A Merry Christmas
by Mwendwa Kiko
“Well, why do we have to invite her anyway?”
The look Irma Mutua gave her husband was still respectful, but it was straddling the border of contempt, just reaching over with one foot to step onto the other side. She always got like that when she was irritated, though it happened as rarely as a hurricane, and became as violent when it did happen.
“Because she’s our daughter. Now stop being a nuisance and pass me the lights, dear.”
She complied and handed him the green and red Christmas lights. They were truly ancient, and threatened to shatter and scatter tiny little pieces of coloured plastic all across their living room if he wasn’t careful. But he was, of course. It wasn’t the first time he was balancing precariously on that exact step ladder, placing those exact lights on a three metre tall pine tree (not the exact same one this time, though), while his wife handed him the decorations one by one and amused him with her fussing about their invitees for the evening. This time was different, though. There was no amusement in the conversation; just consternation from both parties and a general feeling that the evening would end up as an unmitigated disaster, whatever happened.
“But we’ve already shown her how much we’re against this. How can she still come, despite all that?”
Julius took his time to respond. He’d gotten down and was admiring his handiwork. Yes, the tree had been a little smaller than usual, and most of the decorations were feeling the weight of all the years they’d served his family, but all in all the foyer looked as impressive as it did every Christmas. The tree was there, right in front of the door, so that it would be the first thing everyone saw when they stepped into the house. The stairs curved up and around it on either side, and the decorations on the railing meant that they too were in on the act, eager to do their little stairs-y bit in making everyone who set foot in that home that night feel like it was truly Christmas. To the left was the kitchen and the servants quarters, but of course those wouldn’t be decorated. Everyone who came in would be shepherded to the right, to the ground floor lounge, to drinks, conversation, merrymaking, gift giving, and a healthy dose of envy to boot!
“Look at how wonderful it all looks.”
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?”
“I am, dear. But I don’t know what to say. I feel exactly the same way you do, but I can’t do anything about it. The most I can do is to try my best to enjoy the evening.”
“How can you even talk about enjoying the evening when —yes, Mueni?”
The last two words were addressed to the maid, who’d been standing there, head bowed and eyes to the floor, waiting to be noticed.
“Sir, Mr. Singh is calling for you.”
“Which one. You know they’re all called Singh, right?” Julius replied.
“Ramanujan, sir. He said it’s about the concrete.”
“Oh, I’m sorry dear, I really have to take this. Two hundred million shillings worth of concrete deserves my full attention, even on Christmas Eve. I’ll take it in the second floor study. Wait, but the lift is out of service. It’s alright, then: I’ll take it in the kitchen.”
***
The first to arrive was, of course, Grace, her husband, Anthony, and their son, Anthony Jr. Anthony had been to that house more times and had seen more Christmas dinners than any of the sons in law, so he wasn’t overawed by the Christmas tree. Besides, his mind had other things to chew on. The Engineer at the site in Cameroon had discovered some very serious flaws in the work that had just been done, and it was his job as Chief Technical Officer to tell Julius about it. It was conversations like the one he’d have to have soon that really made him long for the day when he’d be able to swap the ‘Technical’ in his title for the ‘Executive’ that Julius now owned, but would be relinquishing in a few years. As for Grace, she considered it her right and duty as the first-born to receive a thorough and complete report of the goings on in the lives of her sisters from her mother. This year, especially, she was so eager for the gossip that she rushed off with her mum to the ground floor dining room to have the discussion. She would really have preferred the second floor TV room — their discussions almost always happened there — but the lift was out of service, and she was too eager to start the discussion for her to take the stairs.
“Mum, is it true?” she asked, as soon as they were in and she’d closed the door.
“You could be talking about anything, Grace.”
“I heard that Diana dropped out. Is it true?”
“Who told you that?”
“Juno. She heard it from the Kamau’s when she went for the bridal shower last week.”
“And how did the Kamau’s find out?”
“Oh, mum, don’t you remember their daughter is in the same faculty as Diana. There are so few Kenyans over there that I’m sure they must be friends.”
Irma’s face was ashen, and she slumped back in her chair in absolute horror.
“Just tell me this, how many people were at this bridal shower?”
“Juno didn’t say.”
“I hope she did a better job of keeping this to herself than the Kamau’s have. But then I shouldn’t really be surprised. Mrs. Kamau has been trying to find a way to get back at me ever since we expanded the swimming pool.”
