by Carl Hancock
The day before she had been stunned by the headline about the kidnap of Simon Mboya. Today’s main news gave her a much greater shock.
‘Just after midnight a tea plantation worker in Kericho found the body of a naked man on a grass verge near his home. When the police arrived on the scene it was discovered the hands of the deceased had been mutilated. Later when the body was inspected at the local police station, it was identified to be that of kidnapped Nairobi doctor, Simon Mboya, whose abduction from his medical centre in Kibera was reported in our edition of yesterday …’
Sally Rubai threw down the paper and hurried off to a downstairs bathroom. She vomited into the sink.
* * *
The Daniels family had been roused from sleep at four am by the night askari.
‘The Inspector wants to speak to Doctor David. They are waiting downstairs.’
Any doubts about the news that the Inspector was bringing disappeared as soon as the two men met. A single word was enough to confirm the doctor’s suspicions. ‘Yes!’ Inspector Kostas nodded solemnly to reinforce his bad news.
The Inspector and Sergeant Ezra sat quietly in the sitting room while the family gathered. When everyone had come, the policemen rose and moved towards the large, marble fireplace. They stood waiting for a sign from Mister David. Not one of the family had a doubt about the news they were about to hear. Their first conscious thought when they were roused from sleep was that Simon was dead. They did not need words. There was no surprise. This was an all too normal outcome when one prominent man had offended an even more prominent man who had the will and means to deal with his problem with swift, safe violence. But why did bad news so often come at this ungodly hour?
Dorothy set down large mugs of hot sweet tea on occasional tables. ‘Dorothy’s dawa,’ she had been bringing it out for years as her simple, practical medicine to help ward off the after-effects of medical pain or, as now, to bring comfort in times of deep foreboding. There was a lot of spontaneous embracing and holding of hands taking place in that quiet room. Sonya sat between Maura and her niece, Eryl, on the large sofa directly in front of the fireplace with her eyes focused down onto the well-polished black shoes of the Inspector.
When he began to speak, the Greek intonation in his voice was more pronounced than it had been less than thirty-six hours before when he had made his first visit to the house.
Deep emotion caused dryness in his throat. Dorothy rose nimbly to her feet and brought him a mug of her special potion.
‘Take a couple of sips. Good for the nerves!’
Her little intrusion set off the first smiles of the morning.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, technically speaking Sergeant Ezra and I should have just one task, duty here this morning. We have never met, but I believe that you must be Mrs Sonya Mboya.’ He tilted his head forward and opened his hands in what looked very like a priest’s gesture of supplication.
‘You are right.’ Her whispered reply could have been heard clearly in the furthest corners of that large room.
‘Mrs Mboya, very early this morning, our colleagues in Kericho District were alerted to the presence of the body of a man found on a grass verge close to the entrance of the Home-brew plantation. It appears that the man is … your husband, Doctor Simon Mboya. The law demands that the next of kin must identify … the deceased. I ask you all to forgive me if you think my manner is abrupt or even cruel, but experience tells me that there is no gentle way to bring such news. We are here to assist in every way we can.
‘In a sense, our job is done but, with your permission, we would like to go a little further.’ He paused and when no voice was raised, continued. ‘Sergeant Kabari will explain.’
Ezra Kabari was distressed. The trembling hands holding his notes were the clearest sign.
‘This is one of the worst days of my life. I am from the Luo tribe, just like the good doctor and his Uncle Thomas. My heart is breaking with yours. I am a policeman and I have failed you all. But one small thing I can do to help.
‘Something amazing. I have a brother, Hosea. He has never wanted to come down to the big city here. He is a policeman, too, a sergeant in Western District. It was he who reported in to our CID here with news of this tragedy. He was given charge of bringing Doctor Simon back to Nairobi, to the city morgue. Please bear with me! However deeply what I say hurts every one of you, perhaps it is better that I speak of it now.’
Tears began to well, but the sergeant forced himself on. Breathing heavily, he got his words out with a great effort.
