Mackenzie Ford

by The Clouds Beneath the Sun (v5)

  “After the … after she died, I stayed at home for a couple of weeks to be with my father, but he was never there. He was either taking choir practice, or practicing the organ, or praying in the cathedral, or at my mother’s grave. When he did come home, he went straight to his room—their room—and had his dinner sent up.”

  Natalie turned on her side. Eleanor was just a shape in the gloom.

  “I was growing angry with him. He was grief-stricken—we both were—but he was behaving unnaturally. I was about to tackle him when he suddenly said he wanted me to leave. He held in front of me a sheaf of papers.” She paused. “They were life insurance policies. He said that, a few days before she died, my mother had confided something like ‘If anything should happen to me, don’t forget the polices in the drawer’ … she meant the drawer where their marriage certificate was kept, where my birth certificate was kept, and my degree.” Natalie wiped her lips with her tongue. “My father thought that not only did my mother commit suicide—a sin for a Catholic—but she did so in a way that made it look like an accident, so the policies would pay out. That’s what she’d meant when she had reminded him where the policies were kept.”

  Natalie lay back down and stared up again at the sloping tent ceiling.

  “I haven’t spoken to my father since that day. Then Dominic, my cellist lover, ditched me. Your invitation to Kihara saved my sanity. You don’t need to worry about me, Eleanor. I’m not about to do anything rash or rushed.” Was that true? she asked herself. Her anger had been known to explode into recklessness, if only in small ways. She had resigned from the drama society in Cambridge over a prop that had got lost, and she had regretted that. Once, shopping in London, she had encountered a difficult assistant and sworn at him in French, assuming he wouldn’t understand. But he had.

  “I’ve told you far more than I ever intended, Eleanor, so I hope you won’t broadcast this generally. I don’t want to be thought of as the walking wounded. I’m basically fine.”

  Neither spoke for a while. Natalie could again hear the wind playing with the rigging of the tent.

  “I can understand that being estranged from your father must be hurtful,” said Eleanor eventually, in almost a whisper. “Especially as you have lost your mother and the man you were seeing. But I agree with you … Kihara may help with the scars.” She turned, puffed up her pillow, and lay back again. “If it is any comfort, I have always found the companionship and sociability of family life to be in large measure an illusion. Children are fine when they are young—they’re like toys. It is intellectually interesting to watch them grow, see their personalities develop. Take Jack and Christopher, for instance. They have the same parents, and grew up together, yet they could not be more different. Jack is outgoing, self-confident, what-you-see-is-what-you-get. Christopher is diffident, inward, and—I hate to say this—just a little jealous of Jack, or Jack’s self-confidence. The girls are different again.”

  She paused.

  “Where does Christopher’s jealousy come from and why isn’t he jealous of his sisters?” She pulled the blankets higher up the bed. “Have you never noticed how a person’s family life is a poor guide to how he or she performs in the rest of life?” She coughed. “T. S. Eliot, that American poet, said one aim in life is to escape our families, our childhood, not be conditioned by them, and I agree. Real independence is the name of the game, and intellectual work the real high point of life for people with a scientific curiosity like us. Research—discovery—is the highest calling, the enduring passion. In a world without God, without salvation, the only fulfillment is to be had from the respect of others.”

  Natalie wasn’t sure how to respond. Eleanor was not at all like Natalie’s own mother but she was giving her something to aim for amid her distress.

  She heard a buffalo baying far off. Maybe he was alone, too, separated from his herd. “This murder must be heartbreaking for you.”

  “Yes. But what’s happened has happened. I appreciate it’s a personal tragedy for Sutton, and his parents, and to some extent for Russell, but the main thing now is to move on. Richard’s death doesn’t change the excitement or the passion. We must keep a sense of proportion. A death is a death, a terrible thing. But when I’m ready I’m going to move things forward. The needs of the gorge must come first.”

  “Oh? What are you going to do?” To her surprise, Natalie was feeling sleepy. But then it had been a wearing day.

