Warĩĩnga did not take her eyes off him for a moment.
And then suddenly he stopped pacing and stood in front of Warĩĩnga.
“This is a trial,” he said, with the voice of a drowning man. He lowered his gaze, as if he did not want to look directly into Warĩĩnga’s face, and went on in the same tone: “You know that all that you and Gatuĩria have planned is not possible now?”
Warĩĩnga said nothing. She just looked at him.
Drops of sweat glinted on his smooth bald patch.
And suddenly Warĩĩnga felt sorry for the man. She started to speak and then stopped. But a sharp arrow tip of pity pierced her heart.
The Rich Old Man sensed a slight change in the atmosphere. He thought he saw a crack in the walls of a hard heart, and he hastened to widen the crack with words.
“Jacinta! Warĩĩnga! There is not a thing I would not do today . . . truly, there is not a thing I would not do for you today if you remove this burden from me. Please, Jacinta, I beg you in the name of the woman who gave birth to you! My happiness, my status, my faith, my property, my life, all these are now in your hands. Only take this burden from me!”
Warĩĩnga felt laughter rise in her heart. The sharp sting of pity no longer pierced her. But she did open her mouth and say one word: “How?”
The Rich Old Man from Ngorika had not heard Warĩĩnga’s voice for a long time. He raised his eyes at once, as though he had been struck in the heart by the spear of Warĩĩnga’s one word. He gazed at Warĩĩnga’s dark eyes, and he began to talk faster and faster, imagining that he would succeed in widening the crack of pity within her.
“Leave Gatuĩria. He is my only son, and I love him dearly, although he is wayward and tries to map his own independent path instead of following in my footsteps. Besides, Gatuĩria is almost your child. So your plans are impossible as long as I’m alive, for it would be like a child marrying his own mother. It would be like my son marrying my wife while I am still breathing. I would not be able to breathe a day longer for shame before my people and before God.
“My home would fall apart. My property would be left without a manager. My life would break into seven pieces. Jacinta, save me!”
“How?”
And once again the Rich Old Man was struck by the sound of Warĩĩnga’s voice. He started pacing about on the carpet again. He took two or three steps. Then he stopped and struggled for control.
“I would like you to leave Gatuĩria.”
“How?”
“Go back to Nairobi together. When you get to Nairobi, tell him that your love affair is over. He’s only a child. He won’t feel a thing.”
“And me?”
Suddenly he felt as he had in the old times, when he used to overpower Warĩĩnga with words. He felt the blood surge through his veins; he felt his old virility return. He stretched out his arms as if to place his hands on Warĩĩnga’s shoulders, but meeting Warĩĩnga’s blazing eyes, he quickly let his hands fall to his side. However, he did not suppress the words on his lips.
“Be mine. Remember, you once belonged to me. I believe I am the man who changed you from a girl to a woman. And you are the mother of my child, although I’ve never set eyes on it.”
“And what about your wife, Gatuĩria’s mother?”
The Rich Old Man was overwhelmed by Warĩĩnga. Lust dominated him. Sweet words began to flow with effortless ease. He moved nearer her. He spoke exactly like Boss Kĩhara. It was as if both had attended the same school of seduction or read the same book containing a hundred love letters from a father to his daughter.
“Jacinta, she doesn’t count. No one applies old perfume that has lost its scent. Please, my little lady, my fruit, listen to my words. Release me from this shame today. Be my woman, and I will rent a house for you in Nairobi, Mombasa or wherever you choose. I will furnish the house with the kind of furniture and carpets you see in this house, and with mattresses and curtains and other things imported from abroad—from Hong Kong, Tokyo, Paris, London, Rome, New York. Name it, and it’s yours. I’d like you to take off this cloth and these necklaces and these earrings made of dry maize stalks and to put on clothes and jewelry made in Europe. I will also buy you a shopping basket, a basket to take to market, like a Toyota Corona, a Datsun 16B, an Alfasud or any other car of your choice. Jacinta, my baby, my fruit, my orange, come back to me and solve the problems of your life, of my home and of my child!”
“Which child?”
“Gatuĩria, of course!”
“And Wambũi? Is she not your child?”
“I am not as stupid as you think. Gĩkũyũ said that to hate a cow is to hate its hide. And now I say to you: to love a cow is to love its calf.”
“And what if I refuse to become your flower, a flower to sweeten your old age?”
The Rich Old Man from Ngorika paused a little, as if deep in thought. His face darkened; he was angry at Warĩĩnga’s words. He cleared his throat and spoke in the harsh, bitter voice of a man who is not used to having his words and wishes challenged.
“Let me talk to you in parables. A long time ago Satan (or the Devil) was an angel dearly loved by God. He was then called Lucifer. But one day Satan was seized by an evil spirit, and he yearned for the seat on the right hand of God. As you know, that seat had been reserved for God’s only Son. What did God do to Lucifer? Even we, the followers of God on Earth, have ways of fulfilling his wishes. You are not a baby, so I don’t need to explain to you what that means. I was not present at the feast in Ilmorog. But I do know that there was someone there by the name of Mwĩreri wa Mũkiraaĩ. He was one of the most respected guests at the feast; I hear that he had been given the largest number of invitations to distribute. But after eating and drinking his fill, he started abusing God and showing his scorn for the people of his class. He refused to abide by God’s laws on Earth. Highly respected he may have been once—but where is Mwĩreri today?”
