Free The River Between by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o Page B

Something always held Chege aloof from everything around him. Livingstone in his way was like Chege . . . standing for the other side . . . no . . . confusing the two . . . the pain again, biting like ants eating into the flesh . . . oh . . . two strong waves . . . his mind was wandering. Steel yourself, Waiyaki. Keep still. . . .
    A shout and cry mixing with suppressed groans of pain! Women were shouting and singing their bravery. All was over. The new generation had proved itself. Without a single blemish.
    The hospital was a small shed a little distance from the village. The floor was hard with bumps. A thin covering of grass and banana leaves was their bed. After two days Waiyaki’s wound had swollen so much that he began to doubt if he would ever be well again. Perhaps he would lose his manhood. He shuddered. The other initiates were like him. And whenever the attendants came to treat them, a few initiates screamed with pain as soon as the swollen part was pressed. Food was plentiful but who had any taste for it? They were forced to eat with teasing threats that their “thing” would be cut. A more serious threat was that a woman might be brought into the shed and one of the attendants would make love to her in their presence. The initiates were horrified and the attendants laughed. Everybody knew how painful the whole thing would be at the slightest provocation of that kind.
    The only relief was when the attendants told them stories of men and the inner secrets. At first such stories were intolerable to Waiyaki, especially as he had to listen to them. It was part of their education. But after a few days, when his wound became better, he found that he could listen to the stories with relish and enjoyment. He had a lot to learn.
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    â€œThey are all out now?”
    â€œYes. We are happy. The boys have been a credit to the hills.” Pride, indeed, could be detected in Chege’s voice. He had a reason for this. Everywhere he went, he received compliments on the way his son had emerged from the whole experience. People were amazed that the white man’s education had not softened him; he could stand the traditional ordeal without flinching.
    â€œAnd the girls?” the elder from Gathanjo asked.
    â€œAll . . . all . . .”
    â€œYes?” the elder queried. He saw that Chege was hesitant.
    â€œThere is a girl . . . she is not well.”
    â€œWho is she?”
    â€œMuthoni.”
    â€œOh, Joshua’s daughter? We heard about her. Strange case for a girl. . . .”
    â€œIt is strange,” agreed Chege. A little silence fell between them. The sun was high up in the sky and the two men had taken shelter under a tree.
    â€œYes . . . it is strange,” repeated Chege. “All the other girls have left, their wounds nearly dry scars.”
    â€œAnd she? Left in the . . .”
    â€œOh, no. She stays with her aunt. Her wound, we hear, is getting bigger and worse.”
    â€œA father’s curse.”
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œThese Christians. They will never come to any good,” the elder commented slowly, shaking his head.
    â€œI have always said so. You see what discord in the family does. If Joshua had not sold his heart to these people, it would have been a simple case. Why! A black ram without blemish under the Mugumo tree—simple sacrifice. And all would have ended well.”
    â€œYes. But now he won’t agree. So obstinate has he become, I hear, encouraged by those white people. . . .” The elder stood up and took his staff. He sneezed and pulled two leaves he was carrying. He rubbed his nose. “Well, I will go now when it is day.”
    â€œGo in peace. These hills from the ancient times have seen strange things.”
    â€œStay well. Remain in peace.”
    The elder