Girl with the Golden Voice

by Carl Hancock

  The words of Sister Columba, the Irish geography teacher and choir mistress at Santa Maria were with her once again. The well-meaning sister could never have imagined the impact that the little cliche she had offered at a morning chapel would have on her star singer.

  ‘Remember, ladies, that you are the very cream of Nairobi society. Think of each year of your life as a vast sheet of pure white paper that God in His wisdom and mercy has presented to you. You are the writer, the artist who must use that paper. He has given you a completely free choice on how to do so. Never forget that once a mark has been put down, it is there, it has happened and you cannot change it … Remember, too, to be kind to yourselves. You cannot forgive others if you will not forgive yourselves.’

  She could not turn down the sponsorship, unravel the good years at school and the rest of it. Every moment of her life had been leading up to this one. Even thoughts made their mark, left their shadow.

  The McCall family was wonderful and she loved them all deeply. The Rubai family was wealthy beyond her family’s dreams. Guilt was still taking a toll. Martha and Jane could yet have their chance. Perhaps it was her duty to accept Julius. Where had this thought come from to terrify her?

  She fell to her knees, pressed her face into the coverlet and prayed furiously, aggressively demanding that her Father in Heaven cleanse her mind and her heart. The battle raging inside her caused her body to perspire. Why was she remembering the times in her life when Julius Rubai had tried to show kindness to her? He was a handsome man but spoiled. She could have taught him better ways, could still teach him. Then she felt again his heavy body pressing down on her, grasping at her, and the relief from the horror as he was pulled away.

  African men are not like Europeans. They are more open and simple. They want something, they want a woman, they reach out to seize her. She had heard one of the farm boys talking about such things, a clever boy but without the paper qualifications that might have changed his life. ‘Stone age to space age in four generations. That’s what the mzungos say of us. So what else can they expect from us when we do a little grabbing at their wealth and we are not nice with our women? What is this nice?’

  Rebecca Kamau, you, too, are an African woman. You are from a poor family. You should rejoice in your Africanness, have seven children. Fifty years from now what difference would it make? You would be a mama with all your grandchildren around you on your farm somewhere up north. You would sing them a lullaby, tell them to worship God and be good to their children. What was this romantic nonsense these Western people preach about love. They marry with a big fuss, get fed up after a few years, bored stiff, then jump into bed with anyone who invites them.

  Early next morning a maid found her on the floor, still in her show clothes. Mary rushed into the room behind the maid and she suffered seconds of genuine terror until she was close enough to see the gentle movement of her breathing. A single touch to the head and Rebecca’s eyes opened and looked up. The tears flowed as she reached up to grasp her friend’s neck.

  ‘Mary … I’m so scared!’

  For the next few minutes they sat on the pale green carpet embracing, saying nothing. When her tears subsided, Rebecca began again. ‘One of the policemen said that Thomas could be in prison for twenty years. I feel so helpless.’

  ”Becca, there is hope. Always there is hope.’

  Rebecca leaned backwards and stared intently into Mary’s eyes, willing her friend to explain herself.

  ‘Darling, please, forgive me if I am saying too much. It’s just that Monica and the girls … they think that they have found something which will make a big difference.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘We cannot know until tomorrow. Look, they cannot be sure. ‘Becca, you are going to take a shower. I’m going to order some coffee and sweet biscuits. Papa always takes this medicine when he has some important thinking to do. We’ll take our time. Then I’m going to tuck you up in bed and we’ll pretend that the night is just beginning. Above all, we are going to be patient and hopeful, and think beautiful thoughts.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  y the time Rebecca woke up, Monica and the girls had set off for the police office with their company. It would be a day of transition for Rebecca and Tom. From then on their time in New York passed quickly and very happily for them both. The excitement levels were high and every show seemed inspired. The spiritual space in the Flamingo was a hot ticket. Critics competed to write the most complimentary reviews and found it unbelievable that this new star would soon be leaving them for life in an African backwater.

