“Rafe,” she said as she watched him dress. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.” He smiled.
“Why didn’t you make love to me as if I was a real woman? I mean…I wanted to feel you inside me.” Coral could feel herself blush.
Rafe sighed, came to her, and cupping her face with his hand, he lifted it up and regarded her gravely. “I have robbed you enough of your innocence. But I am not totally without a conscience, and fortunately there are still many pleasures for you to discover. One day you will meet the person who will take you on that journey, but until then, my little rosebud, protect and cherish what you have, because once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.”
“I want you to be the first one,” she whispered. “I love you, Rafe. You think that I’m naïve and inexperienced, and yes, I may be that, but I also know the way I feel and have a pretty good idea of what I want. I’m not asking you to marry me; I’m just asking you to treat me like a woman and take me to bed.”
He raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. “You are one hell of a stubborn woman, Coral,” he said, holding her gently. “Believe me, it would be an honor for me to be your first. You are a beautiful, sensitive, and generous lover. But I’m not right for you, Coral, in so many ways…I’m more than ten years older than you.”
“So what?” she protested. “What does age have to do with love?”
Rafe’s hand dropped to his side. “It has everything to do with it. Can’t you see that?” He turned his face and walked away from her.
Coral struggled to make out what was going through his head. One minute he surrendered to her, and the next he was wavering and pulling away. Surely the difference in their age was not the only thing troubling him? Was he secretly in love with Cybil after all, his heart divided between Coral and her stepmother? Were things more serious with Morgana than he’d let on?
Rafe broke into her thoughts. “You have your whole life ahead of you, whereas I have already lived enough for two people.” His words began to tumble over each other as if he were grasping at reasons to push her away. Coral noticed his jaw harden resolutely, but she knew him well enough now to see the panic flicker in his eyes before he turned away. “Besides, I don’t believe in everlasting love. I can hardly keep up with the number of times I’ve thought myself to be in love.” Rafe laughed bitterly, and Coral saw that the drawbridge had finally come down. “Sorry to shatter your illusions, rosebud, but I live for the day, and my love for a woman may last a night, two nights, a week at the most, but never a lifetime. I’m afraid these are the hard facts about me. Is that what you want?”
“I’ll make you love me; I know I can. You won’t ever want another woman.” Coral’s voice echoed in the empty cave.
He whistled as he turned back to face her. “That’s a dangerous ambition that you may never fulfill.”
“I’m prepared to take the risk.”
“You’re just infatuated with me, on the rebound after Dale. But I tell you what,” he said, looking directly at her, “you think seriously about this conversation and about other stormy ones that we’ve had. After that, if you still want to go ahead with this madness, it’ll be my pleasure to oblige.”
“Hold me close as you did last night,” she said softly, wanting to draw him back from the cold fortress where he had retreated. A pale flush crept up her cheeks as she slipped her arms around his neck and lifted her face up to him, lips parted, her body arching in an obvious plea.
For a second, Rafe was as still as a statue. He encircled her waist, his hand holding it in a vice when she tried to come closer, almost as though he was keeping her from him. His head came down, and he placed his lips on hers in a fleeting, almost chaste kiss. Then, before she had time to protest, he dropped his hands, walked a few paces away from her, and picked up the hamper and blanket. “I’m afraid we really have to go, Coral,” he said, his back turned to her. “They’ll be sending a search party out for us if we’re not back soon.” Coral sensed that the moment to talk with him had passed, so she picked up her clothes from the floor, her emotions raw as she dressed quickly.
Dawn had gradually brightened into daylight. Beads of rain shone on the leaves of trees outside the cave, caught in the morning light. Rafe and Coral wound their way down the escarpment, climbing slowly over moss-covered rocks, cut ages ago on the face of the ruddy cliffs, now covered by broken tree trunks. The warm air was filled already with a symphony of birdsong and cicadas as bronze-winged butterflies and other flying insects fluttered under the sun, making hay after the overwhelming violence of yesterday’s storm.
