama, Papa and Julius sat in armchairs at equidistant points from the unlit log fire.

  ‘Well, son, tell us.’ Abel gestured with his arm.

  ‘Abel, I’d like to pray first.’

  ‘Not this time, Sally. Perhaps afterwards, a thanksgiving for the truth.’

  Julius had been rehearsing hard. In the bath, after trying out different sets of first words, he decided on something bold.

  ‘Papa, I don’t know how much Mama has told you about me and Rebecca.’

  ‘Not a lot. I’ve noticed a few things, but this is the first I’ve heard of a “me and Rebecca” situation. Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘We’ve sort of known each other for about five years now.’

  ‘What’s this “sort of” stuff?’

  ‘I saw her, met her at a concert when she was still in school.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s got some voice. That I remember. But she didn’t take the scholarship. By the way, that was your mother’s idea. I suppose you know that, at least.’

  ‘I sort of guessed.’

  ‘Please, Julius, cut the sort of and look me in the eye. Do you want me to wind the lights back up?’

  ‘No, no. That scholarship. Australia’s a long way. She’d miss certain people rather a lot.’

  ‘And were you one of those people?’

  ‘I think it’s fair to say that. Isn’t it, Mama?’

  Sally nodded. She consoled herself that she was stretching the truth for the sake of the family. Certainly the girl would have missed her boy. She didn’t have to give any reasons.

  ‘Yes, Abel, this girl would have missed Julius.’

  ‘And you plan to marry this house girl. Yes, I know she’s not your normal kind of maid. But, Julius, let me remind you there are dozens of good-looking girls from rich families all around us here. You could have your pick.’

  ‘I want this one.’

  ‘Do you love her, son?’

  ‘Mama, you know I do.’

  ‘Is she interested in you?’

  ‘I think so, Dad.’

  Sally drained her coffee cup and munched hard on her biscuit.

  ‘Then why did her father haul you over to the McCalls like a piece of meat? What about that word “rape”?’

  ‘Ah, I knew we’d get to that.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Mama, this is bit uncomfortable. I know you don’t like dirty talk.’

  ‘You want me to go?’

  ‘Sally, you aren’t going anywhere. And we won’t have any dirty talk. Understand, Julius? Just truth.’

  There was a long pause. Julius knew that he had to get this bit right above all. He was ready.

  ‘You’ve heard the expression “hard to get”?’

  ‘Julius, let’s leave the crap to one side.’

  ‘Okay, Papa, this is how it was. Gospel truth. I got to her room. Social call. She asked her sister to go out and shut the door. They had been reading or something. We chatted a bit about the farm, what she’s doing for Christmas. Then she sort of drew me on.’

  ‘What you mean, “drew me on”?’

  Julius silently excused himself to his mother. He hesitated again and while he spoke he was staring towards the fireplace.

  ‘She was sitting on the bed. She leaned up on her elbow and sort of opened her legs … I could see a lot of her flesh. Dad, she was driving me crazy. I mean …’

  ‘And you didn’t force yourself on her?’

  ‘I moved to the bed. That was what she seemed to want. She didn’t call out, didn’t say a thing that I can remember. There were rondavels nearby.’

  ‘But, rape, boy, rape? How could Kamau make a mistake on that?’

  ‘Well, I was over her … and the next thing I know that maniac was lifting me up, threatening to break my neck. Dad, you know how big he is. I just hope that he doesn’t put the strap to her.’

  A long, painful silence was broken by Abel.

  ‘Sally, get Rose to bring two more coffees and a plate of biscuits. Two, Julius. We’ve had a busy day. We’ll talk more when I’m ready.’

  Julius kissed his mother’s forehead. The reprimand in her expression was hidden from Abel.

  ‘Thank you, Papa.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For trusting me.’

  ‘Oh that. Yes, well, goodnight.’

  Julius made himself leave the room slowly and quietly. Sally set the coffee down beside Abel. He grasped her hand and looked up, smiling.

  ‘And what do you make of all that?’

  ‘Hmmn?’

  ‘My dear, we have produced a son who dropped off university because he was studying the wrong subject.’

  ‘You were the one who advised him.’

  ‘Pity the University of Oxford didn’t have a course in bullshit. He’d have passed with flying colours.’

  ‘You don’t believe him?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I’m his mother.’

  ‘What kind of an answer is that, woman?’

  ‘I just want the best for him.’

  ‘Even this girl, Rebecca? And, for sure, I don’t think there’s a Kenyan girl who doesn’t have her price.’

  ‘Abel, you make it all sound so … crude!’

  An hour later Sally rolled from under her husband’s heavy, naked body, fulfilled but hoping that there was not another little adventurer inside her starting its long journey into the beautiful world of Karen.

