seduced a girl convert, with the argument that only those women who had had intercourse with a real Christian man would be saved.
“Something about holy water,” murmured Mrs. Bailey.
Miss Elliott choked on her drink, turning very red.
“I’m sorry I ever let him attach himself to me,” said Corbin,coming to the rescue. “He did have a way of ingratiating himself with one —”
“He’s been sent away, of course,” said Mrs. Bailey. “We are keeping eyes and ears open in case he’s done more damage.” She shuddered.
“Do you think there’s going to be a war in Europe?” said Miss Elliott, demonstrating her recovery.
There had been rumours in Mombasa and Nairobi, which had leaked out in Voi, about the worsening political climate in Europe.
“As likely now as any time before, if you ask me,” said Mrs. Bailey. “Nothing unusual is going on.”
“Oh, but it is,” said her companion. “Fighting in Serbia. Mobilization …”
“What mobilization?”
“There are rumours.”
“In any case,” offered the ADC , “we hardly have the armies to fight in Africa. I can assure you, there are no preparations afoot for war with our neighbours.”
They went back inside and prepared to retire.
The ADC had learned to gauge the depth of the night’s quiet by the clarity of its non-human sounds: the hoot of an owl, the bark of a hyena, the whisper of leaves. As he lay in his bed it seemed to him that the town which was his charge had now finally retired, had accepted once more the embrace of quietude.
Through this night there rang a shrill cry, all too human, then angry shouts half muffled as though coming through open doors, and sounds of thumping and shuffling feet, and at least one person as always during commotion approaching up the hill to make a report.
Corbin walked out on the verandah, taking the spare lamp with him. An askari approached in the darkness. “The girl,bwana!” The ADC ’s heart sank. He hurried down the path, following people already running to the scene, which presumably was the house near the Swahili mosque designated for the couple.
He walked through the small crowd that had gathered, until only a few men stood in front of him. He caught glimpses of the mukhi standing at the doorway, expostulating with someone inside, whom Corbin saw was Pipa. The bridegroom of a few hours ago was shaking his head from side to side in vehement denial. When he saw Corbin he took a threatening step towards him which the mukhi blocked. The young man, in loincloth and singlet, was sobbing; the mukhi gently pushed him back inside, and then said to Corbin, “Please, sir, go. Not now.” The door closed behind him. Slowly Corbin walked away, back up the hill to his house.
The mukhi came early the following morning. He stood with his fez in his hand, a pained, hesitant look on his face, his head tilted sideways questioningly.
The ADC was sitting at his table with a cup of tea. The Mission ladies were not around.
“Now tell me, mukhi. What was that matata about? Did the boy have a change of heart?” Corbin said.
“Bwana. Most unfortunate matter. Tragic.”
“What happened?”
“What to say, sir? Boy says girl not pure. She was touched.”
“How do you know …” Corbin began foolishly, then stopped and stared at the man.
“What to do?” said the mukhi.
The Englishman continued to stare.
“What to do? Now the stepfather, sir, he spreads poison, the boy is in grief … and your good name, sir …”
“What about my good name, mukhi?”
“Forgive me, bwana. But Rashid says the girl was in your bed one night.”
24 July, 1914
I have denied the stepfather’s accusation in the strongest possible terms. The man has to be watched for mischief. I told the mukhi as much. When the mukhi left, I saw Miss Elliott walking about on the verandah, having just returned from her walk. She came in as soon as we exchanged looks — I wonder how long she had been there. Mrs. Bailey soon came
“Something about holy water,” murmured Mrs. Bailey.
Miss Elliott choked on her drink, turning very red.
“I’m sorry I ever let him attach himself to me,” said Corbin,coming to the rescue. “He did have a way of ingratiating himself with one —”
“He’s been sent away, of course,” said Mrs. Bailey. “We are keeping eyes and ears open in case he’s done more damage.” She shuddered.
“Do you think there’s going to be a war in Europe?” said Miss Elliott, demonstrating her recovery.
There had been rumours in Mombasa and Nairobi, which had leaked out in Voi, about the worsening political climate in Europe.
“As likely now as any time before, if you ask me,” said Mrs. Bailey. “Nothing unusual is going on.”
“Oh, but it is,” said her companion. “Fighting in Serbia. Mobilization …”
“What mobilization?”
“There are rumours.”
“In any case,” offered the ADC , “we hardly have the armies to fight in Africa. I can assure you, there are no preparations afoot for war with our neighbours.”
They went back inside and prepared to retire.
The ADC had learned to gauge the depth of the night’s quiet by the clarity of its non-human sounds: the hoot of an owl, the bark of a hyena, the whisper of leaves. As he lay in his bed it seemed to him that the town which was his charge had now finally retired, had accepted once more the embrace of quietude.
Through this night there rang a shrill cry, all too human, then angry shouts half muffled as though coming through open doors, and sounds of thumping and shuffling feet, and at least one person as always during commotion approaching up the hill to make a report.
Corbin walked out on the verandah, taking the spare lamp with him. An askari approached in the darkness. “The girl,bwana!” The ADC ’s heart sank. He hurried down the path, following people already running to the scene, which presumably was the house near the Swahili mosque designated for the couple.
He walked through the small crowd that had gathered, until only a few men stood in front of him. He caught glimpses of the mukhi standing at the doorway, expostulating with someone inside, whom Corbin saw was Pipa. The bridegroom of a few hours ago was shaking his head from side to side in vehement denial. When he saw Corbin he took a threatening step towards him which the mukhi blocked. The young man, in loincloth and singlet, was sobbing; the mukhi gently pushed him back inside, and then said to Corbin, “Please, sir, go. Not now.” The door closed behind him. Slowly Corbin walked away, back up the hill to his house.
The mukhi came early the following morning. He stood with his fez in his hand, a pained, hesitant look on his face, his head tilted sideways questioningly.
The ADC was sitting at his table with a cup of tea. The Mission ladies were not around.
“Now tell me, mukhi. What was that matata about? Did the boy have a change of heart?” Corbin said.
“Bwana. Most unfortunate matter. Tragic.”
“What happened?”
“What to say, sir? Boy says girl not pure. She was touched.”
“How do you know …” Corbin began foolishly, then stopped and stared at the man.
“What to do?” said the mukhi.
The Englishman continued to stare.
“What to do? Now the stepfather, sir, he spreads poison, the boy is in grief … and your good name, sir …”
“What about my good name, mukhi?”
“Forgive me, bwana. But Rashid says the girl was in your bed one night.”
24 July, 1914
I have denied the stepfather’s accusation in the strongest possible terms. The man has to be watched for mischief. I told the mukhi as much. When the mukhi left, I saw Miss Elliott walking about on the verandah, having just returned from her walk. She came in as soon as we exchanged looks — I wonder how long she had been there. Mrs. Bailey soon came
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