If the chief was perplexed by the ba.n.a.lity of the message he didn't show it, and asked Sam to thank the Governor for his good wishes.

As Sam was returning to his cart, a group of young men stood in his path. The one who stood at their head was tall and broad of chest. At first Sam thought he and the others were warriors - they were about that age - but then he noticed they wore none of the traditional insignia of the warrior cla.s.s.

The young man said his name was Jelani Karura. He was quite fair-skinned, and Sam thought he might have been of mixed blood.

Jelani told Sam he and his friends needed help.

'We are not permitted to speak at village meetings,' he said, 'because we are uncirc.u.mcised. But as you can plainly see, we are of an age when we should already be warriors. Instead we are treated as children.'

'Why is this so?' Sam asked. 'Isn't it a matter for the chief and elders to set the date for your ceremony?'

'It is,' he said. 'But the AIM have forbidden it.'

The African Inland Mission had been in Kenya for more than fifty years with the stated objective to bring the Glory of G.o.d to the peoples of Africa. They'd done particularly well in Kikuyuland. Three-quarters of the Kikuyu people had been saved from paganism. They were called kirores - reformed Kikuyu. They believed in the word of Christ as taught by the African Inland Mission.

The remainder followed the customs and traditions of their ancestors, which they considered to be moral and proper. This was completely at odds with the missionaries' view, for they refused to forgo their belief in Mogai, the creator, and to otherwise change their ways to those of the Europeans. This group, about a quarter of the village, were called the aregi. They were a tribe within the tribe.

'Those with me,' Jelani said, indicating his group of friends, 'are aregi. And we want to be initiated.'

Sam looked around the group. Here at last was an issue where he may be able to help.

'I'll speak to the chief,' he said, but he knew that convincing the old man was only part of the problem. The real issue was overcoming the influence of the African Inland Mission - a powerful group with strong connections to the colony's administration.

Sam climbed into the cart and trotted the horse out of the village. The track to the Embu road was deeply rutted and signs of the drought were everywhere. He could see the desolation in the food gardens and, although he was hopeful of getting some a.s.sistance from the DC, he left the village feeling inadequate and frustrated. He had some of the t.i.tles of office, but none of the power.

If the DC was a polite person, he would listen and nod and say he would do what he could. If he were not, Sam would be shown the door soon after entering his office. Most of the old-timers had no sympathy for the recent trend towards localisation.

After riding for three hours, Sam made a decision. He didn't want to arrive at the DC's office appearing dusty and hot. Instead he looked for somewhere to stay in Kutus, just sixteen miles short of Embu, and found a small hotel - the Settler's Retreat. It carried a sign endorsing it as a government rest house, which meant he merely had to show his Legco credentials and sign an accommodation warrant to be given a room.

He entered the hotel brushing the dust from his coat sleeves.

The white woman who was standing behind the desk looked up. 'No Africans,' she said.

Sam smiled in spite of his annoyance. It was a common reaction.

'I'm a member of the Legislative Council,' he said, producing his papers with the Governor's signature and seal.

She examined his letter at some length. 'So you are,' she said, giving him an appraising look. 'I imagine you'll be wanting a room, then.'

'Thank you. With a bath if possible.'

'This is the Settler's Retreat,' she said with a wry smile, 'not the Norfolk. But you're in room number six.' She handed him the key. 'There's a bathroom down the hall and a wash basin in your room.'

He thanked her and carried his bag to his room.

After bathing, he took a fresh white shirt from his bag, and retied his tie. He was tempted to remain in shirt sleeves, but decorum, and the slightly crumpled appearance of his shirt, swayed him. He donned his double-breasted jacket, and headed towards the dining room.

The manageress was standing behind the small bar in the corner of the dining room.

'Would you care for a pre-dinner drink?' she asked.

Sam raised his eyebrows. Africans were forbidden to buy alcohol, although there wasn't an Indian dukawallah that didn't flaunt the law, and illegal distilleries existed in almost every village.

'I recognise you,' she said. 'Remembered your name too when I saw it on your papers.'

She was smiling at him, amused by his baffled expression.

'I'm Georgina. Dana's friend.'