‘These bad people who took his life … damaged his hands, very badly. Unspeakable, but these jackals did it. Please, I want to bring him here, to this house. The inspector tells me that I am breaking police rules of conduct, but there are bigger rules and I refuse to break those, whatever the cost.’
Weeping, low and gentle sobbing disturbed the long, painful silence until David Daniels rose from his chair and moved towards the fireplace. He put his arms around the policemen and drew them close. ‘Yes, friend, you have done the right thing. We want him home.’
The Inspector interrupted briefly. ‘Then I can tell you that he is on his way at this very moment.’
These few words caused swift changes in several ways. Everyone sitting down rose to their feet almost as one. As people began to move about and to try and prepare themselves for whatever the next few hours would bring them, Sergeant Kabari walked over to a window with David.
‘There is one more thing that has to be said, but not to everyone, not just now.’ He hesitated briefly. ‘Tied around the doctor’s hands was a … note written on a crudely ripped piece of cardboard: ‘You won’t be needing these no more, big mouth’. I am so sorry!’
David closed his eyes and groaned. Of all the people in the room only Sonya noticed how the exchange with the sergeant had upset her brother. Her tears were finished. Her reaction to those who wanted to offer her comfort and consolation surprised those who tried to give it. Far from being overwhelmed by grief, some inner source of strength galvanised her. She was full of energy, none of it negative. Her concerns were for other people. She was glad that her boys were still asleep and would hopefully remain so for a couple of hours longer. Whatever else she would have to do in that time, a big part of her mind would be given to working how best to explain to them the continued absence of their daddy. It was a time for her to groan inwardly.
Bertie planned to return to Naivasha after breakfast. The bond he had formed with Sonya and Simon in the shock of the aftermath of losing his beloved Anna was as strong as ever. He had spent two nights away from Ewan and the arrival in Karen of Rebecca and Tom in the early morning would free him to return to Rusinga Farm without leaving Maura without a lift back to Londiani when the time came. While he had the chance, he must speak to Sonya. They came face to face as she was carrying a tray of empty mugs out to the kitchen. He was afraid that his awkward social skills would not be up to the job of getting his deep sorrow and anger across to his dear friend.
‘Sonya, you know how bloody useless, sorry, Sonya, but I’m not much good at the tender stuff. It still puzzles me what could have persuaded Anna to take on a crusty bloke like me.’
‘Bertie, we know each other too well to be bothered with too many words. Heart talk, remember? I think we both learned how to speak it in this very room. Simon was a wonderful teacher.’
‘And now he’s gone. Sonya, I can’t understand why you’re not crying your eyes out. I feel tempted myself. It’s so damned unfair!’
‘Of course it is, sweetheart. If I felt it would do some good, I’d be down on the floor here screaming … shouting, cursing, yes, cursing a god who lets these evil, evil bastards get away with this, this abomination. You understand that, Bertie. But … Simon would definitely not approve. Can you see that shutting of the eyes and the rapid shake of the head when he wanted to say you were wrong about something?’
‘What a bloody fantastic pair you were!’
‘Correctio
n, Bertie. Are! Yes, are! It’s strange, but since I first received the phone call in Wales yesterday, the day before, whatever, I’ve been expecting it to end this way. We knew the risks he was taking. All those threats. And I’ve been wondering how I would react. Cold-blooded minx, aren’t I?’
‘Total crap, Sonya! Sorry again!’
‘Bertie, he and I go on together. Now I know some people who would describe what I’m saying as rubbish. Time for shutting my eyes tight and shaking my head! Listen! I’ve got a lot of business to clear up here this morning. I have to speak to the boys. I’m still working on that! And I have to have my private time with Simon.’
‘Look, what can this plodding Farmer Giles do to help? I’ll try anything. Take me out of my comfort zone! Learnt that expression a couple of weeks ago. Not really sure what it means yet!’
