Echoes From a Distant Land (41 page)

Then she was running as fast as her shoes would allow, with Raph and Jelani beside her. They dodged and dashed down streets and alleys until they were all thoroughly spent and dropped to a doorstep, laughing.

Emerald, who was thrilled to have stood her ground despite her terror, now looked at the business card in her hand. It had the
New York Daily News
banner on it. That was one of the magazines her lecturer had mentioned! She was elated and simply wanted to hug and kiss her friends for sharing the most exciting time of her twenty years.

Raph handed her the whisky and she took a mouthful. Even it tasted better than it had before the confrontation. For the first time
she actually felt grown up — though now the fading light reminded her of her mother's warning not to be late home.

When they'd recovered their breath, Raph took them to a hamburger café where he and Emerald laughed at Jelani's rapture in describing what he called the best
nyama choma
he'd ever eaten.

Raph made a great show of concealing the whisky under the table as he added a shot to their Cokes. Emerald held her handbag so that his hands were concealed and instead of feeling guilt over this rule-breaking, she was happy. The photographer was certainly the most thrilling person she'd ever met.

‘OK. Let's go,' Raph said after they'd eaten.

‘Where?'

‘I know a place with great music.'

 

It was getting late, as Emerald and Jelani followed Raph down a half-flight of stairs under a flashing sign that said
Dooby's Downstairs
. Even before they opened the door she could feel rather than hear the drum beats.

The door swung open. The club was smoky and filled with a great deal of sound. On the small bandstand were a drummer, a saxophonist, two guitarists and a double bass. Most of the crowd were black, but one white couple were on the dance floor, making some great moves.

‘It's African music,' Jelani said above the din.

‘Rhythm and blues,' Raph added. ‘Some people are calling it rock and roll.'

‘It's fabulous,' Emerald said.

Raph took her hand and Emerald joined him on the dance floor.

The sound was like nothing she'd heard before, but she loved the primitive feel of it. Raph was a marvellous dancer, sending her easily into a spin and a slide recovery — drawing her back, close to his body. She found the music easy to dance to, listening to the constant back beat of the drums. Each time he pulled her to him, her heart raced.

When she'd mastered the basic steps, she dragged Jelani to the dance floor with them. Although not as accomplished as Raph, Jelani had a natural rhythm and his body seemed to fuse with the beat of the drums.

‘Hey, I want my girl back,' Raph said as Jelani copied the close-in steps he'd seen Raph do.

Raph swept her away into the crush of dancing partners, and kissed her — right in the centre of the crowded dance floor. When she opened her eyes he was grinning at her.

Nobody took a shred of notice.

Emerald loved New York! And she thought she might love this wild, blond-headed communist even more.

Jelani awoke next morning, Saturday, with the memories of the previous day still vivid in his mind. The whole day had been one long adventure. Firstly, there was the march with the Longshoremen, then meeting his new friends, Raph and Emerald, and finally dancing to the music in the nightclub. There'd been nothing in his life to compare with it.

It brought comparisons between New York and Nairobi into sharp focus and, as he lay in bed staring at the fly-specked hotel room ceiling, his thoughts went to Beth. He could tolerate being apart for a week while he worked in Nairobi and she in Lari, but somehow the vast distances that now separated them made the week since they'd seen one another appear so much longer. He missed her.

To lift his spirits he tried to imagine what he and Beth might be doing on a Saturday back in Nairobi. They would go to Jeevanjee Gardens for lunch as usual, then maybe they'd take a
matatu
to the markets at Dagoretti Corner. Or there was the Impala Club oval where they could spend an hour lying together on the grass, watching a soccer match.

He couldn't shake his mood and decided to get out of bed and write to her.

Dear Beth
, he began, then tore the page from the pad to start again.

He paused to consider how much he should tell her about his union activities. He wasn't sure if she approved of his work. He certainly didn't want to go into the details of his training with the International Longshoremen's Association, much of which covered methods of disrupting government business and organising strikes. Beth wouldn't understand why he needed to learn such things. Also, the longshoremen were accused of being communists by some, and Christians seemed to have a lot of problems with communism. He decided to leave out further reference to the longshoremen; and he also chose to omit the highlight of his day, which was his visit to the nightclub. Dancing with a white girl would be just too much for Beth to understand.

