Free Girl with the Golden Voice by Carl Hancock Page B

her hair and listening to Jane read out a letter from their grandmother in Malindi. Both girls looked up when a shadow suddenly blocked out the light from the front door.
    The shadow moved and, without invitation, joined the girls in the bedroom. At the sight of the perspiring visitor, Jane dropped the letter and ran off through the front door in the direction of Big House.
    â€˜On my way home. Papa’s buying land from the McCalls. Couldn’t be impolite and not call in.’
    Rebecca smiled and nodded shyly. She had not seen Julius for several months and was glad for that. Being in his presence always made her uneasy. On his breath she detected a smell that was unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
    Unbidden, he sat on the only other upright chair. His eyes darted around the room without focusing on anything in particular.
    â€˜I hope your parents are well.’ It was an effort for her to be polite. The brushing was going on much longer than planned.
    â€˜Fine, fine. I’m the one with the problem. You are the only one who can help me out.’
    Nothing in her expression gave him a hint of the inward groan that these last words had given rise to in her mind.
    â€˜Just spent an hour with McCall, Bwana Thomas.’ He managed a whining, fawning tone for the name. ‘You remember this person?’
    She put down her brush and let her hands fall limply to her lap. He misunderstood the gesture and detected an opportunity.
    â€˜You believe me, now. This Lucy will be the big woman over there soon enough. They need a new crop of white kids. Colonials, they stick together. This is how the English do it. I’ve seen it. And the McCalls are very English. Don’t let those Kenya passports fool you. Yeah, sticking together, that’s what we should be doing.’
    Rebecca was taking long, steady breaths, her face a blank, the expression of a person who was being reluctantly forced to confront an uncomfortable truth. But what he saw as resignation was revulsion. She wanted him to get out of her bedroom, her home, to leave her alone.
    â€˜Please, I want you …’
    â€˜Rebecca, you know that I love you more than anything in the world.’
    Even in her rising panic, she noticed that there was not even a tinge of tenderness in his voice as he spoke those words. Tears welled up.
    â€˜Rebecca, I know you may be hurting a bit just now. But I want you to be my wife.’
    She lifted her hand to mask her eyes but said nothing. A moment she had long dreaded was with her. Her revulsion deepened, but she knew that she could no longer hide her feelings under a cover of silence. She wanted to rush out, to feel the clean air against her flesh. She had to stay, to make her stand, to speak.
    â€˜No, Julius, it would not work …’
    There was an instant and massive shift in his feelings. The old frustration rose in him with the speed of hot volcanic magma. Anger was rising uncontrollably.
    â€˜So the white witchdoctor …’
    â€˜No one has anything to do with that answer but myself.’
    Refusal sharpened his hunger to possess her. The effects of the alcohol tipped the balance.
    With two swift movements he had kicked shut the bedroom door and pulled her onto the bed. He pressed down her arms and pushed his wet face down onto hers. Wrenching her left arm under his right knee left him free to tear at her clothes.
    The heaving of her breasts inflamed his crazed passion. His strength was irresistible. He pawed and caressed her flesh. He ripped loose his trousers.
    Her body wriggled and twisted ceaselessly. She reached up to bite his ears, his cheeks, any place where she could cause pain. Her voice was silent. He moaned her name as he reached down and with his legs began to force her thighs apart. He was ready to die as long as he could thrust himself into this perfect body.
    Ready to die herself, Rebecca closed her eyes and tried to freeze tight every muscle in her body.
    Without warning,