“I am too old to live in a foreign land,” she would say firmly.
“But you are only forty, my dear. How can you say that?”
“I am not a nomad by nature, Bob.”
“We can go to Rhodesia.”
“And live among those racist farmers?”
“Or to South Africa. You have never seen such a beautiful country.”
“The blacks will kill you.”
“South America is perfect. Beautiful weather, wine, luxury.”
“Next you are going to suggest the Caribbeans.”
“Yes, nobody gives a damn over there. Nobody will bother you.”
“We will see, Bob,” she would say in a conciliatory tone that did not mean she had changed her mind, “but don’t tell Amin of your travel plans.”
“Are you crazy, woman?”
Ashes had a cageful of parrots. He and his wife enjoyed hearing them curse, sing, whistle. His favourite, a green one with red spots, he had christened General Fart. To entertain his wife, he would dress in a pirate outfit imported from Britain — eyepatch, scarf and all — and play with General Fart.
Sometimes he would look at the lake and momentarily visualize his escape route. He planned to slip away as noiselessly as he had arrived. Did Dr. Ali also prophesy my escape? he would think amusedly.
SISTER FINALLY MANAGED to get away. She cleaned the utensils, scrubbed the floor and closed the house, leaving a message behind for Mafuta. It was with a heavy heart that she began the journey. She felt the burden of leadership slipping onto her shoulders, heavy like lead, hot like a disc saw in action. She was going to have to keep everybody hopeful. As the car took her away from the place she had come to love, it felt as if she would not return. Harder than leaving was keeping the load of secrets gnawing away inside her.
Her brother’s money made her think of Saudi Arabia, a fabled land spouting oil and oozing with billions of dollars. That some of it had found its way into her brother’s pocket could only be good news. She herself would never touch anybody’s money, but she had nothing against people fighting their way out of poverty, as long as they did not take from defenceless people. It struck her again that maybe he was dead. If so, her life would change very quickly; Mafuta’s too. She did not know if she could handle it.
She now realized how wise she had been to resist expensive gifts from him.
“Sister, I have never given you anything of value, something to reflect what you mean to me.”
“I have you. If you are alive, I am rich,” she had replied.
“I know, but unexpressed love and appreciation go mouldy.”
“Not if there is sincerity. Take care of your wife; Mafuta will take care of me. If anything happens to him, I can always turn to you. You are my insurance and that is enough for me.”
“The offer still stands.”
“I appreciate it.”
Bat had looked disappointed.
She arrived safely. People had gathered at her parents’ home. Relatives, friends, strangers. Her brother Tayari had broken the news to them the day before and had forestalled everybody by bringing an astrologer from the city and a bull. He had killed the bull and the astrologer had read the omens, which had been favourable. There was the smell of roasting and cooking meat in the compound as the people regaled themselves on the meat. Some staunch Catholics and Protestants were still offended that an astrologer, an agent of the Devil, had been called in instead of priests. They refused to touch the meat, saying that it was unholy.
Sister was surprised by Tayari’s action; she felt outsmarted. Her friends had suggested consulting an astrologer, but she had not made up her mind. She took her brother aside and asked him what had happened.
“You say that the omens were good.”
“Yes, they were,” Tayari said pensively.
“Did he say what is going to happen next?”
“Nobody can, except God, I mean Dr. Ali. I decided to do it just to get it out of the way. I knew that many people were thinking about it but were afraid to take action.”
“What did Father say?”
“Under the circumstances he would kiss the man’s feet if he said that Bat was returning home tomorrow.”
“Where did you get the money?”
“From the fireworks displays. I also have other sources.”
“I am very proud of you.”
“Thank you, Sister.”
Sister did not have to do much; Tayari had taken over the show. She returned home the next morning. Mafuta had arrived the night before and was in a bad mood. They almost had a row. He wanted her to listen to his story first before burdening him with her worries. She maintained that her brother’s life was in mortal danger. He agreed but said that he had missed her and needed some attention. He had had a difficult fortnight. He had bought cattle, sold it, but the buyer had tried to cheat him. He had spent the week trying to get his money.
She knew that he was being difficult because he did not like Bat. He had gotten the news the previous night and gone out to drink. He had felt happy that his enemy had bitten the dust. Maybe now he had learned what it felt like not to be accepted. Maybe he would learn some humility, some manners, some respect, some consideration. It was only at the end of the evening, replete with beer and meat, that he had admitted that it could have happened to anybody.
It surprised him that a day later he still could not resist showing resentment to his wife. He had thought about it, planned to be nice, but when he saw her lumbering home, he felt angry. Angry that she had not been home to receive him.
“It is terrible news,” he finally conceded. “What do you want me to do?”
“Accompany me to Kampala.”
“All right,” he said grudgingly, thinking about the cost. Spending so much on a person he did not like. He did not say it out loud, but she sensed it in his tone of voice, in the way he brooded. If she hadn’t been pregnant, he would have prolonged the fight.
The atmosphere in the house and on the bus could have done with some cheer. It looked and felt grey. Everything was so different from what they were used to, for they usually enjoyed each other’s company. Maybe he missed the big meals she cooked him, the little things she slid his way. He definitely did not like competition, and was already worried that the baby might come between them and usurp his position. The little bastard might get some of Bat’s characteristics and that would be a disaster. Then he would have to doubly assert his authority.
Mafuta was irritated by having to meet Bat’s rich and more educated friends. He resented them and the way they made him feel. There was the Professor: he would be preaching and paying attention to Sister. These people did not seem to see him or did not know how to talk to him, the intruder who took their friend’s sister away from the circles she should have joined as a permanent member, by marriage to one of their colleagues. The Kalandas had the ways of the newly rich. They had subtle means of flaunting their class, little references to artists, painters, foreign places, as if saying, If you don’t know so-and-so, or this or that place, you are a peasant with grime under your nails. Such subtlety annoyed him. Mrs. Kalanda had her sisters in Kenya and in Britain and the things they sent her. He had heard it all before at his wedding; he knew he was going to hear it again, swaddled in new words or shamelessly displayed in the old ones. These days it seemed that the quickest way to rise in status or class was to go abroad; the interesting thing was that those left behind, family or friends, all rose with you. “I have a brother in America, a sister in Australia, they are leading such a wonderful life,” some fool would chirp boastfully at you, as if he had won the lottery or been made a minister.