A Fool's Knot

by Philip Spires

  So even more than ever she had looked forward to her regular visit to Kitui to seek the company Migwani could not provide. Even the town’s bars were deserted these days. It was harvest time and most people including, reluctantly, half of the students from school, were tied to their farms to gather the crop before the dry season’s weevils destroyed it. As ever, it seemed the crop had all but failed anyway. There had been enough rain, but it had all fallen on three nights, two months previously and throughout the District the plants had bolted and then, starved of water in maturity, had produced only small, near-grainless cobs. People’s disappointment at the harvest seemed to pervade everything. In the town, in the mission, in the school and, though unrealised before now, in Janet, there had developed a propensity toward torpor, toward resignation, toward depression. It was this depression and its promised relief which propelled her to Kitui and the dances at the Umoja Bar. And of course it was the promise of meeting John Mwangangi again each Friday, on the first night of his regular weekend visit to Kitui. Ongoing work on his farm now required that he visit Kamandiu almost as a matter of course, and, since the first time they had slept together on that weekend after Michael’s departure, he had made a point of calling in on the Friday night Umoja dance to meet her. They usually spent Friday night together in one of the matchbox-sized rooms at the back of another bar, the Umoja’s substantial clientele being perhaps too much of a potential audience for their activity.

  Janet looked forward to visiting the place each Friday to such an extent that the rest of the week had begun to take on the feeling of being no more than the prelude to its pleasures. But paradoxically she started to become morose, almost desperate for his company on the days when he was not there. These Friday meetings had become the ecstatic centre of her life, around which orbited a mundane week. She tried to convince herself that it was something more than the sex that she craved, but she knew that was the truth. John Mwangangi, in one thunderous night, when they had not even bothered to turn out the light or, for that matter, sleep, had reopened a closed world within her psyche that had once been populated by a long-standing boyfriend at college. But it was a world she had not visited for almost two years, until John had explored that place, and opened up continents she never knew existed. And with each new meeting it had got better. He was a sophisticated man, this John Mwangangi, and a lover of a kind she had not known existed. With him there were no fumblings, no frenzies, no nervous half measures. To Janet their encounters seemed like a string of her deepest wishes, desires of which she had been unaware, but which he knew in apparently intimate detail. From the moment they met until the moment they parted, she could feel the promise of ecstasy he could give her and, like a drug, she was now dependent on it, and craved more, more than their one shared night per week could supply. Though when alone she scolded herself for falling into a trap she had always resolved to avoid, now even the anticipation of his arrival took her breath away. She was hopelessly and utterly in love with him.

  On their previous two meetings, they had not even bothered to stay at the Umoja dances, opting to take their now preferred room at the Kitui High Class Lodging House, whose title could not have been more of a misnomer. But the sheets and mattresses were well known to be clean and free of fleas. There was no electricity in the establishment, but by now John and Janet had learned to sit in the meagre light of an oil lamp on low flame, the wick turned down until it almost burnt a flickering blue. Usually they undressed immediately and made love, and then lying naked together talked. Janet had noted John’s scars on their first night together, but did not mention them at the time. She had not seen many naked men, so the obviously unusual extent of John’s circumcision was lost on her. But the long scratch scars, showing white and pink on his black thighs, were what caught her attention. When she asked him what they were, he told her they were the result of an accident he had when he was a boy and left it at that. It was the only time she remembered him reticent and defensive, apparently unwilling to divulge more than a minimum. She assumed rightly that he was self-conscious about the disfigurement, or harboured residual guilt at bearing scars in such private places, so she slid down and kissed the whole area, which of course responded as she thought it might and the subject was dropped, as more pressing positions were assumed. But when they parted the next morning, she was rendered speechless when he actually thanked her for being so sensitive. It suggested to her that perhaps Lesley Mwangangi, after more than a decade of marriage, was not as tolerant of his obvious embarrassment. So now there was mutual trust as well.

