“It is all right, you are just a young girl, you should try new things. It can’t be much fun, being with a fuddy-duddy old man all the time.”
She pouted. “You are not old, and I like being with you.”
The ice cream arrived, and her eyes lit up. She looked at me. I grinned.
“You start, my coffee is just coming.”
She started spooning the ice cream into her mouth. My coffee arrived, and I watched her as I sipped. I would love to watch her growing up, growing in to a confident young woman and learning about herself. She finished her ice cream and looked hopefully at me. I shook my head. I gave her some money.
“You go and pay, remember a tip.” She took the money and full of confidence, asked for the bill, paid, and left a tip.
We climbed into the Land Rover and as we set off, I asked her, “Do you think your father would let me have you if I gave him a farm?” She was silent for a long time.
“Baba was a good man before he lost his farm, I think he left a bit of his spirit on his farm. I think maybe he sell me.” She looked up at me, her eyes shining. “You would really give a farm for a little black girl?”
I hugged her. “I would give a hundred farms to make you happy.”
She was silent, but I felt her looking sideways at me through her eyelashes. We stopped outside the Indian shop.
“Well, will we get you a new bicycle?” I locked the car doors while Jerie stood with her mouth open. I pushed her inside.
The proprietor, a thin dried up old Indian, came hurrying up, the wrinkles on his face deepening as he smiled. I indicated Jerie.
“This young lady would like to buy a new bicycle.” The dark brown leathery face turned to Jerie.
“What kind of bicycle would you like Miss?” Jerie’s eyes widened. She looked at me, but I shrugged expressively. She turned back.
“Can I see what you have?”
The proprietor rubbed his hands together making a dry swishing noise. He indicated an area at the far end of the long counter
“This way Miss.” He pointed with his right hand while curving his left hand round her back, about a foot away, making waving movements as if trying to waft her along.
Jerie ignored him and strolled to the indicated area. She looked at a bicycle with racing handlebars and peeped at me. I shook my head slightly. She turned to look at a selection with upright handlebars. A bright red model was pointed out to her and she ran her hands lovingly over the frame.
“It has four gears.” The proprietor rubbed his hands together, faster than before. Jerie again peeped surreptitiously at me. I nodded my head.
“Can I try this one please?”
“Certainly, certainly.” The old man fussed around them. Jerie was assisted to sit in the saddle, while he adjusted the seat and handlebars.
“I would like to try it outside,” Jerie stated. The old man started fluttering as if about to take off.
“Can you ride a bicycle miss?”
Jerie glared at him. “Of course.”
He glanced at me, but I was deliberately looking elsewhere. He wheeled the bike to the door and down the steps. Jerie hitched her dress up to her thighs and took off. The old Indian stood swaying from one leg to the other as if trying to steer from a distance. Jerie turned, came back and rode cheekily past the shop. I admired her riding and her brass neck, but looked askance at the bare brown legs and thighs, deciding I’d buy her a pair of jeans. Turning then braking to a stop in front of us, she looked at the proprietor, then inspected the bicycle.
She muttered. “I suppose this will do. How much is it?” The old man rubbed his hands again.
“Very cheap, Miss, very cheap.” He quoted a figure. Jerie looked horrified. She left the man holding the bike and walked away. The man propped the bike against the shop front and followed her, expostulating. She turned to look at me ignoring the man. He threw his hands in the air and quoted a figure.
She paused. “With a bag on the back?”
The old man groaned. “I have grandchildren and great grandchildren, I will be ruined.” Jerie started to turn away.
He sighed. “Very well, with a bag on the back.” Jerie opened her mouth and he raised his hands in horror.
“No! No more, definitely no more.” Jerie smiled and looked at me.
“I’ll take it I said.”
I presented two notes to the perspiring proprietor, after he’d fitted a bag to the back of the bicycle, and stated.
“I’ll pay for a pump to go with it as well.”