It troubled him that she thought the Mau Mau were causing trouble for the people around Lari. It was obviously a misunderstanding — they were Kikuyus. He would talk to her some more when he returned home.

 

Emerald sat on the edge of her chair. Across the desk sat the
New York Daily News
reporter who had thrust his card into her hand at
the rally, and in front of him was her folio of photographs taken on the day. He opened it and flicked through her prints.

‘Nope,' he said of the first — her best, she thought.

‘Really? What's wrong with it? I mean, look at the drama. The policeman standing over the fallen student, his baton raised.'

‘Too dark. It won't print well.'

‘Oh.'

He flicked to the next.

‘Nope. Out of focus.'

He paused over the next shot for a while.

‘Not bad. Pity you chopped his head off.'

Another.

‘Nope.'

And another.

‘Nope.'

He shrugged as he stuffed the stack back into the folio.

‘Sorry I wasted your time, Miss Middlebridge. You've got nothing I can use here.'

‘But I took some great shots! Drama. Action. All newsworthy.'

‘I agree. But that's only part of it. The photos have to be useable.'

She took the folio from him, disheartened.

He sighed. ‘Look, I'm sorry. Do you have anything else?'

‘I've a few of my friends taken at the rally, but they're not what you're looking for.'

‘Hey, who's the professional here? C'mon, let me see them.'

She took a smaller envelope of photographs from her briefcase. The reporter flicked through them, stopping at one showing Jelani standing on a park bench, whisky flask raised, and a line of mounted policemen in the background.

‘Wait a minute, now. What do we have here?' He held the print at arm's length, studying it from different angles. ‘This is more like it. You've captured the spirit of the march perfectly, here.'

‘I have?'

‘Look at this. A black guy marching with the unionists. A victory salute before the police mount an attack. And the quality's not half bad either.'

Emerald took another look at it. He was right. It was a good shot and, if you didn't know Jelani was just clowning around, it was quite dramatic.

‘I'll buy this one from you,' he said.

Emerald was still smiling as she finished the paperwork the newspaper needed to use her print.

The reporter thanked her and led her to the door.

‘That's a really good shot, but you'll have to improve your hit-rate if you're going to make a living in this business. One shot out of forty is pretty low. Where did you say you had your training?'

‘London. Well … it wasn't really training. I did a couple of short courses on developing and stuff.'

‘Developing and stuff. So no actual photography courses.'

‘Well, I thought you can't learn that kind of thing. After all, it's art, isn't it?'

‘So's architecture, but if an architect doesn't learn about beams and materials, his artistic buildings are likely to fall down. Tell you what you do. You go back to London, enrol in a real photography course, and then apply your art.'

She nodded, thanked him, and left the office.

Being independent and earning a living wasn't as simple as she'd thought.

 

Sam studied the memorandum of understanding that Joshua Samuels had put together for General Motors' lawyers. It had everything he wanted in it, including a very good price.

‘And you say the Bradstreet and Gardiner guys will agree to this?'

‘Guaranteed,' Samuels said. ‘When I went to the GM head of department, he was pissed off. Those B&G guys got the livin' Jesus beaten out of them by GM. They'd given them a brief to deal fairly with you, but those two young guys thought they'd get cute. I reckon we've won a better settlement as a result. We owe those two turkeys a big thank you.'

‘That wasn't my first thought,' Sam said. ‘But I'm glad it's settled. What happens now?'

‘Formalities. You need to go to Chicago to sign off. There's no need for you to be there personally, and I mentioned that to them, but they want to have some PR pictures taken. You shaking hands with the Vice President. You standing on the production line. It seems like GM want to show the world they are friendly to African countries. Are you able to postpone your departure for a day or so?'

Sam nodded. ‘OK,' he said. ‘Something's come up on another issue that I have to deal with, but it can wait until I get back from Chicago.'

He thanked Samuels and left the office.

He was glad the General Motors matter was resolved. The
New York Daily News
had carried a photo of Jelani Karura, the beneficiary of his study tour sponsorship, drunk and disorderly while engaged in a communist rally.

Emerald knew she was skating on thin ice. Her mother had been furious with her after her late return from the nightclub, and it had taken a couple of days before things between them returned to normal. Now, as she applied her make-up using the bathroom mirror of their Algonquin suite, she could feel her mother's eyes on her from her seat in the next room. Emerald knew she could push her only so far, and then there'd be a backlash.

