By the gap in the clipped euphorbia hedge, where two white gateposts marked the main entrance to the school compound, there stood a group of chattering girls. Though anonymous in the night to anyone beyond a few strides distant, an in-built fear of recognition still muted their voices to a whisper. The fact that they all had permission to visit Mr. O’Brien after lights out did little to suppress the guilt which their current position invoked.
Had the patrolling Sister Augustus appeared by the main gate at that moment to search out and identify those who apparently loitered there with the penetrating glare of her torch, each and every one of the girls would probably have rushed off back to their beds at speed and without a word of complaint, for their right to be here in this place depended upon the presence of one who had not yet arrived. Without Josephine, the prefect invested with both the trust and the authority of the Sisters, themselves, they could do nothing at all. In their defence, they could not even safely cite the permission they had already been granted, for without the presence of Josephine, even that was annulled.
Thus, when the sound of footsteps on the gravel path reached their ears, their previously excited but still muted chattering momentarily hushed to an immediate and complete silence. Their eyes pierced the dark for clues as to the identity of the moonlit figure that approached, their hopes willing that person to be Josephine Ngao and their fears dreading the sight of Sister Augustus.
“I am coming,” called Josephine softly. Her words drew an audible sigh of relief from the group and restrained cheers from one or two of the individuals. Within a few seconds, she was among them and, as if by instinct, they gathered round her to await the leadership they all knew she would adopt. Before directing them all out of the compound, however, Josephine had something to say. “Girls, please listen carefully. Sister has given us permission until ten. She will come to the dormitories to check that we are all back by then. If you do not obey her, we will all be on manual tomorrow.” She paused here to look at all about her, as if she was checking on how intently they had listened. Only when she was sure that they had all understood did she continue.
“Now listen very carefully indeed.”
Her voice was now little more than a whisper and her entourage huddled closer as if to form a barrier, which might exclude all but themselves from the secrets within. “I myself must leave Mr. O’Brien’s house early because I have to be up very early tomorrow. We do not have long - only half an hour or so - so I will leave at about half past. I am telling you now for two reasons. One so that you will be sure if you will be asked tomorrow and two, so that you will all make sure to leave Mr. O’Brien’s house on time because I will not be there to remind you.”
With every detail of Josephine’s words duly noted, they set off through the gap in the hedge. Keeping close together they passed between the gateposts, which, during term time, were a symbol of the great divide between school and life outside, a worldly manifestation, therefore, of good and evil. (Might that have read goods and evil?) Out here they were free but alone. In school their lives were restricted. Their movements, the clothes they could or could not wear, their entire lives, in fact, were dictatorially governed by the strictures the nuns imposed. Their judgment was fixed and left nothing to doubt. The sisters’ wrath was fierce, their instructions always obeyed without question, their authority unquestioningly acknowledged, and their sincerity never seriously questioned. In school they were absolute masters, the often-resented wardens and yet the much loved protectors of the chosen girls.
Once outside, however, once through that gap in the hedge, the girls stepped out from beneath the umbrella of both the authority and its protection, but not for a moment did they forget the demands it made on them.
By the time they mounted the steps onto the open veranda of Mr. O’Brien’s house, the expectation of promised entertainment lit the face of every one of the girls with a happy smile, The voice which greeted them with such demonstrative pleasure caused several partially audible giggles. “Ah... good evening, ladies. Make yourselves at home. Good evening Josephine. And how is our prefect?”
“I am fine,” she said.
“Would you ladies like a drink? You can take your choice, we have Fanta, chai or Tree Top.”
Every one of the six girls opted for a bottle of Fanta and, while, with an air of relaxed familiarity, they settled themselves onto their seats, Martin O’Brien went off into the kitchen to fetch the drinks.
“Is Mrs. O’Brien here?”
“No,” she is visiting Father. Punctuated by the sharp clicks of a bottle opener and the hiss of fizzing lemonade, O’Brien’s resonant voice echoed along the hallway from the kitchen. The near singing tone of voice which he automatically and unconsciously adopted whenever he addressed a prettier than average sub-set of his pupils, rendered everything he said almost comical and always guaranteed great entertainment for those privileged to share his late-night tutorials.
On the surface, Martin O’Brien was a free-living type who, by his mid-thirties had worked as a teacher in three countries and had travelled to twenty more. On the face of things, always bright of manner and never less than enthusiastic for whatever he did, underneath he was regularly afflicted by an almost complete inertia capable of generating a self-doubt that could render even thought a burden. His remedy had become to seek constant company so that he might never find himself alone to brood.
He had married young. He and his bride had been school friends and had ‘courted’, because in their home town in Ireland that was what one did. Eventually they married for similar sorts of reasons and suddenly realised that until then they had hardly known one another. So, after nine years of childless marriage, they were still very much a couple, but at the same time still the same strangers they had been on the day they first met. Above all, Martin O’Brien wanted to be liked.
