Green City in the Sun (22 page)

     "Mathenge will never come back to you, Daughter. The white man has
cast a spell on him. But the man who once owned you will not be happy in his new life, for there is the proverb that says the knife once sharpened cuts its owner. But he is not to blame, for there is another proverb that says a man's heart feeds on what it likes."

     She fell silent. The sun began to creep out of the forest, leaving behind long shadows like snakes reaching out for the two Kikuyu worsen.

     "You know, Daughter, that we live in our descendants. A man must own many wives and have many children so that our ancestors live eternally. But the white man is teaching us that this is wrong. Already Kikuyu men are forsaking their wives. There will not be enough children to receive the souls of departed grandparents, and so the spirits of our ancestors will wander the earth homeless. Soon there will be no more fig trees, and there will be no one left to communicate with our fathers and mothers of the past. They will be lost."

     With shaking hands the medicine woman removed a bracelet from her wrist—it was made of elephant eyelashes and therefore contained strong magic—and handed it to her granddaughter. When she spoke again, her voice was thinner, her breathing more irregular. It was as if her life were seeping out of her old bones, just as life was departing the roots of the dying fig tree. "You will eat an oath now, Granddaughter. And then you will leave me."

     The forest was growing dark and menacing. No Kikuyu ever went abroad at night because of the many dangers from animals and evil spirits. But the young woman wanted to remain with her grandmother until death had claimed her. "I will not let them take you while you live," she said in a tight voice, referring to the hyenas, which even now had come out and were prowling nearby.

     Elder Wachera shook her head. "It matters not to me that they feast on my flesh while I live. The hyenas are to be honored and respected, Daughter. I will not cry out. You must go, but first the oath."

     Wachera was terrified. Oath eating was the most powerful form of Kikuyu magic; it bound one's soul to one's word. To break such an oath meant instant and terrible death.

     "You will promise me now, Granddaughter, by the earth that is our
Great Mother, that you will protect the old ways and keep them forever and ever." The old woman scooped some soil into her hand and held it out. Making mystical signs over the dirt, she closed her eyes and said, "Someday the Children of Mumbi will turn against the white man and cast him out of Kikuyuland. When that time comes, they will want to return to the ways of their fathers. But who will be here to teach them?"

     "I will," whispered young Wachera.

     The medicine woman placed the dirt in her granddaughter's hands. "Swear by the earth our Great Mother that you will keep the tribal ways and that you will communicate always with the ancestors."

     Wachera lifted her hands to her mouth and pressed her tongue to the dirt. Swallowing, she said, "I swear."

     "Swear also, Wachera, that you will be medicine woman to our people and will practice the rites and magic of our mothers."

     Again Wachera ate the soil and swore the oath.

     "And promise me, my soul daughter . . ." The old woman labored for breath. Her body seemed to grow small and shrink before her granddaughter's eyes. "Promise me that you will take revenge upon the white man on the hill."

     Wachera ate the oath, promised revenge against the
mzungu
, and watched her grandmother die.

S
HE HAD WALKED THROUGH THE NIGHT FOREST WITH NO FEAR
, for she knew the spirit of her grandmother walked at her side. Wachera marched with a purposeful step, eyes blind to the shad-owy shapes of heads and flanks around her, ears deaf to the sounds of hyenas feasting on human flesh. She pushed through tree and bush with David embraced to her strong young body, courage and determination filling her with every step as if the power of her grandmother were swelling in her veins. With each tree passed, Wachera's shyness and humility vanished; with each rock stepped over and each twig cracked, her youthful fears and uncertainties were broken and cast aside. Wachera grew as she walked, in spirit and in stature. She had memorized every word elder Wachera had spoken; she would remember them until the day she died.

     At last she came out of the forest to the clearing where the sacred tree had once stood and where there was now a lone hut in the moonlight. Holding her baby, the only one she knew she would ever have, young Wachera, now the medicine woman of the clan, turned her eyes to the big stone house on the hill.

     "I
SAY, RATHER
like a coronation, isn't it?"

     This was said by His Excellency the Governor, who, because of his exalted rank in the protectorate, stood closest to the front steps of the house. The excitement was palpable in the night air. Torches blazed along the curved drive down to the dirt road where latecomers were still arriving. The assembled guests murmured in anticipation, thrilled with the spectacle Treverton had orchestrated. Wineglasses sparkled in the moonlight; pink gins sloshed around in tall tumblers. Everyone eagerly awaited the arrival of the earl and his countess, after which they'd all get a good look inside the magnificent new house and then be fed a proper feast.

     "They tell me it's all lit with light bulbs. Treverton's installed some sort of generator, the first electricity in the province."

     "I understand there's to be polo tomorrow," someone else said. This was Hardy Acres, the manager of Nairobi's biggest bank, to whom almost everyone present was in debt.

     "If the weather holds," added the man next to him. Faces turned to the night sky, where moon and stars shone. Still, a few wondered, didn't the air feel unusually damp tonight? And wasn't there the barest hint of a breeze? All it would take was one good wind and the clouds would tumble down off Mount Kenya and bring ...
rain.

     "I say," came another voice. "Here they are!"

