The River Between (10 page)

Four o'clock. And she had not yet appeared. The school was almost deserted. Waiyaki had given the children permission to go home earlier than usual because they had been working the whole day mudding the building. The gaping holes were no longer there. The walls looked newly built and the hut was quite respectable except for the roof. However, he thought he would speak about the roof when the parents met. The gathering might be a large one, for it would be attended by people from the other ridges. Marioshoni had established itself as the center of the new spirit sweeping through the ridges. And Waiyaki, though young, was considered the unofficial leader of the education movement that would inevitably awaken the ridges. The day for the meeting had already been fixed.

Waiyaki waited. He became restless. Perhaps she would not come. He felt hurt and did not know what to do. All the day long, he had thought of nothing but their meeting. Whenever he heard footfalls, he had thought that it was she. And whenever he saw a head appearing, his heart beat with expectancy. His soul and senses were taut and tense.

She did not come. And he could not wait any more. He was angry and felt disappointed. For the first time he thought that she might be the conceited girl Kamau had painted her in their talks. He had then not believed it but now he knew it was true. What a proud woman! Was it because her father Joshua—or could it be—? Why had he not thought of it? She might have feared her father would discover her. For a time, he strongly felt the gap between them. It was as big as the one dividing Kameno and Makuyu.

He went home.

His mother's hut and two barns stood there defiantly; exactly as they had stood for years. His father's
thingira
had been burned, as was the custom, after his death. Waiyaki could never think of his home without the old man coming into the picture. His father usually sat outside, until the cows were milked, the birds flew away and the sun sank home. Sometimes he would sit there under the family tree till darkness had covered the land.

Around the huts was bush, extending until it merged with the low-lying forest. The forest went down the slope to the Honia river. Beyond and across the valley facing Kameno was Makuyu, with many huts lying along the top in little clusters, indicating various households. From afar you might have thought the huts in Waiyaki's home were a part of the bush and the forest. Actually the whole place was not all bush. Small shambas were hidden from view by the trees. Now that the rain had fallen, Waiyaki knew that green life would soon appear; and peas, beans and maize would soon be flourishing, scorning the drought that had been threatening the country.

Njahi was the season of the long rains. It was the favorite season with all the people. For then, everyone would be sure of a good harvest. The peas and beans, bursting into life, gave color and youth to the land. On sunny days the green leaves and the virgin gaiety of the flowers made your heart swell with expectation. At such times women would be seen in their shambas cultivating; no, not cultivating, but talking in a secret language with the crops and the soil. Women sang gay songs. The children too. And the plants and all the trees around, swaying a little as if they were surrendering themselves to the touch of the wind, seemed to understand the joy of mothers. You could tell by the bright faces of the women that they were happy.

Not only the women but cows and goats caught the life. They jumped about, kicking in the air with their tails twisted into different shapes. The children were also happy and the ones who were grown up looked after the very young ones. You would see them running about, wandering aimlessly as if the madness or the intoxication of the bees had caught them. So they ran and played. But they were careful not to harm the flowers. Waiyaki could still remember how he used to follow his mother to the shamba and keep on climbing up a
mwariki
tree. Occasionally a delicate squeal of a neglected baby would be heard rising above the peace of the fields. And the voice of the mother, distant, yet ringing with life and deep concern, would rise, admonishing the bigger children to take care of the young.

In the evening all went home; husband and boys bringing in the cattle and goats; women bringing home the day's gathering of what would be eaten at night. They would then sit and wait to see what the woman of the house had for the evening meal. The boys usually talked. But the man of the house would sit under the family tree, if it was not yet dark, and meditate or hold a discussion with one or two elders who might call at that time.

In the past few years things were changing; the pattern of seasons was broken. It no longer rained regularly. The sun seemed to shine for months and the grass dried. And when it fell, the rainwater carried away the soil. The soil no longer answered the call and prayers of the people. Perhaps it had to do with the white men and the blaspheming men of Makuyu.

 • • • 

Waiyaki lingered outside for a few minutes. He remembered his father and wondered how old he would look if he were still alive. Waiyaki had never understood him. Waiyaki often found himself trying to puzzle out the meaning of the old prophecy. Did Chege really think Waiyaki would be that savior? Was he to drive out the white man? Was that the salvation? And what would a savior do with the band of men who, along with Joshua, stuck so rigidly to the new faith?

Yes, Waiyaki wished he had understood better.

And always Waiyaki thought about Kabonyi. He did not know what to make of him. He had been a strong member of Joshua's followers. Yet when the time came he was the one who led those who had broken away. After the death of Chege he came to take up the official leadership of the hills. Maybe he was the destined savior. Did Kabonyi see himself as such? Chege had told Waiyaki that Kabonyi was probably the only other man who knew the real particulars concerning the prophecy.

