Boss Takes All (31 page)

At the turn-off there was plenty of evidence to show where the milk truck had hit his car less than twenty-four hours earlier - skid marks, bits of metal and plastic, the rearranged branches of a couple of trees. But he discovered nothing to help him with the mystery of the disappearance of his boys. In a lull in the traffic he clapped his hands and called out.

‘Any of you people here yesterday when the accident happened?! I'll pay for information! Come on! Come on! We're not the cops! Come on, you faceless country boys!' He waited, he glared, all in vain. ‘Obi, get me out of this jinxed town.'

There was one more call to make before he returned to Londiani. He stormed up the steps of the town council offices and threw his weight around the central office.

‘So sorry, sir, we are just office staff. We cannot …'

‘The name's Rubai, Abel Rubai.'

‘We know, sir.'

‘A very angry Abel Rubai. One of you write this down and pass it on to the first of your bosses who shows his face in this place: “Take a good look at what is going on in a field on the edge of your town here. This is an illegal build, as you should know. Let me know when the land has been restored to its proper state. That had better be sooner rather than later!”'

* * *

Sally saw that the children were unhappy to be going home early.

‘But, Papa, we haven't been to the lake to see the hippos. Can we stay the night? We could camp out on that big field.'

‘Hasn't Mama told you that the hippos come out of the water in the night? They sniff around all over the place. They would come and check out something new, like a tent they had never seen before.'

Sally was relieved. It was her first long outing since Julius had been born. She had been up early and the journey had been tiring. She made a mental note not to try another family outing until Julius was walking and talking.

Obi was a fine driver and gave them a smooth ride. The children were more subdued than on the journey up and Sally was happy to come to the last crossroads before home. She glanced to her left.

‘Abel, they say that the Daniels family have a beautiful garden and it is so close. Do you think they might invite us over? You know how Europeans love to have company when they, how do they say, “take tea”.'

‘Perhaps, but could we leave it for a time, until Julius is going to secondary school? I don't think I could find much to interest me in that place.'

ounting Sonya, there were five doctors in the Daniels family. All of them went out to meet the old Volvo Estate that arrived late into the evening of the day of the accident at the junction of the A104 and the lower turn-off into Naivaisha town. The two unconscious men were unloaded and transferred to the Daniels' private surgery. Work began at once. The large table that dominated that cool, airy room was wide enough to take two patients so that both men were stripped and examined simultaneously.

At Londiani Angelo Conti had been able to do no more than general first aid to prepare them for the potentially hazardous sixty-mile journey on less than perfect roads.

Sergeant Hosea had gone with Dorothy Daniels to the sitting room of Cartref, prepared for a long wait for news.

Maria had gone in with a team of doctors. She had no formal medical qualifications, but all the trained and experienced people in that room welcomed her presence. They knew all about her healing gifts and her spiritual insight. If nothing else she would be a calming influence at a critical time.

It was soon agreed that one problem for both men was severe concussion. And David had a technical question for Maria.

‘Do you know whether they were wearing their belts at the moment of impact?'

‘Bertie, who was first on the scene, is definite on that. They were all strapped in.'

David was constantly on the move between patients. There was a great deal of very close observation and gentle manipulation of flesh and bone, particularly of the joints. Talk was in whispers and the preliminary work was painstakingly thorough. David, who was one of the best surgeons in Africa, with a reputation for very still hands and his unobtrusive work with the scalpel, was never eager to get to work with the knife.

‘I've seen too many patients go down because the surgeon was too ready to get inside their patient to look around.'

But with those two strong young men everyone agreed that an entry must be made, and soon.

‘There's blood sloshing around somewhere in this one. If we can't stop it soon, he'll be gone.'

Gareth was the Daniels who found it most difficult to preserve proper medical neutrality when treating patients. This usually meant that he was tender and sometimes passionate in the face of sickness and disease. But, on the other hand …

‘Leave the bastard go. I wonder how many decent Kenyans he has knocked over for that boss of his.'

‘Gareth, moral decisions aren't part of our job spec, thank God!'

‘Sonya, these two hulks and their late, unlamented partner were minutes away from killing an old man struggling to do right in his last days. Sorry, Dad!'

‘Come over here. I need your steady hand.'

Both wounded men survived the trauma of the next three hours. They would live. Everyone was pleased, even Gareth Daniels.

The men would wake up in a world alien to their way of life. In two days they would begin to regain their strength. That would create a new situation. How to deal with it was now on everyone's agenda. There were several possibilities to consider, but it was too early to plan details.

A new day was not far off when the team joined Dot and Hosea in the sitting room for refreshment and relaxation. Maria did not stay long.

‘Hosea, you are on duty tomorrow, so you will need to set off early.'

‘And, don't tell me! You will not be travelling with me. What did I say, Dorothy?'

‘If that is not a trouble to you, Dorothy.'

‘We love having you here. But won't you stay in the house?'

‘I will return later. Someone needs to be with those boys. Kwaheri for now.'

The lights had been left on low in the surgery and the naked bodies draped in white sheets up to the neck. Maria set up a chair on the platform surrounding the table, intending to watch and listen. Perhaps there would be some movement, perhaps some words would be spoken out of the deep subconscious. At each corner of table she lit a fat candle that she had made. As well as light, they gave off a faint perfume of orange blossom.

