shouldn’t. You are an in-law, and in this house you will always be treated like an in-law. Now, what I was thinking is simple and straightforward. If and when the Global Bank releases funds for Marching to Heaven, you and I should put our heads together on a contract to supply timber. You and I can become partners. A kind of father and son partnership, eh? What do you think of that?”
Kaniuru, who had expected hostility, was surprised by this reception. The man who spoke so smoothly now was the same who had refused to let him marry his daughter, going so far as to disown her for defying him and associating with a beggar, as Wangahu had called him then, but he did not let that get in the way of his appreciation of the moment. He enjoyed being in the living room from which he was once barred and hearing Wangahu talk to him politely, even as an equal. Still, Kaniuru did not like Wangahu saying that he was thinking of seeing Kaniuru only after the Global Bank money had arrived. Didn’t the old man realize that many, some wealthier than he, had already started calling on Kaniuru in his capacity as the deputy chair to make themselves known? Each would be sure to leave a “calling envelope” behind. Did the old man have the slightest clue as to how he had acquired his Mercedes-Benz?
Kaniuru recalled the pain the old man had caused him, and, although he had now taken a step in the right direction by receiving him well, still Kaniuru thought to assuage past hurts. With the word
“Actually, that is one of the things that brought me here, for, as the saying goes, the early bird catches the worm,” Kaniuru said, throwing in a couple more proverbs for what he assumed to be greater profundity. “But you have already taken the words right out of my mouth, and I thank you for it. Let’s start our partnership right here today. If you feel that you want to hand over to me one or two of your plots in town as a sign of goodwill, I will not say no. Or we could start by your giving me a few shares in your timber business. Again as goodwill. If you ask me, I would say that a plot or two or a couple of shares are nothing compared to what will flow to you from Marching to Heaven.”
“My child,” Wangahu hastened to say, alarmed by the direction the conversation was taking,
Kaniuru was not amused by the English proverb. He had never heard it before and did not realize that Wangahu had made it up on the spot. It sounded to him like a veiled reference to the breakup of his marriage with Nyawlra.
“Well,” Kaniuru said, somewhat disappointed, “as you like it, for as the saying goes, the one in need is the one who presses his needs. Let me remind you: don’t be as slow as the tortoise in the story…”
Wangahu himself felt like reminding Kaniuru that it was the slow tortoise who won the race, not the hasty hare, but he held back. I should have let the man say what brought him here before putting my cards on the table, Wangahu admonished himself, noting that Kaniuru had sidestepped the question about the Buler’s return from America.
“I am not saying that we should walk with the pace of a tortoise,” Wangahu explained. “But we should look for what the English call
“Actually, that is not English but Latin,” Kaniuru corrected him.
“Whatever you say. You are the teacher.”
“Ex-teacher!”
“Well, you are the one with education, and if you say it is Latin, then it is Latin. If my Nyawlra had stayed at home, she would have been the one interpreting this Latin for me.”
“That’s the other thing that brought me here,” Kaniuru said. “Now, about Nyawlra…”
“What? Has she been found? Arrested? What could have corrupted such a dutiful daughter?” Wangahu asked, hope and despair in his voice.
“No, she is still at large. Did you know that Nyawlra is a member of the outlawed underground organization?”
“Why ask me? How would I know? We know only what we read in the newspapers or hear on the radio,” Wangahu said, again alarmed at this new turn in the conversation.
“Does Nyawlra not visit you?” Kaniuru asked.
Roithi walked in at that moment with plates of food on a tray.
“Tell me, has she been found? Is she alive?” she asked with concern as she placed the plates on the table.
“Can you please give my driver some tea and a piece of bread?” Kaniuru said, ignoring her question.
“We have taken care of him. Not only tea and bread but also a chicken wing.”
“Then you may sit down,” Wangahu told Roithi, pointing to a chair. “These days there is no separation between matters reserved for men and those reserved for women. Women are also elders. Our son here has words he wants to share with us, and you should hear them from his own mouth.”
“Nyawlra has not been found,” Kaniuru said.
“Who or what put so much confusion in our daughter?” Roithi said, tears coming to her eyes. “So much for her education and book learning.”
“There is a saying that out of the same womb comes a thief and a sorcerer,” said Kaniuru, trying to be profound.
“What of yours has she stolen?” Roithi asked sharply. “And what sorcery has she ever practiced on you?”
“Listen to me,” Kaniuru said, picking the last piece of meat from a chicken leg. “I came here to tell you that the government is determined to get Nyawlra dead or alive. I want to help you, but you must help me to help you. I want you to tell me whether Nyawlra calls here from time to time. Has she done so recently? Have you any idea where she might be hiding? I hold no grudge against her. I have always said that no matter what she does she will always be my wife.”
“You know very well that I disowned Nyawlra a long time ago when she decided to defy me and…” Wangahu was about to refer to the time that Nyawlra defied him and married a beggar, but that beggar had been transformed into the man sitting before him, with his sword of death and seeds of great wealth. So he corrected himself and continued, “… refused to wait for me to give her away to you in a proper church wedding.”
His self-correction came too late. Kaniuru had already gotten the gist of what the old man had intended to say, and Kaniuru felt a resurgence of the humiliation he had suffered.
“Nyawlra’s father,” Kaniuru said, barely controlling his anger and pain, “let us not dance around each other like two bulls in a kraal. To the Point is my motto. Nyawlra is in trouble. I am the only person who can help her. You are in more trouble. Your wealth is in danger. Only you can decide what you want to do about it. There are two ways out. Give me some shares in your business. Through joint ownership, my name shall shield your wealth and property. Or hand over Nyawlra. I promise you that I shall use all my resources to ensure that no harm comes to her. I still care about her and hope that one day she and I will walk down the aisle in a proper wedding blessed by you and God.”
“Young man, have you no ears?” Roithi said, barely disguising her own anger and contempt. “Didn’t you hear that Nyawlra has not called here?” she added bluntly.
Like mother, like daughter, Kaniuru was thinking, for Roithi with her sharp tongue reminded him of Nyawlra. Her blunt speech made him uneasy and a little afraid of her.
In contrast, Wangahu was quiet, very quiet. Kaniuru’s words that Wangahu’s wealth was in danger had clearly shaken the old man, but once again he controlled himself so as not to give this scoundrel the upper hand. That he might have to be partners with Kaniuru to protect his property made him feel sick. This scoundrel has always been after my property, he told himself, but I would rather give up Nyawlra than a single share to this shameless youth.
“What do you have to say?” Kaniuru said, turning toward the seemingly less daunting figure of Wangahu.
“Concerning matters of property and partnership,” Wangahu said, controlling himself with difficulty, “I told you clearly that we have to wait on the Global Bank. As for Nyawlra, the mother of my children has spoken for both of us. But shouldn’t you, as the one close to the ears of the State, be advising us on what to do to show the