  Mary and Rebecca spent time together after rehearsals and gradually Mary had helped her best friend to rationalise away her fears about Julius Rubai. It was a confident and excited Miss Kamau who approached the British Airways desk in Kennedy Airport, arm in arm with her fiance. There was more good news for them when they checked in. They had been upgraded to first class for both legs of the journey to Jomo Kenyatta. The desk clerk could not explain this piece of luck. Rebecca was puzzled, too, by the series of warm looks the pretty girl with the strong Brooklyn accent kept giving her. As they turned to go, the girl gently slid a small open book towards them.

  ‘Miss Kamau, would you please sign my autograph book? Me and my sister love your voice.’

  Rebecca hesitated, giggled shyly and signed. She turned to find Tom with his arms folded and grinning. ‘Don’t you dare tell anyone about this when we get home!’ she scolded.

  When the plane came to a halt in Nairobi, the captain apologised and announced that because of a malfunctioning landing gate, passengers had to use stairs to disembark. Rebecca was pleased. Before all the fuss with passports and baggage she could feel the warm morning air around her and take in breaths of the special scents of Africa.

  The surprises were not finished. In the arrivals hall both their mothers were waving — and weeping. Behind them and waving Kenyan flags, a group of about thirty girls. For a second or two it did not register with Rebecca that it was a uniform she knew well. They were girls from Santa Maria and they were chanting rhythmically, ‘Rebecca! Rebecca!’

  Rebecca was wide-eyed with amazement. ‘Thomas, I hope our wedding won’t be as noisy as this. The world has gone crazy!’

  It was easy for the old girl to oblige the new girls and their teachers. The school was just off the Westlands Road and not even out of their way. Maura followed the yellow bus along Uhuru Highway and into the courtyard of Santa Maria. A bell rang and in ten minutes the school hall was packed with girls, alert, tense and smiling. There were emotional reunions with the sisters and the older girls. Mother Superior said a few words, but it was a new young face who sat at the piano ready to be of service if she was needed.

  Rebecca sang two songs she had sung with Mary in the concert in the Bomas Centre in front of the president. For her last song she called up all the sisters to join her on the stage.

  ‘Amazing grace, how sweet the sound …’

  She had wondered if the school still sang it at the end of every Friday service. The answer came loud, and full of girlish enthusiasm. The faces in front of her seemed to make up one wide smile. Tom, looking on from the side, was the only male in the hall apart from the camera crew filming from the gap between the stage and the front row of the youngest girls. He was trying to keep up, but events were challenging his balance. He sensed that he was being watched and looked up to see his mother, head cocked slightly to one side with that quizzical look she gave when she was concerned that all was not well with a situation. She had noticed that he was not smiling and he wore that reflective, almost sad expression that she had seen so many times since his earliest boyhood days. He raised his hand and smiled.

  He was beginning to grasp the idea of fame and it troubled him. He had heard of actors and musicians, singers especially, who said they felt most alive when they were on stage performing. It was a potent drug. In the last month he had watched Rebecca seem to become a different person when she sang in fron
t of her adoring public in the Flamingo. Confidence, power, control, they were all there and they gave out an emotional charge that was intoxicating even to watch. How could she suddenly shut all this down?

  He wanted to leave behind cities, crowds and look down on the lake from the top of the escarpment.

  There was more hugging. Rebecca autographed a dozen of her own compact discs. She was amazed that the girls had got hold of them in Nairobi.

  Soon they were back on the road to the north. During a brief stop at the ABC shopping centre for Maura and Angela to collect some shopping at Gilani’s, Tom and Rebecca enjoyed watching the traffic out on Waiaki Way hurrying in and out of the city centre. He had been getting used to the constant, low rumble that dominated the New York streets, but he much preferred the informal mix of lumbering trucks and speeding colourful coaches, matatus and cars, ancient and modern moving up and down the warm, dry road in the clear light of late morning.

  * * *

  Their footsteps crackled on the dusty tracks that crisscrossed Crescent Island. At last, they were really home, amongst the little groups of zebra, wildebeest and the rest who looked up briefly from their nibbling before shuffling on their easy way around the familiar patch of their universe. They tore at the thin brown grass against the background sound of a warm breeze. For a time few words were spoken. Rebecca savoured the feeling of freedom and the almost tangible sense that in this place warm, safe arms protected them. Tom could not shake off the fear that Rebecca would sooner or later realise that this beautiful place could not satisfy newly discovered deep needs. She would be bored. It was she who spoke first, interrupting the afternoon sounds of the bush.