“He was murdered by Robin Mwaũra, in Matatũ Matata Matamu, registration number MMM 333, at Kĩneenĩĩ, near Limuru.”
The Rich Old Man from Ngorika was startled.
“So you know? Then I don’t have to hide anything from you. Mwaũra used to be the leader of a group called the Devil’s Angels. Perhaps you’ve heard of them. Their task is to liquidate those who prevent the work of God from being done on Earth. Right now, I would only have to open my mouth, and you would not reach Gilgil. . . . But what are we talking about, Jacinta? We have strayed from our path. I know you are not a fool. I know you won’t reject riches. If what you want is a farm in the Rift Valley that you can manage by telephone from Nairobi or Mombasa, all right. Just say what you want, and it shall be done.”
“And the people outside? What shall we tell them?”
“Leave that to me.”
“Mr. Gĩtahi, I wonder if you have ever once stopped to think about other people’s lives. May I ask you a question?”
“Certainly. One is never prosecuted for asking questions.”
“You want the love between me and Gatuĩria to end, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.
“All right. Do you want to marry me? That is, do you want to go through a wedding ceremony so that I become your second wife?”
“Please, Jacinta, stop pretending that you don’t understand. I am a man of the Church. I just want you to be mine. I’ll find my own ways of coming to visit you. Just like the old times, don’t you remember? Please, save me! Save the honor of my name! Save the honor of my son! Jacinta, save the honor of my home, and you’ll see before you a man who knows what gratitude is.”
And then the miracle happened. The Rich Old Man gazed at Warĩĩnga, and he was suddenly struck by the full splendor of her beauty. His heart and body were scalded by Warĩĩnga’s youth. He lost all control, and he fell on his knees in front of Warĩĩnga, and he began to plead with her. “I have never seen beauty that sho
ne with such brilliance. Save me!”
He clutched Warĩĩnga by the knees, while words poured from his lips like a river in flood.
Warĩĩnga was standing exactly where she had stood since she had entered the room. She began to speak like a people’s judge about to deliver his judgment.
“You snatcher of other people’s lives! Do you remember the game you and I used to play, the game of the hunter and the hunted? Did you imagine that a day might come when the hunted would become the hunter? What’s done cannot be undone. I’m not going to save you. But I shall save many other people, whose lives will not be ruined by words of honey and perfume.”
The Rich Old Man interrupted Warĩĩnga: “I knew you would agree! My darling, whom I love dearly! My little fruit, my little orange, my flower to brighten my old age!”
He went on, carried away by his words. He did not see Warĩĩnga open her handbag. He did not see Warĩĩnga take out the pistol. “Look at me!” Warĩĩnga commanded, with the voice of a judge.
When Gatuĩria’s father saw the gun, his words suddenly ceased.
9
The people outside heard the shots. When they entered the room, they found Gatuĩria’s father kneeling, still clinging to Warĩĩnga by the knees. But three bullets were lodged in his body.
“What is it? What is it, Warĩĩnga?” Gatuĩria asked.
“There kneels a jigger, a louse, a weevil, a flea, a bedbug! He is mistletoe, a parasite that lives on the trees of other people’s lives!”
10
Warĩĩnga left the room. People gave way before her. Outside the door she met Kĩhaahu wa Gatheeca and Gĩtutu wa Gataangũrũ. And suddenly, remembering Wangarĩ and Mũturi and the student leader—the people who had roused her from mental slavery—she felt an anger she had not felt as she killed Gĩtahi.
“You too, and you!” And she shot at both Kĩhaahu and Gĩtutu, splintering their kneecaps.
People scattered in every direction, some shouting, “Arrest her! Catch her! She is mad!” as they ran for their lives.
Two people who tried to capture her were greeted by judo kicks and karate chops, and they were felled. Warĩĩnga calmly walked away, as the people watched her from a safe distance.
Nguunji wa Nditika was the only person who was seen running, holding his belly in both hands to prevent himself from falling and shouting for Robin Mwaũra: “Where are you? Where are you and your men?” But Mwaũra had already started up his taxi and he sped away.
Gatuĩria did not know what to do: to deal with his father’s body, to comfort his mother or to follow Warĩĩnga. So he just stood in the courtyard, hearing in his mind music that led him nowhere.
He stood there in the yard, as if he had lost the use of his tongue, his arms, his legs.
Warĩĩnga walked on, without once looking back.
But she knew with all her heart that the hardest struggles of her life’s journey lay ahead. . . .
* In the original work, written in Gĩkũyũ, certain words and phrases appear in English, French, Latin and Swahili. In this translation all such words and phrases are printed in italic type.
* Kamoongonye is a character in a Gĩkũyũ ballad about a young girl whose father wants her to marry Waigoko, a rich old man with a hairy chest, while she prefers her own choice, a poor young man, Kamoongonye.
* Meaning “Why are you trying to kill this man?” The phrase came into use after the J.M. assassination on Ngong Hills in 1975.
* It must be remembered that in Gĩkũyũ the word “heart” means many things: soul, spirit, conscience, mind, inner man, essence and so on.
* A forfeit (kĩgacawa) is an imaginary piece of property that is surrendered by someone who has failed to solve a riddle to the person who posed the riddle.
* She means English.
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Ngũgĩ Wa Thiong'o, Devil on the Cross
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