She sat beside the basket all day, willing the baby to live, with medicines on the table beside her, and the cookboy and the houseboy helping her where they could. At night the mother came from the compound with her blanket; and the two women kept vigil together. Because of the fixed, imploring eyes of the black woman Jane was even more spurred to win through; and the next day, and the next, and through the long nights, she fought for Tembi’s life even when she could see from the faces of the house natives that they thought she was beaten. Once, towards dawn of one night when the air was cold and still, the little body chilled to the touch, and there seemed no breath in it, Jane held it close to the warmth of her own breast, murmuring fiercely over and over again: ‘You will live, you will live’ – and when the sun rose the infant was breathing deeply and its feet were pulsing in her hand.
When it became clear that he would not die, the whole house was pervaded with a feeling of happiness and victory. Willie came to see the child, and said affectionately to Jane: ‘Nice work, old girl. I never thought you’d do it.’ The cookboy and the houseboy were warm and friendly towards Jane, and brought her gratitude presents of eggs and ground meal. As for the mother, she took her child in her arms with trembling joy and wept as she thanked Jane.
Jane herself, though exhausted and weak, was too happy to rest or sleep: she was thinking of the child she would have. She was not a superstitious person, and the thing could not be described in such terms: she felt that she had thumbed her nose at death, that she had sent death slinking from her door in defeat, and now she would be strong to make life, fine strong children of her own; she could imagine them springing up beside her, lovely children conceived from her own strength and power against sneaking death.
Little Tembi was brought by his mother up to the house every day for a month, partly to make sure he would not relapse, partly because Jane had grown to love him. When he was quite well, and no longer came to the clinic, Jane would ask the cookboy after him, and sometimes sent a message that he should be fetched to see her. The native woman would then come smiling to the back door with the little Tembi on her back and her older child at her skirts, and Jane would run down the steps, smiling with pleasure, waiting impatiently as the cloth was unwound from the mother’s back, revealing Tembi curled there, thumb in mouth, with great black solemn eyes, his other hand clutching the stuff of his mother’s dress for security. Jane would carry him indoors to show Willie. ‘Look,’ she would say tenderly, ‘here’s my little Tembi. Isn’t he a sweet little piccanin?’
He grew into a fat shy little boy, staggering uncertainly from his mother’s arms to Jane’s. Later, when he was strong on his legs, he would run to Jane and laugh as she caught him up. There was always fruit or sweets for him when he visited the house, always a hug from Jane and a good-humoured, amused smile from Willie.
He was two years old when Jane said to his mother: ‘When the rains come this year I shall also have a child.’ And the two women, forgetting the difference in colour, were happy together because of the coming children: the black woman was expecting her third baby.
Tembi was with his mother when she came to visit the cradle of the little white boy. Jane held out her hand to him and said: ‘Tembi, how are you?’ Then she took her baby from the cradle and held it out, saying: ‘Come and see my baby, Tembi.’ But Tembi backed away, as if afraid, and began to cry. ‘Silly Tembi,’ said Jane affectionately; and sent the houseboy to fetch some fruit as a present. She did not make the gift herself, as she was holding her child.
She was absorbed by this new interest, and very soon found herself pregnant again. She did not forget little Tembi, but thought of him rather as he had been, the little toddler whom she had loved wistfully when she was childless. Once she caught sight of Tembi’s mother walking along one of the farm roads, leading a child by the hand, and said: ‘But where’s Tembi?’ Then she saw the child was Tembi. She greeted him; but afterwards said to Willie: ‘Oh dear, it’s such a pity when they grow up, isn’t it?’ ‘He could hardly be described as grown-up,’ said Willie, smiling indulgently at her where she sat with her two infants on her lap. ‘You won’t be able to have them climbing all over you when we’ve a dozen,’ he teased her – they had decided to wait another two years and then have some more; Willie came from a family of nine children. ‘Who said a dozen?’ exclaimed Jane tartly, playing up to him. ‘Why not?’ asked Willie. ‘We can afford it.’ ‘How do you think I can do everything?’ grumbled Jane pleasantly. For she was very busy. She had not let the work at the clinic lapse; it was still she who did the ordering and planning of the labourers’ food; and she looked after her children without help – she did not even have the customary native nanny. She could not really be blamed for losing touch with little Tembi.