  ‘Quiet, isn’t it, Thomas?’

  ‘Bit different from Midtown and the Flamingo.’ He smiled.

  ‘I’d like to see a few real flamingos.’ She did not sound enthusiastic.

  ‘We could drive the back road to Elementeita, even Nakuru.’

  ‘Maybe … How are Eddie and Rollo?’ Her interest was half-hearted; her mind was focused on other thoughts.

  ‘Bursting with enthusiasm. They love working on the farm, plunging their hands into the soil. They love the workers, too. According to them, I’m just about out of a job!’

  ‘The farm boy without a farm.’

  ‘Yeah. Perhaps I could get a job in that zoo in Central Park.’

  ‘I’d miss you a lot!’ She turned to him with that old sparkling, mischievous smile, challenging him.

  ‘You wouldn’t come, then?’

  ‘Too busy looking after the babies.’ She swung her arm and locked it around his neck. ‘And, for now, I’ve got an engagement party to organise. Less than two weeks. Hope you can come. Our mamas have put in a lot of work.’

  One long embrace was followed by half a dozen more. Returning from their private world, they were in time to watch a group of waterbuck step gracefully into the lake for a drink.

  ‘Notice, ‘Becs, not a single splash from forty legs. These wild animals don’t mess things up.’

  They were down to the soft, wet edge of the lakeside when a voice called out from a distance behind them. They turned to see Luka coming towards them on his heavy, black Chinese made bike. He was waving and Tom hoped he would slow down and not fall off yet again by crashing into an unnoticed rock or pothole.

  ‘Bwana, Bwana! Come quickly! People have come. Two very smart men. Beautiful suits and white shirts. Very shiny shoes.’

  ‘Asante, Luka. Tell them we’re on our way.’

  The askari found it difficult to get up speed as he pushed his bike hard through the deep dust on the track.

  ‘I think I can guess who they are, but how could they know we are back?’

  Rebecca grasped his arm. She was only mildly interested in these visitors, whoever they were. ‘Thomas, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Wrong? No, these men, you’ve met them. Remember the rugby up in Pembroke?’

  ‘You are not fooling me, Thomas. Ever since we landed and we met the girls from Santa Maria, you have had a sadness about you.’

  They had taken a few more steps before he answered. ‘Well, I suppose, for the first time I realised that you are a famous person.’

  ‘Yes, and I have more money than I ever dreamed. But do you think that those things could make a difference? Now I am sad, too, because you don’t trust me.’ She pouted.

  He stopped in his tracks and pulled her towards him. He squeezed her hard. ‘Now, listen to this, young lady! I still can’t understand how such a beautiful person with so much talent … Well, I could suddenly see what you’re giving up. I don’t want to hold you back.’

  They locked eyes. Within seconds she was smiling through tears. He was simply beaming.

  ‘Thomas McCall, don’t ever do such a thing to me again! I was frightened, but now I feel good again. I’m ready for anything. Come on, let’s find out what these men want.’

  Paul Miller and Daniel Komar stood up from their chairs on the veranda. They were being entertained by Maura and Rafaella but did not sit down again when Tom and Rebecca arrived. Instead, after a few pleasantries, they led Tom off onto the grass and towards a clump of acacia. The three women left behind had their private speculations on why the two smart Nairobi lawyers wanted to talk in private with Tom, the flower farmer.

  ‘The government has issued a certificate for Serena to register as an official political party. Out of the blue.’ Paul watched Tom closely to study his reaction. It was flat news for Tom and it showed. Paul continued, ‘Yes, we’re travelling to big population centres to check on possible candidates, just in case there’s a snap election.’

  Still no spark of enthusiasm from Tom, but he was uncomfortable to think that these men had travelled to Londiani for so little return.

  ‘Tom, we wanted you to have the news anyway. Even if we can’t have you as a candidate, we hope we can count on you as a supporter.’

  ‘Of course, yes, certainly.’ The relief on Tom’s face was clear but Paul sailed on, undaunted.