“Oh mum, is it true? Did she really drop out?”
“Yes.”
The word landed in the centre of the room like a bomb, blasting everything in its path to kingdom come. Grace, too, slumped back in her chair, and could only stare into the distance in silence. After a few moments, she’d recovered enough from the shock to talk again, but even then her voice was barely more than a whisper: “She…she dropped out of Oxford for him?”
“Grace, you look like you’re going to faint. Let me get you some water.”
And of course by ‘get you some water’ she really meant ‘pick up the phone, call Mueni and tell her to bring a glass of fresh pineapple juice’, but that just took longer to say.
“And is she really coming today?” Grace was eager to get back to the conversation after the shock had worn off a bit, and she’d taken a few sips of pineapple juice.
“Yes, she’s your sister, Grace, no matter what she does.”
“Yes, mum, but is she really planning to bring him? I mean, for all we know, this could just be a scouting visit for him. Next Monday, the headline might be BURGLARY AT BILLIONAIRE’S FAMILY HOME: POLICE SUSPECT INSIDE JOB.”
“Don’t be silly, Grace. You’re sister is a smart, responsible young lady, and I’m sure this young man’s intentions are good.”
But, of course, she didn’t believe a word of what she was saying. If the conversation had continued, maybe Grace would have realized that. But before they could go on any further, Mueni came in.
“Excuse me, madam. Juno just called.”
“Alright, I’ll take it here.”
“She left a message, madam. She said there was no need to call back. All she wanted to tell you was that they couldn’t catch a flight in time, so they wouldn’t be able to make it for dinner tonight.”
Irma didn’t hear a word Mueni said after that, and didn’t notice her leave. She said a few polite words to Grace and took her leave, but she was running on autopilot. Her mind was far away, thinking about Juno’s absence that night. Of course, the conference in Geneva wasn’t the problem. In five years with the United Nations, she’d worked in every far-flung corner of the world except Antarctica, but she’d always been able to make it back in time for important moments like this one. She wouldn’t have missed a Christmas dinner for the world, so something bigger than the world must have come up. Irma didn't have to think too hard about what that might be. In fact, her conversation with Grace was stuck on repeat in her mind. She could see in her mind’s eye the big, black, capital letters of the Daily Nation headline: BILLIONAIRE BURGLED, right next to a photo of their devastated home, with everything having been stolen except the Christmas tree.
***
That home had seen a great many things in its time. It had been visited by presidents of countries both large and small, prime ministers with their lovely mistresses, kings of European states smaller than the land on which it stood. But no one had prepared it to see a sight as strange as the arrival of the Diana it knew so well, all five feet seven inches of her, with nineteen years experience in being beautiful, getting her own way and making rash, impetuous decisions. She had waltzed in at around seven, with her arm resting lightly on the elbow of her knight, though he wasn’t quite in shining armor. He was about a head taller than her, but thin as a reed, very light skinned, and reserved in a way that contrasted sharply with her boisterous nature.
There had been a hush when they had entered the room, then everyone had started talking at once; Grace had said, “Welcome, sis,” just as her mum had exclaimed, “My God, he must be twenty five!”
Diana was unfazed, and the radiant smile hadn’t faded one bit. Her knight, on the other hand, had looked as comfortable as an elephant in a swimming pool full of mice. His eyes had moved across the foyer, fixating on the towering Christmas tree, and its costly decorations. Even though Diana’s hand had been resting on his, it was he who had seemed to be hanging on to her for dear life, all of a sudden.
No one had noticed, though, except Julius, whose eyes had never left the face of the young man. He could see the love for his daughter written there in a language of stolen glances and smiles that the entire world could read. But from the moment they had stepped in, he could also see a big, “What have I gotten myself into?!”, that was growing bigger by the second.
“Dad, mum, sis, I’d like to introduce you to the love of my life, Alamini.”
Now, when your daughter introduces someone to you as the love of their life, you have to soften up a bit, even if all you see when you look at him is a rogue who’s way too old for her. The Mutua’s did have years of experience in making happy conversation with mortal enemies, but even then they had found it a bit of a struggle to break the ice.
“Alamini…that’s a very unique name,” Irma had said.
“Not really, mum. It’s quite common among the Somali people,” Diana had replied, exuberant.
“So you’re Somali?” Grace had asked.
