We drove slowly into camp in order not to raise dust and got out under the big tree between our tents and the lines. Miss Mary went over to see Mbebia the cook to have him make lunch at once and Willie and I walked over to the mess tent. I opened a bottle of beer that was still cold in the canvas bag that hung against the tree and poured one in each of our glasses.
“What’s the true gen, Papa,” Willie asked. I told him.
“I saw him,” Willie said. “Old Arap Meina seemed to have him under fairly close arrest. He does look a little bit the type, Papa.”
“Well, we’ll check his Shamba. Maybe he has a Shamba and maybe they had elephant trouble.”
“We’ll check the elephants too. That will save time and then we’ll drop him off here and then have a general look around on the other thing. I’m taking Ngui. If there are elephant and we have to work it out Meina knows all the country and he and Ngui and I will do it and Ngui and I will have made the recon.”
“It all seems sound,” Willie said. “You fellows do keep quite busy here for a quiet area. Here comes Miss Mary.”
Mary came in delighted with the prospect of the meal.
“We’re having Tommy chops, mashed potatoes and a salad. And it will be here right away. And a surprise. Thank you so much for finding the Campari, Willie. I’m going to have one now. Will you?”
“No thank you, Miss Mary. Papa and I are drinking a beer.”
“Willie, I wish I could go. But anyway I’ll have all the lists made and write the checks and the letters ready and after I kill the lion I’ll fly in with you to Nairobi to get the things for Christmas.”
“You must be shooting very well, Miss Mary, from that beautiful meat I saw hanging in the cheesecloth.”
“There’s a haunch for you and I told them to change it around carefully to be in the shade all day and then wrap it well for you just before you go back.”
“How is everything at the Shamba, Papa?” Willie asked.
“My father-in-law has some sort of combination chest and stomach ailment,” I said. “I’ve been treating it with Sloan’s liniment. Sloan’s came to him as rather a shock the first time I rubbed it in.”
“Ngui told him it was part of Papa’s religion,” Mary said. “They all have the same religion now and it’s reached a point where it is basically awful. They all eat kipper snacks and drink beer at eleven o’clock and explain it is part of their religion. I wish you’d stay here Willie and tell me what really goes on. They have horrible slogans and dreadful secrets.”
“It’s Gitchi Manitou the Mighty versus All Others,” I explained to Willie. “We retain the best of various other sects and tribal law and customs. But we weld them into a whole that all can believe. Miss Mary coming from the Northern Frontier Province, Minnesota, and never having been to the Rocky Mountains until we were married is handicapped.”
“Papa has everybody but the Mohammedans believing in the Great Spirit,” Mary said. “The Great Spirit is one of the worst characters I’ve ever known. I know Papa makes up the religion and makes it more complicated every day. He and Ngui and the others. But the Great Spirit frightens even me sometimes.”
“I try to hold him down, Willie,” I said. “But he gets away from me.”
“How does he feel about aircraft?” Willie asked.
“I can’t reveal that before Mary,” I said. “When we are airborne I’ll give you the word.”
“Anything I can do to help you, Miss Mary, count on me,” Willie said.
“I just wish you could stay around or that G.C. or Mr. P. was here,” Mary said. “I’ve never been present at the birth of a new religion before and it makes me nervous.”
“You must be something along the lines of the White Goddess, Miss Mary. There’s always a beautiful White Goddess isn’t there?”
“I don’t think I am. One of the basic points of the faith as I gather it is that neither Papa nor I are white.”
“That is timely.”
“We tolerate the whites and wish to live in harmony with them as I understand it. But on our own terms. That is on Papa’s and Ngui’s and Mthuka’s terms. It’s Papa’s religion and it is a frightfully old religion and now he and the others are adapting it to Kamba custom and usage.”
“I was never a missionary before, Willie,” I said. “It is very inspiring. I’ve been very fortunate that we have Kibo here that is almost the exact counterpart of one of the foothills of the Wind River range where the religion was first revealed to me and where I had my early visions.”
“They teach us so little at school,” Willie said. “Could you give me any gen on the Wind Rivers, Papa?”
“We call them the Fathers of the Himalayas,” I explained modestly. “The main low range is approximately the height of that mountain Tensing the Sherpa carried that talented New Zealand beekeeper to the top of last year.”
“Could that be Everest?” Willie asked. “There was some mention of the incident in the
“Everest it was. I was trying to remember the name all day yesterday when we were having evening indoctrination at the Shamba.”