This Side Jordan (16 page)

‘Oh – Johnnie. Mr. Sheppard – ah – goes back to London tonight?’

They both knew he did.

‘Yes.’

‘Then I suppose you’ll be taking him to the airport, as he’s staying at your place? Or do you want to arrange transport?’

‘I’ll drive him myself.’

‘Oh – ’ again the vague worried blinking, ‘you’re sure it’s no trouble?’

‘None.’

James coughed and rustled some papers on his desk. Then he appeared to make his decision. He leaned against the desk and gripped it with both hands.

‘Johnnie – has he – discussed this Africanization business with you?’

Johnnie felt his face grow hot and scarlet.

‘A little,’ he evaded. ‘Why?’

James did not reply at once. His fingers again sought and found the letters on his desk. He kept his eyes averted, and Johnnie, hazarding a quick glance, was able to see why.

Horrifying in their absurdity, the tears rolled slowly down the Squire’s face. James could not speak because he was crying.

In a moment, James had himself under control, although he took care to turn once more to the window so that Johnnie could not see his face.

‘It’s preposterous – ’ James’ voice sounded more surprised than angry, ‘but he won’t let me explain my point of view at all. He talks and talks about the necessity of having Africans in top posts, and when I try to explain that whitemen will never be able to work alongside blacks, not decent white-men, anyway – then he simply ignores me. He acts as though I haven’t said a word, and goes right on outlining his own theories. Why, Johnnie, I knew Sheppard when he was a mere youngster, scarcely out of school. And now –’

James brought one fist down on the windowsill, in an impotent and meagre gesture of rage.

‘Now – ’ he cried, ‘he treats me as though I were a schoolboy, as though my opinions and experience didn’t count for a
thing – almost as though he didn’t even know it’s my department – the department I’ve made –’

James did not seem aware of the extent to which he was exposing himself to another’s eyes. But Johnnie, shocked into sharp vision by the Squire’s tears and by the pain in the old man’s voice, saw for the first time what James’ true position here had been. Bumbling and pompous, the Squire would likely have spent his life as a mole-like ledger-keeper, had he stayed in England. But here – here he had walked on Mount Olympus. He had dispensed justice as he saw it – rewards for the compliant ones, punishments for the unruly. A frail and balding Jupiter, he had paced his temple in time of riot, waving an old army rifle, subduing and chastening his erring children.

The Squire had spoken as a god might speak, who had created a world only to have its creatures mock and finally destroy him by their disbelief.

Then James swung around, and his eyes, meeting Johnnie’s, were both apologetic and eager.

‘I was wondering, Johnnie – would Miranda mind not going to the airport? You’d have some time alone with him then. You’re young. You speak in his idiom. You’re a convincing talker. Maybe he might let you explain our point of view, the way we feel, out here, about Africanization. All the things the London office doesn’t understand – the impossibility of the whole idea. He might listen to you. Would you – would you try, Johnnie?’

Johnnie felt unsteady, as though he were very drunk, and his own voice sounded strange to his ears.

‘All right,’ he heard himself speak the lie. ‘I – I’ll try, if you like.’

James reached across the desk and held out his hand.

‘Good. I knew you would. You’ve been a great help to me, Johnnie. I won’t forget it.’

Dazed, Johnnie stared. The pattern of events seemed to have shaped itself, without his volition, yet that was not so. He could still turn back, at this moment. But would that alter anything? The wheels had been set in motion, and they would keep turning now, whatever he did. And anyway, he was not going back. That was the one immutable concept to which he must hold.

Automatically, and because there was nothing else to do, Johnnie took the Squire’s extended hand.

J
acob Abraham’s office was in startling contrast to the rest of Futura Academy. Where the classrooms were wood-and-plaster skeletons, mouldering into dust, the sanctuary was sleek and shining, in the fat of life.

