Mackenzie Ford - The Clouds Beneath the Sun

“But Russell! Of all people!” As she said this, the thought also occurred to her that Marongo knew about Ndekei and Richard. Was homosexuality a sin among the Maasai and if so did Marongo now have a personal grievance against anyone connected to Richard? Did that explain what was happening?

Jack lifted his glass to his forehead, to cool it. “Russell, or at least Richard Sutton Senior, is promising a lot of money, and politics—Marongo’s main interest now—is expensive. What’s more, Marongo is a pragmatist. Richard Junior has already been killed. The Maasai have, in theory at least, been converted to Christianity. You and I know that conversion is paper thin—they still worship their traditional gods, live in the old ways. But Marongo is the chief, his people will obey him, and he knows how to wheel out Christianity when it suits him, and it might suit him now, to make the most of the Christian idea of forgiveness and redemption. Think how that will play in the Western—the white—press. He, Marongo, forgives Russell, and Russell and Richard Sutton Senior redeem themselves by paying a forfeit and working in the gorge under Maasai direction.” He sighed. “It could work.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”

“I’m not saying it will happen—there’s a lot of fight in the Deacons yet. But it’s one scenario.”

Natalie was breathing heavily, hating what Jack was saying. “Give me another scenario, please. Something more upbeat.”

Jack finished his whiskey and refilled his glass with water. But he didn’t say anything for some time.

When he did, he said quietly, “I would very much like to make love to you again, Natalie—”

“Jack!” She colored. “What has that got to do with—?”

“Hear me out. I’m not about to jump on you.” He gulped his water. “The night we spent together in Lamu was … well, it was memorable, despite those goons under the lamplight. I am not going to embarrass you by talking about the lovemaking, other than to say that the whole experience was … it sure beats finding fossils.” He grinned. “Or flying your own plane, and I’d swap my Ph.D. for it several times over.”

He grinned again but she said, “I still don’t see what—?”

“I’m getting there. I know Natalie Nelson, a bit anyway. I know who she is, what moves her, what matters to her. And I know that you agreed to spend the night with me in Lamu for a variety of complicated and simple reasons that might never come together again.”

She was listening now.

“I know some of those reasons, I can guess at others, still more are locked away inside you and are none of my business. But what I do know, Natalie, and I’m very sure of this, I know I can’t let you get away. If you want an upbeat scenario—I think it’s upbeat anyway—try this …” He paused. “Marry me.”

She colored again. But she didn’t say anything. Her throat was dry.

“Come and live in Africa, where there are lots of Lamus. Make it your life. Whatever happens in the gorge, there are other places to dig—the Rift Valley is thousands of miles long, there are plenty of places for other discoveries to be made. Learn to fly yourself—if Christopher can do it, you can.” He smiled. “Learn about African music, have your father come out here and listen to what the local tribes can do. Bring up some babies in the bush with all the wildlife and butterflies, the warmth—and the dung!” He swallowed what was left of his water. “Let’s have enough babies to start a choir.” He grinned. “You know how I am about children. How’s that for a scenario?”

Silence in the room. Downstairs the British journalists were growing rowdy.

When Natalie did speak, it was to say, “In a month or so I shall give evidence that could, if your bleak scenario proves accurate, drive the Deacons from the gorge that has been their life for decades. How would certain other Deacons feel about me becoming a Deacon under those circumstances?”

He shrugged. “You can keep your own name if you wish. I like Natalie Nelson, it suits you. I told you that, the first time we met.”

“That wasn’t so long ago. How can you be so certain of your own mind so soon?”

“You were immediately certain of seeing Ndekei.”

“Not the same thing at all.”

“Maybe not, but when you fly airplanes you have to be certain of a specific number of things—lives depend on it. That habit grows. I’m certain of what I feel for you.”

“I’m like altitude, am I? Or barometric pressure?”

He grinned. “No, you’re more like a weather pattern, a configuration, basically the same sunshine, a little cloudy at times, squally at others, the occasional growl of thunder … help me out here, I’m not sure I can keep this up much longer.”

Another silence.

“You’re right about Lamu. A weather pattern formed there, it built up—it did for me anyhow.” She reached across and laid her hand on his arm. “It was lovely. But—”

“I knew there was a ‘but’ coming. ‘Buts’ have peppered my life, they are up there with ‘howevers’ and ‘nonethelesses.’ ‘Buts’ have presaged every disappointment, ignited every setback, begun the destruction of every hopeful scenario. I loathe ‘buts.’”

“I won’t use that word, then. And I won’t give you an answer tonight. I won’t say no and I can’t say yes either, not right now.” She thought. “Did you really expect me to say yes this instant, to so sudden and so big a question?”

Natalie swallowed what was left of her whiskey.

“What a day. I need to go to bed—I’m mentally exhausted, though I’m sure I shan’t sleep.” She stood up and kissed him on the forehead. “A choirload of babies. That’s quite a scenario, Dr. Deacon.”

She had been right. Sleep wouldn’t come. It was hot in the room; the overhead fan was working but not being at all effective. It had started to rain outside—the short rains had reached Nairobi. The weather in her head was changing too.

She had never hit a man before. She had never hit anyone before. She had never imagined doing so. But Russell … She didn’t want to think about Russell but she couldn’t avoid it. How could he conceive—plan, plot, precipitate—what he was trying to make happen? Jack and Russell were as different as could be. Jack—so far as she knew—was not at all the jealous type. But, like Jack, Russell thought politically. It was, as Jack had shown her, a dimension missing from her own makeup. Natalie had been brought up to avoid jealousy and revenge but she knew, from her own unavoidable feelings when she had been going out with Dominic and he spoke about his wife, what an unmanageable monster jealousy could be. Mgina had been right: like termites, jealousy corrodes even the strongest timber.

Jealousy might even be the very foundation on which this whole terrible scenario was built .

She heard shouting in the street. What was it? Drunken revelers? A political demo? Not at this hour surely, but that just showed how on edge she was, how much her life was determined by …

Around three, the solution came to her. It was like a flower unfolding in her brain. Something that had always been there suddenly grew bigger, more colorful, more attractive, more appealing, took on a form all its own.

She would change her story .

She would give Ndekei his freedom, Marongo his victory, and the gorge a future.

She would say, simply, that she had had second thoughts, that in her heart she could no longer be certain that the figure she had seen that night was Ndekei. She had not seen his features, so he could have been anyone. Yes, he was wearing a white T-shirt of the kind worn by Ndekei, but was he really shuffling, as she had thought? How could she tell, at that distance, in the dark?