The Clouds Beneath the Sun (39 page)

When she had finished reading the long editorial that attacked the judge’s behavior, she handed the paper back to Sandys.

“Jack was right about John Tudor being a racist. Fourteen blows is fourteen too many.”

Sandys nodded. “We’re agreed there, Dr. Nelson. But this isn’t the first time Tudor has shown undue leniency towards white security guards when they have attacked and injured black robbers or burglars. He’s giving people—white people—license to ill-treat blacks if they catch them committing crimes. No one wants to condone robbery, of course, but Tudor is showing no sense of proportion and, as I am sure you can see, this only exacerbates a situation that is already very sensitive. Tudor, as I think you have been told, is to be the judge in the case where you will give evidence. It is fair to say that any case coming before Judge Tudor from now on, and which pits a black person against a white person, is going to be big news, the focus of potentially sensational newspaper coverage and will almost certainly stoke the political fires.”

He reached forward and lifted a water jug, filling their glasses one by one as he went on speaking. “Your case, of course, if I can phrase it in that way, your case is even more sensational, at least potentially, because of the defense Ndekei is running, that he was acting according to tribal law. That hasn’t reached the papers yet, but it will, it will.”

Natalie drank some water. It always smelled a little of the purification pills that were needed to keep it sanitary.

“However,” Sandys went on, “I am afraid we have been dealt another blow that I suspect you know nothing about.”

Natalie bit her lip. What was coming?

“We now have a date for the trial—February the twelfth.”

“Why is that significant?”

He drank some water himself and looked at Eleanor. “That is exactly one day before the opening of the independence conference in London. It couldn’t come at a worse time—black–white relations will be under intense scrutiny and if … if Tudor steps out of line, or makes one of his racist gaffes, who knows what will happen? The whole thing is a tinderbox.”

“Can’t you change the date, or change Tudor?”

Sandys shook his head. “Cases are set by rotation, Tudor has already been assigned to the case, and he refuses to back down—I actually think he’s looking forward to it.” He shook his head. “As for the date, he won’t hear of that being changed either. In any case, the Lord Chancellor’s Department, which administers the judges and the courts, has already begun its transition to independence—the deputy in that department is himself black, and is not about to do us any favors. I think he is looking forward to this case, too.”

Sandys shifted in his seat. “We also know that the American ambassador in Nairobi is taking a keen interest in the trial—Richard Sutton Senior went to see him while he was in town, and reminded him he was a big donor to the President’s campaign. That’s another reason this case is a tinderbox. There’s nothing to be done. The case goes ahead.”

Natalie said nothing. Why was Sandys here? She suspected she was about to find out.

“Tudor has seen the case papers—they are passed to the judge as a matter of routine once a date is set. So he knows the nature of the evidence against Ndekei, he knows that your evidence is the main plank in our case.”

He paused, sipped some more water.

“We all know, Natalie, that the only way this case will not go forward is if you withdraw your testimony—now, before you jump down my throat, let me finish.” He raised his hand as if to stop her physically attacking him, though she had no intention of doing so. “I know how committed you are to giving evidence, how you feel loyalty to Richard Sutton, and to Professor North. I know how you feel that you must tell the court what you saw. And I know from Eleanor here that you are from a religious family, and that too affects your attitude. But I want to mention one argument that will, I hope, persuade you to change your mind.”

He leaned forward in his chair.

“This latest outrage by Tudor, and the fact that Ndekei will be sentenced to hang, perhaps on the very day that the independence talks begin in London, means that we could see riots in Nairobi, riots in which people—maybe
dozens
of people—could be killed. Is that what you want?”

He shook his head. “I appeal to you as a scientist, a pragmatist. I ask you to consider that circumstances have changed. I know that Eleanor has used the argument that the work of the gorge is of more importance than the life of one man. I happen to agree with her but I know you don’t and that’s not the argument I am using now. I simply point out that the situation has changed—with the appointment of Tudor as judge, following his behavior in this latest break-in case, with the date for the Ndekei trial being set when it is, and with the constitutional conference being set in London at the same time. All of which, taken together, means that this trial could be a major political event, it could inflame passions, it could set off riots, it could cause far more deaths than have occurred already.”