As the plane came into view at the end of the valley, they could see in the far distance that a group of native men and women were crowded around the aircraft. Rafe swore under his breath.
“It’s probably just curiosity,” Coral remarked.
“Yes, but it’ll be difficult to get rid of them. The tribes can be awkward to deal with. We’ll most likely need to pay them off with some sort of gift. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.”
“What sort of gift?”
“I don’t know yet, but I have an idea. We might have to pay our respects to their chief, which will delay us, but it could be inevitable. A couple of years ago his son was dying of typhoid. The witch doctor, or mishiriki as they call him, had not been able to cure him. To cut a long story short, one of the more educated men who work for me told me of the case. I managed to secure the right antibiotic, and he was saved.”
“So he owes you big time!”
“I won’t go as far as that. The tribal drink of the Masai is a mixture of cow’s milk and blood. I was offered some by the chief after his son’s recovery. To refuse it would have been an affront. So I had some, which was a seal of our friendship. I fear it might not be seen kindly if we flew off without paying him a courtesy visit.”
“How did they know we were here?”
“These tribes have a way of finding out everything that happens in their vicinity. Every movement is followed in the jungle by invisible eyes and is related in their own telegraphic language.”
“The tom-tom?”
“By the tom-tom or by other means. The Masai don’t use the tom-tom, like other tribes. They use smoke, light, or fire.”
So her eerie feeling that they were being secretly watched had been right. Coral shivered even though the sun was already hot.
They were now approaching the aircraft. The villagers were laughing and talking among themselves. As Rafe and Coral drew nearer, the tall, lean, and haughty men and women fell silent. The men wore red sarongs thrown over their shoulder in the Roman way and wooden armlets. Some of them were armed with spears, assegais, and sticks. The women had their heads shaven and carried around their slender necks the most beautiful jewelry in intricate designs, made out of leather and beads in white, red, green, blue, and orange. Though she had read about them, Coral had never before come across members of the Masai tribe. Often during her strolls in the markets, she had watched out for them but to no avail. They were really very handsome with their oblique eyes and sharp features. She wished she could take some photographs for her article, but realized that this was neither the time nor the place.
Presently, an ebony-skinned young man emerged from the group, his face daubed with ochre paint. Coral noticed that he was splendidly built, taller than the others, and his bearing was nobler. A maroon cloth encircled his waist and fringes of long white fur hung round one of his knees. He wore a lion’s mane headdress and a string of lion’s teeth around his neck. She had read about this somewhere; it meant he had killed a lion with his bare hands and was therefore a warrior. He carried a tuft on his spear, which was longer than those of his fellow countrymen, apparently indicating his predominance and that he was on an errand of peace. The young warrior appeared very serious as he walked toward the couple. Then, as he reached them, his face broke into a broad smile. “Jambo, bwana,” he said. Then he continued, speaking to Rafe in slow but correct English while
ignoring Coral’s presence. “It has been a long time since we met. My father will be very happy to see you again. Perhaps you would like to visit our village and give a donation to help us build a school for our children? We are one of the first Masai manyattas to launch this venture.”
“This is the chief’s son who I saved from typhoid,” Rafe murmured to Coral under his breath. “It looks like he has been through the Eunoto ceremony since I last saw him. His head is shaved,” Rafe added, seeing the question on Coral’s face. “That means he has recently graduated to the next level of warriorhood, so his father will want to show him off. I’m afraid his is an invitation we can’t refuse.”
They walked for half an hour through the open plains to the local village. Under the intense, reflective light of the morning, the flat countryside was vibrant with mirages, and the whiteness of the fields glistened like snow. Finally, they reached the Masai settlement.