  And so, when John Mwangangi entered the bar at seven on Friday of last week, he suffered no fears of panic when he realised Janet was not there, since their arrangement had already taken on its own sense of normality. Thus they had confirmed their appointment the previous week. Usually, Janet was the first to arrive at around six, straight from the newly arrived Uhuru na Kazi, so when John entered, he had expected to find her already waiting for him. But that night she was not there.

  He bought his usual soda, ordered his chicken and chips and waited. She must have gone out to arrange her grocery order for the next day and been delayed, he thought. An hour later, at eight, he was worried. He drove the short distance to Kitui Mission to ask the receptionist if she had been there, but he was not at his desk. Two priests, both of whom knew him well from his days as District Officer in Mwingi, said they had not seen her, and then gave him a look, which he immediately recognised as communicating more than the answer to his question. Janet and he had taken care, but in this small place it was impossible to be that careful. He drove to the sprawling compound of Kitui School, at the other end of town, where he knew there was one particular teacher, who had been a close friend of Janet’s during the early months of her stay in Migwani, but it turned out that he had not seen Janet for several weeks. John called back at the Umoja before concluding he had no option, and so he set off immediately to drive the thirty miles to Migwani. There were no telephones in Migwani and he could think of nowhere else in Kitui where he might look for her.

  He drove into the lightless school compound at around eleven to find Janet’s house in total darkness. He tried the kitchen door. It was unlocked. It was always unlocked, even when she went away for the weekend. He had recently tried to persuade her to keep it secure, but she always insisted that in Migwani there was no need. He called her name softly through the darkness. He went through the kitchen and into the living room, the dust on the unswept floor crunching a little under the soles of his shoes. He called her name again. Though he had never slept with Janet here, he knew which of the two other rooms was hers and he pushed open the door. And his heart raced. She was there in the bed.

  He bent down by her side and then put his hand on her face. She stirred, but said nothing. He spoke quickly, assuming that she would need the reassurance of knowing that it was him, since the total darkness would render anyone a stranger, but her response was a mere murmur, so uncharacteristic he knew immediately there was something wrong. He moved his hand to her brow. It was hot. There was a fever.

  Having located her oil lamp in the living room and lit it with a match from a box that paradoxically was easier to find, because he had previously noticed she always kept it on the kitchen window ledge above her cooker, he re-entered the bedroom with his light. Immediately he saw she was pale. He had spent enough time embracing this body to know it well and the rhythm of the breathing was not hers. It was faster and lighter than normal. He shook her gently and she stirred some more, but still did not know who was there. He shook her again and her eyes opened. She tried to speak but her words were slurred. A glass of water helped, but she was still not completely coherent. She showed not the slightest concern or surprise that he was here in her house, in her room.

  He lifted her to a seated position, his arms embracing the body more tenderly and yet more determinedly than ever before. Her youth was a miracle, the slightness of her frame pure perfection. But s
he did not respond; she was limp in his arms. As he stroked her face with his hand, she roused some more and realised for the first time that it was him. But still there was no surprise. Then she spoke a little, the words barely audible, her voice a croak. She managed to say, “Sorry” several times. The obvious lateness of the hour combined with the fact that she was still at home finally registered and she seemed suddenly to realise that John was here in her own room. Another glass of water later she was coherent enough to tell him that Daniel had gone home at lunchtime as usual for the weekend. After eating the lunch he had left, she remembered coming to bed for a nap. She had not felt well for a few days and was sure that her sore throat meant that she was getting a cold. Clearly she had fallen asleep. She had been there since two o’clock. There was a hint of panic when she realised that she had missed her afternoon class and that nobody had noticed.

  John tried to calm her. “You’ve got malaria,” he said. “Leave things to me.”

  Before Janet realised what he was doing, he had excused himself for a few minutes and had returned to his car. Janet felt a little stronger and managed to walk to her sitting room where she watched his progress through the window as he drove through the town towards Mwingi. She saw his car headlights come to a halt about half a mile away, where the road ran along an elevated ridge beyond the town. Within a few minutes he was back in the house, relieved to find that she had felt strong enough to get up. He told her that he had spoken to the headmaster and that she should pack a bag because she was going with him immediately to Nairobi. She had permission to take a week’s leave. When she started to protest, just a little, he told her to dress and pack a few clothes. There would be no discussion.

