‘What’s wrong, Mat? I’ve eaten mine. It’s fine!’ He vaguely heard Lance but couldn’t help himself. He doubled over and was violently sick.
It was a while before he stopped shuddering. Duma came close to comfort him. Mathew avoided looking at Lance, waiting to hear his ridicule. Even worse, Lance might insist that Mathew still had to eat his share. Instead he was surprised.
‘Jeez, Mat, what happened?’ Lance actually sounded worried.
Mathew gestured ‘I don’t know’. Slowly, he made himself turn back towards the fire. To his relief and amazement, Lance had begun to throw on sand to put it out.
‘I heard your mother calling us. You didn’t hear her, throwing up like that!’ It sounded as if Lance was turning it into a joke. ‘Hurry! Give me a hand!’ He threw Mathew a digging stick to loosen some soil. Mathew recognized it as the stick he kept in his den. So Lance had gone inside. But, with his stomach still feeling raw, he said nothing as he began to dig while Lance threw on a few more handfuls of sand.
‘Mathew! Lance! Where are you?’
This time he heard Mother call. It sounded as if she had come into the garden to look for them. The last thing he wanted was for her to peer through the bougainvillea and see signs of a fire. There wasn’t time now to think how to cover it up completely. They just had to get Mother off their track. An idea flew into Mathew’s head.
‘Slip out when Mother turns her back,’ he instructed Lance. ‘Tell her I’m hiding but you’ll find and bring me. I’ll sort out the fire.’
For once, Lance didn’t argue. He did what Mathew said.
There were no longer any flames but the larger pieces of wood were still burning. Mathew kept on digging and throwing on more sand. The best thing would be to bring some water to douse it and be absolutely sure. However, with Mother in the garden and Father probably sitting on the veranda with his early evening drink, he couldn’t do it right away. Instead he doubled his efforts to get more sand from the hard dry earth. By the time he heard Lance whistling for him to come out, he was satisfied that he had done a good job. All that remained was a little smouldering from the largest piece of wood. That should soon die out. No red embers remained. He picked up his Red Ryder. Duma stretched and shook herself. Mathew was already feeling a little better.
‘Come, Duma. Shall we see what Josiah has for us?’
Mathew was woken in the night by Father shouting. Outside the horses were whinnying frantically. He rolled out of bed in panic and fumbled across the room to his door. The corridor light was on. The front door banged and he heard the bolt being pulled across. Mother came hurrying towards him in her nightgown, pistol in one hand, pointed to the floor. Her hair was down and her eyes frightened. Her words tumbled in a fearful rush.
‘Lock your windows! Don’t put on the light! I’ll have to wake Lance!’
But the door to the spare bedroom had already opened. Lance stood bemused in his pyjamas.
‘Where’s Father gone?’ Mathew yelled.
‘The stables! Lock up and hurry to Father’s study!’ Mother disappeared with Lance into the spare room.
Mathew’s mind ran riot as he stumbled back across his room. Dead guards, slashed security fences, intruders in the stables attacking the horses… and Father single-handedly trying to confront them. If the intruders got into the house, there was only Mother and her pistol. He hoped that she had the key to Father’s safe, so he could get his Red Ryder. He crouched below the window sill and thrust up a hand behind the curtains. He groped for the handle to pull the window shut. As he did so, his nose prickled. Something was burning. Looking up, he glimpsed the night sky. There was something wrong with its colour. Heart racing, he stood up and put his eye to the slit between the curtain and the window frame. A peculiar orange haze clouded the sky on his right… the direction of the stables.
Ignoring Mother’s instructions, he dashed down the empty corridor towards the lounge. The French windows faced the stables and the maize field. He threw open the door. Even before he reached the windows, he sensed the unusual light behind the curtains. The horses’ whinnying was louder than ever. He lifted a corner of the material. Scarlet flames soared above the stables. Clouds of smoke billowed upwards. Thank goodness, the wind was carrying them away from the house. Already the fire stretched as far as he could see across the maize field. Mathew’s eyes veered desperately across the garden that was bathed in an eerie light. There were shadows everywhere but no obvious sign of intruders. Where was Father? The question hammered through his brain until there was a burst of movement from the stables. Father’s stallion galloped out into the garden. Wild with terror, four other horses followed, including the grey and chestnut mares. The stallion suddenly careered away from the others, bolted past the French windows and disappeared around the front of the house. Was it hoping to get out of the gate?