The village was completely enclosed by a tall fence made of thorn-tree branches at least two meters high. Inside the fortified enclosure, a dozen huts built of branches, twigs, and cow dung stood in a circle. A cluster of children were chasing one another, and some women sat at the entrances of their houses, milking cows or threading beads. A group of Masai elders seemed to be having some sort of meeting under a baobab tree, while a few young men hummed and shouted while practicing their jumping, their thin long legs springing off the ground with a bounce as if they were on a trampoline. When Rafe and Coral made their appearance, all stopped what they were doing and watched the newcomers with staring eyes and open mouths. Coral could tell that they were not used to seeing many strangers in their village and seemed deeply distrusting of Rafe’s and her presence.
“I will take you to my father,” said the Masai warrior, talking to Rafe again as if Coral did not exist.
“Wait here. You’ll be all right, don’t worry,” Rafe whispered to Coral before following the young man and disappearing into a hut that was slightly larger than the others.
Coral stood alone under the fierce sun. She looked around her, feeling a little awkward, and moved to the shade of an acacia nearby. Some of the villagers picked up their activities where they had left off before the foreigners’ arrival; others just disappeared into their huts or stood staring at her. The group of elders had dispersed and gone their various ways, save for one solitary shriveled-up man who was still squatting under the baobab tree with a young boy at his feet. He seemed to be staring at Coral with insistence. Finally, he signaled to her to come forward. At first, she decided to ignore him and turned her attention to the youths that were still jumping and shouting, but she could feel a mysterious compulsion to glance back toward the old man. Suddenly, drained of all resistance, she felt her head moving and met the fixed and unwavering stare. The old man beckoned her again to come nearer to him, and this time she obeyed.
His eyes had a faraway look, as if scanning invisible horizons that held millions of secrets. “You Bwana Walter’s daughter; he Bwana George’s grandson. He want Mpingo. Bad, bad man. Matokeo ya utafutaji kwa.”
“What do you mean? How do you know my father’s name?” Coral was shocked by the man’s words. She felt chilled to the bone despite the heat, and a cold sweat ran down her spine. The sense that he was peering into her soul was almost physical. This man had to be their shaman. Fighting the fear that was creeping over her, she continued, “Who are you? Did you know my father?”
“Matokeo ya utafutaji kwa. Matokeo ya utafutaji kwa,” the shaman chanted, his eyes rolling, his head moving from side to side like an uncontrolled pendulum.
In the meantime, Rafe had come out of the hut, accompanied by the Masai chief and his son. Presently, they came up to Coral. Rafe introduced her to his friends, then, taking leave of the Masai, started off toward the entrance to the village. As they moved away, they heard the old man’s rasping voice showering a torrent of incomprehensible words at their backs. They turned round, and he gave a cackling laugh that echoed, swelling and then slowly dimming until it sounded like the vibrating rolling of distant drums.
They walked quickly and in silence. Coral was shaking, still ill at ease and in the grip of vague fears. For once, she understood a little of what some people rather distastefully called the primitive black man’s country. It was a world beyond range of the Western man’s total comprehension.
“You’re trembling. What was all that about?” Rafe asked when they had reached the outskirts of the village.
“I don’t know,” she said. “That man seemed to know you.”
“Yes, he’s the witch doctor I challenged some years ago because he was getting nowhere with curing the King’s son from typhoid. The mishiriki’s nose was put out of joint when my antibiotic proved more efficient than all his potions. The mishiriki is a highly respected spiritual figure with the tribe who is also supposed to be able to cure all illness with his various herbs, remedies, or rituals. I suppose it’s a dangerous thing to get on the wrong side of someone like that, but I had no alternative. I couldn’t have just left the boy to die.”
“He seemed to also know who I am. He said something about your grandfather. Was your grandfather named George?”
Rafe seemed uncomfortable. “You mustn’t let these people get to you. There’s a whole array of customs, traditions, and beliefs that we can’t hope to understand. We live in a way so unlike theirs and think in a completely different fashion. We don’t really have a home among them, and we’ll never be wholly accepted. The motto, if you want to survive in Africa, should be ‘watch and listen, but stay detached.’ Anyhow, I don’t suppose you’ll be around for much longer. You’ve got your documentary pretty much wrapped up, and it’ll soon be time for you to go home. Africa is not a place for a beautiful, delicate rosebud.”
