Free Black Mischief by Carl Hancock Page A

expensive concoctions. But on this female the scent of jasmine mingled with the smell of human perspiration. It intoxicated him.
    â€˜Can I carry your hat?’
    She paused and looked intently at him.
    God, what was happening to him? All his life girls then women, well, he liked them, got on with them. Lydia was one of his best mates. But this was different and made him feel uncomfortable. For a second time a woman was causing confusion in his mind. It was that whore, Rebecca Kamau, who had first disturbed him. When she had been Julius’s woman, he had paid her no attention, had hardly noticed her until the night his brother died. Within minutes those smooth thighs under the torn green dress were exciting him in a delicious way. He saw them again countless times in his imagination. The vision created an aching sense of longing.
    Yesterday, at the McCall place, he had been forced to be in her presence without daring to say even a single word to her. He had found himself constantly watching her. His frustration had been physically painful. He had not wanted to be on that crazy expedition in the first place, asking for forgiveness from that arrogant bunch of white nobodies. Stupid! Stupid! But when she had taken the kids off on a walk to the lake, he longed to go with them, to be with her to talk, anything. Instead he was forced to stay, he and his father against the slimy toad and his land robbing father.
    Within minutes of the start of this private, futile confrontation, rage was boiling up inside him. This son and heir, this whitey bastard had mesmerised, tricked an innocent beauty, taken advantage of her, probably shagged her. Look at him sitting there, typical European in the mzungo uniform, shorts; big brown, scuffed boots; long, thick socks; the confident, muscular pose, who expects to get his way, and pretty damn quick. First they steal the best bits of land and next they grab all the other jewels they set their eyes on. This one had grabbed a diamond and killed his brother in the process.
    On the journey home to Karen, his father’s long silences had allowed him to follow his drifting thoughts. His rage had subsided. He relived parts of the blazing row with the McCalls and enjoyed, actually enjoyed, allowing pictures from the past to rise from his subconscious, all of this Rebecca. She should have been a part of the family by now. He saw her in the green silk dress at the party in the Muthaiga. There had not been a single smile and the sadness in her expression had, in retrospect, only enhanced its beauty.
    And now this horsey one had been looking at him, paying him attention. This pale face, soft blue eyes, crinkly blonde hair, damp from the exercise, these breasts that he had touched just moments before were affecting him in a disturbing way. What the hell was going on?
    And now this one was saying nothing.
    â€˜What’s your name? Should I know you? We’re neighbours, then.’
    She walked on without a word, hooking her hat from a saddle strap. She looked up and was surprised that he was still with her after she turned the corner off the Rubai road. As she strode along the dusty verge, she was checking her horse for damage. Twenty, thirty metres more they walked on in silence. She stopped, snorted a long breath down her nose and turned to him.
    â€˜Look, Mister Rubai, I don’t need your help. I’m almost home. Why don’t you go and check on that machine of yours! You never know. It looks expensive.’
    â€˜How do you know my name?’
    â€˜I know the machine. I thought I’d seen the last of it with your brother …’
    â€˜Just tell me your name. Not a lot to ask. You see, I’m sorry. I was going too fast. I just got excited. That’s all.’
    â€˜And I’ve got a broken arm. That’s all right. Our family is stuffed full of doctors. But if there’s anything wrong with Shadow …’
    â€˜Shadow? That’s a weird name for a horse