Echoes From A Distant Land Part 25

It was November, and the blessed kazkusi had arrived from the north-east, bringing modest relief to the stifling heat. However, it did nothing to remove Dana's concerns about the progress of her pregnancy, which increased with her size. And her panic was not relieved at all by her midwife.

She decided to take matters into her own hands. If Dr Cahill wouldn't see her, she would go and see him. After all, he was a doctor, and a white man. He had responsibilities.

Amina consulted with Mimi and when she returned gave Dana the details of the arrangements. Her visit should conform with a time most likely to find the doctor both sober and awake - a difficult a.s.signment.

As Amina led her to the doctor's house, she recited a litany of accusations against the hapless Dr Cahill, princ.i.p.al among which was his shameful dereliction of his duty to marry Mimi, who had stood by him for years in spite of the fact that he was a drunk and had little money to spend on her.

Amina stopped at a heavily weathered gate set in a high coral-stone wall, little different from others in the laneway. She pulled on a cord and a bell rang faintly on the other side.

The gate opened and Mimi greeted them warmly. She was a tall and elegant Somali woman in her mid-forties with a hint of an Italian accent to her excellent English.

'Oh, you poor thing,' she said to Dana. 'You look so hot. Come, we can sit in the garden. It is still cool at this time of morning.'

She led them through a garden almost the rival of Kidege's, with creepers and shrubs filling every corner except for a small vegetable garden of tomatoes, beans and some kind of leafy green vegetable.

She had arranged three chairs in the deep shade of a wisteria vine. As they chatted, lilac flowers dropped around them.

'I suggested you come at this time,' Mimi said, 'as it is too early for David to be drunk, but early enough to be here before he returns from the fish market. I'm afraid he can be quite rude to visitors.'

'I understand Dr Cahill's not practising these days,' Dana said.

'No. Not for years. Certainly not since he bought this place.'

'And when was that?'

'Thirteen years ago. In 1919.'

Mimi explained that she was then governess to a wealthy Italian family's children. Cahill had been in Lamu for about a year and bought the house from the Italians when they sold out after the war.

'He was quite a handsome man back then,' she said, a little wistfully.

'Do you think he will see me?' Dana asked.

Mimi looked sad. 'I pray he will, but ... well, he knows your situation already, but he told me to tell you he's not a doctor any more.

'How can he turn away from a life of helping people?'

'He is a good man, but something happened that made him give the work up. He won't tell me what it was, but I'm sure if he started again, and was able to keep away from ... well ... to avoid -'

Just then, the gate bell rang.

Mimi stood. 'I won't tell him you're here. It's best to use surprise to say what you want to say.'

She watched Mimi hurry to the gate. She swung it open and Cahill entered, kissed her tenderly on the cheek, and made his way up the path. He stopped for a moment to examine the tomatoes, before arriving under the wisteria.

Dana stood and smiled. 'Good morning, Dr Cahill.'

He was startled, and stared at Dana for a long moment, before turning his gaze to Amina and finally to Mimi, who kept her head up although it was clear she felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

'It's my fault for invading your privacy,' Dana said. 'For which I apologise. I imposed upon Mimi because, as you can see, I'm about to have a baby, and I'm afraid I may need your help.'

'You've come to the wrong place, Mrs ...?'

'Northcote. Dana Northcote.'

'... Mrs Northcote. I no longer practise. Now, if you'll excuse me -'

'Dr Cahill. This is my first child. I'm worried, because when I was seventeen I had an abortion, which unfortunately went wrong.'

The information caused him to pause, before saying, 'There are many good doctors in Kenya, Mrs Northcote. I suggest you take yourself to Mombasa, and place yourself in the hands of one of them.'

'No. I can't go to Mombasa. Or anywhere else for that matter. My husband doesn't want me to have this child, and I know he will make it very difficult for me if he finds me before I have the baby.'

'That is a matter between you and your husband, surely.'

He stepped around her towards the door.

Dana caught a strong scent of spices on him. She thought he must have spent the morning in the spice market.