He was brought to her notice one evening when Willie was having the usual discussion with the bossboy over the farm work. He was short of labour again and the rains had been heavy and the lands were full of weeds. As fast as the gangs of natives worked through a field it seemed that the weeds were higher than ever. Willie suggested that it might be possible to take some of the older children from their mothers for a few weeks. He already employed a gang of piccanins, of between about nine and fifteen years old, who did lighter work; but he was not sure that all the available children were working. The bossboy said he would see what he could find.
As a result of this discussion Willie and Jane were called one day to the front door by a smiling cookboy to see Little Tembi, now about six years old, standing proudly beside his father, who was also smiling. ‘Here is a man to work for you,’ said Tembi’s father to Willie, pushing forward Tembi, who jibbed like a little calf, standing with his head lowered and his fingers in his mouth. He looked so tiny, standing all by himself, that Jane exclaimed compassionately: ‘But, Willie, he’s just a baby still!’ Tembi was quite naked, save for a string of blue beads cutting into the flesh of his fat stomach. Tembi’s father explained that his older child, who was eight, had been herding the calves for a year now, and that there was no reason why Tembi should not help him.
‘But I don’t need two herdboys for the calves,’ protested Willie. And then, to Tembi: ‘And now, my big man, what money do you want?’ At this Tembi dropped his head still lower, twisted his feet in the dust, and muttered: ‘Five shillings.’ ‘Five shillings a month!’ exclaimed Willie indignantly. ‘What next! Why, the ten-year-old piccanins get that much.’ And then, feeling Jane’s hand on his arm, he said hurriedly: ‘Oh, all right, four and sixpence. He can help his big brother with the calves.’ Jane, Willie, the cookboy and Tembi’s father stood laughing sympathetically as Tembi lifted his head, stuck out his stomach even farther, and swaggered off down the path, beaming with pride. ‘Well,’ sighed Jane, ‘I never would have thought it. Little Tembi! Why, it seems only the other day …’
Tembi, promoted to a loincloth, joined his brother with the calves; and as the two children ran alongside the animals, everyone turned to look smiling after the tiny black child, strutting with delight, and importantly swishing the twig his father had cut him from the bush as if he were a full-grown driver with his team of beasts.
The calves were supposed to stay all day near the kraal; when the cows had been driven away to the grazing, Tembi and his brother squatted under a tree and watched the calves, rising to run, shouting, if one attempted to stray. For a year Tembi was apprentice to the job; and then his brother joined the gang of older piccanins who worked with the hoe. Tembi was then seven years old, and responsible for twenty calves, some standing higher than he. Normally a much older child had the job; but Willie was chronically short of labour, as all the farmers were, and he needed every pair of hands he could find, for work in the fields.
‘Did you know your Tembi is a proper herdsboy now?’ Willie said to Jane, laughing, one day. ‘What!’ exclaimed Jane. ‘That baby! Why, it’s absurd.’ She looked jealously at her own children, because of Tembi; she was the kind of woman who hates to think of her children growin
g up. But she now had three, and was very busy indeed. She forgot the little black boy.
Then one day a catastrophe happened. It was very hot, and Tembi fell asleep under the trees. His father came up to the house, uneasily apologetic, to say that some of the calves had got into the mealie field and trampled down the plants. Willie was angry. It was that futile, simmering anger that cannot be assuaged, for it is caused by something that cannot be remedied – children had to herd the calves because adults were needed for more important work, and one could not be really angry with a child of Tembi’s age. Willie had Tembi fetched to the house, and gave him a stern lecture about the terrible thing he had done. Tembi was crying when he turned away; he stumbled off to the compound with his father’s hand resting on his shoulder, because the tears were streaming so fast he could not have directed his own steps. But in spite of the tears, and his contrition, it all happened again not very long afterwards. He fell asleep in the drowsily-warm shade, and when he woke, towards evening, all the calves had strayed into the fields and flattened acres of mealies. Unable to face punishment he ran away, crying, into the bush. He was found that night by his father who cuffed him lightly round the head for running away.