Father now appeared at the entrance to the stables, silhouetted against flames. With his pistol raised, and with eyes sweeping left and right, Father also ran in the direction of the gates. Was he going to get help from the guards? Behind him, the bougainvillea bush burned brightly. The stables, the maize field and the strip of land between them, would be reduced to ashes by morning. It was like a scene from one of his war comics… or a nightmare. Mathew pinched his arm until it hurt. No, this was real enough. As real as the fact that he had forgotten to go back to his den and the dying fire with a jug of water. He watched, mesmerized, paralysed with fear.
‘I told you to come to the study!’ Mother startled him. She and Lance entered the lounge.
‘Father has saved the horses, Mother!’ His voice was no more than a whimper.
Lance slipped past Mathew to peep through the curtains.
‘Jeez!’ His face looked almost as white as Father’s stallion.
‘Come away from –’
A loud knocking interrupted Mother. Father’s voice from outside the front door sent them all scurrying to it. Mother pulled back the bolt.
Father stepped inside, coughing. He was blackened from soot and ash.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Mother gasped. ‘Did you see anyone?’
‘No, probably far away already! Burning our maize is one thing but setting light to my horses…’ Father smouldered with rage. ‘It’s despicable!’
Mathew shrank to the wall. But Lance stepped up to Father.
‘It’s Mau Mau, isn’t it, Mr Grayson?’
‘Who else could it be?’ Father replied.
‘You should call my dad.’
16
Caged
Mugo woke with Baba shaking him, telling him to get up and come. It was the middle of the night. Immediately he thought that Dreadlock must be waiting outside. With a silent prayer that he would be brave, and that this had nothing to do with bad luck from the eye of the dead go-away bird, he followed Baba through the door. A half-moon glittered high above Kirinyaga and inspired a quick second prayer that Gitau was safe. Mugo could no longer look up at the mountain without thinking of his brother deep in its forests. At least Gitau’s spirit would be with him when he took his oath for ithaka na wiyathi.
The compound was alive with shadows, but Mugo could see no one there. Did Baba have orders to take him to a secret meeting place? However just a few steps further on, as they turned their backs to Kirinyaga, he saw a strange orange glow in the night sky beyond the bwana’s farmhouse. Fire!
‘Can you hear them, Mugo? My horses… they are crying!’
Baba began running. Mugo had to match his long strides. His father always had a sixth sense with his animals. The wind was blowing the fire clouds away from them but even so, as they approached the security fence, Mugo felt wafts of burning air and now heard the faint cries. If there was still the old fence, they could have scrambled through and cut across the orchards straight to the stables. Instead they had to run all the way along the outside towards the gate. With every step the terrified whinnying grew louder. Was this the dead go-away bird’s bad luck?
At the cor
ner of the fence, near the front of the house, Baba’s hand gripped Mugo’s shoulder. Ahead of them, trees were outlined against a blaze of flames and smoke. The whole maize field was alight. Baba’s fingers pressed him to slow him down. The Turkana guards at the security gates might mistake them for intruders.
Mugo walked beside Baba, warm from running but strangely cold inside. The stables were set back, blocked from view by the house. The neighing of the horses remained frenzied, mixed in with the roar and crackling of fire. When they made out the cloaks of the guards, Baba stopped and called out.
‘It’s me, Kamau, the one who looks after the bwana’s horses.’ He stretched out his arms so they could see he wasn’t carrying a weapon.
‘Stay there! Put up your hands!’
Mugo raised his hands even faster than Baba. He recognized the voice of the Turkana guard with whom he had exchanged some words.
‘Who is that with you?’
‘It is my son, the toto who works in the bwana’s kitchen.’
‘What do you want, Mzee?’ The guard’s tone seemed to soften a little.
‘Somebody must free the bwana’s horses! Let me in. I will do it!’