  Next day, Julius was up very early. He was down at the stables before first light. After breakfast, Sally overheard him on the phone.

  ‘That’s right. Postpone the flight. Something important has come up. I’ll be in later to see you.’

  The blue and green screens in Abel’s busin
ess room had been lit up all night. The Prince of Money had been switching from market to market, energised by the buzz of success. He was on a run of lucky hunches. In the gaps between the concentrated activity, his mind was focused on two strongly linked lines of thought. He was still enjoying the thrill of creating, but lately he had been suffering uncharacteristic pangs of self doubt. What were all these piles of money for? Where was he going? Where was it all going to end?

  Julius was a pain. He certainly knew what piles of money were for. He was a social animal who loved travel and the trappings of the life of a very rich young man. But, so far, Abel saw no sign of him wanting to take on real responsibility, learning the family business, being the son his father expected him to be. It wasn’t asking a lot, just that he have sense enough to protect his own future.

  But the girl. For some reason that he could not work out he saw hope here. His gut instinct told him that this Rebecca would make a terrific wife. She looked good, she could sing, she came from a poor family. So there had been that business at the rondavel yesterday. She’d get over it. Whatever it was. Perhaps she had been playing hard to get after all. Perhaps she’d been putting on an act for her father. It would take a very unusual girl who could turn down the chance of security for life for herself and her family.

  He would start paying attention. A prod and a push from him might make a lot of difference.

  * * *

  It had become a custom for the McCalls and the Buckles to get together on the evening of the day when their children returned from their term in boarding school in England. An hour after the Rubais left, Laurie and Marie Buckle had driven into Londiani to deposit the seventeen year old McCall twins, Eddie and Rollo, before taking their three girls home to get ready for the little party at Londiani.

  Alex made the opening toast, sadly aware that this would be the last time when the two families would come together like this. He was his usual brief self.

  ‘A toast to our precious young ones safe home again. To Maggie, Sheila, Colleen, to Eddie and Rollo. It’s wonderful to have your energy, your fun, your company back with us. We’ve missed you all.’

  The return of his brothers had helped Tom to blot out all memories of Julius Rubai. He had not discovered anything of what had happened in the rondavels or on his own front lawn that afternoon. For those who did know it was a taboo subject. He had not seen Rebecca all day, which was not unusual. She would be there at supper with her mother. Since leaving the tea party with the Rubais he had spent the time in his room. Some of Julius Rubai’s jibes had struck home and Tom had been toiling to work out some way of bringing things out into the open.

  At supper Rebecca would be the servant. Everything in his life turned on changing, or not changing, this one simple factor. The status quo was safer for both of them. He tied himself up in emotional knots with the details. How would she react to a sudden announcement from him? She might even run off. Then there was Angela. Then there were a dozen guesses at other reactions. He visualised them all and took comfort from only one. He felt that his grandmother would be on his side. He left his room when the noise of the twins rushed up the stairs.

  As a schoolboy, he always enjoyed this first night back better than Christmas. He could stand at his bedroom window and look out at the stars knowing that every day of the holiday lay ahead of him untouched, waiting to be used. It was a time for storytelling and the evening became a narrative of memories old and new. The feeling of wellbeing was intoxicating, tales from school, tales from autumnal England, the release of pent-up longings. It was good to be back on the warm, dry plains.

  On that evening, on the other side of the hedge, Erik and Luka were sprawled cheerfully on the bench. They were at their happiest when the children from the lake farms were back from exile. And, when the lights went down on the farm, they knew that in the kitchen they would enjoy their share of the feast.

  At first Tom was glad that Rebecca was not at Big House to help her mother. His feelings were jolted by a brief exchange of words between Angela and his father. Angela was carrying off a tray of empty wine glasses.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘She is well, Bwana. Resting. The girls are spoiling her.’

  Tom took his chance to speak to Angela in the kitchen.

  ‘Is it Rebecca? My father was just asking.’

  ‘Yes, Bwana.’

  Angela turned away to busy herself at the sink. She felt awkward, embarrassed, under an unpleasant scrutiny. A servant could not speak as freely as a mother might want to.

  ‘Is she sick, Angela?’

  ‘Yes, Bwana.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Bwana, I cannot say. Your mother and the Signora have seen her.’

  ‘Both of them? Hell’s bells. Is it malaria or something?’

  Angela shrugged and thanked God that He had sent Maura into the kitchen to rescue her.

  ‘Mum, what’s this about Rebecca?’

  ‘What’s Angela told you?’

  ‘Not much. Dad asked how “she” was. I just guessed.’

  ‘Tom, come out here.’