  “I can’t say yet. There are ways to do these things. Just remember our chat, my dear. I’ve enjoyed it. You’ll find me hard at times … well, not hard, I hope, but strong-minded, tough. And I’m tough on myself too. All I ask is that you remember what’s underneath.” She pulled up the covers and turned her back on Natalie. “Now, I bid you good night.”

  “Good night.” Natalie closed her eyes. She could smell the kerosene from the hurricane lamp outside. The buffalo moaned again in the distance.

  • • •

  Natalie poured her second cup of coffee from the enamel breakfast jug and helped herself to another slice of toast. In her first few days on the dig, she had lost her appetite. The coffee seemed too strong, Mutevu’s bread too doughy, she couldn’t get used to powdered milk. But she had adjusted now and looked forward to breakfast as soon as she awoke. The more so today as breakfast had been skipped in yesterday’s high drama.

  It was just before seven, so the sun was not too hot. Natalie had been up nearly an hour but even so Eleanor had beaten her to it. In fact, it had been Eleanor’s voice on the radio-telephone that had wakened Natalie. Hot water had been provided in the wash basin at the side of the tent, as usual, so Natalie had at least cleaned her face and neck. Did that mean Mgina was back? Natalie wouldn’t feel really fresh until she’d showered, but a wash was better than nothing.

  Kees, Christopher, and Arnold were already at breakfast.

  Pryce was a finicky eater who invariably cut what he was eating into neat little squares. “Who is that rather pretty girl who helps you in the darkroom, Christopher?”

  “Why? Are you thinking of getting married again?” Christopher grinned. “And don’t let her hear you calling her a girl,” he added. “She’s twenty-one, and a mother twice over. She’s a woman.”

  “Is she a Maasai?” growled Pryce. “Is she one of her husband’s many wives?”

  “You should have been a Maasai,” said Kees. “Then you wouldn’t have to keep getting divorced.”

  “It’s a civilized civilization, in some ways, I agree.” Pryce spooned cereal into his mouth. “But not all Maasai habits are equally agreeable, eh?”

  No one said anything for a moment.

  Natalie buttered her toast.

  “No,” Christopher said at length, almost in a whisper. “And there’s something you don’t know.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Some of you may have been there a few days ago when my mother asked Daniel to send the Maasai a bolt of cloth, as a softener because we have fenced off that korongo.” He paused. “It was left outside the gate to the camp during the night.”

  “They returned it!” Pryce was astonished. He put his fingers to his lips. “Oh, my.”

  Christopher nodded.

  Natalie put down her cup. “And that means what, exactly?” But the way her heart was rocking about in her chest told her that she already had some idea.

  “Well, it’s hardly good news, is it?” Christopher cupped his hands around his coffee mug. “They’re not happy—but then we knew that.”

  “What else do you read into their behavior?” Kees put down his knife.

  “We-e-ll,” said Christopher, adopting a deliberate tone. “I’d say it’s a measured response, a warning.” He looked at Natalie. “When we are here, digging, we pay the Maasai to keep away … we pay in cows—it’s their main form of wealth.”

  “Cows? How many cows?” This was all news to Natalie.

  “Oh, half a dozen. They’re not very expensive for us, but they mean a lot to th
e Maasai.” He swallowed some coffee. “Anyway, the gift of cattle is always popular—and they get another six at the end of the digging season. So-o-o … they don’t want to drive us away.” He helped himself to an apple. “So-o-o … the fact that they returned the bolt of cloth means two things.”

  No one else said anything. All eyes were on him. He was his mother’s son.

  “It means we are not out of the wood yet. That the Maasai are still grieving about the invasion of their burial ground. And it means they reserve the right to take back the korongo, destroy our sites, and stop what we are doing here—”

  “No—!” said Kees and Natalie at the same time.

  “Unless … unless, well, you can probably work it out for yourselves.” Christopher looked down, avoiding eye contact.

  Natalie turned over what Christopher had said in her mind. No, she couldn’t work out what he was getting at.