  ‘And Daniel and I want to congratulate you on your engagement!’

  There were firm handshakes all round. The long, silent gaze from the smiling lawyer, Paul, all the time he was holding his hand made Tom sense that these two men were not yet done with him. He wanted them to leave but knew that he would have to allow them to choose the time. He hoped that the worst was over and that they had taken his message on board. He tried to show that there was no hard feeling on his side. ‘As you see, I’m not a political animal …’

  Daniel took up his point. ‘Animal … good word for a lot of politicians, a bit insulting to animals, perhaps! We’ve seen some of ours gorging themselves at the trough until there’s precious left for the rest. We want to change that. We need people who want to do something for that change to happen. Have a say in their future …’

  Paul was fired up, ‘Yes, Tom, this country could have a wonderful future. Every shilling meant for the people spent on the people. Kenya will be the jewel of Africa again.’ He paused and when he spoke again, his tone was low key. ‘Rebecca Kamau, Thomas McCall, now, my minister, the Reverend Shabas Ndingo, would call that a marriage made in heaven and that there really is an angel over Africa, looking out for us. I would call it a perfect match for a country like ours being dragged into the space age.’

  ‘Let’s level with you, Tom.’ Daniel began again. ‘Paul and I came here hoping that you would be willing to be the party’s man in Nakuru South.’

  ‘But I already told you …’

  ‘Sure, Tom, we heard you and it’s a disappointment to us. But, perhaps, you would allow us to use your picture.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’re preparing our manifesto. You know?’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘We’d like a picture of you and Rebecca on the front cover.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Tom, take your time. Talk to Rebecca. No pressure. We’ll be passing back this way in a week. We’ll bring a dummy of
the booklet.’

  The three of them walked on. From the step of the veranda his grandmother watched Tom with that familiar muscular roll of a walk between two tall, athletic city men. They were moving out of sight slowly. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Rebecca turned and saw Rafaella’s face. The lips were pressed hard together and her eyes were blinking rapidly. A smile was struggling through.

  The beautiful, young housemaid grasped the familiar, smooth hands and squeezed.

  ‘Look at me, Rebecca! It’s just that I saw Tommy walking with those men. He’s not a boy any more. And I’m a silly old woman. There’s such a pity in everything. I just see it like that sometimes.’ She gathered herself. ‘Rebecca, you’ll look after him. It’s a blessing that you two are going to be together.’

  ‘Madam, Kiandazi is a good place for the party.’

  ‘You’ve chosen well.’

  ‘Mama says you will help us.’

  ‘We must do something about this “Madam”. And you must stop all this maid business. You’re a famous singer.’

  ‘I was a singer. Now I’m back to being a house girl, but soon I shall be a housewife. I think that’s far enough for just now. I am very happy working in Londiani.’

  ‘So I was wrong to persuade Don to sponsor you in Santa Maria.’

  ‘But why do you say this?’

  ‘Well, to be a house girl here, do you need to go to a smart boarding school in Nairobi?’

  Rebecca was silenced. She stepped down onto the dusty grass. There was an answer to this question, but she needed time to search for it in herself.

  ‘No, not to be a house girl, perhaps. But to be the mother of your great-grandchild.’

  Rafaella smiled broadly and hugged Rebecca. ‘Oh, I’m going to enjoy having your company at parties! You’ll rattle a few bones.’

  The visitors did not return to the house, but they asked Tom to bring their good wishes and their goodbyes.

  It was late afternoon before he had the chance to tell Rebecca about the news. They were in the laundry garden. Tom had set the jua kali boiler to heat the water for family baths. He was helping her to gather in the lines of washing. He enjoyed the feel of the sheets that had been hanging for hours in the warm sunshine. The smell was fresh and the colours were cheerful. He pondered on how he should tell her what had been said. If it had not been for the request for a photograph, he thought he might have tried to pass the whole thing off, but he dismissed the idea in one second flat. His equilibrium had been disturbed. He could understand that he should have been flattered that these two fine men wanted him to work with them. He was not proud of his selfishness in rejecting even the idea and, even more, for contemplating the possibility of not sharing it with his future wife.