And now it was a very serious matter indeed. Willie was angry. To have happened once – that was bad, but forgivable. But twice, and within a month! He did not at first summon Tembi, but had a consultation with his father. ‘We must do something he will not forget, as a lesson,’ said Willie. Tembi’s father said the child had already been punished. ‘You have beaten him?’ asked Willie. But he knew that Africans do not beat their children, or so seldom it was not likely that Tembi had really been punished. ‘You say you have beaten him?’ he insisted; and saw, from the way the man turned away his eyes and said, ‘Yes, baas,’ that it was not true. ‘Listen,’ said Willie. ‘Those calves straying must have cost me about thirty pounds. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t get it back from Tembi, can I? And now I’m going to stop it happening again.’ Tembi’s father did not reply. ‘You will fetch Tembi up here, to the house, and cut a switch from the bush, and I will give him a beating.’ ‘Yes, baas,’ said Tembi’s father, after a pause.
When Jane heard of the punishment she said: ‘Shame! Beating my little Tembi …’
When the hour came, she took away her children so that they would not have such an unpleasant thing in their memories. Tembi was brought up to the veranda, clutching his father’s hand and shivering with fear. Willie said he did not like the business of beating; he considered it necessary, however, and intended to go through with it. He took the long light switch from the cookboy, who had cut it from the bush, since Tembi’s father had come without it, and ran the sharply-whistling thing loosely through the air to frighten Tembi. Tembi shivered more than ever, and pressed his face against his father’s thighs. ‘Come here, Tembi.’ Tembi did not move; so his father lifted him close to Willie. ‘Bend down.’ Tembi did not bend down, so his father bent him down, hiding the small face against his own legs. Then Willie glanced smilingly but uncomfortably at the cookboy, the houseboy and Tembi’s father, who were all regarding him with stern, unresponsive faces, and swished the wand backwards and forwards over Tembi’s back; he wanted them to see he was only trying to frighten Tembi for the good of his upbringing. But they did not smile at all. Finally Willie said in an awful, solemn voice: ‘Now, Tembi!’ And then, having made the occasion solemn and angry, he switched Tembi lightly, three times, across the buttocks, and threw the switch away into the bush. ‘Now you will never do it again, Tembi, will you?’ he said. Tembi stood quite still, shuddering, in front of him, and would not meet his eyes. His father gently took his hand and led him away back home.
‘Is it over?’ asked Jane, appearing from the house. ‘I didn’t hurt him,’ said Willie crossly. He was annoyed, because he felt the black men were annoyed with him. ‘They want to have it both ways,’ he said, ‘if the child is old enough to earn money, then he’s old enough to be responsible. Thirty pounds!’
‘I was thinking of our little Freddie,’ said Jane emotionally. Freddie was their first child. Willie said impatiently: ‘And what’s the good of thinking of him?’ ‘Oh no good, Willie. No good at all,’ agreed Jane tearfully, ‘it does seem awful, though. Do you remember him, Willie? Do you remember what a sweet little thing he was?’ Willie could not afford to remember the sweetness of the baby Tembi at that moment; and he was displeased with Jane for reminding him; there was a small constriction of feeling between them for a little while, which soon dissolved, for they were good friends, and were in the same mind about most things.
The calves did not stray again. At the end of the month, when Tembi stepped forward to take his four shillings and sixpence wages, Willie smiled at him and said: ‘Well, Tembi, and how are things with you?’ ‘I want more money,’ said Tembi boldly. ‘Wha-a-at!’ exclaimed Willie, astounded. He called to Tembi’s father, who stepped out of the gang of waiting Africans, to hear what Willie wanted to say. ‘This little rascal of yours let the cattle stray twice, and then says he wants more money.’ Willie said this loudly, so that everyone could hear; and there was laughter from the labourers. But Tembi kept his head high, and said defiantly: ‘Yes, baas, I want more money.’ ‘You’ll get your bottom tanned,’ said Willie, only half-indignant: and Tembi went off sulkily, holding his silver in his hand, with amused glances following him.
He was now about seven, very thin and lithe, though he still carried his protuberant stomach before him. His legs were flat and spindly, and his arms broader below the elbow than above. He was not crying now, nor stumbling. His small thin shape was straight, and – so it seemed – angry. Willie forgot the incident.
