The Clouds Beneath the Sun (12 page)

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 roller 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?”

“I have three sisters and two brothers.” Mgina checked the level of kerosene in the hurricane lamp. “My mother is strong but …” She shook her head.

Even in her unhappiness, she was graceful, thought Natalie. “What is it, Mgina? Is something else wrong?”

The other woman gave a small nod. “Odnate would not have been the youngest for long.”

Natalie caught her breath.

“Your mother was pregnant again?”

Another brief nod.

Natalie bit her lip. “And … and she lost the baby?”

Mgina looked at the ground. When she looked up there was a tear in her eye.

Natalie didn’t speak. What was the other woman thinking? That if Natalie and Jonas hadn’t interfered, Odnate would still have died but in a quicker, more natural, less traumatic way? And that her mother would not have lost the child she was carrying?

Or was that Natalie’s conscience talking?

She strained to find something positive to say, to provide the conversation with a lift. “You did right to stay with your mother. She has never needed you more.”

Mgina produced a shy grin through her tears. “What happened to Odnate was very bad. What happened to my mother was very bad too. The rains come all at once, out of season, as we say. But not only bad things have happened.” Her grin widened to a smile: “I am going to be married.”

Natalie felt dizzy. Had she heard right? Mgina’s smile—amid her tears—told her she had. But who became engaged in the middle of mourning, amid the tides of grief?

She reprimanded herself. Who was she to judge? For all she knew, among the Maasai, having a daughter become engaged was the best antidote to grief there was. Come to that, it might work anywhere else also.

Come to that, and despite herself, she felt her own heart lift; she found that she too was smiling.

“But that’s wonderful! When? Who is the lucky man?”

Mgina wiped her eyes and gave Natalie another shy grin. “In a few weeks. Endole Makacha. He’s the son of one of the elders. I’m lucky—I’ll be the third wife.”

Natalie’s stomach churned. Although she had told Christopher Deacon she had studied anthropology as well as archaeology at Cambridge, and although she had no real faith herself, she had been raised a Christian and she found the polygamy of Africa difficult to accept. She was about to say something sharp when again she stopped herself. Mgina didn’t think that her situation as someone’s third wife was odd, so why criticize? Natalie fought with herself for a few moments before asking, “Will you not be having a Christian wedding?”

The other woman still held a bundle of someone else’s washing, which she hugged to her bosom as she shook her head. “A traditional wedding, Miss Natalie.”

Natalie’s face puckered into an expression that was half smile and half frown. “But aren’t you a Christian, Mgina? Hasn’t your village been converted?”

Mgina grinned again and looked at her feet.

“And you are happy being a
third
wife?”

Mgina was still concentrating on her feet. “My mother says it is better to be married than not to be married. And she says I must not be … jealous? … you say jealous, is that a word?”

Natalie nodded.

“My mother, she says jealousy is like termites in timber, they weaken even the strongest wood.”

“Your mother is very wise, Mgina.”

“Natalie?” The voice broke in unannounced.

It was Russell.

“Just a minute.” She had guessed he would come.

Natalie stood up and crossed to her dressing table. She picked up the tortoiseshell comb Mgina had always admired. “It’s for you,” she said softly, turning to the other woman. “Congratulations.”

Another big grin from Mgina, as she took the comb. She nodded to Russell and then hurried off, carrying her bundle into the gloom.

Natalie turned back to Russell and held up the whiskey flask. “Last night Eleanor noticed whiskey on my breath. I promised to surrender this today but so much has happened, I forgot and so did she. This is our last chance.”

“You see! She’s worse than the Gestapo.” He raised his arm in a mock Nazi salute.

“Stop it, Russell, stop it! Your life is in danger. Forcing you to leave may hurt, but it’s for the best.”

“For the best?” He was dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt. He took one step back, half turned, and pointed in the direction of the gorge. “I’m part of a group that makes the most important fossil discovery in years, one of maybe the five most important paleontological discoveries of all time, she wants to throw me off the team, and you say my expulsion is for the best!” He took a deep breath. “Now Richard is dead, I’m the one who’s going to have to write the all-important paper—Daniel hates that sort of stuff—and
I’m
the one who should be taking these bones to our colleagues and potential critics, so they can see for themselves.”

His fists had clenched and his vivid blue eyes flashed in the light of the hurricane lamp. “I’ll never get another chance like this. There will be other bones near where we found the knee joint, even a skull maybe. You must see that, even if Dr. Himmler won’t.”

“That’s unworthy, Russell. Ignore what
she
says. If the Commissioner of Police in Nairobi thinks your life’s at risk, it’s no joke.”

Across the gorge, trees cracked and crunched as some elephants went through.

“What if I changed my mind—and stayed?”

“You gave your word.”

“Stuff that! The fossils are here.
You
are here. Maybe you don’t feel about me the way I feel about you, but give it time, give
me
time. I know we Australians can be direct, awkward even. But you’ve only seen me in the gorge. Come to California where everyone is more relaxed, softer, gentler.” He shook his head. “If I refuse to go tomorrow, there’ll be another scrap, but maybe after it’s over she’ll change her mind.” He clenched and unclenched his fists, took another deep breath. “I haven’t put up enough of a fight.”