The man disappeared through to the back to reappear a moment later. I pocketed the change and gave Jerie the red pump. She waved the pump under the old man’s nose.
“Why do we have to pay for a pump? A pump is part of a bicycle.”
The proprietor waved his hands in the air as if imploring help from on high.
“You go now, I close. You take pump, you go.” He ushered us through the door and I heard bolts being pushed home.
Jerie swore. “Mhindi, they all bloody cheats.”
She led me, bemused, back to the Land Rover where I helped her load the bicycle. We set off home with Jerie still fuming and muttering to herself. I’d heard it said that women made poor traders, they took bartering too seriously. Jerie seemed to consider it a personal affront that she had to pay for a pump, yet she knew nothing about the cost of a pump. I wondered if she even knew what it was for.
Jerie broke into my thoughts. “What are gears Bill?”
I tried to explain about the gears in the Land Rover and how on a bicycle she could turn the pedal a different number of times to go the same distance. When she looked at me blankly, I suggested she wait until we get home, and I would then show her.
I pulled into the drive and helped her lift her bicycle out. She stroked it and touched the various parts.
“You show me how to work gears.”
I showed her the controls on the handlebars and explained them. I wheeled the bicycle to the gate and held it while she got seated and set off. I watched as she experimented with the gears. She disappeared along the road. I waited until she reappeared. She was going far too fast and whizzed past me in top gear, a look of delight on her face and her dress billowing about her waist. She turned farther down the road and came back, riding more
sedately.
She stopped near me and smiled. “That was good.”
I was appalled. “You were going far too fast!” I scolded. “You could hurt yourself if you fell off.”
She looked puzzled. “But I did not.”
“But you might.”
“But I did not.”
I swore to myself. “I don’t want you to go so fast.”
She gave me a look from under her lashes. “Okay.”
“Oh! what’s the use,” I muttered. I knew that she wasn’t going to take a blind bit of notice of me. I stomped into the house, but sneaked out every few minutes, to hide behind the hedge and peep up and down the road. She was still whizzing past at top speed.
She eventually returned when the shadows were lengthening. Her eyes were bright, and she was breathing heavily. She plonked herself on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck.
“That was good, thank you Bill.”
Next morning, I decided to take her shopping. I waited impatiently. She was taking a long time in the bathroom. She appeared eventually, wearing lipstick, with her fingernails and toenails painted bright crimson. I caught the whiff of scent. She looked closely at my face as if to detect any sign of disapproval, then relaxed when she saw my smile.
I bought her jeans, and tops, then we returned home. I persuaded her to wear the jeans when she was cycling. Mr. Bhachu phoned later that morning to say he’d found five smallholdings for sale within twenty miles of Nairobi. He suggested I see them that day. I agreed to be there in half an hour. I hurried out to the gate and waited for Jerie to appear. When she came flying past, I shouted, and she slowed and cycled back.
“We are going to look at far
ms. Could you get tidied up?”
She ran her hands down her clothes. “What will I wear?”
“You are all right as you are, just brush the dust off, and wipe your face. I’ll take the bike.” She hurried into the house while I stored the bike, then reappeared with her red shoulder bag. We set off. We were ushered into the lawyer’s office as soon as we arrived.
“So, this is Jerie?” he smiled. “You are keeping a number of people in employment young lady.”
Jerie stuck her nose in the air. He laughed.
“I’ve sent for the guide.” He showed us a black and white map on his desk, and pointed to five crosses.
“Two of the smallholdings are uncultivated, the assignees never took up the leases, you could have these very cheaply, another two were confiscated for non-payment of taxes, they are partly cultivated. The fifth is well stocked and cultivated. The owner wishes to sell to join her family in Kisumu.”
I nodded. “Thanks for arranging things so quickly. If my offer is accepted can you arrange it, so the farm can quickly be assigned to Jerie’s father?”