But next month the child again stood his ground and argued stubbornly for an increase. Willie raised him to five and sixpence, saying resignedly that Jane had spoiled him. Tembi bit his lips in triumph, and as he walked off gave little joyous skipping steps, finally breaking into a run as he reached the trees. He was still the youngest of the working children, and was now earning as much as some three or four years older than he: this made them grumble, but it was recognized, because of Jane’s attitude, that he was a favourite.
Now, in the normal run of things, it would have been a year, at least, before he got any more money. But the very month following, he claimed the right to another increase. This time the listening natives made sounds of amused protest; the lad was forgetting himself. As for Willie, he was really annoyed. There was something insistent, something demanding, in the child’s manner that was almost impertinent. He said sharply: ‘If you don’t stop this nonsense, I’ll tell your father to teach you a lesson where it hurts.’ Tembi’s eyes glowed angrily, and he attempted to argue, but Willie dismissed him curtly, turning to the next labourer.
A few minutes later Jane was fetched to the back door by the cook, and there stood Tembi, shifting in embarrassment from foot to foot, but grinning at her eagerly. ‘Why, Tembi …’ she said vaguely. She had been feeding the children, and her mind was filled with thoughts of bathing and getting them to bed – thoughts very far from Tembi. Indeed, she had to look twice before she recognized him, for she carried always in the back of her mind the picture of that sweet fat black baby who bore, for her, the name Tembi. Only his eyes were the same: large dark glowing eyes, now imploringly fixed on her. ‘Tell the boss to give me more money,’ he beseeched.
Jane laughed kindly. ‘But, Tembi, how can I do that? I’ve nothing to do with the farm. You know that.’
‘Tell him, missus. Tell him, my missus,’ he beseeched.
Jane felt the beginnings of annoyance. But she chose to laugh again, and said, ‘Wait a minute, Tembi.’ She went inside and fetched from the children’s supper table some slices of cake, which she folded into a piece of paper and thrust into Tembi’s hand. She was touched to see the child’s face spread into a beaming smile: he had forgotten about the wages, the cake did as well or better. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said; and, turning, scuttled off into th
e trees.
And now Jane was given no chance of forgetting Tembi. He would come up to the house on a Sunday with quaint little mud toys for the children, or with the feather from a brilliant bird he had found in the bush; even a handful of wild flowers tied with wisps of grass. Always Jane welcomed him, talked to him, and rewarded him with small gifts. Then she had another child, and was very busy again. Sometimes she was too occupied to go herself to the back door. She would send her servant with an apple or a few sweets.
Soon after, Tembi appeared at the clinic one morning with his toe bound up. When Jane removed the dirty bit of cloth, she saw a minute cut, the sort of thing no native, whether child or adult, would normally take any notice of at all. But she bound it properly for him, and even dressed it good-naturedly when he appeared again, several days later. Then, only a week afterwards, there was a small cut on his finger. Jane said impatiently: ‘Look here, Tembi, I don’t run this clinic for nonsense of this kind.’ When the child stared up at her blankly, those big dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable, she directed the houseboy to translate the remark into dialect, for she thought Tembi had not understood. He said, stammering: ‘Missus, my missus, I come to see you only.’ But Jane laughed and sent him away. He did not go far. Later, when all the other patients had gone, she saw him standing a little way off, looking hopefully at her. ‘What is it?’ she asked, a little crossly, for she could hear the new baby crying for attention inside the house.
‘I want to work for you,’ said Tembi. ‘But, Tembi, I don’t need another boy. Besides, you are too small for housework. When you are older, perhaps.’ ‘Let me look after the children.’ Jane did not smile, for it was quite usual to employ small piccanins as nurses for children not much younger than themselves. She might even have considered it, but she said: ‘Tembi, I have just arranged for a nanny to come and help me. Perhaps later on. I’ll remember you, and if I need someone to help the nanny I’ll send for you. First you must learn to work well. You must work well with the calves and not let them stray; and then we’ll know you are a good boy, and you can come to the house and help me with the children.’
This Was the Old Chief's Country Page 12