     Valentine Treverton understood that in British East Africa one could substitute showiness for taste and get away with it because that was part of the magic of living in the protectorate. Like others, Treverton was affected by the equatorial sun; style became ostentation, and his sense of pomp verged on parody. Everyone accepted it and loved it. So when the wagon came down the drive, drawn by ponies decked in Arab tassels and bells, the cart festooned with ribbons and flowers, the driver an African in full Treverton livery down to the crest on his jacket and green velvet top hat, the guests had to applaud. East Africa settlers loved a good show.

     It was understood that the rules were different here and were often made up on the spot. Weekends of hunts and drinking and target shooting helped
one forget that the crops were withering in the fields, that the Africans were dying of starvation and disease, and that a very real threat lingered near that one might have to pack off to England, a failure.

     Bless Valentine Treverton, everyone thought. He was as good as his word and was certainly delivering tonight. His guests adored him for it.

     Lady Rose looked stunning as she stepped down from the cart, holding, of all things, a bouquet of madonna lilies. Where had Treverton managed to get
those
, in this drought? And the countess's hair! Already the women were making a note to cut off their own old-fashioned Gibson style for the free, new-woman marcel wave that was scandalous in Europe but that Lady Rose had suddenly made acceptable. Her long, beaded gown trailed behind her. She smiled and nodded as she mounted the steps, her hair gleaming like polished platinum in the torchlight. Valentine, proud and dignified, walked at her side; he was decidedly the most handsome man at the affair. Dr. Grace Treverton followed, more conservatively dressed than her sister-in-law; Mrs. Pembroke was with her, carrying ten-month-old Mona; and last came Sir James and Lady Donald, the Trevertons' best friends and most honored guests.

     The doors were opened by two smiling servants, and Valentine led his wife into her new home for the first time.

     It was every bit as fabulous as she had imagined it would be—even more! Valentine had planted little surprises everywhere: an antique highboy displaying her Spode china, which had nested in a crate for nearly a year, the wonderful grandfather clock in the parlor that swung with time, and a portrait of her parents which he had secretly sent for and which now hung in the formal dining room. And the biggest, best surprise of all: a Christmas tree in the center of the living room, cut down from the Aberdare forest and laden with lighted candles, tinsel, gingerbread ornaments. At its base lay drifts of artificial snow.

     Rose was overcome. She turned to him, said, "Valentine, dearest," and went into his arms. When they kissed, everyone cheered, except for the Kikuyu servants, who, being members of a tribe that did not kiss, wondered why the memsaab and bwana would put their mouths together.

     Miranda West, having arrived from Nairobi the day before and at
work in the kitchen since before dawn, saw to the orderly serving of her masterpieces. Because two hundred guests could not all sit down together, the banquet was served buffet style, the guests being attended upon by Africans wearing scarlet Zanzibar waistcoats embroidered in gold over long white kanzus and white gloves. Miranda's fried potato cakes accompanied roast gazelle, rainbow trout from Valentine's dwindling reservoir, spur fowl baked in honey, and ham from the Rift Valley. Drop scones were eaten with butter and jam; Miranda's potted salmon was spread onto cottage loaf; and even the punches were her own creations; from cut glass bowls with dippers and matching glasses were offered the famous badminton and claret cups. The food brought sighs of ecstasy and melancholy from the homesick crowd as everyone tasted England and suddenly remembered what they had forsaken for this uncertain new life. There were even musicians with violins and an accordion who played Christmas carols. Bellatu glowed in the night, on its lonely hilltop, like a kingdom that came to life once every hundred years. For miles around, natives in their dark, smoky huts huddled together with their children and goats, afraid of the dark, listening to the baffling sounds of laughter and music of the
wazungu.
A solitary elephant trumpeted on a nearby mountain slope, as if to remind the revelers of where they really were.

     The guests spilled out onto the veranda, on the lawns, and a few had even found their way secretly up to peek at the bedrooms. Valentine never left Rose's side. They were a charmed couple, sprinkling magic and blessings on everyone they touched. Treverton's luck in the protectorate had become legend in this past year; while everyone else's crops perished from lack of water, his seedlings were strong and green. He even had a mystifying way with the Africans who were loyal to him and seemed never to run away or sit down on their jobs. People crowded around the earl and his beautiful wife, hoping that some of the enchantment would rub off.

     Grace escaped to the terrace, where she stood at a clipped hedge and looked down at the Chania River.

     "I think your brother's outdone himself," Sir James said as he joined her. "This night will be the topic of gossip for years to come."

     She laughed and sipped her champagne.

     "How on earth can Valentine afford all this?" James asked.

     Grace did not reply. She knew her brother was drawing heavily upon the income from his Bella Hill rents, and she prayed his good judgment would tell him when to stop. The Suffolk estate was not a bottomless money well.

     Three men walked by, their white dinner jackets ghostly in the moonlight. "When I'm on safari," one of them said, "I prefer sleeping in the open. The sky makes a good roof, provided it doesn't leak!"

     James lifted his brandy glass and smiled at Grace. She was caught in that smile, in the creases around his eyes.

     One of the trio, as they vanished around the hedge, said with slightly slurred words, "I hear there's a monstrous big tusker out Lake Rudolf way." And the conversation, fading, swung around to elephant hunting.