'I don't think it's his child,' she said hurriedly, putting her hand on his arm.

'As Shakespeare said: It is a wise father who knows his own child,' he said. 'Perhaps you worry unnecessarily.'

'No. I think it may be a ... a black man's child.'

She thought she saw a flicker of understanding in him. She hurried on. 'I'm thirty-one, Dr Cahill. I don't have to tell you the complications that can arise. I want this baby and I don't care if it's white or black. I'm sure this is my last chance for a child and I have given up everything for it, but that's not important. What is important is ...' She put a hand to her midriff. 'I'm afraid ... I'm terrified that I might lose it if I don't have you to help me.'

Mimi came forwards to stand beside her in support. She looked pleadingly at Cahill.

Cahill dropped his gaze to Dana's hand resting on his s.h.i.+rt sleeve.

'I'm sorry, Mrs Northcote,' he said, gently removing her hand. 'But I can't help you.'

He walked past her into the house.

In the three weeks following her unsuccessful visit to consult Dr Cahill, Dana had confined herself to the cloistered environment of the guest house. She told Amina it was because it was too hot to be moving around Lamu, but the truth was she had fallen into a depression caused by the very thing that brought her to Lamu - the isolation.

She longed for the company of her friends, especially Polly. Polly would have so many convincing anecdotes to rea.s.sure Dana that her pregnancy was progressing completely normally; Dana would cease worrying and for once enjoy a dreamless sleep. They would laugh about her concerns and all would be well. But Polly was not there.

A number of times she had written to Sam telling him how much she missed him, but tore each letter up. It would be an act of cowardice to involve him at this late stage. She had made her choice and now had to see it through, alone.

Her only tentative contact with her previous life, and therefore her sanity, was the newspapers that arrived irregularly in Lamu on pa.s.sing dhows. There would occasionally be a reference in the society pages to someone she knew; even one of her friends. She once saw a photo of her sister, Averil, at the opening of the Nairobi horticultural show. There was a photograph of a group of her friends - members of the Zephyr dinner club - at a ball at Torr's. They all looked so slim and happy. She put her hands on her enormous girth and sighed.

Amina brought the newspapers when she could find one in the markets, but it had been over a week and now, of all times, Dana needed to know that the world she knew was happily progressing in her absence.

She waited until late afternoon, when the sun had relinquished its savagery, and ventured forth with her parasol to the market. The Indian haberdasher, who took delivery of the few newspapers brought to Lamu, greeted her warmly, asked how she was feeling, and handed her a copy of the East African.

After a brief conversation with the stall-owner, Dana tucked the newspaper under her arm and started back to the guest house. At the edge of the market she felt a little unsteady, due to the effects of the heat, and sat on a bench seat to rest under a mango tree.

She unfolded the paper to note the edition was only a week old. It must have arrived in Lamu that day. Her eye was drawn to a familiar picture on the front page. It was Polly. The caption read: Medical mishap. She quickly scanned the article: Dead on arrival at Nairobi General ... medical mishap ... self-administered medication ... a silver syringe found beside the body ...

Dana was on her feet, the newspaper heavy in her hands. A wave of vertigo swept over her. She staggered and tried to regain her seat, but her legs would not hold her. She slumped to the ground.

Dana awoke with Amina's worried face hovering over her.

'Mungu angu!' Amina said. 'My G.o.d. She's awake.'

Dana looked around the room - her room in the guest house - and found Dr Cahill standing behind Amina.

He came forwards and took her pulse. Then he placed a hand on her forehead.

'Hmm,' he said.

'Am I all right? I mean ... the baby?'

'You have a certain determination about you, Mrs Northcote. You are not to be denied, you could say.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, you not only chose to draw attention to yourself in the busiest part of Lamu, you did so just as I was coming to the market to buy my newspaper.'

'But what about my baby?' she said, becoming fretful and annoyed at the same time.

'Babies,' he corrected.

'What? What did you say?'

'I said "babies". You should have said, "What about my babies?" Plural.'

Dana stared at him.