The massive desk and the chairs were in ‘ofram’, a pale wood handsomely streaked with black, an expensive wood. A blue and plum-red Indian wool carpet caressed even shod feet. The bookcases, too, had a look of plumpness, bulging with Encyclopædia Britannica in fine bindings, several costly Atlases, and numerous fresh and apparently virginal textbooks on subjects far beyond Futura’s scope. Jacob Abraham had great faith in appearances, as though the simple act of placing a book about calculus on his shelves would impart to him, in some mystical fashion, the knowledge within those pages.

Sitting now behind his desk, his mammoth dignity was draped in fawn gabardine of fine quality and good cut. Who but he could wear a tie in this weather? His was blue and gold, Italian silk. Nathaniel knew it was Italian silk because Mensah had told him. Also its price, which was two guineas.

Nathaniel felt the injustice of his own khaki slacks and his cheap cotton shirt, threadbare at the collar. Why did he not ask Mensah for more money? He could do it, here, now, in this room. Ask him, ask him now. Nathaniel’s palms were wet and his throat was dry.

‘Well,’ Jacob Abraham said in his syrupy voice, ‘what is it, Amegbe?’

Nathaniel adjusted his glasses with a quick, nervous gesture that did not escape the big man.

‘About the senior students –’

Cautiously, he told about his interview with Johnnie Kestoe, deleting and adding a little for the sake of his own status. He told it hesitantly, wondering as he did so if there was any offence in it. To his surprise, Jacob Abraham was delighted.

‘Jolly good,’ he said. ‘Jolly good, Amegbe.’

Nathaniel winced at the phrase. Englishmen said it, and it sounded all right. But in the mouth of this man it was an affectation. Like the room, he now saw, or the suit or the tie. And behind it there were only dreams and the substance of dreams.

‘You don’t mind, then?’ Nathaniel asked.

‘My dear fellow,’ Jacob Abraham replied, ‘of course not. I am in approval. That is definitely so. I greet it with acceptance and pleasure. What could be better? A place found for our most deserving graduates – well, well –’

Nathaniel realized he had not mentioned his intention of finding jobs for the boys who had failed. He did not dare mention it now.

Mensah fixed Nathaniel with an appraising glance.

‘It might prove itself useful. Contacts, you know, Amegbe – if you have contacts that is a beneficial thing.’

Nathaniel could not see what the big man was hinting
at, and he could not bring himself to ask. Humbly, he waited.

‘What would you say,’ Jacob Abraham continued, ‘if we make this a – a permanent feature? Places found for deserving boys, eh? I have just had the idea this minute. It has possibilities, don’t you think?’

‘No,’ Nathaniel said impulsively, and, as he realized a second later, foolishly.

He knew what Mensah’s scheme would become – a sideline that could profitably be kept going as long as the charge to ambitious parents exceeded the bribes given to anyone influential with prospective employers.

‘Why not?’ Jacob Abraham’s voice was harsh.

‘I mean – it would take a large clerical staff to deal with it,’ Nathaniel stumbled.

Jacob Abraham was a giant and a clown, a dreamer and perhaps a knave. But he was not a fool.

‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘You know that is nonsense.’

They paused, each trying to see how far the other could be trusted.

‘You think about it, Amegbe,’ Jacob Abraham said finally. ‘We do not have to decide this minute. Think about it. It would sound fine, would it not, when we apply for government acceptance and aid, if we had a little bureau which attempts to find posts for suitable graduates –’

‘Yes, sir,’ Nathaniel replied without expression.

It was true. It would sound fine.

And now, the way the conversation had gone, how could he ask for more money? But Nathaniel knew that if he did not do it now, he never would.

‘Mr. Mensah –’ he began. ‘Please, sir, there was something else –’

His voice trailed off into a stutter.

‘What is it?’ Jacob Abraham spoke curtly; he was now the man of business, shrewd and suspicious.

‘I have been here for six years,’ Nathaniel blurted out, ‘and I have only had one rise in salary. I – I thought –’

Jacob Abraham smiled kindly at him.

‘Oh – ’ he said, ‘you thought, did you? You have forgotten, I think, our little conversation just before the end of term? I said then that men with their School Cert were easier to find nowadays, did I not?’