  Naiva, the young woman who had met them on their return from the airstrip the day before, who had for the time being taken Mutevu Ndekei’s place, was busy putting out some fried eggs on the side table. She refreshed the coffee jug and brought more butter.

  Suddenly, before Natalie could grill Christopher on what he meant, Russell North strode into the tent. He nodded to Natalie as he swung one leg over the bench where she sat and whispered, grinning, “How did it go? Get any sleep?” He helped himself to coffee and reached for a banana.

  “It was quite a night,” replied Natalie, quietly. “I’ll tell you the details later. You?”

  “Not good.” He bit his lip. “I suppose the shock of what happened only kicked in when the exertions of the day were over. Anyways, I couldn’t stop thinking of Richard, Richard in life, Richard in death.” He shook his head. “Did you hear that buffalo moaning? Like he or she was in labor or mourning.” He gulped at some coffee. “No sound of any assassins but I didn’t drop off till about four. Did—?”

  Natalie saw Eleanor leave her tent and head their way. She put her hand on Russell’s arm to stop him saying anything he might regret.

  Christopher didn’t hear or see any of this, or if he did he didn’t show any signs of doing so, seemingly absorbed in his thoughts.

  “Good morning,” said Eleanor briskly, to the refectory area in general, smiling a tight smile and sitting in her usual place. She took some coffee and said, “I was just on the phone with the Commissioner of Police in Nairobi.”

  The others looked at her. Christopher was fiddling with a camera.

  “Mutevu has been captured and arrested, I am relieved to say. He was found in Langata and charged with murder.” She looked towards Natalie. “There’s no need for us to share tonight, my dear.”

  Her mouth in her coffee mug, Natalie nodded.

  “Do you want the gun back?” said Russell.

  “Yes, I do. But I have some bad news for you, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh? What? The night passed off without incident. You say Mutevu’s been arrested. I would have thought that’s good news.” He was unpeeling his banana.

  “It is, it is—so far as it goes.” Eleanor set down her coffee cup and laid the palms of both hands flat on the table. “But you have heard about the bolt of cloth that has been returned?”

  Natalie nodded but Russell frowned and said, “What bolt of cloth? What’s going on?”

  Christopher seemed stung into life and repeated what he had already told everyone else.

  “It’s a warning,” said Eleanor. “Quite civilized, I’m bound to say.” She paused. “It tells us someone else will come for you, Russell.”

  “Then we’d better send to Nairobi for more guns, or some security—”

  “No!”

  It was said vehemently, harshly, coldly. Her tone pinned everyone to their seat.

  “No.” She said it again, more calmly. “You can’t run a dig like that, like it’s … under siege, and I won’t.” Eleanor sat upright. Her fingers gripped a fork, her knuckles were white. “I’m sorry, Russell, but you’re going to have to leave.”

  Everyone around the table sat very still.

  Naiva, standing nearby, held her breath.

  Russell said very quietly, “What did you say?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this, hard. You must leave.”

  “No. I refuse.” Russell still remained calm, almost immobile. But his face had reddened.

  To Natalie, it was much more impressive—much more menacing—than if he had shouted and lost his temper. He had shaved this morning and, despite his lack of sleep, looked much less ravaged than last night.

  “You can’t refuse,” replied Eleanor. “My authority on this dig is absolute.”

  “Eleanor, I repeat: I refuse to go.” He reached for another banana. “I was with Daniel and Richard when we discovered the tibia and—”

  “It’s for your own protection. We can’t have—”

  “Bullshit!” Russell spat out the word but he still kept calm, unpeeling the banana.

  It was incongruous, Natalie thought, those big fingers unpeeling a small banana—carefully, gently, as if he were undressing a baby.

  “Russell! Are you crazy?” Eleanor leaned towards him. She hadn’t touched her coffee. “The Maasai are a clever people and proud, very proud. I know what I’m talking about. And while we’re at it, fish out my letter of invitation to you to join this dig. There was an attachment. Maybe you didn’t read it—”

  “I read it!”

  “Then you know that you agreed to accept my authority.”