In Emerald's view, the trouble was that Dana had wanted her to come to New York to broaden her experiences yet wanted her tied to her apron strings every moment of the day.

They had agreed to compromise. Her mother would allow Emerald her freedom to come and go provided she kept Dana informed of her whereabouts and introduced her to her friends. How Emerald would arrange this, she was unsure; she and her mother had been busy attending balls, tea parties, musical events and art shows. She'd barely had any time for Raph and Jelani but had agreed she would arrange a suitable meeting.

However, she didn't want it to be a formal affair. She would not have her friends run the gauntlet of snobbish hotel staff and management, who insisted on knowing who was coming and going from the hotel. She would make arrangements for Dana to meet them on
neutral ground
.

Emerald gave her mirror image a final inspection, then joined her mother in the adjoining room.

‘You look beautiful, dear,' Dana said as she prepared to leave.

‘Thank you, Mummy.'

‘Have a nice time, dear, and oh, I meant to tell you. I've organised a surprise. You know how you've wanted to see more of America? Well, I've arranged tickets for Niagara Falls.'

‘Oh, that's wonderful,' Emerald said, resigned, even though it
was clearly her mother's way of keeping her from becoming too involved with her new friends. ‘When do we go?'

‘In a couple of weeks. We go by train on what they call the
water level route
. I believe it's quite luxurious.'

‘That's nice. See you later, Mummy.'

‘Bye, darling.'

Despite the trip to Niagara, Emerald was pleased with the way things had transpired. She had gained some degree of freedom — and without telling a lie. She had allowed her mother to believe what she needed to: for example, that Emerald's new friends were female. And if Dana thought that Emerald was spending her time with a group of friends rather than just two, then all was well. Emerald knew her mother had no cause to worry: she knew what she was doing.

Once out of the hotel, Emerald walked smartly to the subway, passing the food stall vendors with their cheery smiles and tantalising aromas.

Today she'd paid special attention to her appearance because that afternoon she would be alone with Raph for the first time.

She couldn't define the characteristic that attracted her to him, but there was no doubt he had something that made her heart jump when he looked at her, or touched her hand, or — a special thrill — took her into his arms and kissed her on the dance floor, having told Jelani she was
his girl
.

Raph shared an apartment on the Lower East Side with his brother, Kelvin, whom she'd never met. His brother allowed him to stay rent-free and use a spare bathroom as a darkroom. Emerald had not seen Raph's apartment or his photography although he'd promised to show her both since their first meeting in New York.

It would be a special day.

 

Emerald pushed the intercom button at the street entrance of the six-storey apartment block.

‘Emerald?' came a voice after a short delay.

‘Yes. It's me.'

‘OK. Come up. Sixth floor.'

A buzzer sounded, followed by a click. Emerald pushed open the door and headed for the lifts.

Raph was leaning in the doorway of his apartment when the lift doors opened. He was casually dressed in cotton slacks and a T-shirt.

‘Hello, Emerald Eyes. Come in.'

Emerald took off her hat and put it on the coffee table. The flat was quite large, with two doors off the hall — probably a bathroom and a study, and two more leading off the living room to the bedrooms. She could see the kitchen through a wide opening. A table took up part of the combined dining and lounge room, which was tastefully furnished — not at all what she expected from a person of Raph's haphazard disposition.

‘It's a beautiful apartment, Raph.'

‘Thanks to big brother Kelvin.'

‘Where is he?'

‘Hopefully earning enough money to pay the ridiculous rent on this place. Here, let me show you around.'

He took her on a brief tour of the kitchen, bathroom and living room. Although he dismissed her compliments on the furnishings and layout, he took modest ownership of some of the decorative pieces.

‘That's an old oil lamp I picked up in Casablanca,' he said of a piece on the mantle. ‘And the small weaving I got in Turkey.'

‘Wow, Raph … you've done so much. I'd love to travel the world like you. One of these days I'm going to Africa.'

‘Really?'

‘To Kenya, to be precise.'

She was ready to tell him about being born there, but he'd dismissed the subject.

He completed the inspection tour with a peep into a half-bathroom where he had all manner of contraptions, glass bottles and lights.