She had appeared vaguely familiar when they'd met earlier, but he'd often had trouble remembering white peoples' faces - they all looked the same.

'Oh, of course. Georgina.' He extended his hand this time. 'Nice to see you again.'

She nodded, still smiling.

'Gin and tonic?'

'Thank you.'

She poured him his gin, and herself a double. They spent a few minutes trying to recall when and where they'd met.

'I know,' she said at last. 'It was at the races. You were with Dana.'

He could recall her now. She was seldom with her husband, and usually had a drink in her hand. The years had not been kind to her. He remembered her as a pert and attractive young woman. She was now carrying at least an extra forty pounds. Under heavy make-up, her furrowed face showed the ravages of the years, and her eyes were already bleary with drink.

They chatted about Dana's horses and the day Dancer won the Nairobi St Leger. He couldn't ask the questions that had been on his mind throughout their conversation, but Georgina volunteered the answers and the information stunned him.

'I haven't seen nor heard anything about her for so long. Of course, I heard she'd divorced Edward and remarried a few years after she left us.'

Remarried. Dana had given him the impression she would never leave Edward, not for anything or anyone.

She took a mouthful of drink and studied him over the rim of her gla.s.s.

'But you probably knew all about that,' she said.

Sam knew she was testing his reaction and tried to keep a neutral expression. 'Can't say that I did,' he said, and waited for her to continue.

'Yes. She kept it quiet, but her sister, Averil, went back a few years ago, and we got all the news.'

Georgina continued to talk, but Sam paid little attention. In the dozen or so years since Dana left him, he'd had plenty of women. He stayed with none of them for more than a week. No one could be compared to Dana, and none commanded the powerful emotions she was able to raise in him.

Something in Georgina's rambling monologue grabbed his attention.

'What was that?'

'I said, Averil had never seen her sister's baby.'

'Dana had a baby?'

'Yes. Must have been ... oh, 1931 or early 1932. Shortly after she left Nairobi.'

He remembered the pa.s.sion of their last meeting in his flat at m.u.t.h.aiga.

Again, Georgina was studying him, and Sam held his breath.

'A gorgeous little girl,' she said. 'Spitting image. Fair hair. Green eyes.'

Sam had an early breakfast in the dining room. He was served by a middle-aged Embu woman who gave his white shirt and tie sideways glances, but said little more than was necessary. When he pa.s.sed the desk to return his key, Georgina was there, looking owl-eyed in the morning light.

'You're off then,' she said cheerily.

'Thank you for your hospitality.'

'My pleasure. Any time.'

He nodded. A thought crossed his mind to enquire about Averil, and maybe obtain her address, but he let it go. No use disturbing old memories unnecessarily.

'Goodbye,' he said, and headed for the door.

'Oh, Sam,' she said from behind him at the desk.

Sam turned.

She eyed him up and down.

'I mean it. Come back any time.'

'Thanks, Georgina. I will.'

There was a warm breeze stirring the dust on the ride to Embu. By the time he tied the horse to the pole outside the District Commissioner's office, he was hot, thirsty, and dusty. He pushed through the door marked His Majesty's Government. Mr William Hudson, District Commissioner, Embu District.

The DC's secretary appeared surprised when Sam introduced himself as a member of the Legislative Council, but went into the inner office, returning moments later to say that the DC was busy and that Sam should wait.

After an hour, during which time five people were shown in to the see the District Commissioner ahead of him, Sam was becoming increasingly annoyed. From experience he knew he must be patient, reminding himself he was there to represent the people of Kobogi: it would do no good to allow his personal feelings to intervene.

When another half-hour had pa.s.sed, the DC came out and appeared surprised to find Sam in his outer office.

'Good morning, Mr Hudson,' Sam said, rising to his feet as he spoke.

'Oh, you're ... you're ...?'

'w.a.n.gira. Sam w.a.n.gira.'

'Yes, look, Mr w.a.n.gira, I'm a bit busy right now. Would you mind making an appointment with Collins here, and I'll speak to you some other time.'

Sam's jaw tightened. 'Actually, I've been waiting for the best part of two hours, sir. And I'm returning to Nairobi this afternoon.'

Hudson frowned.

'It shouldn't take too much of your time,' Sam added.