‘I have not forgotten,’ Nathaniel said dully.

The headmaster waggled a playful finger at Nathaniel.

‘Too much thinking about reward,’ he said, ‘it is not beneficial, Amegbe. No, indeed. Someday, no doubt – we will see. In our own good time, as they say. But for this time, I would advise you to think about something else.’

Nathaniel thought about something else. He thought about Aya and his child. The waiting forest on one side, and on the other, Ghana. His classroom was a foothold on a steep cliff. There were not many footholds. He was not sure he could find another.

‘Yes, Mr. Mensah,’ Nathaniel said. ‘Yes, sir.’

The voice broke off into a snicker, then resumed its plaintive moan. Feet scuffled the rhythm on the hard clay floor, and a wooden table served as drum to a dozen hands. Then a yelp of laughter, a tossed book missing its target and slamming against a wall, voices clattering in argument.

Nathaniel was thrown off balance by the normality of the sounds coming from the classroom. He hesitated outside the door. He had expected the boys to be more subdued. And he had not anticipated the arrival of so many.

He had written to the boys who had failed the examination, asking those who were interested in jobs with a commercial firm to meet him at Futura today. Nearly all the boys in his last term’s senior class seemed to be here.

They were waiting for him, perched cockily on his desk or sprawling on benches too low for their long legs. They had the lanky loose-jointed appearance of the young whose strength does not yet measure up to their height. They had shed their tattered khaki school clothes like lithe snakes slipping from old skins, and now they were gaudy and new in bright cloth, casually draped around them, and shimmering nylon shirts.

Nathaniel wondered how he could possibly do anything for them. These were not the hurt bewildered faces he had seen after the examination. Failure had been assimilated. Now they seemed as brash and optimistic as they had ever been.

Nathaniel remembered his own failure. There were not many years between these boys and himself. But they were very different. A decade, and the breed changed. He had been foolish to strain after similarity. He had been foolish to try this at all. They had come here only out of curiosity.

The skin of his face began to itch and burn like prickly heat, and he knew he would stammer when he spoke to them.

Then they saw him, and miraculously they grew quiet at once. Peering apprehensively at them through his thick lenses, Nathaniel was startled to see the unconcealed eagerness in their faces.

‘Good day, sir. Glad to see you,’ they cried.

Nathaniel adjusted his glasses.

‘First of all – ’ he only stammered a little, ‘first of all, as I explained in my letter, there are not many posts available with this particular company right now, so I want only those who are really serious about it to apply. Would – would you boys take jobs as clerks?’

There was a silence.

‘Yes, sir,’ a voice replied finally, and heads were nodded in agreement, ‘it would do to begin.’

To begin. Oh, fine. Nathaniel had the discouraging conviction that these boys would have been better to train as mechanics or masons or scientific farmers. In twenty years Africa would be swamped with white-collar men and nobody would know how to produce anything except more children. He pushed the thought from his mind. It was not his concern. He could only try to do something with the material at hand.

‘A European I know – ’ he felt a sudden hesitance at saying it, ‘a European with whom I am acquainted – he is looking for boys to train as clerks. He wants boys who will stay and learn the business, work up in the firm. It is a big firm here. You all know it. This firm has decided recently to expand their Africanization programme and they want to train local staff to take over from expatriates. It is a great opportunity. He would only take a few boys now, but if these did well, there might be room for others later.’

Their faces were solemn and rapt. Nathaniel felt unaccountably dismayed. They saw themselves as department managers already. Were they thinking of offices like Jacob Abraham’s, the big desk, the fine carpet, the impressive bookcases?

‘It would take a long time to reach the top,’ he snapped
at them, ‘and you would never reach it unless you were very good and worked hard. Do you understand that?’

‘Oh yes,’ they chorused obediently, ‘we understand.’

Did they? Did they?