Maria had sat up with sick or wounded people many times. Her practice was to be busily proactive. Normally she began by focusing on the light of one of the candles to help her with a meditation. From there she moved on to a period of silent prayer, directed at each young man in turn.

Anyone standing outside would have been aware of her presence in the surgery only when she began to sing. Sonya had been sitting on the wooden bench set close to the door all the time that Maria had been inside. She had come to comfort herself with memories. Simon's body had passed its last night on earth in that place. Maria had convinced Sonya with her teaching that the essence of her husband, what others called the soul, was waiting to cross over. Then, as now, the evocation was at its strongest when the ancient words and the beautiful melody filled the air.

Sonya was not surprised when she heard her name called out.

‘Sonya, please come inside. These boys need the help of your courage and strength.'

The two women embraced and sat side by side on the comfortable blue sofa, placed against the wall to the side of the table, raised enough for them to see across the bodies stretched out there. For a time there was no sound apart from the night breeze passing through the trees in the garden outside. At last Sonya whispered.

‘Do you think that they could be aware of this … this power surrounding them here?'

‘More than us. They don't have the obstruction of the conscious body to block their lines.'

The last time she had been in this room, Sonya had been looking down on the dead body of her husband, killed by Rubai men. In front of her now were two more of his people, alive because of the skill and care of her family.

‘Maria, why can't I hate these men? They came close to killing Simon Nyache. Perhaps at other times …'

‘Because you have travelled a long way down the road. When pastors pray for their flocks, why do they focus so much on sin and failure? This week their words ask for forgiveness and protection from the same sins as they spoke of last week, last year. Where is the progress? Is there anyone out there listening to these words? Or anyone listening when answers come?'

‘So there is no point in praying?'

‘You know better than that. The mystery is deep. Our task is to enter that mystery and wait. So many clever people see no road and think that when we pray we are simply deluding ourselves in some harmless way.'

‘So why can I feel no hate?'

‘Because you love them!'

During the long silence the followed, Sonya left her seat to walk around the platform surrounding the table. She peered down into each face in turn.

‘Perhaps I am blind, but I see no murderers here. Their faces remind me of my three when they are in a peaceful sleep.'

‘When deep pain comes, sometimes, if your mind is strong, it creates in your heart a wellspring of joy.'

‘What will happen to these two when they return to themselves?'

‘Paul has asked me to call him when I think the time comes. You know that he is a compassionate man, but he is also one who has a passion for justice. If you had seen poor Simon when Bertie brought him back to Londiani …'

‘But the law says that, for what they did, they could hang. Perhaps Gareth was right. We should have let them go when they were unconscious.'

‘No, Sonya. We must hear them before they go to the court.'

‘If Rubai knew that they were in the house next door!'

* * *

‘My name is Elias and that is my brother Samuel. The other person with us was Saul, our youngest. Our mother was crazy for the Bible, like many poor women in this country. Tell me, where are my clothes, our suits? The boss had us measured for them specially.'

‘Elias, your clothes are safe. You have had a serious operation. Loose clothing will be more comfortable.'

‘Is this a hospital?'

‘Almost.'

‘And you are a doctor?'

‘No. My name is Paul. I'm a friend of the family.'

‘A family lives in a hospital? Is Samuel going to die?'

‘Not at all. You know what sedated means?'

‘Like when you are on something. My head is not staying in one place. Is Saul somewhere in this hospital?'

Paul hesitated briefly. ‘No, Saul is dead. You remember the accident?'

‘I thought so. It is my fault. He is not the best driver. Too wild. This thing will hurt our mother very much. He was her baby.'

‘Elias, we must wait for your brother to wake up. We'll have a talk together.'

‘So you are a cop? The boss has told us what to do if we ever get picked up by you people.'

‘I am not a cop. And this lady is my sister, Maria. And standing by your brother, Sonya, one of the doctors who saved your life.'

Maria explained some practical details. ‘Some comfortable chairs are being brought. And some food and drink.'

‘You mean a Tusker?'

‘Not quite yet. Your bodies are weak. This drink will have the vitamins you need.'

‘So where is the catch, lady? Listen, my head feels like it's been hit by some big piece of wood, but the old brain is still working. I won't say nothing, drink nothing until my brother is here by my side.'

In the Pink Palace the next morning, the third email in Abel's inbox at first startled him and then sent him into a rage. He was not used to having his commands dismissed lightly by petty bureaucrats. He had left a message for the Naivasha town council instructing them to get busy with the job of putting an end to the illegal attempt to put up a private hospital on the edge of town. The reply, in the name of the town's headman, was clear: ‘We were so sorry to have missed you when you honoured us with a visit to our office recently. We noted your request, but we are sure you will understand that we intend to allow the building work to continue in accordance with a newly instituted local by-law that encourages sponsors to offer and support charitable causes that will benefit the local community. No doubt you will be pleased that the funds that our MP has requested from the government in Nairobi for the last twenty years will now be available for projects elsewhere.'

After a fifth reading of this graceless piece of impudence, Abel's rage was in the process of being transmuted into a decisive course of action. First he got his secretary to check that the message was genuine.

‘Sir, it is from the council in Naivasha. I was told to inform you that the message itself was composed by a Mordecai Chambers, a writer/farmer who owns a block of land on the opposite side of town to the future hospital.'