Kabonyi was a member of the school's governing committee and made sure that he opposed Waiyaki's suggestions on every possible occasion. One time, when Waiyaki proposed that lavatories should be built, Kabonyi opposed it saying that the bush was as good a place. But after one or two elders had spoken the proposal was carried. Kabonyi kept silent for the rest of the meeting.

More annoying to Waiyaki, however, was Kabonyi's constant reference to his youth.

“Young man, we are old. We have seen a lot and gone through many experiences,” he would say whenever he wanted to be destructive. The other elders called him the Teacher as a sign of respect.

 • • • 

When darkness came, Waiyaki went inside his hut. “Nyambura has done me wrong.” That was what he was thinking. But when he remembered Joshua and the way he had disowned Muthoni, he forgave her. After all, was he himself free from fear?

In his heart, Waiyaki knew that he would not have liked to be seen by Kabonyi standing with Joshua's daughter. He resented this and wondered if he too was becoming a slave to the tribe. His activities were being watched by everyone. His freedom was being curbed. Yet was this not what he wanted? Service! Service! Always standing by the tribe like his father and the ancestors before him. And fate was driving him to the helm of things. Very well. If they wanted him to stand by the tribe, he would do it. His father must have foreseen all this.

And Waiyaki felt proud of him. He felt proud of this man who had stood alone, singlehanded, and carried the heavy burden of the people's feelings and thoughts in his voice, although they did not heed him. And Waiyaki remembered his father with a new glow and admiration. He no longer felt bound. He would serve the tribe, serve, serve. . . .

There was nothing much in his hut: a rough bed, a table and one chair. The hut was cold and everything in it spoke of desolation. Waiyaki felt like an intruder penetrating the dark mystery of the place as he groped for the lantern. He shivered a little. But the glow in his heart warmed him.

The elders did not pay him much. He did not mind. This was a part of the sacrifice. Later they would feel grateful. That would be enough payment for Waiyaki. And he would go on with what he had begun: schools and more schools; get the white man's education, as his father had told him. But Waiyaki would not be satisfied with just more schools. Later he would want a college, the sort of institution that Reverend Livingstone used to talk so much about. Why, he might even get more teachers from Nairobi. Nairobi was far, far away. He had never been there. Still—all those plans were for the future. At present he would try to make his school grow and be an example to the others.

He watched the little flame, fluttering, setting hazy shadows on the round wall. The flame was dark on the fringes. The smoke went up, up, up—He watched fixedly, like a man gazing at a small object in a dream. Slowly he put out his little finger and tried to touch the flame. He removed it quickly. It was not good to play with fire. He felt angry, very angry for no particular reason. There was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

“Hey—Kinuthia.”

“Waiyaki.”

“Is it well with you?”

“It is well.”

Kinuthia stood there for a moment. Then he went across and sat on the bed. Waiyaki looked at him. Kinuthia would not meet his eyes.

“You are coming from—”

“Home.”

“How is the ridge? I hope all is at peace.”

“Oh yes. All is well. And how is your mother?”

“I have not yet gone to see her. Shall we go to her hut and see what she has for us?”

They went to the hut of Waiyaki's mother; Waiyaki was not surprised at Kinuthia's visit. They often visited each other without warning.

“I have heard that you are in this Kiama?”

“I have no idea. Who told you?” This was true. Nobody had told Waiyaki about it.

“Well, I heard it with Kabonyi after school. Seems the elders want to make you the clerk. But Kabonyi is angry. I found him saying to everybody that you are too young to be let into the secrets of the tribe.” Kinuthia stopped. Then, in a more serious and slightly warning tone, he continued, “I think Kabonyi does not like you. I would be careful of him if I were you.”

Waiyaki felt like laughing. But he checked himself and wondered why Kabonyi should be so against him. He had never done anything wrong to him.

His mother had finished cooking. The whole place had a gloomy atmosphere. Kinuthia remarked about this as they ate their food. Waiyaki glanced at his mother, who sat away from the fire.

He loved her. After all, he was her only son. He felt guilty that he did not spend much time with her. It was not like when he was young. Then he used to sit with her round the fire far into the night. She told him stories.

Quietly they ate their meal and then went back to Waiyaki's hut. He said:

“I think you are wrong, Kinuthia. Why should he dislike me? I have not done anything wrong to him.”

“Jealousy.”

They were silent, for a long time. Then they talked of many little things, about the villages and the school. Just before he left, Kinuthia suddenly said to Waiyaki, “Kamau told me that he thought he saw you in Makuyu late last night.”

Waiyaki did not answer.