Sonya pursed her lips in thought. ‘The boys, you know how much they love coming up to Rusinga. Next week I’m going to have to talk to a lot of people, some unfinished business of Simon’s. If I could bring them up to stay, a couple of days.’
‘Long as you like. Ewan —’
He was interrupted. Sergeant Ezra had just taken calls on his mobile. ‘Friends, two things. Doctor Simon will be here within an hour. And the Inspector and I have been detailed to go to Kibera. Trouble. Someone has tried to set fire to the clinic …’
‘Oh, my God!’ For all of five seconds Sonya’s resolve seemed to wobble. Tears were very close.
The sergeant’s message was not complete. ‘Doctor Sonya, no real damage to the clinic. The fools who tried the stunt, four young men, not so lucky. They came in the darkness. They did not see the local guards, volunteers. I’m hearing that for them it is too late for doctors. We will report back.’
When the policemen left, Sonya had an announcement of her own.
‘There has been no clinic for two days. Later on this morning, normal service will start again. Correction! Normal service there can never be again, but,’ she was biting her lip, ‘we will do our best.’
The first rays of the new morning were shining dappled light onto the lawn and the driveway of the Daniels’ house when a battered, old Chevrolet Estate turned in off the murram road and pulled up outside the front door. Sergeant Hosea Kabari stepped out and lifted the rear door. Before anyone from the house appeared, his wife, Maria, had time to make sure that the shroud, a white silk sheet was in perfect order.
Everyone in the household gathered in a half circle around the back end of the car, close enough to have a view of the human shape wrapped tight in its spotless covering. An ancient hospital trolley was grinding its noisy way across the gravel from the rear of the house.
After a single greeting from Sonya, ‘Welcome home, my darling,’ the daytime askari and a young gardener moved the trolley into position to receive the body. Hosea Kabari had placed Simon on a light wooden board which made the transfer to the trolley smooth and quick.
Not unexpectedly in a household heavy with medical people, in a copse of oleander and flame bushes, there was an outbuilding put up and equipped for times when work had to be performed at home. The granite floors and the whitewashed walls made for coolness even on very warm days. Sonya insisted that everyone who had gathered outside to greet Simon’s arrival should be present inside.
The shuffling was long finished. The silence in that room went on and on and the tension built up close to snapping point. Glances returned towards Sonya, constantly, even a little impatiently. She herself stood motionless, head bowed and eyes closed. She might have been asleep. Perhaps she wanted them all, without actually asking them, to slip away and leave her alone with her man, probably for the last time.
Without warning, she moved to the top of the table where Simon’s head must be. She grasped the top of the shroud in both hands. Before she could remove the sheet, Hosea Kabari gently touched her arm. ‘Madam, please, I must warn you. We did not want to insult the doctor with the clothes of a stranger.’
She acknowledged his words with a barely perceptible nod and then unfolded the sheet down to the line of his shoulders.
It was a face at peace. There was a collective sigh of relief. Sonya bent to kiss her husband’s cold lips. She stood back and looked around the line of solemn faces and smiled. ‘Our Simon is not here. We all know that. I am already looking forward to seeing him in another place. But we have a duty to his earthly temple. I am blessed to have family who can honour him in the proper way.’
In ten minutes there were just three living humans left in that haven of peace. It was time to look at the mutilated hands. David Daniels, the surgeon with the ‘stillest hands in East Africa’ stood on the opposite side of the table to his youngest sister. Her fingers grasped the silk sheet. It was she who would decide the moment when this shroud was lifted away completely to reveal the naked body of Simon Mboya. The third person present was not a family member. Less than an hour before, Maria Kabari, wife of Hosea and sister-in-law of Ezra, had been a stranger in the house. The handsome woman with the most strikingly compassionate eyes that Sonya had ever seen had not come down from Kericho just to be company for Hosea on his unpleasant mission.
‘Doctor Sonya, I have brought my spices and my … equipment. I can help you. I know these things. When you have finished your task of mending his hands, call me. I will wait on the bench outside, near to the door.’
