Green City in the Sun (18 page)

     Grace knew better than to try to help the woman. Once before she had tried to interfere and had caused such an outcry among the clan that she had been barred from the village for days. "Let us at least move her into the shade," she said. But Mario was held back by tribal taboo.

     "Mario!" she whispered. "Take her legs; I shall take her arms. We'll lay her under that tree."

     He did not move.

     "Damn it, Mario. Remember the Lord Jesus and the story of the good Samaritan."

     His black face worked in indecision. Finally, reminding himself that these were lowly Kikuyu, having not yet become Christians and therefore to be scorned, he made a show of his fearlessness of them, of the old medicine woman in particular, by picking up the woman all by himself and carrying her to the shade.

     In front of another hut Grace found a young mother sucking on the top of her baby's head. Because the infant was not getting enough fluids,
its brain had shrunk, and so the "soft spot," the fontanel, had fallen in. The young mother knew enough to recognize this as a bad sign, but her efforts to correct it were all wrong.

     "Tell her the baby needs water," Grace said to Mario. "Tell her to give the baby more milk, more
fluids.
"

     He translated, and the young wife smiled and nodded as if she understood, then returned her mouth to the infant's head.

     Grace straightened and looked around the village. Her cook pot was empty; everyone was back to work. The grain she had brought was being fed to the goats. In these animals the Kikuyu measured wealth and privilege. A woman with thirty goats could sneer upon a woman with only five. Elder Wachera, it was rumored, owned more than two hundred goats, which practically conferred a queenly status upon her. But the grain had been brought for the people, not for the goats!

     "Like an Englishman," Grace murmured, "who will save his gold before his own life."

     "Memsaab?"

     "Let's see Gachiku now. She must be near her time."

     But before Grace could move to the next hut, a voice called out her name.

     She turned around. It was Sir James.

J
AMES
D
ONALD HAD TO REMOVE HIS DOUBLE TERAI HAT AND STOOP
to clear the arbor that formed the entrance to the village. "Hello," he called to Grace, and waved a fistful of envelopes.

     Her heart leaped. The dream came back. The camp beneath the stars, his hard body against hers, his mouth

     "Post is in," he said with a grin. "Thought I'd bring you yours."

     He was dressed in khaki drill shorts, sturdy boots with socks up to his knees, and a bush shirt that was partially open to reveal the sunburned V on his chest. "I knew where to find you, of course," he said.

     Grace felt her cheeks flush and hoped they were shaded by the brim of her wide pith helmet so that he didn't see. Behind him came Lucille, wearing a dusty slouch hat with a zebraskin band and a canvas bag over one shoulder. Grace thought, but was not sure, that Lucille was frowning. A grimace of displeasure? Or possibly disapproval? But then Lucille's features softened into a smile, and she said, "Hello, Grace. I've brought something for you."

     As he handed Grace her mail, James watched. It was always the same:
the hurried sorting through the envelopes, hands snapping eagerly, her eyes full of hope, and then the look of disappointment, the mail clasped, forgotten, in her fingers. It was as if, he thought, she was looking for something. A letter perhaps. From whom?

     "How is it going, Grace?" he asked quietly.

     She looked around the village. All work had ceased; the women were staring. It was because a man had entered their midst. "I don't know what to do, James," she said. "I don't feel as though I'm getting anywhere with them. They let me come and examine them if I bring food, but they won't take any of my medicine or let me treat them. Their idea of a cure is the horrid poisons Wachera boils up."

     James squinted across the compound at the formidable old woman, who was regarding him with a closed expression. "She's a powerful old thing," he said. "You'll never win her over. Mathenge's the one you should convince."

     Grace didn't tell James she was praying she would never have to meet the young chief face-to-face. Instead, she said, "Missions are guaranteed a sum of three hundred pounds a year from the government if they promise to work with the natives. So far the District Medical Officer has determined that I don't deserve it because my clinic stands empty. He accompanied me to this village once; but there was some sort of ceremony going on, and they wouldn't let me in. He wasn't impressed. He said I shall have to demonstrate more involvement than that to receive the three hundred pounds. And, James, I need that money!"

     Grace was worried. Her inheritance was dwindling. Soon she would be relying solely on funds from the Mission Society back in Suffolk.

     "I wish I could help," James said. "As it is, we're getting by on bank overdraft, like everyone else!"

     She smiled. "I shall work it out. Now then, did you come eight miles just to deliver my mail?"

     "I returned your microscope. It's back at your house."

     "Was it a help?"

     His face darkened, and it made him more handsome than ever. "In a way, yes. It confirmed my worst fears. We've got east coast fever. I've isolated the sick ones and am dipping the rest of the herd. On top of that, another
bloody borehole has gone dry." He looked up at the sky. "If we don't get rain this time 'round, we all might as well cash it in."

     They listened for a moment to the tinkling of goats' bells. Then Lucille said, "I've brought you a present, Grace."

     "Oh, you shouldn't have," Grace said, but her voice died when the book was placed in her hands.

     "It's a Kikuyu translation of the Bible. Isn't that clever?"

     Grace stared down at the black leather cover, the gold-stamped title. "Thank you," she said uncertainly. "But I don't know that it will help me much."

