Promise the Night (3 page)

The Captain pulled out his pocket watch and made an impatient noise against his teeth. To Beryl, he said, “Young lady, Arap Maina is a warrior and important in his tribe. Don’t give him any trouble. I need his men to work the farm.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And take care of that damned dog.” Shaking his head, he returned to the business of farming.

Beryl watched her father walk away. She took her eyes off his back only when Arap Maina began to speak. “We must consider this leopard who comes into Cluttabucki’s daughter’s house. He is too bold.”

Beryl nodded, although his words made her nervous. She knew firsthand how fierce that leopard was.

He continued, “But for today, Kibii will show you how we heal our animals.”

Kibii stood up even straighter, a wide smile on his face.

“And perhaps tomorrow you can visit our village and meet the other totos.”

Beryl could barely say a word. Her day had started with nothing. But now she had her dog, a teacher, and a friend.

Interview with Beryl Markham

Nairobi, Kenya

Date unknown

By the time I was twenty-six, I was not only the first woman racehorse trainer, I was one of the most successful in Africa.The life and job had been enough for my father, and I always thought it would content me as well. Until I saw an airplane.

There weren’t many planes yet in Africa. Something about the prepos-terous combination of combustion engines and wings stirred my imagination. One day some friends brought me to the Nairobi airstrip, such as it was, to see a plane land. The flying machine had to circle half a dozen times until the zebras and the wildebeests were chased off the runway.

The pilot’s name was Tom Black. We got to talking about flying. Tom wanted to start a business delivering mail and medical supplies to villages so remote they weren’t on any map. He said that even if Africa didn’t have roads, there was land enough for the wheels of planes, and sky enough for their wings.

That night, I went back to the stable and said to Arap Ruta, my head lad and good friend, “I think I am going to leave all this and learn to fly.” Arap Ruta stood in a loose box beside a freshly groomed colt whose coat gleamed like light on water. He shrugged and dusted his hands, one against the other.

“If it is to be that we must fly, memsahib, then we will fly. At what hour of the morning do we begin?”

Simple as that, I left my old life behind and began a new adventure.

r

EVER SINCE ARAP MAINA’S INVITATION, BERYL COULD THINK OF nothing but her visit to the Nandi village. Except Buller, of course, who at that moment was snoring next to her bed. In his sleep, he would sometimes roll over on his wounds, groan, and roll back with a whimper. But he was alive and on the mend.

“Get some rest, boy,” she said, checking his bandages. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

Beryl’s fingers trembled as she twisted her tangled hair into two loose braids. Something was beginning; she was sure of it. She donned shirt, shorts, and boots, and she was ready to go. The rim of the horizon was just glowing with the sunrise as she untied the door and found Kibii already waiting. He stood on one leg, the other folded behind his back, like an exotic bird. Beryl noticed his footprint in the damp earth. Although her breath hung on the
chill morning air, she knew that the sun would soon steam the moisture away.

Kibii frowned. “Finally,” he said.

“Your father said at daybreak.” Beryl pursed her lips. “Have you been wasting time waiting for me?”

He grinned. “How is your dog?”

“Buller is well.”

He nodded. “Follow me.”

Kibii loped toward the edge of the farm, where the path dropped into the deep valley. Beryl hesitated. She was not allowed to go into the valley alone.

Kibii was already far ahead, weaving through the tall grass. He stopped and waved his arm wide to hurry her up. Eyes fixed on his back, Beryl pushed herself to run as quickly and confidently as Kibii.

“I’m coming,” Beryl called as she ran, dodging the waist-high anthills. In passing, she touched one; the ants swarmed away from her hands. The hill was hard as a rock.

“You are too slow,” Kibii complained, “and easily distracted.”

“Once your father trains me, I’ll get better,” she panted, catching up to him.

Kibii put out his hand to stop her in her tracks. “Sssshh.”

A wildebeest crashed through the underbrush across the path.

“How did you know it was coming?” Beryl asked. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Because you were talking.” Kibii removed his hand. “Girls always talk. It is why they don’t hunt.”

“That’s a lie.” Beryl drew herself up and stared Kibii in the face. “I don’t talk too much.”

“Because you have no one to talk to.” Kibii smiled smugly. “When you meet my father’s wives and my sisters, you will chatter just like them.”

The path corkscrewed down the hill. A sharp turn, and suddenly there was a vicious-looking fence made of acacia branches, the thorns facing outward. A dozen round huts made of mud and sticks were tucked inside the fence. To one side was a paddock filled with dark-colored cattle, lowing gently. Beryl noticed that half the huts still needed roofs; but for that, she would have thought the houses had always been part of the landscape. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Not long.”

“You should come help my father with his new house. He’s been building it for months and it’s still not done.”

Kibii led the way through a gap in the thorn fence. He stopped to admire a young bull with distinctive white splotches and a fine set of horns.

“That one is mine. Last year, I was wrestling Mehru when I was supposed to mind the herd. This calf wandered away. I was afraid to come home, so I hid in a tree for two days. But my father had already found him. When I came home, he gave the calf to me.”

Beryl’s mouth dropped open. “You were careless; you should have been punished.”

“I had punished myself already. And my father knew that if one of the cattle was mine, I would guard the rest more carefully.”

“My father would never give me a foal because I lost a horse,” she said.

Kibii shrugged and rubbed his bull’s nose.

“Your cattle are very fine,” Beryl said politely.

Kibii’s chest swelled with pride. “This is our tribe’s wealth.”

“My father has twelve horses, but we’ll get more as soon as he can afford to import more bloodstock.”