“I don’t know. I may want to make a life here in the future,” she said.
“That would be unwise. The years to come belong to the Africans. The people you have seen and met here are part of the swiftly receding past.”
Half an hour later, they made it back to the plane, and when they finally arrived at Narok, the plantation was in a state of upheaval. Lady Langley had informed the authorities that the aircraft was overdue, and a search was planned for the next morning if no news of the missing plane arrived.
Rafe had been silent all through the flight back and had withdrawn behind a very thick wall. Coral felt as though a vast schism had suddenly opened between them. It would have been easy to put it down to fatigue due to an eventful and exciting night. Tramping through the bush for the better part of the day could not have helped matters either. Still, in her heart of hearts, she knew that there was more to it than that; something had taken hold of him this morning in the cave, but she could not put her finger on it. Had she been too honest about the way she felt about him? Her mother had always warned her against that sort of thing. “It drives men away,” she had told her. Still, she’d wanted Rafe to know that nothing in her life up until that day had felt as right as being in his arms. Despite his honorable rebuff, she knew their desire was mutual, and she was ready to give herself to him, even if that meant that she would lose him as a friend forever.
As Coral was preparing for bed, there was a knock at the door. Cybil popped her head into the room. “Can I come in?” she said, entering before Coral had time to answer. Seating herself in an armchair, her stepmother crossed her long, tanned legs. As usual, she was impeccably dressed and groomed, though Coral noticed that despite the skillful makeup, faint telltale lines on her skin this evening were beginning to betray her true age. “It’s time you and I had a little talk, young lady,” she said huskily as she lit a cigarette.
There was a short awkward silence during which Coral finished brushing her hair. She had no doubt what was to come and did not intend to let herself be intimidated by her stepmother. Deliberately taking her time, Coral went into the bathroom and tidied up her clothes. Then she came back into the room and sat back on her heels on the bed.
S
he raised questioning eyebrows. “I’m all ears,” she said evenly, staring her stepmother right in the eye.
Cybil inhaled deeply and slowly expelled a gust of smoke. “I’ll come straight to the point,” she declared, managing a stilted smile. “As I have no doubt mentioned to you before, Rafe and I go back a long way. To put it bluntly, I have been his mistress for many years. Our relationship dates to the days of his marriage in Tanzania. We were lovers then, and we are lovers now. At the risk of shocking you, I’ll admit that we were lovers even while I was married to Walter.” Coral noticed that her stepmother’s gaze didn’t flinch at this revelation. “I loved your father, but Rafe and I share a very special bond that nothing could ever break. He is a compulsive womanizer; for him, running after a woman is a sport. I know that, and I’ve accepted it. He will never marry me or any other woman for that matter.” Cybil’s green eyes narrowed at Coral through twists of smoke. “His marriage was a living hell, and his wife’s death was a blessing in disguise. When Faye drowned, he was finally released from the cage that imprisoned him. Rafe enjoys the chase in the same way huntsmen do, and more often than not, his prey falls victim to his charms. Sometimes it gets away unscathed, but most of the time he will toy with it for a while, amuse himself, gnaw at it, even mangle it if it suits him, with the same ferocity as a wild animal. And then, when he’s had his fun, he walks away from it and moves on.”
Having delivered her vitriolic message, Cybil leaned forward, stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table, and got up. High heels tick-tocked on the wooden floor. At the door, she turned. “I’m not telling you this because I’m afraid of you or even jealous. I know Rafe fancies you. How could he not? You’re so young, so fresh.” She gave Coral a bitter smile. “But I’ve been there before. I thought I’d better tell you the facts of life. I wouldn’t like to see you hurt. After all, you are Walter’s daughter, and as I told you earlier, I was deeply fond of him, despite everything. So don’t say you weren’t warned.” On that note, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her, leaving Coral dumbfounded.
Burning Embers Page 24