‘Mzee, we can’t let you in. Bwana’s order.’
‘Then call the bwana! He is sleeping and his horses are dying!’
‘Bwana knows. He is there now.’
‘Go and tell him that I am here. I have come to help him!’
‘I can’t do it, Mzee. Bwana says we must always be two here. We mustn’t leave the gate.’
Baba wiped his face. Mugo could see that it was pointless arguing. The guards had been given their orders and were taking no chances. But just as Baba signalled to Mugo that they should go, the bwana’s stallion came galloping wildly from the garden towards the gate. Its white coat, wet with sweat, was blackened with ash. It snorted and shivered, eyes and nostrils flaring. It didn’t see the bwana’s truck, parked on the driveway, until it was too late. It reared up on to its back legs to avoid a crash. Baba moved up to the fence.
‘Jafari!’ he called gently. ‘Jafari! Jafari!’ Baba kept repeating the stallion’s name until it stood still, rooted to the ground. Baba continued murmuring and reassuring. The guards were also silent. Mugo marvelled at how the stallion seemed to understand his father. He was so absorbed in watching the two of them, that he didn’t see or hear the bwana approaching.
‘Kamau? Mugo?’ Suspicion swelled in the bwana’s voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
Mugo looked up to see a pistol pointing at them. Only a few hours ago, the inspector’s son had threatened to shoot him… and now the bwana!
‘The horses, they were crying, bwana,’ Baba said swiftly in defence. ‘We came to help them. But the guards said we cannot come inside.’
‘How did you know about the fire? It’s far from your place.’ The whites of the bwana’s eyes gleamed against his strangely blackened face, as distrustful as his words.
‘No, bwana!’ Baba protested. ‘You can see it in the sky, bwana.’
A wild neighing erupted from the garden.
‘Give me a chance, bwana, and I will make them all quiet.’
The bwana shook his head. ‘No, they’ll settle down soon by themselves.’
‘Bwana, we can help you stop the fire.’
‘No, it’s not necessary! It will burn itself out now.’ The bwana spoke roughly. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Go!’
A ball of anger lodged in Mugo’s throat and another in his stomach as he followed Baba away. Baba had been humiliated. Neither of them spoke on the way home. They found Mami awake, waiting anxiously. She had seen the orange haze in the sky. Baba simply told her that fire had eaten up the stables but the horses were safe and the bwana didn’t need their help. He said nothing about the bwana having raised his gun towards them.
It took Mugo a long time to fall asleep with a battle raging in his head. His brother would be happy to hear about the bwana losing all his maize! If the horses had been burnt alive, Gitau might even say that it was a good way to hurt the bwana because he looked after his animals better than his labourers. He could imagine Gitau saying, ‘Wazungu don’t care when we suffer. We are insects to them. Our father is a fool. The bwana puts a gun in his face and Baba still wants to help him!’ Yet the horses’ cries had been pitiful. Mugo understood why Baba had wanted to help them. Why should any of Ngai’s creatures have to suffer like that?
The police arrived before sunrise. Mugo had pulled on his white tunic and opened the door when he spotted the tall red hats coming through the trees. He yelled to Baba but his father didn’t even bother to look up from washing his face. It seemed that he was already expecting them. There were six black policemen, carrying batons and two with rifles. They wanted Baba and Mugo. However, when they said they wanted Mami as well, Baba protested that there were young children at home. A red hat with a rifle said bluntly that those were their orders. The mzungu inspector was waiting at the bwana’s house and they had to come without delay. If Mami couldn’t leave the children, she must bring them with her. Mugo’s young brother chewed on his thumb and his little sister began to howl. Mugo picked her up and she clung to him. It comforted him to hold her, if only for a few seconds. He had to hand her to Mami. He and Baba were being hurried in advance, a red hat either side, and two behind them with the guns. There was not even time to say goodbye.
Kirinyaga was shrouded in mist. Ahead of them, shouts beyond the mugumo trees and a glimpse of red between the banana bushes in Mzee Josiah’s compound told Mugo that they were not the only ones. If Mzee Josiah and Mama Mercy were being rounded up, it meant that everyone was going to be questioned about the fire. But something in Baba’s face, and the memory of the bwana pointing his pistol at them, told him that he and Baba were getting special attention.