“I have never seen anything like your father’s horses,” Kibii said. “They are not like zebras.”

“Of course not,” Beryl answered with scorn. “Zebras are useless.”

“Can you eat your horses?”

Beryl was horrified. “Of course not!”

“Can you milk them?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Beryl snorted.

“Then what use are they?”

“When you ride a racehorse, you feel like you are flying,” Beryl said simply.

Kibii was still for a moment. “You can ride?”

“Yes, of course.” Beryl’s shoulders went back and her chin tilted up; finally there was something she could do that Kibii couldn’t.

“Then I will ride horses, too.”

“Riding is harder than it looks,” Beryl warned. “But if you teach me how to track animals, I’ll teach you to ride.”

“Agreed.”

Kibii picked an insect out of the corner of his bull’s eye. The beast lowed, but did not move.

“He trusts you,” Beryl said.

“Of course he does.”

“How many cows does your family have?” Beryl asked.

“Well,” Kibii looked thoughtful. “There is Mongo and Nure and Muge and…”

Beryl laughed. “But how many do you have?”

“Beru, it is greedy to count cattle.” Beryl jumped at the sound of Arap Maina’s voice behind her. “It is enough to know the name of every cow and bull. The boys of the tribe would know if one were missing.”

Every Englishman Beryl had ever met judged his wealth by counting it. But now that she thought about it, her father’s horses all had names and personalities. One stallion could sire a whole line of racehorses. What did it matter how many more you had?

“Arap Maina, I am here to start my training,” she said.

His dark eyes stared at her, unblinking. Today he wore even more necklaces, made of fine wire threaded with colored beads and the odd English coin, piled one upon another. Beryl wondered that he didn’t stoop under the weight of them.

As the silence lengthened, she wondered what to say next. Before she could decide, two women, one old and one young, stepped out of the nearest hut. Their heads were shaved, showing off their high foreheads and earrings in the upper part of their ears as well as in the lobes. Beryl peered behind them, but couldn’t see anything inside the hut except blue smoke. A bleating goat ran to Kibii and licked his knee. The older woman made a clucking noise and it scampered back inside.

“This is my mother, Namasari,” Kibii said, gesturing to the older woman. She nodded, her face wary. Namasari’s skull was lined with
deep wrinkles, and her collarbones jutted up through her coils of necklaces. “This is my other mother, Naipende.”

Arap Maina’s second wife was much younger than his first, and very beautiful. She wore a skirt of monkey skins that reached to her ankles, and her broad smile reached her eyes.

“Hello,” Beryl said quietly.

“Welcome,” said Naipende.

A young girl, perhaps a year or two older than Beryl, emerged from the gloomy hut. Her face was round, and her lips were as full as her figure. She watched Beryl with ill-disguised hostility.

Beryl lifted her chin and stared back.

“My sister, Jebbta,” Kibii said.

Arap Maina said to Kibii, “Join the other totos while I talk to Beru. They are practicing with their spears.”

Beryl stepped forward. “I would like to learn how to do that.”

Arap Maina’s forehead creased in the slightest frown. “Beru, your father asked that you learn our ways. And you shall.” He took her hand and tied a leather bracelet with a shell around her wrist. “This says you are a girl of our tribe. You are part of our family.”

Beryl fingered the bracelet, wondering which ocean had tossed up this shell. The British East African colony was filled with people from all over the world; it could be from anywhere. “Thank you, Arap Maina. I will treasure it always.”

“Today, the women and girls will be weaving the roofs for our new homes. My wives will show you how.” Both women nodded.

Beryl couldn’t believe her ears. “You want me to thatch roofs?”

“You said you wished to be part of our tribe.” Arap Maina was puzzled. “This is what the girls do.”

“We weave reeds and grasses,” Naipende said helpfully. “It makes a very good roof. Very dry.”

“But…I thought I was going to learn how to hunt,” Beryl said.

Everyone burst out laughing except Arap Maina, who looked thoughtful.

“You are only a girl, like me,” Jebbta said.

“Men hunt and fight,” Kibii said. “Women build the houses, gather the firewood, and cook. And take care of the babies.”

“I don’t care about those things—I want to learn to hunt!”

“Why?” Arap Maina’s question was neutral.

“To kill the leopard that hurt my dog.” Even as she said it, Beryl knew that this was not enough.

“We do not hunt for revenge,” Arap Maina said. “We hunt to protect the herd.”

Feeling her dream slip away, Beryl argued, “You said the leopard was too bold. My father’s horses need to be protected.”

“I will kill the leopard,” said Arap Maina. “You will work with the women.”

“But…I can do anything Kibii can do.” Beryl felt the tears welling up in her eyes.

“You see,” Kibii crowed, “girls cry. Boys never cry.”

Beryl squeezed her eyes to stop the tears. “I’m not crying,” she said.

Arap Maina’s face was like the anthill; hard as rock, but with much activity inside. “Beru, if you want me to teach you, first you must learn to obey.”

“But my father told you…”

“I offered to teach you like the children of the tribe. If you refuse to learn what I wish to teach, your father will have to accept that.”

“What if he does not accept it?” Beryl knew she was making a threat her father would never honor.

“Then…” Arap Maina shrugged, his face patient.

“Then what?” she asked, worried she had gone too far.

“We will leave.”

“I don’t want you to go,” cried Beryl. She clenched the shell so hard it cut into her palm.

Arap Maina waited, perfectly still.

Beryl looked at the unfinished roof. The completed portion looked more compact and sturdy than her own. Maybe she could make her roof a bit drier. “If I do this, can I learn to hunt?”