'Very well,' the DC said, doing nothing to conceal his annoyance. Turning to his secretary, he said, 'Ring the club will you, Collins? Tell them I'll be a few minutes late for lunch.' He turned on his heel and re-entered his office.

Sam followed. Hudson sat behind his desk, which was festooned with papers.

'Now, what can I do for you, Mr w.a.n.gira?'

'I was out at Kobogi yesterday. That area's been very badly hit by the drought. There's no food in the gardens, and it could be weeks before the rains come. They're surviving on roots and berries.'

'I know all that. Their leaders are in here every other month. But what do you want me to do about it?'

'Many of the settlers on the eastern slopes got the first of the rains and have been able to reap an early harvest. A lot of their maize is sitting in the government granary down near the Siakago road. I saw it on my way in this morning. Why can't you send a load out to Kobogi? The village can repay you when they harvest their crop.'

'Send them a load on credit? What do you think I'm running here, a b.l.o.o.d.y produce co-op?'

'It's just a book entry, for G.o.d's sake, Hudson. You could even charge them interest if you're that way inclined, but if you don't do something, some of the old people out there aren't going to see another harvest. If it's a matter of money, I'll pay for it myself.'

Hudson's face coloured. 'Listen to me, w.a.n.gira,' he said through clenched teeth. 'Just because you can make a knot in a necktie doesn't qualify you to sit here in judgement. I've been in the service of His Majesty's government for thirty years, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I'll take cheek from a jumped-up n.i.g.g.e.r. If you want to spend some of your money you don't have to waste my time. Take off your fancy Savile Row suit coat, get your black a.r.s.e down to the store, and load the f.u.c.king maize yourself.'

CHAPTER 33.

All of Jelani's family were traditional Kikuyus - the aregi. When the African Inland Mission and their converts - the kirore - attempted to interfere with, and in some cases ban, traditional Kikuyu customs, it created a great schism in the village, leading to trenchant animosity between the two sides. But this didn't keep Beth Wambui - a kirore - and Jelani Karura - an aregi - from falling in love.

The teachers from the African Inland Mission would have disapproved of the relationship had they known, but Jelani and Beth kept it a secret. Beth's family knew, and thoroughly disapproved of the match.

To call their love a relationship was probably overstating the matter. They were unable to spend much time together and, to Jelani's dismay, Beth was determined to stay a virgin.

'I've been thinking about it,' she said. She paused and her tongue lightly touched her top lip. It was a habit she had whenever dealing with a difficult thought. 'And I don't believe we should do anything. That is, anything more than we've already been doing.'

'But why?' he pleaded.

'It's the right thing to do,' she said. 'We must keep ourselves pure until we can be properly married in the Christian church.'

Jelani had previously experimented with s.e.x, so his purity was already compromised, but he didn't have it in his heart to tell Beth. He rationalised his omission because at that time he had followed traditional beliefs regarding s.e.x and felt no shame or obligation to adhere to the Christians' rules about love games among the young. At the time, such games were considered by his family and the community to be normal behaviour provided there was no risk of pregnancy. And every aregi girl knew where to stop to avoid that situation.

Jelani had no doubt that he was in love. Every time he saw Beth he felt his heart jump and then beat like the wings of a sunbird. When he touched her, even those careful touches that Beth permitted, Jelani's blood raced and he wanted her more than anything he'd wanted in his life. If it was necessary to become a Christian to have his Beth, Jelani decided he would do so. The challenge of telling his parents and, even more difficult, his grandfather, could wait for another day. The details would be arranged. Everything that could be done would be done when the time came. And for Jelani, whether for love or for l.u.s.t, the time couldn't come soon enough.

Jelani sometimes wished he wasn't an aregi. It placed him at odds with Beth's family. It also placed him among the minority of Kikuyu. All his life he'd felt out of place. Being aregi didn't help.

As a child he'd been taunted about his light skin. The older boys called him dukawallah, saying his skin was more the colour of the Indian man who owned the store on the Nairobi road than of a real Kikuyu.

They also ridiculed him because of his eyes, which were brown with flecks of green. His mother called them lion's eyes, but the older boys said they were like those of the wildebeest - the buffoon of the gra.s.slands.