They were marched to the front of the house past the fence where a few hours ago Baba had calmed Jafari. Two large trucks with enormous wire cages at the back were parked outside the security fence. The smell of last night’s burning sickened him. The maize field was now blackened stubble. Where yesterday there had been stables, today there was ash and rubble.
The Turkana guards opened the gates as he and Baba were marched inside to the driveway. Mugo didn’t look at them. His eyes were on a police jeep with a small wire cage. The inspector stood beside it with the bwana. There was no trace of last night’s wildness in the bwana. He must have washed from head to foot. He was aware of Mathew and the inspector’s son with the memsahib standing on the veranda. All these wazungu were waiting for them.
‘So, these are the two from last night.’ The inspector’s finger swung from Baba to Mugo.
‘Yes. Kamau has been my stable boy and syce for years.’ The bwana spoke without looking at Baba. ‘He was also with us the night we were caught in the gully, remember?’
‘And this is the same boy you sent to fetch me that morning?’
‘Yes, Kamau’s son Mugo. The younger one.’
The younger one.Mugo felt a new shock. Did they know something about Gitau?
‘We’ll rule nothing out. We’ll get to the truth, don’t worry.’ The inspector signalled to the red hats to put Baba and Mugo into the jeep.
The bwana finally looked at Baba and Mugo.
‘I hope the inspector finds that you two had nothing to do with this.’ He turned away as the red hats pushed them roughly up into the cage.
Part of Mugo wanted to burst out shouting at the bwana to make him understand that Baba, of all people, would never have set the stables on fire. But of course that was pointless. Baba’s silence began to fill him with a terrible fear.
The inspector climbed into the jeep and reversed it towards the veranda. Through the bars of the cage, Mugo saw the inspector’s son smile and nudge Mathew. Mugo remembered his words after killing the go-away bird. ‘Don’t you ever dare tell me what to do, boy!’ But Mathew didn’t raise his head towards Mugo until the jeep revved up. For a brief moment, their eyes met. Then the jeep
swung forward, making him clutch the edge of the metal seat. The vehicle swept through the security gates, and bounced on to the dirt track that led past the burnt maize field to the main road. Red hats were now herding people on to the trucks with wire cages while two wazungu officers stood watching. Mugo glimpsed Mami with his brother and sister in the crowd. He opened his mouth but no sound emerged. He felt empty.
17
‘I’ll cut you dead forever’
Mathew felt Lance whispering into his ear but heard nothing. His head spun with jumbled pictures. It was like a nightmare in which everything happened too fast. Mugo and Kamau disappearing in a caged jeep across the burnt land. Mugo’s eyes piercing him. Police yelling ‘Haraka! Haraka! Hurry!’, forcing people whose faces Mathew knew on to trucks, threatening them with batons and rifle butts. Children squealing with fright. Accusing stares as he, bwana kidogo, stood on the veranda. He should have walked away but he felt compelled to watch. Then his eyes fell on Mercy and Josiah. Their eyes brimmed with reproach. ‘Oh, bwana kidogo, how can you do this to us?’
It was suddenly too much. He felt drained, too tired to stand. He clutched the railing.
‘Come inside, Mathew. There’s no need for you to see all this.’ Mother sounded far away, but he felt her arm firmly around his shoulder. ‘Lance, will you help me?’
‘Sure, Mrs Grayson. It must be quite a shock for Mat.’
Wedged between Mother and Lance, Mathew let himself be guided to his bedroom.
‘You’ll feel much better after a nap,’ Mother said as he rolled over on to his bed. ‘Why don’t you have one too, Lance? Neither of you had enough sleep last night.’
‘I’m fine thanks, Mrs Grayson. I’ll watch the rest of the action, so I can tell Mat later.’ Lance was as confident as ever. Even before they had left the room, Mathew had closed his eyes. For the time being, he just wanted to block everything out. It was all a mistake, spiralling out of control. But the thought of telling Father the truth petrified him. Perhaps when he woke up…
Burn My Heart Page 10