  They travelled to Nairobi in John’s car, much smoother and quieter, she thought, than anything else she had travelled in for a long time. Janet said little along the way, unable even to express the gratitude she felt, because of the debilitating weakness that consumed her energy. She must have fallen asleep after a few miles, because she awoke the next morning in a beautiful bed with cotton sheets and soft pillows. For some time she had no idea where she was. She ought to have panicked, but she did not have the energy. When John appeared in the open doorway, she began to recall what had happened and tried to get up, but her head filled with blank pain, and she felt sick and faint.

  By the Saturday evening she already felt much better. Though she had little recollection of events, she vaguely remembered a visit from a doctor and having had injections and pills. And she had slept. Though she still felt utterly exhausted, she was well enough to get up by seven and ate a light meal before going straight back to bed. She felt stronger again on the Sunday, but stayed in bed. After a light lunch, which John served on a tray, she took some more pills and told him she felt much stronger. He joined her in bed and they made love, just a little. And then she slept again to awake again at seven in the evening, sensing a body settling itself next to her on the bed, a sensation she convinced herself she had felt before. She turned over and was well enough to realise, in the very middle of the action, that her intention to reach out and caress John’s thigh was ill-advised, since it was Lesley Mwangangi’s female frame that compressed the mattress. John stood aside.

  “You look a lot better,” he said.

  “How do you feel?” asked Lesley.

  Janet felt weak, exhausted and mildly confused. Her mouth was dry, her throat sore and her entire body ached. “I feel much better,” she said. “Can I go home?”

  She wanted to go straight back to Migwani the following day, but both John and Lesley insisted she stay on for a while. After all, she could not be sure immediately that the treatment had worked. She would have to wait and see for a few days and, if necessary, see the doctor again to make sure. Janet felt unable to express her gratitude, explaining that she had no money to buy them a present and no way of repaying the hospitality she had received. They both told her not to worry, that they did not offer help at a price. John tried to put her mind at ease by saying that the medical care cost nothing, because it was provided as part of his job. When she returned to England, he said, she could tell people that she owed a Kenyan a personal debt. It might make them realise that she had been in the country not merely as a tourist or a technician, but that she had lived there amongst people like herself.

  She stayed three days, days of celibacy enforced by Lesley’s renewed presence. Years later she would regret not having asked Lesley where she had been over the weekend, but, in the circumstances of the time, she was intent on having as little contact with her as possible.

  Then, confident that the treatment had worked and that the symptoms would clear up, she thanked her hosts and left, but not before she had given an especially careful goodbye to Anna, who had been allowed a day off school to come and see her. The young girl had spoken of her grandparents, telling Janet that their home was in Migwani Location in a place called Kamandiu in the valley beyond Kea. Janet was quite astounded at the girl’s knowledge of the area, its place names and features. As Janet bid goodbye, John, Lesley and Anna all came to the door and stood together to watch her walk off down the main road to get the bus into town. John had offered a lift, but she had refused, saying that she wanted to take the chance to get to know her way around Nairobi a little better. The Mwangangi’s house, like all the others in Lavington, was large and stood in its own grounds. As Janet walked away, her feet crunching the driveway’s gravel, she turned and waved to the watching group. “I wish I was coming to Migwani with you,” Anna shouted, causing Lesley’s perfunctory parting smile to fade instantly. It was anger that replaced it, Janet saw, as she turned and waved one last time before disappearing behind the hedge. She was both surprised and somewhat hurt to see Lesley turn and spank her daughter back into the house. John stayed on the doorstep to wave, but inside the house Janet’s stay had already been forgotten and Anna, now returned to her mother’s discipline, was being given a loud dressing-down, alongside several reminders that she would not be visiting Kamandiu again.

