Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

“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?”