“On my mother’s side,” those were the first words Alamini spoke in that house, and even the Christmas tree had seemed to lean towards them so that it could hear what that most unexpected guest sounded like. He had a nondescript Nairobi accent, without any of the exotic intonations that you would have expected after hearing his name.
There hadn’t been much drama, then, before they sat down to dinner. So, now, there they were: one big, happy family enjoying what everyone hoped would be a lovely meal. The first course was mostly a chance to get used to each other’s company, so no one really paid much attention to the soup and bread. Anthony gave an inspiring monologue about what had been done to the Minister of Agriculture, that could basically be summarized as, “you can’t just sack a bloke without giving him the chance to defend himself in a court of law. There are always allegations. So what? So if someone accuses me of being behind the murder of Tom Mboya, am I supposed to lose my job too?!”
When Diana answered yes to that question, there was the kind of discussion that was just heated enough to make the room comfortably warm. There was some comfort to be gleaned from seeing that some things could be exactly the same as they always were: Anthony trying to prove that the ends justify the means and Diana disagreeing with everything he said, even if it was, ‘water is wet.’ It happened every year, and even though Diana’s responses had a bit more bite than usual this year, no one seemed to mind.
“So what do you do for a living?” Irma asked.
“I write.”
“He’s a columnist for the Sunday Nation, mum. You must have seen his column: ‘Sunday Madness’ by Alamini Hussein.”
“So is it something you like?” Irma continued.
“It pays the bills.”
“What would you want to do long term.”
“Get my book published. It’s a shame Kenyans don’t read more.”
“He’s really talented,” Diana affirmed, “soon he’ll get published, and he’ll be able to move out of the slum.”
The word hung in the air for a split second, until Anthony broke the silence, trying to bait Diana just that little bit more, “Don’t worry. Hemingway, Rowling, all the greats started out poor. Though I don’t think they ran the risk of a teargas canister suddenly flying through the window, so maybe you should be a little worried.”
Alamini said nothing, but Irma was quick to his defence. But that was just a minor skirmish. The real battle came when the main course — roasted duck with bitter herbs, vegetables and potatoes — was served, and Mueni was making her way silently out of the room.
“Yeah, I actually think I’ve read your column,” Anthony began saying, between bites of the delicious duck.
“Like you ever read the newspaper!”
“No, I’m being serious, Grace, I actually did once. Alamini, true or false, you once wrote a piece about how all the money should be taken from the wealthy and given to the starving masses, or some rubbish like that?”
“Anthony!”
“What? Grace, I’m sorry, but I do have a right to express my opinion, you know — and my opinion is that the article I read was rubbish. You can’t just take money from the rich and give it to the poor. They won’t even know what to do with it!”
At that comment, everyone in the room began to scold him for his insensitivity; everyone, that is, except his intended victim, Alamini, who was trying unsuccessfully to stop himself from laughing.
“I’m sorry, did I say something funny?” Anthony said, almost offended that Alamini hadn’t taken offence.
Everyone had to wait a full minute for him to compose himself before they got to hear his response, “It’s just that you’re talking about ‘poor’ people as if they’re little children who need to be led by the hand or else they’ll get lost in the supermarket.”
Anthony’s face reddened as he retorted, “Look, I’m not saying anything about the ‘poor’, as you call them. All I’m saying is you can’t just take what I’ve worked hard for and give it to someone else, for no good reason at all!”
“But that happens all the time. Haven’t you ever heard of taxes?” Alamini replied with a smile.
Anthony was completely disarmed by the perfectly diplomatic response, and even returned the smile. It seemed for a glorious moment that the rest of the dinner might go smoothly, but Diana wasn’t about to let that happen.
“And it’s not just taxes,” Diana began, “Just look at our family. Look at the kind of house we live in. Is it really something we’ve worked for?”
If any of them had turned to look at Alamini at that moment, they would have seen the smile gone and a look of absolute horror in its place. But no one did.
“Now I think that’s a bit unfair,” Anthony said.
“Why? Isn’t it true? Haven’t we been living off of other people’s sweat for years? I mean, just look at yourself: is the amount of work you do really worth the kind of money you’re earning?”
“Diana dearest,” Grace responded, in lieu of her husband, “I think that you shouldn’t be so quick to condemn us based on opinion you’ve only just started holding.”
“Oh come on, Grace. Now what does that even mean!?”
Grace couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice as she responded, “It means, Diana, that I don’t think you fully understand the significance of the theories you’re supporting.”
“Grace, please! I’m not a child!”
