Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

Kees, Christopher, and Arnold were already at breakfast.

Pryce was a finicky eater who invariably cut what he was eating into neat little squares. “Who is that rather pretty girl who helps you in the darkroom, Christopher?”

“Why? Are you thinking of getting married again?” Christopher grinned. “And don’t let her hear you calling her a girl,” he added. “She’s twenty-one, and a mother twice over. She’s a woman.”

“Is she a Maasai?” growled Pryce. “Is she one of her husband’s many wives?”

“You should have been a Maasai,” said Kees. “Then you wouldn’t have to keep getting divorced.”

“It’s a civilized civilization, in some ways, I agree.” Pryce spooned cereal into his mouth. “But not all Maasai habits are equally agreeable, eh?”

No one said anything for a moment.

Natalie buttered her toast.

“No,” Christopher said at length, almost in a whisper. “And there’s something you don’t know.”

Everyone looked at him.

“Some of you may have been there a few days ago when my mother asked Daniel to send the Maasai a bolt of cloth, as a softener because we have fenced off that korongo.” He paused. “It was left outside the gate to the camp during the night.”

“They returned it!” Pryce was astonished. He put his fingers to his lips. “Oh, my.”

Christopher nodded.

Natalie put down her cup. “And that means what, exactly?” But the way her heart was rocking about in her chest told her that she already had some idea.

“Well, it’s hardly good news, is it?” Christopher cupped his hands around his coffee mug. “They’re not happy—but then we knew that.”

“What else do you read into their behavior?” Kees put down his knife.

“We-e-ll,” said Christopher, adopting a deliberate tone. “I’d say it’s a measured response, a warning.” He looked at Natalie. “When we are here, digging, we pay the Maasai to keep away … we pay in cows—it’s their main form of wealth.”

“Cows? How many cows?” This was all news to Natalie.

“Oh, half a dozen. They’re not very expensive for us, but they mean a lot to the Maasai.” He swallowed some coffee. “Anyway, the gift of cattle is always popular—and they get another six at the end of the digging season. So-o-o … they don’t want to drive us away.” He helped himself to an apple. “So-o-o … the fact that they returned the bolt of cloth means two things.”

No one else said anything. All eyes were on him. He was his mother’s son.

“It means we are not out of the wood yet. That the Maasai are still grieving about the invasion of their burial ground. And it means they reserve the right to take back the korongo , destroy our sites, and stop what we are doing here—”

“No—!” said Kees and Natalie at the same time.

“Unless … unless, well, you can probably work it out for yourselves.” Christopher looked down, avoiding eye contact.

Natalie turned over what Christopher had said in her mind. No, she couldn’t work out what he was getting at.

Naiva, the young woman who had met them on their return from the airstrip the day before, who had for the time being taken Mutevu Ndekei’s place, was busy putting out some fried eggs on the side table. She refreshed the coffee jug and brought more butter.

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—”