Mr. Bhachu nodded. “It can be held by me as your agent until the position is clarified.” The secretary signalled at the door. “That will be the guide. Do you have transport?” On my nod, he showed us to the door and introduced us to a slim young Indian. “Satwan, my nephew, he will be able to answer most of your questions.”
I led the two to the Land Rover and we set off. We didn’t get out of the car for the two uncultivated plots and the two semi cultivated plots were little better, we carried on. We turned off at a dhuka on the main road and followed a track that meandered past several small farms. We found the cultivated plot. Maize and vegetables were planted in neat patches on reddish brown soil, sloping up to a corrugated iron and mud brick house. The boundary on either side was a fence made from short dry tree branches, stuck into the ground. Beyond the house, extending up the slope, goats like white boulders were dotted about.
“There should be two cows about somewhere.” suggested Satwan.
Jerie seemed mesmerised. She walked up the narrow path to the house, looking around her. A wizened old woman appeared in the doorway, shouting in some dialect. Satwan approached her and explained. Jerie spoke in the same dialect. The woman motioned Jerie into the house. I followed the path past it. Chickens scuttled, cackling out of my way. I saw the two cows, sheltering from the sun’s heat under a tall bush. Two almost naked young boys approached from the slope to shout some question. The woman appeared at the back door of the house to shout back. The boys returned in the direction of the goats
I walked back to join Satwan, who was squatting in front of the house. “It is a well-cared for shamba,” I opined.
“There is a small stream at the back.” He pointed to where the ground sloped down to some scrub. I wandered over. It wasn’t much of a stream, just a trickle of reddish water, but it was near the end of the dry season. Not many shambas had a supply of water so near. Surely Jerie’s father would accept this farm? I wandered back to sit on a large stone. Satwan seemed to be asleep.
I heard Jerie’s voice at the back of the house and the high-pitched cackle of the old woman. The voices faded, and I was about to rise but Satwan motioned me to stay “They are counting the goats,” he explained and shut his eyes again.
I gazed into the purple distance. I should have worn a hat. I could feel the sun penetrate the thinning patch in the middle of my head. What was Kathleen going to say? I’d phoned her last week. The sound of her voice had done something to me. What had happened to the sheer lust I’d felt in the first few days in this country? I’d never thought I could sleep with a naked young woman and not even think of doing anything. I heard voices coming nearer.
Jerie approached. “It is a beautiful farm Bill.”
“Do you think your father will accept it?” I asked.
The thought occurred to me; I could give it to him anyway. Jerie could be happy here. Would the stepmother cause trouble?
Jerie’s eyes were shining. “It is a much better farm than he had before.”
I turned to Satwan. “Can I agree to buy it now?”
Satwan nodded, he said something to the old woman. Jerie started to open her mouth.
“Jerie?” I said. She looked at me. I put my finger to my lips to shush her. She opened her mouth again, but at my look, her lips closed in a thin line.
Satwan turned to me. “She wants to know when you want to take possession?”
“As soon as possible,” I replied.
Satwan spoke to the woman again then turned back. “She suggests ten days.”
I counted the days mentally until I had to return Jerie. “Could she make it eight days?”
Satwan again spoke to the woman. He turned back. “She will hand it over in eight days at noon.” When I agreed, Satwan spoke to the woman again who asked a question and looked at me.
“She asks if you want the furniture and effects. It will save her the trouble of transporting them?”
I turned to Jerie. “Would you have a look Jerie and agree on a price?”
Jerie looked pleased. She said something to the woman and they re-entered the house. We settled down to wait. I heard raised voices. Some, time later Jerie appeared, to inform me that they had agreed on a price.
She added. “We will pay when we take the farm.”
I looked at Satwan. “Do I shake her hand or anything?”
He shrugged. “If you want to.”
I held out my hand to the old woman. She looked puzzled then spat on her hand and held it out. I spat on my own hand and we shook hands. She looked directly into my eyes and grinned toothlessly. I winced at the strength of her grip.
I drove straight back to the lawyers. Satwan entered his uncle’s office first, then we were called in. Mr. Bhachu held out his hand. “You have made an excellent choice,” he said.
