“Missie Hammond. Missie Hammond,” he was chanting.
“Yes, yes,” I cried.
“I am here.”
His big dark face broadened in a dazzling grin. He put his hands together and made a little bow.
“Missie Karla. She say come. I take.”
“Oh, thank you. This is wonderful!” I cried.
“There is some luggage and I have two friends here.”
He was grinning and nodded.
“Leave Macala. He do all.”
I turned to Tamarisk and Luke.
“I think my father must have sent him to meet us.”
I had expected him to be there himself. There was prob ably some reason why he was not, I told myself, and he had sent this man.
“Karla?” Tamarisk was saying.
“Who is Karla?”
The man Macala snapped his fingers in an imperious manner.
“Mandel!” he called.
“Mandel!” and a boy of about ten years came running up.
Macala reverted to his own tongue and the boy listened eagerly and nodded. Then he turned to us.
“You come. Follow.”
He led us to a cart which was drawn by two donkeys.
“I take,” said Macala.
“To Mr. Hammond?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I take.”
He indicated that we get into the cart.
“We won’t go without our luggage,” said Tamarisk.
At that moment the boy appeared. He was carrying one of our bags. He set it down and pointed backwards.
Macala nodded and, turning to us, grinned reassuringly.
“I get,” he said.
“Shouldn’t we help?” asked Luke.
“If you go with them you will leave us,” pointed out Tamarisk.
“This is all very strange and, after all, we are more important even than our luggage. I should have thought your father would have been here, Fred. He can’t live far away.”
I did not answer.
We need not have worried about the luggage. Macala returned in a short time with the boy and another tall man. Between them they carried all our bags.
We had a little of the currency we had used in Cato Cato and the man and the boy were overcome with joy when we gave this to them.
Then we set off, the cart trundled along through lush vegetation and in less than ten minutes we saw the house. It was raised a foot or so from the ground on props and there was only one floor. It was long and squat, made of white wood; and brightly coloured flowering shrubs grew profusely round it.
As we approached, a door on the porch opened and a woman stood there.
She was strikingly handsome, tall, statuesque. Her black hair was coiled loosely about her head, her face was less dark than most we had seen since our arrival on the island; it was very smooth and she had large luminous eyes and her smile, showing those perfect white teeth, was welcoming.
“You are Frederica,” she said, looking not at me but at Tamarisk.
“No,” I said.
“I am.”
She spoke English with a light lilting accent which was attractive.
“You have come at last. Ronald is so eager to have you here.”
She spoke my father’s name with a drawn-out emphasis on the first syllable. I was wondering who she was.
This is my friend, Mrs. Marchmont, who travelled with me. “
“Mrs. Marchmont,” she said.
“We’re happy that you have come.”
“And Mr. Armour who has helped us along the way. He is going to the mission.”
Her brows knitted together for a moment, then she was smiling again.
“I am Karia,” she said.
“We heard that the man Macala was sent by you.”
“Yes.”
“My father is here?”
“He is so happy that you are come.”
I looked round expectantly and she went on: “But come in. We do not want to stand here.”
She led the way into a room which was cool after the heat outside.
There were several windows. They were open but there was a mesh over them which I presumed was to prevent the insects coming in. The furniture appeared to be made of light-coloured wood which I supposed was bamboo.
“You must see your father first,” she said.
She looked at Tamarisk and Luke in a rather puzzled way. Her face was very expressive. One could almost read her thoughts. She was thinking that I should be alone when I met him.
Luke said in that quiet, understanding way which was typical of him:
“We can wait here. He’ll be eager to see you. Perhaps we could meet him later.”
I thought it was all rather mysterious and there must be some explanation for it.
Karia looked relieved and smiled gratefully at Luke while Tamarisk sat down in one of the bamboo chairs. Karia turned to me and said: “Come.”
She took me through a passage and, stopping before a door, opened it. She said in a very gentle voice: “She is here.”
He was sitting in a chair before the window. He did not even turn his head, which seemed very strange.
I followed Karia into the room and I stood beside his chair. Although he remained seated it was obvious that he was very tall. His whitish hair had a tinge of gold left in it; his features were classically regular. He had been-and still was a very handsome man. He said, in one of the most musical voices I have ever heard: “Frederica, my daughter, so you have come to see me. At last you are here.”
He put out a hand and went on: “I can’t see you, my dear. I am blind.”
My lips trembled as he went on: “Come close.” He stood up then and reached for me. He put his hands on my shoulders first, then lifted them to feel my face. He explored it with his fingers and then kissed me tenderly on the forehead.
“My dear child,” he said, ‘for so long I have waited for this meeting. ”
He recovered from that emotional scene more quickly than I did, and said he must meet Tamarisk and the young man who had been so helpful.
I went to them and told them my father was eager to meet them. I explained that he was blind.
They were astounded, but when he met them he seemed light-hearted and lively very much the man I had expected him to be from Aunt Sophie’s description of him.
He welcomed Tamarisk warmly and said how glad he had been when he had heard she was to accompany me; and most courteously he thanked Luke for his care of us during the voyage.
We sat and talked and Karia brought in a fruit drink.
She joined us and I noticed how watchful she was of my father, making sure the table for his glass was near him.
There was so much I had to discover about his household and I could see that Tamarisk was full of curiosity.
Luke eventually said he must get on to the mission where they would be expecting him.
“Macala will take you if you don’t mind the old cart,” said Karla.
“It is the best we have. The poor old donkeys are a trifle ancient but they will have to do until we replace them. They’ve done good service.”
“The mission house is about half a mile along the road from here,” said my father.
“So we shall be close neighbours. Whatever made you decide to come here?”
“It was offered me and I accepted,” said Luke.
My father nodded.
“You will be welcome here if you want a meal at any time, won’t he, Karla?”
“He will,” she answered.
When Luke had gone, my father said: “Poor young man. But he seems earnest. I hope things don’t go too badly for him.”
“You don’t seem to think very highly of the mission house,” I said.
“I suppose it’s all right as such places go. Converting the heathen is a very demanding occupation … unless, of course, the heathen are desirous of conversion.”
“And these are not?”
He lifted his shoulders.
“I dare say they like things the way they are. It’s easy if the spirits are in their favour and they can always placate them with some little offering. They don’t understand all that ” love your neighbour as yourself”. They are concerned with looking after themselves. They can’t spare much time for their neighbours.”