  “Yes, but no one ever imagined something like this—”

  “For once I agree with you. But whose fault is that?” She looked from Russell to Natalie.

  Natalie returned her look. She didn’t like what was happening but she still marveled at Eleanor’s inner strength. The intimacy of last night had vanished completely.

  “I was part of the team that found the knee joint.” Russell looked around the table, for support. “It’s my project now, now that Richard’s dead. You can’t just throw me—”

  “Yes, I can. I don’t pretend I like doing it, and I fully acknowledge your scientific right to take the lead in regard to the knee joint. But science is only science. I can’t risk another death.”

  “There won’t be another—”

  “Russell!” Eleanor threw out her chin again, so that the skin on her throat was stretched tight. “The police commissioner in Nairobi is a friend of mine. I already spoke to him this morning, after Mutevu was arrested. He’s as worried about your safety as I am. When I told him about the bolt of cloth being returned, he was even more alarmed. He agrees that you must leave, that it is the very least we can do.” She nodded to Naiva to bring her an egg. “Now, I am going to send for a plane for you, to pick you up tomorrow morning. That gives you today to wind up here. Either you go freely, of your own accord, or I will ask for two policemen to come in the plane. The commissioner has already told me he’s willing to send them. You will be flown to Nairobi under police escort and a seat found for you on a flight to London.”

  Russell shook his head as he chewed his fruit. His face was still very flushed. “You’d do all that?”

  “I would. I will. This is not a joke, Russell. This is a crisis. I may be saving your life.” She signaled to Naiva to bring her some bread. The worst of the ordeal was over.

  “And the dig?”

  “The dig means everything to me, Russell, as you know. But saving your life comes first. I should have seen the risk straight away. But even if I had, I doubt I could have persuaded Richard and you to leave.” She smiled grimly. “Now … now that in one sense it’s too late, I insist. Half the milk’s been spilt, but I can still save some. The dig may survive one killing; it certainly couldn’t survive two.”

  There was a silence around the table.

  Naiva took the opportunity to leave.

  Russell looked at Natalie. For the briefest of moments his expression softened into a smile.

  Natalie’s heart was back on its r
oller coaster. Was Russell going to use her as another reason for wanting to stay? Was he going to make more of what had happened between them, as ammunition?

  Then his smile vanished and his expression hardened again. “If you do this,” he said, glaring at Eleanor and stabbing at the table with a knife, “I reserve the right to say what I think, to write what I feel, wherever and whenever I want.”

  “That too is against the conditions of your invitation here. But I don’t suppose I’m going to chase you through the courts if you disobey. Just be careful, Russell. Attitudes are changing in Africa, all over the world. You may not have everybody’s sympathy.”

  With the blade of the knife, he rubbed the crease on his cheek. “Attitudes are changing, Eleanor, yes. You can’t run digs in such a high-handed way anymore.”

  “I’m sixty-five, Russell. I’ve got another five years in me. I don’t intend to change.”

  They sat staring at each other for a moment. Naiva came back in with some warm fresh bread.

  Russell looked at Natalie again. Did he want her to speak up on his behalf? She couldn’t. That assumed too much. She said nothing.

  Then Eleanor asked, “Well, do I send for the police? Or will you go in a civilized manner?”

  All color had drained from Russell’s face. His breathing was heavy. “I’ll go, Eleanor. There’s no need for the boys in blue. But I’m not going quietly. The world is going to hear about this. Our own little world, and the wider world too.”

  Eleanor got up. She nodded to Russell. “Thank you. I’ll go and phone for a plane.”

  • • •

  Mgina laid some laundry on the bed—shirts, handkerchiefs, cotton socks. Natalie stopped reading and looked up.

  “There you are, Mgina. I’ve missed you.”

  The woman stepped back out of the tent, into the glow of the hurricane lamp. She moved deftly, silently, like many local Africans.

  Mgina smiled. “I had to stay at home, Miss Natalie. My mother … Odnate was the youngest.”

  Natalie nodded. “Is your mother a strong person, Mgina? How many of you are there?”