He wiped the palms of his hands with a handkerchief.

“All I’m saying is that, in the new circumstances, it would be natural for you to decide that you can’t be sure, anymore, of what you saw that night. You have already said that you didn’t see Ndekei’s face, but recognized him only from his shuffle. Anyone can make a mistake, read too much into what they saw in the night. If the figure wasn’t shuffling, it could have been anybody.”

Pause.

“But I
did
see him shuffling and in any case he has admitted the killing.”

“Yes, I know, we all know. But we all know too that he is not required to mount his defense until after the prosecution have presented their case. If there is no case to answer, he will not have to explain himself. The racial element, the tribal element, the tinderbox issue of skin color, will go away. By letting Ndekei go free, one individual, you may be saving many lives that will be lost if the case sparks rioting.”

A long pause.

Outside the shade of the tent, the sun beat down. The smell of diesel was strong today, so many vehicles had been used.

Natalie was sweating all over. Her shirt clung to her flesh, the damp, dark patches showing through. The cooling effect of the shower had quite worn off.

She wiped her brow with her sleeve.

She had rehearsed so many of Sandys’s arguments in her head over the days and weeks.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but nothing of what you have just said convinces me. I do recognize your arguments, of course I do. What Judge Tudor did was hateful,
hateful
. But I just don’t think a murder, the loss of a life, can be swept under the carpet—which is what you are suggesting, however many fine words you use to disguise it.”

She unbuttoned one sleeve of her shirt and rolled it up her arm. “I could, if I wished, paint a very different picture. I could say that the people of Kenya will be so obsessed by the independence conference in London that they will pay no attention to this trial—”

“You know that’s not true!” Sandys shouted.

“No!” cried Eleanor at the same time.

“But I have another argument that I’d like you to consider. One that you people outside the camp don’t know about.”

That got Sandys’s attention.

He looked at her without speaking.

She couldn’t tell him what Kees had said about Richard Sutton’s sexuality. He, Kees, was sitting right across the table, unaware of the significance of what he had said. And it might not be true anyway. But she could tell Sandys about the threats made by Richard Sutton Senior while he was in her tent during his visit. She spoke about his promise to make her life a misery, to ruin her career, if she didn’t give evidence. She did her best to remember the exact words Sutton had used when he had threatened her.

When she had finished, they all sat in silence for a while, their breathing the only sound.

“Isn’t that all a bit… well,
extreme?”
Sandys said at length. “I mean, are you sure you are not reading too much into his words?”

“Oh no!”

To Natalie’s surprise, Eleanor spoke up for her. “Here I’m on Natalie’s side, Max. Richard Sutton Senior is a very unpleasant man. When I showed him round the gorge—this was early in his visit, and Natalie was not present—he made threats to me too. He said that if Natalie didn’t give evidence I would regret it, that his people in the construction business had the power to make our lives … ‘very difficult’ were the words he used.”

“Melodramatic, I agree,” said Sandys. “But anything more than that?”

“Why don’t you find out for us, Max?”

All eyes turned to Eleanor.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the deputy attorney general. The British government must have a legal counsel or a police liaison officer at its consulate in New York. Set them on the case. If Richard Sutton is as sinister as he makes out, it shouldn’t be too difficult to smoke out what pies he’s had fingers in. All it takes is a phone call from you, to set things in motion.”

Max looked at Jeavons. Before he could say anything, Eleanor went on, “He won’t be expecting us to check him out. He probably thinks we are unworldly academics who don’t know the difference between a felony and a misdemeanor.”

“Do
you know the difference between a felony and a misdemeanor?” said Sandys with a smile.

“I
think
so,” said Eleanor, smiling back. “What Ndekei did was a felony. So will you do it, Max? For me, for us?”