  So, feeling much better, Janet waited for the bus to arrive. For ten minutes the trick cyclist entertained the crowd and provoked Janet to thought. Once again, with illness receding and faith in her own strength restored by John and his family, she began to view the journey to Migwani as a real homecoming. For some time the house by the school had felt like a cell and life in Migwani had been like a prison sentence, each day bringing a repetition of work, eat and sleep to be lived through longing for the day that would reunite her with her lover. Already she wished it were Friday. She had only been parted from him for an hour, but had already started to wonder how she would get through the days before their next meeting, when she could begin to repay the debt she felt she owed.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  July 1976

  What absolute absurdity! Janet felt like she ought to laugh as Barnabas Maluki wheeled his bicycle out of the school compound and into the road, but it was sadder than that. She watched him set off up the hill away from the town and then turn right at the top and follow the footpath, which bore north-west towards Thitani. She knew the path to be narrow and rough, passing first through the area known as Kaliluni alongside the farm belonging to the Musee family. Here his head was still visible from where Janet stood at the front of the school, just next to the flagpole by the headmaster’s office. The pole’s affixed rope flapped in the strong wind, rattling against the hollow metal shaft. Then, as Barnabas rode down the first of the many deep gullies the path crossed, he disappeared from her view. Only then did she look down at the sealed envelope in her hand and smile, shaking her head at the irony.

  Barnabas was a primary school teacher, and a good one. He had lived in Thitani all his life. His father, a man locally renowned for his brewing skill, kept a bar there and recently had invested the profit it generated over the years in a general shop. Thitani market possessed only eight shops and now two of them belonged to his father. Whatever he chose
to do, he knew he could always return to the family business and receive a good income. Barnabas, however, had become a devout Christian during his stay at the government boarding school in Kitui and had embraced the wisdom of Jesus Christ, as he himself described it. Amid constant self-retribution, he was forever conscious of his position in the community and realised that, if a teacher were to be respected by his pupils, he must be above reproach, a model of discipline and morality. Thus in school he was a hard-working and conscientious teacher. Education, for him, was not merely the accumulation of knowledge, it was the key that would unlock people’s lives and free them from the misguided beliefs of traditional society. Since he first entered secondary school as a bright fourteen-year-old, small for his age, with thirty points in the primary school exam – a performance of which he would be eternally proud – his life had been guided by the Bible. Interpreted literally by the preachers of the Africa Inland Church, its advice had provided him with a strict code, a definitive list of rules which, when obeyed, would surely lead to the only true reward.

  The way he had chosen, however, had not been easy. The preachers had never said it would be, of course, but always they advised that no one should doubt the word of God as written. Over the years, Barnabas had grown to his maturity, had obtained good results in his exams and had been overjoyed to fulfil his ambition to train to be a teacher. Privately he hoped that on graduation he would be posted to a school in a large town, Nairobi, or Nakuru, for instance, and had been utterly dejected at first to find that his employment would be in his home area. However, he must accept what God provides. It is right.

  In the five years since his graduation, he had worked as conscientiously as he could imagine. Besides teaching throughout the day, he had devoted much of his spare time to the local church and hoped that one day he would become a preacher himself. Thitani, however, was still too ‘bush’ for his taste and people there were not enlightened. Indeed, many were still primitives, because they did not even go to church. His own father, for instance, spent much of his time brewing beer or serving in his shop, which also sold cigarettes. He had told his father many times, and in no uncertain terms, that he would do nothing to help the family business while it practised such sins. So, to keep his options open and to upgrade his teacher’s salary, he had studied furiously every evening for three years to obtain his O-levels. His recent success in his latest exam, sat as a private candidate in Kitui, had convinced him that he ought to pursue a better position than Thitani School could offer. It was obvious to him that there was no work in this area for someone with such qualifications. In some years’ time, he granted, when people here would be more educated, then there might be jobs to attract people like him, but at the moment there surely was nothing. From the American missionaries at Kyome he had heard that there was good employment in Nairobi in the Bible schools, which their church had founded. People like himself went there from all over the country to study God’s word and, for someone such as him, there might be a chance of obtaining a position as a teacher.