After finishing the last of her lemonade, Josephine rose from her chair and announced, to Martin O’Brien’s surprise and disappointment, that she was very tired and ought to go to bed. Had she not learned earlier that Mrs. O’Brien was, herself, visiting the mission, she would instead have announced that she wanted to visit Father before going back to school and would indeed have looked in there for a few minutes, a time span which, if need be, could be stretched on report both at its beginning and its end. That avenue, however, was now closed, since Mrs O’Brien, though a rather small rotund and apparently insignificant woman, was known for her ability to note and recall every detail of her own actions. She, unfortunately for Josephine, would be able to vouch for any time of arrival or departure she, herself, might later claim.
“It’s unlike you to be tired, Josephine...” said O’Brien.
The girl shrugged her shoulders and replied. “I have been doing too much work this week. Even today, Mr. O’Brien, you have given us too much homework. I was still trying to finish it at five minutes to nine...”
“Ah now... Don’t you try to blame me.” He was smiling as he spoke, but it was clear that he had taken the comment to heart. He dearly wanted to be liked.
“It’s true!” said Josephine in an animated voice through an innocent, playful smile. “But I still have to go now. Thank you for the lemonade and good night, Mr. O’Brien,” she said politely, as she rose to her feet. Turning to the others she continued, “Don’t stay later than we are allowed, girls. Remember that Sister will be checking the dormitories by ten o’clock.”
She departed with a wave, knowing that all the girls still seated in Martin O’Brien’s sitting room would do as requested and return to their beds within the half hour they had been granted for their visit. But how much did they know about her? Did they know what she was about to do? She was sure they did not, so carefully had she bought the loyalty of just two trusted and eternally silent accomplices.
After descending the veranda steps, she set off as if apparently to retrace her path back to the school compound across the road.
Always carefully calculating exactly how far the shaft of electric light from the O’Brien house illuminated the road, she walked twenty yards or so as a perfunctory gesture. This took her almost as far as the two white gateposts of the school compound, itself, and thus almost rendered her visible in the bright cone of light from the night watchman’s hissing pressure lamp, which spread white through the gap in the hedge between the gateposts. But those few yards made all the difference.
On the other side of the road there was a gap in the hedge and a path that led away from the school and also away from the O’Brien house. It dipped steeply at first down a rain-cut gully that threatened to undermine the road itself after one or two more seasons. Having travelled that way many times, she had grown to know it well and, after a few brisk and confident strides along the steep, narrow and stone-strewn path, she knew she was safe and slowed to the confident stroll which was her preferred way of carrying herself. This habitually slower speed generally allowed her to assess the reactions of those around her to the overt and magnetic sensuality of her body. It had been even before the onset of puberty that she had noticed how men’s eyes followed the movement of her hips, and now only a few years later she was no longer conscious of there being anything special about herself, but unconsciously she had learned to expect and therefore receive attention.
In the past many girls had been unlucky with their dash through the hedge and had been seen, but it had yet to happen to her. Possibly those others had suffered from nerves at the critical moment and had broken into a run. In this breathlessly quiet place at the head of a valley running north from the edge of Kitui town, there was surely no surer way of attracting attention than making a noise. The incessant wind that blew in noisy gusts across the higher lands to the north did not even rustle leaves here. There was nothing more likely to attract the attention of Sister Augustus, therefore, than an unexpected or unexplained noise. After years of patrolling the school compound after dark, she knew every sound which penetrated the night, knew the sing of every breeze through the eucalyptus trees and the habits of every red-eyed animal which might cross the beam of her torch before retreating to the cover of darkness.
People made very different kinds of sound, however. Human sounds were always heavier and more complicated than the others. Anything suspicious was therefore noticed by Sister immediately. In an instant she would focus the ranging beam of her torch on the source of any disturbance. More often than not, of course, even her extensive experience had been deceived by this place that she had inhabited but never fully known, but just occasionally her fears were confirmed by the recognition of a glanced body fleeing into the dark. This she found gratifying, especially on the following morning when she could confirm that she had tracked down some heinous misdemeanour, rendered infinitely more serious by her internalised fears of its imagined motives.
Josephine would never make such a mistake now. In the past she might have panicked, indeed she had panicked on many occasions and had come close to being detected by the bright shaft that tried to search her out. She had, however, always been lucky, and now she was more than that. She had grown experienced and practised in her art. She knew exactly what she could accomplish and precisely how she could do it. And even if she were to be unlucky enough one day to be caught in Sister’s beam, she would surely still be safe. She had never had to try it out, and perhaps could only ever do it once, but she could always say, “Sister, I was with Mr O’Brien and I saw one tall girl coming this way. I felt I had to follow.”
She would surely be criticized for not reporting the matter before acting, but the potential truth of her statement would not be questioned, for Josephine knew of the Sisters’ mistrust of one particular girl and of their desire to find any excuse to be rid of her. The ploy, however, had yet to be tried and, as she picked her way purposefully between the thorn bushes that lined the sides of the deepening gully, she hoped that the need to use it would never arise.