“Ah!” thought Natalie. This was an interesting exchange. Eleanor clearly had some sway with Sandys, still, so maybe the rumors about an affair were true, after all. Watching them, it was as if they tried to keep their familiarity with each other out of sight, but it kept breaking through. They had a past together, Natalie was more certain of it now.

“I’ll see what I can do, Eleanor, but how will it change things, how will it help?”

“Oh, it will help all right, I can assure you. Just find out what you can and let me know, let
us
know, as soon as possible. Now, let’s have lunch.”

Over lunch, all talk revolved around Jeavons, as they filled him in on the work being done in the gorge. He was not a scientist by training—he was a politician, a lawyer—but he seemed interested enough, asking intelligent questions and listening carefully to the answers. It turned out that he was the member of Parliament for Rossington, a constituency adjoining Gainsborough, so he and Natalie had that in common. She asked him what the main local issues were, politically speaking. He replied that one was housing—there was a great need for more council houses, even this long after the war—and that race was becoming a problem. West Indians were moving into the area that had been whites only until recently.

“There’s a lot of local feeling,” Jeavons said. “I suspect that race is going to be a big issue in British politics in the next few years. It’s not just Africa and the United States where skin color matters.”

Natalie had been shocked to hear what Jeavons said. As an experienced barrister, he told her he was fascinated by her own dilemma but, like a good politician (so she thought), was careful not to take sides.

Because he was leaving early the next morning—he and Sandys had flown down from Nairobi, piloted by Sandys—the minister was driven out to the gorge by Eleanor in the heat of the afternoon. Natalie was glad she wasn’t going with them.

She spent the afternoon hours writing her paper that would form part of a press conference, if there was one, as she had promised Jack. While she was sitting in the shade of her tent, she was approached by Mgina, who had a young man with her. He was a shade taller than she was, but every bit as shy in the way he held himself.

“Please, ma’am, this is Endole, the man I am to marry.”

Natalie got to her feet and shook hands with the young man. “Congratulations,” she said. “I am very happy for you. When is the wedding?”

“In one week, ma’am.” Endole had a very deep voice, but still soft and gentle, like Mgina’s.

“And after you’re married, Mgina, you will live with Endole’s family?”

Mgina nodded.

“As the third wife?” It pained Natalie to say it, but she wanted to see their reaction, when they were together.

Mgina nodded and smiled. Endole said nothing; his expression never varied. They were both perfectly content.

“Hold on,” said Natalie. She dipped into her tent and brought out her camera. She took several pictures of Mgina and Endole. They smiled and laughed in embarrassment.

“Now we must tell Mr. Jack,” whispered Mgina when Natalie had finished. She turned away, then turned back. “I must learn to call him Doctor Jack now, yes? But he’s not a medical doctor, is he?”

“No, he’s not. I don’t expect he minds what you call him. He has a Maasai name, you know—”

Too late, she realized her mistake. Jack’s Maasai name evoked the drama of the burial ground.

Mgina and Endole looked at each other, then sheepishly walked away, towards Jack’s tent. They didn’t want to resurrect memories of the murder any more than Natalie did.

•   •   •

The chatter around the dining table was unusually loud tonight and the reason wasn’t hard to find. In honor of the minister (or was it out of affection for Sandys?), Eleanor had suspended her “no alcohol” rule and allowed a little wine and beer (for Arnold Pryce) to be brought from the locked storeroom, the only brick-built construction at Kihara Gorge.

Natalie was discussing with Pryce and Jack what they were going to give Mgina and Endole for a wedding present. Jack was thinking of giving the couple a flight to Nairobi, if they wanted, but Natalie preferred something more personal, something that would last, a framed photograph perhaps.

All of a sudden, voices were raised at the other end of the table, where Eleanor was sitting between the minister and Sandys.

“And I repeat,” insisted Jeavons, “that the prime minister would like you to change your mind. It will be good publicity ahead of the independence conference. Do say you will.”

“No,” said Eleanor firmly, shaking her head, her chin jutting forward in the way that Natalie was now used to.