Whenever Joshua preached there was something fascinating in his voice. It carried a deep sense of conviction, a passionate commitment to the moral truths revealed to him through the Bible. His church was always packed full. He was the undisputed spiritual leader of God's children, all those who followed the new faith. Today he thundered: “There is none righteous, no, not one.” There was the same sharp ringing voice commanding attention from everyone. It had lost none of its magic.

What one admired in Joshua was his fidelity. Ever since he took to the new faith he had remained true to Livingstone and his God. His own puritanism and strictness had never varied or wavered. If Muthoni's rebellion and death put him off, he did not show it. He had, in any case, disowned her. To him she never existed. What had a man of God to do with the children of the evil one?

In fact Joshua had emerged from this trial much strengthened in faith. He now preached with even greater vigor. As the spiritual head of the hills, he enforced the Church's morality with energy. All the tribe's customs were bad. That was final. There could never be a compromise. And so Joshua remained constant, preaching the word, singing the pilgrims' songs. He was certainly the most constant of all, for even Chege, who had died opposed to the new faith, had at least given in in one sense by allowing his son Waiyaki to go to Siriana.

Listening to the sermon, Waiyaki thought of Kabonyi and the new Kiama. And Joshua went on speaking, now raising his voice, now lowering it to make a point. “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.”

Yes. The voice was clear, almost too clear for a man of his age. The blazing sun shone with great intensity and the old rusty sheets that roofed the small Makuyu church could be heard making tiny cracking sounds. The whole congregation was tense and silent. They wanted to hear every single word that came from this man of God, their shepherd, a man who had proved himself a rock, invincible to the wiles of the devil.

Sitting at the back, Waiyaki could clearly see Joshua. Waiyaki did not know why he was there. It was really a surprise even to himself.

“Hath a nation changed their gods which yet were no gods? But my people have changed their glory for that which doth not profit. . . . And coming to the New Testament, the Testament that you hold in your hands today, we read, ‘And Jesus said, Seek ye first the Kingdom of God. . . .'”

Waiyaki was thinking: “This man knows the Bible. He always mixes his own words with quotations from this Book of God.”

“Therefore, brothers and sisters, I tell you today, come to Jesus. Stand by Him. You see Him being taken to the Cross. Are you going to desert Him? Are you going to deny Him like Peter? Remember life here on earth is one of trials, and of hardship. Satan will come to you at night, in your own house, in your field, or even in church here, and he will whisper to you, calling you back to the old ways. ‘Njoroge and Joshua,' he will say, ‘follow me. This broad and easy road you see here, this, my son, is the right way.' Remember, do not hearken to that voice. Let us march with one heart to the New Jerusalem. In the fourteenth chapter of the book of St. John, Jesus says: ‘Let not your heart be troubled: Ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.'

“That place is now ready for you and me, for the faithful, the happy band of pilgrims who will remain on the path, braving all the hardships. . . . And today, O brother, if you hear his voice, harden not your hearts. . . .”

Joshua looked around. For a moment he seemed to fix his glance on Waiyaki. But no. He was taking in all the people at once, with one sweep of his eyes. He talked of those who had found the light yet now walked not in the light. He spoke of those who wanted to walk their feet on two roads at the same time. How could you mix the two ways?

“My brothers and sisters, there is no compromise. Our Lord did not compromise when he hung on the Cross. He did not mix two ways but stood by the Light. . . .”

Waiyaki felt uneasy. He remembered that he had always wondered what to make of people like Kabonyi, where to place them. Then he moved on to himself. Where did he stand? Perhaps there was no halfway house between Makuyu and Kameno. And what of uniting the two ridges? Just now he did not know his ground. He did not know himself, and he felt Joshua's words touching a chord in the dark corner of his soul so that he was afraid. . . . And Joshua was speaking of conversion: new man, new creature, new life. He raised his voice. He condemned, he deplored. He coaxed and warned. Again Waiyaki felt guilty. Guilty of what? Perhaps of something to do with the light or something to do with being unfaithful to his father's voice of long ago—“be true to the tribe and the ancient rites.” Yet here he was in Joshua's church. Joshua finished. For a time there was complete silence in the holy building. Then with one accord the congregation burst into a hymn, almost spontaneously:

Uhoro Mwega niuyu

Niukiite Guku gwiitu

Uhoro Mwega niuyu

Wa Muhonokia witu.

Good news is this

Which has come to this our place

It is the good news

Of Christ our Savior.