After a short difficult stretch near the road, the rough and narrow path slipped quickly into the deepest part of the gully. The trick, which she had learned only after several attempts at the route had provided her with some nasty scratches on her shins which had to be hidden from the sisters with knee socks for a week or more each time, was to walk along the sandy bottom of the gully, actually away from the small group of shops which was to be her eventual destination, until its sides began to grow shallow. There, close to a large rock that protruded from the loose dust, a cattle track crossed the riverbed on its way from the main road to the smallest of Mutune’s dams. From there, the walk to the shops was longer and all the way uphill, but the path was well worn and easy to walk at night, with neither potholes nor loose stones to cause problems.
It took her about ten minutes to make her way up the side of the narrow valley to the half dozen or so shops which comprised Mutune market. Here they were not real shops, but merely staging posts that sold nothing but soft drinks. One of the shops, however, was a bar and sold only beer. It therefore always had its regular clientele. In this almost private cluster of buildings, the many people who lived nearby and who relied upon the sale of their produce in nearby Kitui town market, would assemble during the day to await one of the many pick-up truck taxis which ran a shuttle service into the town. At night, when there were no waiting travellers, there were no soft drinks to sell and thus all the shops, except the bar, closed at sunset.
Josephine’s path described a neat circle in order to avoid the voices that filled the cone of light spreading into the road from the open doorway of the bar. Walking behind the row of closed concrete box shops, she avoided the piles of sand and cement, the partly dug foundations and the Diesel-engined mixer which encroached onto the track and made for the junction of the main road to the town and the side road which led down to the school, the very road her dart through the hedge had left behind. It was there that she saw, as expected, a large white car parked by the roadside.
After quickly glancing about her to confirm the privacy of the place, Josephine crossed the road to the car and, after a light tap on a side window had attracted the attention of its occupant, she opened the passenger door and got in. Without any discernible hesitation - but then there was no one watching who might discern such a thing - she closed the door quietly behind her and then slid down in the seat until she could rest her head against the door’s padded inside panel, beneath the level of the window.
“And how are you?” asked the man at her side.
“I am fine,” said Josephine, as expected.
After a growl from the engine, the car’s headlights lit and, within seconds, it had turned round and sped along the road past the dark silhouettes of the sleeping shops toward Kitui town. She did not try to sit up, even when, a few minutes later, the interior of the car was periodically flooded with the relative glare of Kitui town’s sparse street lighting.
“Where are we going tonight?”
“The same place as last time.”
“Where are we now?”
“Don’t get up!” He spoke to her harshly, but the words were aimed at his own fears. “I have just turned the corner at the cathedral.”
“It is quicker to turn by the prison.”
He did not reply immediately. “We have to go past the police station if we go that way.”
“But no one can see me if I crouch down here. Anyway, we are doing nothing wrong. All we are doing is riding in your car.”
“It is better to be discreet, even when you have nothing to hide. Besides that, I am well known here. If I go past the offices and the police station, someone may recognise the car. Someone may try to stop us so that he can greet me. It would be very suspicious if I were simply to drive on.”
His explanation did not satisfy Josephine for a moment, but she decided not to pursue the argument further. She knew from the beginning that she would always be a liability to John and that the only way she could be su
re of prolonging their arrangement, which was proving to be so important to her, was to accept everything he said, and to do everything he asked without question.
After slowing down to turn left at the brow of the hill, the car took an immediate right turn and then stopped. They were there. Leaving the engine running, John got out of the driver’s seat and walked into the broad beam of the headlights. Here Josephine risked a glance above the high dashboard immediately in front of her and she saw him remove a padlock and chain from a pair of iron gates. Then, after driving into the enclosed compound that Josephine had come to know so well, he drove the car under an open shelter where the air was thick with the smell of Diesel oil. She did not try to move until John gave the word, but she did not have to look to know what he was doing in the meantime. After switching off the car’s lights and engine, he left his seat without even a glance in her direction. She heard the gates close and the rattle of the chain as he replaced it. Then, after a few seconds of silence, another key turned and a door opened. She heard John call a name several times but, thankfully, there was no reply.
“It’s all right, you can come now.”
Without waiting for her, he set off to retrace his steps across the unlit compound. At last Josephine sat up in her seat and watched as he picked his way carefully across the open ground. Like a cat, his eyes tested every footfall for safety, examined every inch of ground for sources of grime. Solid objects such as the old cans and odd pieces of metal which littered the place were easily seen and avoided, of course, but one could not be too careful, for the mechanics who worked here during the day drained the oil sumps of trucks wherever the driver happened to park his vehicle. If John were to tread on a patch of such ground, it might not only delay his departure in the morning - how could he possibly leave with dirty shoes? - but also might even ruin his clothing. She followed him, step for step.
They reached the doorway together. Josephine let him go in first as she always did. “Remember that you should not switch on the lights,” he said softly.
Mission Page 39