‘I want you to think about it carefully,’ he said. ‘Unless you really want to go into the commercial field, there is no use applying. I will only send two boys to the first interview, so some of you are bound to be disappointed. However, if more applicants are required, I shall select another two, and I will let you know. You see this box on my desk? Those who want to apply for these jobs please write their name and address on a slip of paper and put it in this box. There will be time for you to think about it. I will come back tomorrow and collect the applications, and I will contact the boys I select for the interview. Is that clear?’

They nodded, and Nathaniel rose to leave. As he was going out, a number of voices, impulsive and earnest, held him.

‘Thank you, sir. You are very kind.’

Nathaniel walked away, his heart warm. His first impression today had been wrong. They were serious underneath. There was nothing wrong about being self-confident. A man should have faith in himself. They would need that faith. It would help them. They would not be awkward and embarrassed as he would have been at their age and in their place. A new breed.

They were good boys. Some of them were very bright. Dodu, for example, and Inkumsah and Etroo. Very bright, quick to learn, keen. They would be all right.

Kestoe would be grudging about his praise, of course. But he would be forced to admit that the boys showed promise. It would do the school’s name a lot of good. How could Mensah hold back after that?

Nathaniel walked out into the sunlight, and the frown lines between his eyebrows had disappeared.

The air was sticky and thick with unshed rain when Nathaniel went back to Futura. He wondered once more why he had chosen such a relatively complex way of selecting two applicants. Surely he could have picked them at the time. He had felt in some vague way that it should be like a secret ballot, so there would be no jealousy of those who succeeded. But what did it matter, since they were no longer at school together? Perhaps he had wanted, also, to impress the boys with the seriousness of the venture.

Nathaniel opened the box and leafed through the applications. There were ten. Several of them had pencilled remarks and pleas. ‘I promise to do all my most accomplished’; ‘the Good God will bless you forever if you should select your humble and most needful servant, J. Owusu’; ‘my sister is ill and I have no rich uncle for obtaining employment, so I beg you give me highest consideration.’

Perhaps they were not as confident as he had thought. Under the brash manner was the fear that there would be no place to go, no place that needed them, the dread – hardly expressed even to themselves – that their proud education would not be the golden key that was to have opened all doors.

Nathaniel leaned his head on his hands. He did not know how he was going to select two out of ten. Etroo and Inkumsah? Yes –

‘Please, sir –’

Nathaniel swung around. Two boys stood in the doorway.

Kumi’s pinched-up, rodent-featured face seemed almost to be twitching with his nervousness. He chewed his lip, and his sharp little eyes darted from Nathaniel’s face to the applications
on the desk. Behind him, hulking Awuletey stood awkwardly, grinning and frowning and grinning again, as though he could not make up his mind which was suitable.

‘What is it?’ Nathaniel asked irritably. ‘I told you I’d let you know if you were selected for the interview –’

‘Oh yes,’ Kumi breathed. ‘But please, Mr. Amegbe, we wanted to see you about – some matter –’

‘Be quick about it, then.’

Kumi sidled up to the desk. Awuletey still stood in the doorway, smiling foolishly.

Kumi drew a deep breath. He had obviously prepared a speech.

‘I hope it will not be offence to you, sir,’ he said, ‘but we were thinking yesterday of the great good you are doing us. All the time you are spending on this matter, and money for stamps to send the letters to us, and talking with your European friend for our consideration. Etcetera, etcetera, sir. We are grateful for your help. And I said to Awuletey, when a chief spends his time for you, and judges your case, you show some thanks to him.’

In the doorway, Awuletey was bobbing his head up and down to endorse his friend’s words, and for the first time Nathaniel noticed a package held delicately in one of the broad hands.

Kumi coughed politely for attention and Nathaniel looked once more into the small pointed face. But now the boy’s eyes did not seem probing and metallic. They were humble, beseeching, and Nathaniel found it anguish to look at them.

‘So we think we should bring you some small things,’ Kumi went on, ‘only to show our thanks for your time and how thoughtful you are for us. Please accept them. It is a small thing.’