  She led the way into the laundry garden. She was standing at the stone slab looking down at him before she said another word.

  ‘Tom, there’s been an accident … Now Rebecca’s fine. She’ll be about the place again soon. Is that enough?’

  Mother and son exchanged frank, solemn looks, each recognising that they were on the edge of a declaration of a truth that he had been hiding and she had been avoiding.

  ‘She’s a house girl, Tom. Is she anything more to you?’

  ‘You know she is.’

  ‘And you know I’m disappointed.’

  Tom was galvanised.

  ‘Look, are you going to tell me, or am I going over there right now to find out for myself?’

  ‘Julius Rubai tried to rape her.’ She averted her eyes as she spoke.

  ‘Jesus! When?’

  ‘This afternoon. Tom, don’t think of going over. I’ll tell you what I know. Just listen.’

  She began with the arrival of Stephen Kamau sweating under the load of Julius’s body. ‘Martha had come for her mother. By the time Rafaella and I arrived, she was on her bed, bent double and covered with a heavy blanket. But there was no rape. No rape. He tried but she fought him off … Stephen could have crushed the life out of him. Thank God he didn’t. Tom, she is so full of shame. She feels soiled. She is very, very tender. There are still a lot of tears to come. I hope so.’

  ‘I’ve got to go over there.’

  ‘No. Angela will know when … Look, I’ve sort of known about this … between you for a long time. She’s, it’s been years and years with her. Long before you ever suspected. I used to watch her as we set off to drive you back up to Pembroke even. I didn’t take much notice then. I was hoping it would go away for her sake. That bloody palaver with the red dress! She’s such an innocent. So beautiful. In some ways I wish I could hate her, but you can’t, can you? I’m sorry. So stupid.’

  As Tom listened to his mother’s words, a reaction of hot anger was soon added to bewilderment and in no time he was into wasteful unspoken frustrations. If only he had been less self-centred and not gone off in a huff after his confrontation with Julius Rubai. If only she had stayed at Big House until Angela had returned to the village. It went on and on.

  They returned to the house. He stared blankly out of the kitchen window and allowed the pointless litany to wash over him.

  His mother was anxious to go back to her guests. ‘Tom, we can’t do anything useful just now. Lucy will wonder what kind of place she’s come to. Tom, I know, well … the pain, but you’ve got to be patient, for her sake. She needs time.’

  ‘How did the Rubais take all this?’

  Maura sighed and shifted a small pile of plates from the table to the sink. ‘I’m not sure. Julius was out of it, of course. I think Sally started to pray. But Abel Rubai. Cool, old Abel. Nothing much shows on the surface. He didn’t even get
up from his seat when Stephen carried his son in like a slab of meat. I noticed that his hand wasn’t all that steady. By now … he will have woven it all in. By the end of the week it will probably be Rebecca’s fault. Strange man!’

  Next morning Rebecca was restless. She wanted to be active, to distract herself, to be away from the village. She discovered that Big House had been deserted by its inhabit ants. Mama, the askaris and the gateman were around, but Christmas business had drawn the others away. Lucy had taken up Rafaella’s invitation to have a look around the dukas in Naivasha town, Maura was in Nakuru with the twins, destination Gilani’s butchery with her big order for the season. Tom and Alex were dashing about all over the farm, supervising the collection and loading the last consignments of flowers and vegetables for the European Christmas.

  The laundry garden gave her the chance to lose herself in the regular rhythms of the big wash. Already she had showered herself in the servants’ bathhouse, scrubbing her flesh uncompromisingly. She brushed her teeth and shampooed her hair twice.

  In the early morning rush there had been confusion between father and son about who should have picked up the order book from the house office. Tom, too, was appreciating the distraction of hard work. He was hurrying out with the book when he caught the sound of an unmistakable voice above the throb of the Land Cruiser’s engine which he had left idling on the gravel patch while he dashed inside.

  Tension, electricity, zing held them locked rigid in the positions of the moment when their eyes met. Vibrations to attract and repel were balanced so finely that all conscious thought was wiped from their minds. The purity of silence spoke more distinctly than words ever could.

  Tom took the first step out of the spell and moved from the cei-apple hedge towards the washing trough.

  Rebecca held up a glistening arm. ‘No, Tom. I did not expect to see you. Mama said …’

  ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘No, no!’

  ‘I swear I had no idea about that monster. Why couldn’t you tell me?’

  There was anguish and remorse in Tom’s voice, but the words were not coming out right. He tried again. ‘Look, I know it’s not …’ He could scarcely believe that his next words were going to be ‘your fault’ when he held them back. ‘I could have protected you from …’ His furious anger with his own crassness would not allow him to finish the sentence.