Waiyaki stole out. He was glad to get away while they were singing. He had felt like an intruder or a spy. And he came out of the church disturbed at heart. As the hymn reached his ears, he again felt that insatiable longing for something beyond him, something that would contain the whole of himself. Why had he come? True, he had been on his way to another ridge and had not originally planned to enter; but the fact remained that he had been inside. He tried to convince himself that the impulse to enter had nothing to do with Nyambura. But why had he been disappointed when he did not see her in the building?

Waiyaki was now in the new Kiama. An elder had been sent to tell him so. The Kiama had not yet begun working and so he did not know much about it. But it was concerned with the purity of the tribe and the ridges. If the elders saw him in church they would think that he was betraying them. Yet Waiyaki thought that he would never forsake them. He would serve them to the end. With the little knowledge that he had he would uplift the tribe, yes, give it the white man's learning and his tools, so that in the end the tribe would be strong enough, wise enough, to chase away the settlers and the missionaries. And Waiyaki saw a tribe great with many educated sons and daughters, all living together, tilling the land of their ancestors in perpetual serenity, pursuing their rituals and beautiful customs and all of them acknowledging their debt to him. He felt grateful at the thought. Perhaps this was the mission, the mission that the Sent One would carry out. Yes—Waiyaki would strive, strive. He was elated by his thoughts as he beheld this vision of greatness. Waiyaki walked with a brisk step, following the vision.

“Waiyaki!”

He turned round. His vision was gone.

“Kamau! Is it well with you?” They shook hands.

“It is well. Where are you coming from?”

“Well, eh—I was just passing on my way to the next ridge when I thought I might peep in and see what the old man of Makuyu does on Sundays.”

“Joshua?”

“Yes.”

They both stood under a tree near the road. Waiyaki looked at Kamau. Just then Nyambura passed them at a distance. Waiyaki's heart jumped. He watched her walking easily, going toward the next valley. She disappeared. He turned his eyes to Kamau, who was looking in the direction Nyambura had taken. Somehow Waiyaki became irritated. He remembered what Kinuthia had told him, and he wondered if Kamau had seen him with Nyambura.

“I am going,” Waiyaki said. Kamau did not answer. He seemed to be contemplating something. He said at last, “What do you think of her?”

“Who?”

“That girl.”

“Which?”

“Why, Nyambura. Didn't you see her?”

“Well, no I didn't.”

Waiyaki cursed himself for telling a lie. But just then he felt himself in a wicked, malicious mood. Kamau did not take any notice of this. He was still looking in the direction the girl had taken. His thoughts soon materialized into “I think she is a beautiful woman.” Suddenly Waiyaki became jealous, jealous for Nyambura.

 • • • 

She was waiting for him at the next valley. Her heart beat as she saw him approach. She did not know what she would tell him. For she felt guilty at her failure to go to Marioshoni on the day she had promised to see him. She had wanted to go but it would have been a big risk. Her father had been at home at the time. Waiyaki had never been out of her mind since that day they met in the moonlight. She was always excited at the thought of him. And her eyes shone so that sometimes Miriamu asked her what she was dreaming about. She did not know what was happening to her but she knew that since that accidental meeting she had not been the same again. And now she felt a strange longing for something that not even the river could give her.

For the last two weeks she had wanted to meet him, if only to greet him and pass. She had not been able to see him and she feared going to his school. Today she had not gone to church and she was strolling aimlessly when she saw him walking toward the valley. But when she saw him stand with Kamau she passed at a safe distance.

And Waiyaki was pleased to see her. He had not set eyes on her since that night. And there she now stood, quiet and rather reserved. She did not appear as she had in the moonlight. But he could see that she was beautiful. He approached her hesitantly, his heart beating. She smiled. He thought it a beautiful smile.

“Are you well?”

“I am well. And you?”

“I am well too.”

There was silence between them. They did not look directly at one another.

“I waited for you.”

“I am sorry I could not come.” She hesitated a little. “I had much work at home and I—I could not get time.”

Waiyaki understood, or rather, he thought he did. He did not press the point further.

“It is all right. You can come another day.”

“Well—I don't know—maybe. If I get a chance.”

He stole a glance at her and saw how she turned her head away. And immediately he knew that she had come to meet him. And he at once wanted to tell her that he loved her. He could not do it. But he yearned for her and, as he went away, he felt a desire to hold her close to him and whisper many things to her.

Nyambura scarcely saw anything as she sped home. She began cooking because she knew her father and mother would be home soon. She just cooked like a woman in a dream. Waiyaki had told her nothing. Yet she felt a glow inside.

When her mother came back from church she saw the girl was excited.

“What is it, Nyambura? Has your stomach stopped aching?”

Nyambura remembered that it was the ache in her stomach that had prevented her from going to church. She immediately answered “No.”

She knew this was not true.

When evening came and her father had come home, she went to bed, saying that she was not feeling well.