     "Preach the Word of the Lord, Grace. That's how you'll win these people."

     "Mathenge doesn't want anything to do with Christianity. He won't allow preachers in the village."

     Suddenly the morning peace was shattered by a scream. Grace spun around. It had come from Gachiku's hut. She ran, followed by James and Lucille, but Mario hung back because that was a birthing hut and taboo to men.

     Grace went in to the young woman's side and, once her eyes were adjusted to the hut's darkness, saw the large abdomen ripple with contractions. "It's all right," Grace said soothingly in Kikuyu. "Your baby is coming."

     She stepped out of the hut and asked for the
muciarithia
, the midwife, who in this instance was old Wachera. But the medicine woman did not move.

     "Gachiku is about to give birth," Grace called out. "She needs your help. Mario, explain to her."

     But before he could speak, Wachera held up a silencing hand. Her contempt for this young man who was no warrior and who had forsaken the Lord of Brightness for the Christian God forbade her to exchange words with him. To Sir James, who she knew spoke her tongue and whom she respected, Wachera said, "There is trouble with Gachiku's child. It will not come out. For three days she has been in labor, but the baby does not come. It
is thahu.
The ancestors have decreed that the child must not be born."

     When James translated, Grace said, "You can't mean that! Surely you aren't going to just let Gachiku die?"

     Wachera spoke, and James said, "She says it is the will of God."

     "But that's monstrous! We must do something."

     "Yes, of course. But it
is
tricky. Once the spirits of the ancestors have decided someone must die, it's the worst of taboos to defy them. They believe Gachiku has a curse on her, and nothing can break a Kikuyu curse."

     "I'm not afraid of any curse. Mario, run back to the house and fetch my sterile obstetrics kit."

     He hesitated.

     "Go on!"

     The youth looked at Sir James, who said, "Do as she says, lad."

     "Yes, bwana."

     "And ether," she called after him. "And the spare sheets from my bed!"

     Grace went back into the hut. Her examinations of the villagers had so far been cursory: a feel of the forehead; a counting of the pulse. Kikuyu women were modest and shied away from strangers' eyes. But since Gachiku was in no position to protest, Grace was able to lay her hands on the swollen belly and feel for the position of the baby. It was a transverse presentation, which meant that the baby lay across the birth canal. In order to deliver it, and quickly, Grace would have to reach up and turn it by hand. She lifted up Gachiku's leather aprons.

     Grace stared in shock.

     She fell back on her heels and felt the hut tilt around her. Then she jumped up and ran outside.

     "Dear God," she whispered when James took her arm to steady her.

     "What is it?"

     "I've never seen anything like it! Gachiku is ...
deformed.
"

     To her surprise, James said, "Yes, but it's not a congenital defect."

     "What do you mean?"

     "You're not aware of it? The initiation?"

     "Initiation—"

     "It's what the young people go through when they come of age. The boys are circumcised, and the girls—"

     She regarded him in horror. "That was
done
to her?"

     "All women undergo the operation in their teens. It marks their entry into the tribe. It is also a test of courage and resistance to pain. Any girl who flinches or cries out is cast out of the clan, cursed."

     Grace pressed her hand to her forehead. Then she felt James's strong grip on her arm, and she was able to steady herself. "No wonder she is unable to give birth. She cannot possibly, not with that..."

     "A lot of Kikuyu women die in childbirth because of the mutilation. The missionaries are trying to abolish the practice, but the Africans have been doing it for hundreds of years."

     "I'm going to have to do something to help her, James. And I don't have much time. Will you and Lucille help me?"

     "What can you possibly do?"

     "A Caesarean section. I will operate and remove the baby abdominally."

     His hand fell away from her arm.

     "You said you would help me!"

     "There are limits to our interference, Grace. You'll have the whole clan up in arms if you attempt something as drastic as that."

     "I'm going to try it."

     Lucille said, "I'll help you, Grace," and swung the canvas bag off her shoulder.

     "You're making a grave mistake," said James.

     "Have someone find me the woman's husband. I'll get his permission. Then the clan can't crucify me."

     James stepped close to her, angry. "Don't meddle, Grace!"

     "I'm not going to stand by and let her die, damn it!"

     "All right, supposing you get the husband's permission. If you attempt the operation and Gachiku dies, he'll
kill
you, Grace. And I assure you there will be nothing the authorities can do to save you."

     "But if I do nothing, then she will surely die!"

     "And no one will blame you. Leave her alone, and the clan will let you go in peace. Otherwise, you will never gain their confidence and your clinic will always stand empty."

     She glared at him. "Please ask them who the husband is. I'll talk to him. I'll convince him. James, ask them who owns Gachiku."

     He asked Wachera, and when the reply came, Grace did not need a translation. Gachiku was the second wife of the clan's chief.

     Mathenge.

     G
RACE HAD WANTED
to move Gachiku to her clinic, where there was a proper operating table and good light, but since Wachera would not allow the woman to be moved, and time was growing short, Grace decided to attempt the procedure in the hut. Her wartime reflexes came to her aid; she had performed surgery on a ship that was being bombed, with lights flickering and her only assistant a seasick news correspondent.