Black And Deep Desires, chapter 6

Chapter 6 uploaded to my website.

"I had an old-fashioned upbringing, Inspector.  My father ran a tea plantation in Nairobi.  I grew up in East Africa.  Africa is a savage land.  The British community was small and closed, and my parents struggled to maintain the sort of standards we were accustomed to.  And of course in many ways it was a wonderful, exciting life.  I was sheltered and protected, but still, inevitably, I was exposed to things no English schoolgirl would dream about.  You’ve heard of suicide season?  For weeks and weeks, the weather is hot and suffocating.  The air is still, it’s like a blanket pressed to your face.  You can’t breathe.  The clouds do not move.  Like a ceiling of dullness bearing down on you.  Feelings start to ferment.  It becomes unbearable.  People behave in irrational ways.  The code of behaviour for us was rigid and unbending - it had to be.”  Her face became reminiscent; “I’ll never forget.  When the rains started, you’d know.  There’d be wind, a strange, empty, restless, dusty wind.  Then you’d smell it.  Long before you could see or feel it.  That smell of water on dry, caked earth.  We’d run outside, and you could see it coming - like a wall, like a great curtain, moving towards you from the far, far away horizon.  Then you’d hear it.  Like a roar, a rush of sound.  We’d dance in it, my Ayah and I.  We’d laugh and shriek like mad things.  My mother was too dignified, of course, although she’d have loved to dance too.  She and my father would stand on the verandah and watch us, smiling.  My father was such a gentleman, Inspector.  Such a gentleman.”  She smiled; “The rain was like a hail of bullets, it hurt your head, your back, your shoulders, it was so hard.  And so exhilarating.”  She sighed; “When the first stirring of the Mau Mau uprising began to be felt, my mother was so strong.  Inspector, our own loved and trusted servants, practically part of the family, were hiding pangas in the linen-cupboard!  Our linen-cupboard!  No doubt they’d had pressure put upon them.  We saw and lived through terrible things.  Eventually my father decided we couldn’t stay.  He sent us back to England, meaning to follow later.  He was killed the day before he was due to fly out.  Slashed to ribbons, we were told.  On the floor of his own study.”  Her face was fine and resolute; “I’ve put it all behind me, but I remember the lesson.”  She reached for the teapot and filled three cups.  Her movements were graceful and controlled.  “Life goes on.  Please, Inspector, let us have the people of the village here.  Let me show them that I can hold my head up, that I can survive this dreadful blow and carry on with my life.  Please, please, close the case on this sad little infant, and give it a Christian burial.”