“Are you sure you’re not, because from the way you’re behaving, and the kind of decisions you’ve made lately, I would like to suggest otherwise.”
“Oh, and what kind of decisions are these?”
“Ladies, I think we should all just take a deep breath...”
“Shut up, Anthony! I want to hear my sister tell me about all those questionable decisions I’ve made lately.”
“Fine,” Grace said, “At least one person here should tell you the truth. In the last few months you’ve dropped out of one of the most prestigious universities in the world!”
“Oh come on, it’s not a big deal. I’ll learn a lot more out here in the real world anyway.”
“How can you say it’s not a big deal?” her mother chipped in, “It’s your future.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, mum. As you’ve said, it’s my future, so I can do with it what I please. If I decide I want to spend it rotting away in the dusty old library of some university, fine. But it’s also OK if I decide I want to do something with it that matters. That’s the thing, mum, I want my life to mean something more than an enormous company, a pile of money, and a giant Christmas tree that no one ever looks at anyway.”
“Just because you’re sharing his bed doesn’t mean you should parrot every single thing he says,” Grace said.
Diana was furious: “You little bitch. How could you–”
“I will not tolerate that kind of language at my dinner table,” her mum interjected.
“No mum,” Diana said, throwing her napkin on the table and standing up, “It’s me I think you guys can’t tolerate. I thought we could enjoy a nice Christmas dinner without it becoming about all the ‘awful’ decisions I’ve made. I guess I was wrong. Have a Merry Christmas, everyone.” And then she left the dining room.
Alamini, who hadn’t said anything through the whole argument, got up to follow her, but was stopped by Julius’s commanding voice, “Before you go, there was something I needed to discuss with you. Perhaps we could head over to my study.”
It was an ominous summons, but one he dared not decline.
***
“Please have a seat,” Julius said.
Alamini was looking at the paintings on the wall, trying to calm his fast beating heart. This was the moment he’d been hoping for and dreading all at once: the meeting with Diana’s father. He’d just imagined it would take place under better circumstances.
There were three paintings. The first was of a violent cavalry charge; two armies of men and horses hurling themselves violently at each other, with little regard for anything else other than victory. The second was of a young girl with a pot of water balanced on her head, walking in the direction of the setting sun. The third was of a man in long, white, flowing robes, with a crown woven out of olive leaves on his head. He was standing on a balcony, far above a cheering crowd. Alamini went closer and read the inscription. It read, JULIUS, KING OF ROME.
“Yes, a fine painting. I bought it during a trip to Rome a few years ago.”
Alamini turned back to his host, his heart beating even faster than when he’d entered the room. Surely, a king in the heart of his kingdom was not to be trifled with. “Sir,” he said, “what did you want to talk with me about?”
“Sir, hmmmm…I really do like the sound of that. Believe it or not, not many people call me ‘Sir’. Yes, I could definitely get used to it. Anyway, that’s besides the point. What are your intentions for my daughter?”
Alamini had been expecting that type of question, and he had a response ready, “I love your daughter, sir. Passionately. Sometimes she’s all I can think about. I might be at work, or in the bus or something, and I suddenly have to call her, just so that I can hear the sound of her voice.”
“Are you planning to marry her?”
He’d been expecting that as well. “Sir, I swear, if I could afford it, I would marry her this second.”
“’If I could afford it’, right there lies the whole problem, my boy. You can’t afford it. And I’m sure she could never be happy living on the wrong side of town.”
“Sir,” Alamini began, after a pause, “I understand that your family’s economic situation is very different from mine, so I shouldn’t expect you to understand–”
“Shouldn’t expect me to understand what? What it’s like to run three kilometers barefoot to school every day? What it’s like to rush back home to feed the chickens and turn your sick mother over in bed so that she doesn’t get bed sores? What it’s like to have to drop out of school and get a job when you’re barely more than a teenager, because you’re the oldest? I’m sorry, my boy, but I think it’s I who shouldn’t be expecting you to understand any of this.”
There was another pause, longer than the first, before Alamini continued, “If that was your childhood, sir, then I’m sure you can understand.”
“There’s that word again! My, you must really love it. Yes, I do understand what it’s like to be you, and therein lies the whole problem.” But before Alamini could respond to this, Julius took the conversation in a completely different direction, “Tell me, my boy, have you ever seen a million dollars?”