I shook his hand. “Can you get things organised in eight days?”
“That should be possible.” He paused, “I may need some expenses to oil the wheels.”
“How much?” I asked, taking out my cheque book.
He listed the various expenses and I wrote out the cheque. “I’ve decided to have it put in Jerie’s father’s name.”
Mr. Bhachu raised his eyebrows. “Is that wise?”
I sighed. “Maybe not, but if he doesn’t agree, Jerie will have a better life there than in the camp.”
The lawyer nodded. “I’ll hurry things up, and get back to you.” He stood holding out his hand again.
Once outside I put my arm around Jerie’s waist and hugged her to me. “Well, we have bought a farm!”
She looked startled then smiled and put her arm around my waist. Holding onto each other we walked to the bank where I arranged for enough funds to be available for the purchase of the farm.
The next week seemed to pass in a frenzy of activity. I took Jerie to the hospital and had a chat with David Balfour while she got her inoculations.
They affected her and she moped around for the next three days, feeling as if she had flu. I was called to the lawyers several times to sign documents.
I had rented the bungalow for three weeks, so I got Jerie and Kabero busy cleaning, before the owners came back. I booked a hotel room in advance for myself and Jerie, until I could get her settled and asked Mr. Bhachu to get me information about boarding schools.
After eight days, I drove out with Jerie to take possession of the farm. A battered old Ford surrounded by excited children of various ages, the roof covered with tied down bundles, was parked near the entrance. Before we alighted, I handed Jerie my wallet to pay for the furniture.
A cacophony of shouted comments from the children greeted her as she approached the old woman. They walked to the house. I followed, but stayed outside. I watched them head up the hill to count the goats. They returned. Jerie extracted some notes from my wallet and gave them to the woman, who counted them slowly, then stuffed them beneath her shift. The woma
n then walked to the gate and went through a ritual of spitting in the four directions. Jerie went through the same ritual, then they put their hands on each other’s shoulders and gazed into each other’s eyes for a time. The old woman then turned, squeezed into the car with the children, and was carried away without a backward glance.
Jerie returned to me and I was surprised to see tears in her eyes. She took my hand to lead me to the house. For the first time I saw the interior. To my eyes it was a hovel. The door opened directly into what might loosely be called the living room. Stones had been arranged in the centre of the room to make an open fireplace. An iron bar was suspended over it, I supposed to hang pots on. On two sides were windows, small and without glass. A closed door led to the field at the back. A battered chest of drawers and a chest stood against the wall. There were no chairs just cloth covered cushions. The floor was hardened earth.
Jerie led me to the next room where there were two double beds with mattresses and blankets folded neatly in a pile and another dilapidated chest of drawers. We returned to the main room, where Jerie showed me another room off, a pantry/ vegetable store. Crude garden implements were piled in one corner, another corner had a supply of wood. Vegetables that I didn’t recognize were stored on racks and a wide waist-high shelf had a selection of chipped enamel mugs, plates, basins, bowls and pots. There was no sign of toilet facilities. I assumed the occupants used the field. I didn’t ask.
Jerie rubbed her face against my arm. “It is a beautiful house Bill, better than we had on our farm,” she paused. “I will have to stay here to look after the goats or they will run away.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “I’ll stay as well. Do we have time to go to the dukha for supplies?”
She pondered. “I will chase the goats back to the house, then we will go.” We soon chased the goats down the slope and penned them in then set off to the dukha. An open metal clad door was set between two windows, protected by iron bars. We entered. An intoxicating mix of aromas including paraffin, coffee and spices, transported me back to when I was a boy. I inhaled rapturously. Jerie tugged my hand. A black youth behind the counter eyed us suspiciously. Jerie spoke to him in Kikuyu and his expression changed. She started to list items and the youth began piling them on the counter. I added a few items of my own, including tea, bottles of beer and matches.
Love Patterns Page 9