David watched Maria closely as she left the room. The tall figure glided from their presence without a backward glance. His common sense wanted to warn his sister to be circumspect before she let this woman have any part in these final goodbyes to a man, a down to earth physician who had at no time claimed to possess special gifts which had the merest hint of magic about them. It was not the time to be dishing out warnings. That could come later. But he would have admitted that this sergeant’s wife had an aura of power about her, a sense of benevolent spiritual force that he had not witnessed before.
With a single, deft movement of her hand, Sonya revealed the whole body. The gasp was irresistible.
‘My God! These bastards knew what they were up to.’ David immediately regretted his loss of discipline. His words would do nothing to help his sister. His brief explosion of anger did not help him either. He struggled to hold back the tears, but he was amazed to look across at Sonya, the wife of this man, the mother of his children and see an expression that showed only deep pity.
In a turmoil of conflicting emotions he began his work to repair the fingers that had been broken, and hacked to the point where most of them were almost severed.
He had never before operated on a body that had been dead for upwards of twelve hours. Rigor mortis had taken a toll. The absence of normal human warmth and flexibility had made the digits brittle.
‘Sonya, I’m afraid.’
‘I understand, David. Perhaps it is not meant for you to do this. Maria, I’m going to call her.’
‘But …’ Too late. His sister had left the room and it was some minutes before she returned with Maria. He was discomfited when this stranger came straight towards him and actually touched the forearm of the hand that was holding the scalpel. She was smiling like a loving mother might when trying to comfort an uncomprehending child.
‘You doctors know the word charlatan. Perhaps you suspect that I am one, that I have come to do some bad thing. Who is this woman, you are asking. You are a Christian. I know that. You will remember that Lazarus and Jesus himself passed out of this life only to return shortly after. There were many women among the teacher’s followers. Believe also these two teachings. From those ancient times to this very day a small group of women have carried down some of the healing secrets.’
‘Are you going to tell me that you women can raise people from the dead?’
‘Of course not! Why do you seem to be afraid of me, David? If I was sick, I would be so happy if you would take care of me.’
‘And the other teaching?’
Maria sighed, sensing that this man of science needed always
to see things, to touch before he could accept. She would try. ‘David, the barrier between us three standing upright around this table and Simon is one of our own creation. Crazy? Perhaps, but also more comfortable for us. We have long ago lost the art, the will to live with such a reality. Only at rare moments, like this perhaps, can we feel the closeness of the other side.
‘Look at these hands. Less than a day ago they were beautiful creations dedicated to life. And now the clay from which they came is beginning to return to itself.
‘I am not afraid. I cannot bring the warmth back to these hands. The skills they had learned are gone forever. But I can hide the wounds. I can answer the insults that they have suffered so that for a short time these fingers can be dressed in a familiar covering. When he is laid to earth, he will be ready.
‘My work will take many hours. You may stay if you wish. You will see no magic potions, hear no mumbo jumbo. Sometimes I sing, sometimes I play my music. Of course, I will say many words to my friend whom I never met but only, Sonya, if you permit me!’
By the time Maria had finished her explanations, David had set aside his instruments and was sitting, a forlorn figure, on a chair close to the head of the table. While he watched his sister help Maria unpack her own bottles, cloths, small knives, spatulas and the rest, he was trying to grasp the meaning, the sense, if there was any, of what he had just heard. Sitting there in his own cool outbuilding, he realised that he was in the presence of the most remarkable woman he had ever met. Her words, true or not, were impressive for the whole new take on life that they put forward. It was the feeling of authority that she had about her which was even more impressive. She showed no sign of arrogance or vanity in her self-assurance.
He was stunned. He felt an urge to stay and watch the policeman’s wife at work, but seeing his sister involved and so focused on this unmedical work, a stronger urge was to go outside, take a brisk turn around the garden and look for some breakfast.