The question was so unexpected that Alamini didn’t know how to respond, so Julius continued, “I have. Many, many times. I’ve also held it in my hand. If there’s one thing I can tell you, it’s that, as marvelous as a million is to look at, that’s nothing compared to holding it in your hand. At that moment you feel like the master of the universe, like nothing you could possibly ever long for is beyond your reach.”
Alamini smiled an ironic smile, and said, “That’s wonderful, but unfortunately I don’t have a million dollars so–”
He never got to finish his sentence. Julius pulled a briefcase from under the desk, placed it on the table in front of him and opened it. Inside were row upon row of hundred dollar notes.
“This isn’t quite a million dollars. No, actually it’s half a million. There’s another half sitting somewhere in a briefcase quite like this one with your name on it. I just need you to do one thing for me.”
Even a blind man could have seen the gleam that came into Alamini’s eye when he saw the money, but he quickly mastered himself, “I’m not going to leave your daughter, no matter how much you pay me.”
Julius’s face still had the smile on it, “Of course I don’t want you to leave her now. She’d know our little conversation was the cause even if you didn’t tell her, and she’d soon run off and find someone else just as unsuitable as you. Then this money would have been wasted. If there’s one thing I’m not in the habit of doing, Mr. Alamini, it’s wasting money.”
“No, Mr. Alamini, I don’t want you to leave her. Yet. Take your time, enjoy yourself. She’s young, beautiful, intelligent. There’s no reason for you not to enjoy her for a few months, maybe a year. But we both know you’ll grow tired of her. Forever is a long time, Mr. Alamini, even for me. Can you imagine yourself waking up next to the same person every day for fifty years? Yes, you can’t stop thinking about her now, but in your heart of hearts you know that this, too, shall pass.”
“So, all I ask is that you have fun with my daughter. Have all the fun in the world. Just don’t get her pregnant and don’t marry her. Then when you get tired of her, which will be in less than a year, I hope, dump her. Break her heart, make her hate you and your kind forever. Do that for me, Mr. Alamini, and I will make you richer than you’ve ever dreamed.”
Alamini was so taken aback by the monologue that he couldn’t respond for a few moments. “Why…why would you do that? Do you hate your daughter that much?”
“On the contrary, Mr. Alamini, I love my daughter more than life itself. I love her with a love so strong that you can’t even imagine it. But I also know her all too well. She loves you, not you personally, mind you; just the idea of you. Poor. Intelligent. Handsome. Someone who hasn’t been favoured by life in the way that she has. If it wasn’t you, Mr. Alamini, trust me it would be someone else. I want to make that image turn bitter in her mind. You are the first really bad decision she’s ever made. I want to make sure that you’re the last.”
Alamini was stunned. For a few moments, he couldn’t say anything; all he could do was stare at the money and think of finally being able to finish his novel. That was all he’d ever wanted from life: the time and money to be able to find a nice, quiet spot to sit down and finish his story. It would be about a bank robbery gone bad, and it would have all the trappings of a great thriller: love, hate, betrayal, death. But what was writing a great story compared to living one?
“There is nothing in the whole world that could make me say yes to your proposition,” Alamini began.
“Careful, my boy. This briefcase won’t stay on the table forever.”
“I don’t think you love your daughter, sir. I think you just love the idea of her. She’s supposed to be the perfect little child, nice, quiet obedient, sitting with her legs crossed and speaking only when spoken to–”
“I don’t think you want to go down this road, son.”
“I think you love that image, just like you love the image of a lovely homemaker who prepares a feast every Christmas, or a brilliant son in law that you groom to take over after you. And I think you love the image of yourself, the high and mighty ruler of this kingdom more than anything else, Emperor Julius–”
“If you’re wise you will not say another word.”
“But I don’t want to love an image, sir. I want to love a person, a real, flesh and blood person. Your daughter, sir. I love her, and if she decides she doesn’t want me, or she gets tired of me within a year’s time, that’s fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that I love her. So thank you for your kind offer, sir. But I’m afraid I must decline.”
He turned to walk out, but Julius grabbed him by the wrist and held him back. His face was taut, and his eyes were narrowed in anger as he said, “You have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of.”
Alamini freed himself from his grasp. “Merry Christmas, your majesty. May God thaw your frozen heart,” he said, before walking out.
Mwendwa Kiko is a Kenyan playwright and short story writer. He loves to read about ordinary people in history and write about ordinary people in the present. He is a Christian.
- All rights to this story remain with the author. Please do not repost or reproduce this material without permission.
