Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

“Oh yes,” she replied eventually. “Nothing has changed there.”

Mgina nodded and picked up Natalie’s dirty pajamas and left the shower tent. Natalie went back to her own quarters and lay down on the bed, naked. The twenty minutes after a shower were always the most comfortable time.

But her mind was in a swirl. Was Mgina the innocent young woman Natalie had always thought she was, or was she … something other than she seemed? Yes, she came from a different village from Ndekei but she was a Maasai; her loyalties would be the same.

She would need to discuss this with Jack. He was bringing her dinner later.

How did this bloody illness change things? Did it change them? Was she giving evidence or was she not? How long could she put off her decision?

Again, despite herself, she dropped off to sleep.

Jack placed the dinner tray at the foot of Natalie’s bed and kissed her head. “Chicken,” he breathed. “Your favorite.”

She swung her feet off the bed and sat up. She’d been ill now for more than a week and the antibiotics were beginning to kick in. Her temperature was more under control, the chills were fewer, the sweats less intense. But the rash on her hands was still pronounced and she continued to be hit by the occasional biting headache. She wasn’t out of the wood yet and Jonas insisted she remain in bed.

She picked up the chicken leg and chewed it. “My appetite hasn’t fully returned yet.” She replaced the leg on the plate. “How is Christopher doing?”

“About the same as you. But he has a rash on the soles of his feet and has difficulty walking. No difficulty eating, though.”

She nibbled a potato. “How’s his mood?”

“Well, I’m sorry to say this but he’s not too enamored of you, just now. He wishes you had never spotted the damned lion, he says.”

“Why?”

“Because of being ill, he’s missed his test as a pilot, and because he will have been grounded for more than two weeks by the time he has fully recovered, he will have lost the number of required hours of flying time, and have to start all over again. He won’t now be able to get his license for at least another month.”

She groaned. “I couldn’t know the damned lion had the wrong kind of tick.”

“I know that and, deep down, he knows that too. He’s just irritated with you, that’s all.”

Natalie weighed this. Then she said, “I suppose everyone sees you bringing me dinner every evening?”

“Yes, I suppose they do.”

“So everyone knows … you know, about us?”

He crossed one leg over the other. “They don’t know everything, Natalie. They know I bring you dinner. They can read between—or beyond—the lines if they wish. But you’re not the topic or focus of gossip, if that’s what you’re worried about. The fact that I don’t visit you late at night now probably means that they think less is happening than really is—or was.”

He let a silence go by as she ate more potato.

“I miss our late nights.”

She nodded. “Me too. Christopher is not the only one who wishes I hadn’t spotted the bloody lion.”

Another pause, then she raised her conversation with Mgina.

“It could be her,” said Jack. “But then it could be anyone. The damage has been done, you will be well enough in time to give evidence. There’s no point in worrying yourself silly over Mgina.”

She nodded. “Maybe so. Any news from Nairobi?”

He didn’t reply straight away, but then said, “No.”

“You’re lying!”

Yet another pause. “Get well before you face what they’re saying in Nairobi.”

She stopped eating. “I’m not a child, Jack, and I’m on the mend. Tell me.”

He uncrossed and recrossed his legs, to buy time. “There have been demonstrations outside the prison where Ndekei is being held. There’s going to be a concert in support of Ndekei on the night before the trial starts. Ndekei’s wife, Atape, and his children will be paraded onstage. They will be in court.”

“So it really will be a circus?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid so. The politicians have got hold of the trial. They won’t let go.” He paused, then said, “Hold on” and went out.

He soon came back. He had two newspaper cuttings with him. “This is a long editorial in the East African Gazette , a couple of days ago. It’s quite interesting, thoughtful, and concludes that Kenya shouldn’t go back to tribal law but that in this case—the Ndekei case—the evidence is only circumstantial and, in the wider interests of Kenya, the trial should be abandoned.”

“What?”

He nodded. “Read it. We’re lucky to have a copy because the other cutting, as you will see, is a short news report which says that the editorial in the Gazette was in contempt of court and the paper has been closed down.”

She looked up. “Can they do that?”

“They can and they do. One of the censors just wanted the offending article ripped out but that was judged impracticable, with so many copies being printed, so all the papers were pulped and the editorial offices closed down for a week.”

“Which makes the trial even more newsworthy.”

He nodded.

“But you are still not trying to dissuade me?”

“I know better. We all do.”

If they knew what she suspected, about Richard and Ndekei, and if it were true, what would everyone say then? she wondered. Her illness had prevented her from contacting Maxwell Sandys. How much did that matter? Would she ever know?

“Is Tudor still the judge?”

“Yes. He’s coming in for some stick too.”

She lay back down on the bed and put her arm behind her head. “What would happen if I were too ill to give evidence?”

“I’m not sure. It would probably be up to the judge. He could either postpone the trial or insist the proceedings go ahead, without you. Which would mean, I suppose, that the prosecution’s case would collapse.” He bit his lip. “You’re not thinking of being too ill to give evidence, are you?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be true any more to say that I haven’t wavered. This illness, this rash, has played havoc with my system. When you’re sweating and scratching it’s not easy to know your own mind.” She sighed. “If Mgina is the—” She looked at Jack. “I’m just exhausted the whole time.”

He nodded. “I’m not too sure any of it matters anymore anyway.”

She rolled onto her side. “What do you mean?”

“Atape and Ndekei’s children are not the only people going onstage at the concert. Marongo is going to speak. I strongly suspect he may use the opportunity to announce a deal with Russell—that avenue seems to have acquired a momentum all its own.” He took out his cigarettes. “We have to make the most of this season, because it will probably be our last in the gorge.”

He lit a cigarette. “But … when you are ready, if you decide you want to marry me, the offer still stands.”

Eleanor tapped her water glass with her knife. The buzz of conversation over the dinner table died.

“First, I think we should all welcome back Natalie.” She turned in her seat. “We have all missed you, my dear—how long has it been now? Two weeks? You look pale but how do you feel?”

Natalie sipped some water. “I feel a little weak, my hands still itch now and then, but I’m hungry for the first time in days.” She smiled.

“Good,” said Eleanor, turning to watch as Naiva brought in the food. She turned back. “This is the last time we shall all be together for a while. Arnold and Jonas are staying here, during the trial, carrying on with the digging, showing the Maasai we haven’t abandoned the gorge. Jack, Natalie, and I will be in Nairobi. Christopher should be up and about tomorrow and will come with us. The papers for Nature are all written—Natalie, thank you for working while you have been rather less than one hundred percent these past few days. I will post the papers from Nairobi, as one package. They should be in London in about a week. I have spoken again to Harold Heath and if he likes what we have written as much as he anticipates, and because of the controversial background, there will be a special edition of Nature , devoted to the gorge.” The food had reached her and she helped herself. “That may come late in the day for Marongo but a special edition of Nature is not nothing in scientific terms, and Russell may find himself further out in the cold than he would like.”