'Hmm ... I can see you're a little surprised. I'm not. Spotted it the moment I saw you in my garden. Still carrying them quite high, so you've got some time yet. But not much more I should think. You're quite big already. Took two strong fellows to carry you here on a trestle top.'

'Are you saying I'm having twins?'

'I am.'

'Twins ...?' she repeated, with a mixture of pleasure, surprise and panic. At least Dr Cahill was there: it was an immense relief. She smiled. 'Thank you for bringing me home.'

He pretended not to hear.

'Stay in bed,' he said, and started to leave. 'I'll see you in a couple of days.'

'Doctor?'

He stopped at the door and turned back to her.

'It's not that I'm ungrateful, but what made you change your mind?'

He reflected upon it, and appeared about to speak ... instead he turned again to the door.

'As I said, I'll see you in a couple of days.'

CHAPTER 31.

Dr Cahill's visits became more like chats between friends than routine medical appointments. He would bring the newspaper and they would discuss current affairs. At other times they talked about their respective homes in England, the London theatre, the books they'd read, and horse racing, which had been a pastime of his while running a practice in the Midlands. Dana explained how news of Polly's death had led to her collapse and he was quietly comforting.

One day, close to Christmas, they sat in the garden and avoided talk of home and what Christmas might entail. Instead, Dana was curious about Cahill's decision to settle in Lamu. It was the next best thing to knowing why he'd abandoned his practice; he'd firmly changed the subject whenever she tried to ask.

'Why did I choose Lamu?' he said, repeating her question. 'Why, my dear, look around you.' He indicated the Kidege Guest House's beautiful garden. 'Tranquillity. Lamu has it in abundance. And peace. The Muslims are a very peaceful people. Not like we warlike Christians, das.h.i.+ng around the world, shooting off our cannons and the like.'

'Surely you could have your peace and tranquillity, and still practise your profession? It would make such a difference to these people to have a doctor trained in Western medicine.'

'Ha ha,' he said, rising from his garden chair. 'The medicine men around here would probably hold a different view. But I must be getting back. I'll see you tomorrow, Diana ... I mean, Dana, of course.'

'I remind you of her, don't I?' Dana said, acting on a hunch.

Cahill paused. 'Actually, an amazing resemblance. Spotted it first time I saw you. She was younger of course, but otherwise ...'

'Your daughter?'

He nodded. 'Yes. Diana Maree.'

'What happened?'

He tightened his lip in the expression he usually wore when an uncomfortable subject came up - and Dana had discovered a few during their talks - but this time it slipped away, and his face sagged. He stared at the ground. Dana watched him wrestle with his thoughts. Finally, he slumped into his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. His face was drawn and he looked all of his sixty-six years.

'She was sixteen. A beautiful girl. Outgoing. Full of life, and eager to explore it. Nothing like the retiring violet her mother was when we met.'

He told Dana how he'd always been open with his daughter, answering her questions frankly. The previous year they'd discussed the changes her body was undergoing as she went through p.u.b.erty.

'Therefore you can imagine how horrified I was, when she came to me to say she was pregnant.'

He said he was furious at first.

'How could she be so foolish? I mean, against every accepted convention of the day, I'd given her sensible and accurate information about s.e.x and the need for her to take care so she could avoid exactly this situation. How then could this happen?' He shook his head. 'When I calmed down, I realised it was no good bemoaning the unfairness of the situation. I had to deal with the facts. Our daughter's future was at stake. My wife and I wanted to keep the whole affair quiet.'

He looked across the table at Dana. She could see that the wall holding back his pent-up emotions was crumbling, and large tears misted his eyes.

'Can a father be blamed for wanting the best for his only child? I decided she should remain at home once the pregnancy started to become obvious, and I would deliver the baby myself. Instead of following the sensible course and putting Diana under the care of a gynaecologist, I worried about her future. How would she find a decent husband if it became known that she'd gotten into trouble?'

He dropped his eyes to his hands, which he opened and closed, examining them as if he'd not seen them before. His fingers were long and elegant; surgeon's hands.