‘The photo lab. A mess,' he said, closing the door.

‘Well … thank you for inviting me and showing me around. I've been dying to see your work.'

‘Come on then, it's in the bedroom.'

The narrow bed was pushed against a wall leaving the remainder of the space to accommodate a long table and a frame containing large photographic prints.

‘Here's the stuff I had on display in Washington Square.' He spread a few of the prints on the table. They were good. Even with her inexpert eye, Emerald could appreciate the technical and artistic beauty of them.

‘Oh, they're wonderful, Raph.'

He shrugged. ‘Here's some earlier stuff.'

He opened a large envelope and spread out the prints. They were smaller, about the size of a foolscap page.

‘Where was this one taken?' she asked, moving closer to the table and leaning over to study it.

He came in close behind her and peered over her right shoulder. She could feel the length of his body along her side.

‘Oh, that's from Oxford. The Henley Regatta. You might recognise …' he flipped through the prints ‘… this person.' It was a photograph of her, taken at the regatta, and obviously without her knowledge. She had attended with Peter, Michael and Fiona. It was the day after her introduction to champagne and her crude proposition to Raph, which he had gallantly ignored.

So Raph had been at the regatta but, seeing her there with her boyfriend, kept his distance, biding his time until he found her sufficiently apart from her friends to snap the shot of her standing alone. It was a very flattering picture, capturing her smile perfectly.

She was delighted that he'd secretly photographed her, and even more pleased that he'd kept it all this time.

He remained close behind her and now casually put his left hand on her waist. Her skin tingled under his touch.

‘You looked beautiful that day,' he said, whispering into her ear.

As she straightened, she turned into him. He held his position and she was in his arms, kissing him. She felt a rush of excitement, like she'd peeped over the railing of a very tall building. His lips were parted and he touched the tip of his tongue to hers. She felt like she'd fallen off a cliff.

Raph pressed her against the table. He crushed her lips with his and held her so close she could scarcely breathe. She felt him fumble with the buttons on her bodice and then his hand slipped inside her brassiere. His short, sharp breaths matched her own.

Her breasts were alive to his touch. She had underestimated the effect someone else's touch would have on her. She was afraid, as she would be at any dangerous or unfamiliar emotion. It was like a walk in darkness, not knowing what lay ahead, but she was determined to enjoy the sensation until it ended.

She let him undress her, which he did with difficulty, barely able to take his lips from her for a moment. In the end she had to assist him, and then watched, fascinated, as he struggled with his trousers, nearly falling while trying to dislodge a shoe.

He drew her to the bed.

 

‘Christ, Emerald! Why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?'

‘Well … I didn't know.'

‘You didn't
know
?'

‘I mean, I didn't know that I should have told you. I thought you'd know I was.'

His chest dropped, letting a slight sigh escape with his breath. ‘I'm sorry; I would have been more gentle.'

He sounded repentant, but she couldn't recall him being rough. There'd been only a moment, when the short stabbing pain made her suck in a cry of discomfort. And after that, she had felt more like a spectator than a participant.

She'd heard girls talk about
doing it
. Some said it wasn't what they'd expected, but Emerald always thought it would be exciting and romantic. With Raph, it hadn't been either. What was the missing ingredient? Technique? She imagined that Raph was experienced in such things. Perhaps if she had more skills herself?

Or was it love that made the difference? Because as they lay there in the deepening shadows of early evening, she had no idea whether she was in love with Raph. How did people know? She thought she
had more in common with Jelani, the rather self-conscious young man from a different culture.

‘When I go to Kenya, I think I'll look up Jelani,' she said, more to herself than to Raph.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘I was just thinking out loud that it'd be nice to have someone to show us around.'

‘Hey, girl. You're in my bed. Naked. Right? So where do you get off thinking about other guys?'

His outburst took her by surprise and she needed a moment to respond.

‘What do you mean
other guys
?' she asked. ‘I just mentioned Jelani because we were talking about Kenya and —'

‘Don't think I haven't noticed how you two chatter like a pair of magpies when you're together.'

‘Raph!'

‘And at the nightclub. I could hardly prise you apart.'

She said nothing to this, but in his petulance he'd answered her question — she was not in love with Raph.

And it came as something of a relief.