CHAPTER NINE
Carl worried about Sonia, not knowing how best to comfort her. He'd hope that she would return to France with him, but she seemed keener to spend the summer with her cousin, which he could understand given that this was her only family in England. In the meantime, although he had been dreading the time away in France with his parents, things had not been quite as bad as he feared, at least not in the beginning. It helped that Grandma and Granddad were not there at the same time, and that the weather in St. Jean was heavenly. There was also Madame Pagnole's Provençal cooking, which could never be underestimated. Jane had come to join them for a few days, too, so all was going well until Mother received the letter from Nancy Murdoch, 'N' for notoriously nattering, nitwit Nancy who wrote to inform them (never asking, always announcing) that she and her husband would be visiting over the Bastile holiday. Father was delighted (typical). Mother was furious.
Mr Murdoch had been Father's friend for many years. They met in 1945 while taking the summer course at Oxford in preparation for colonial service. It was there that they both learnt their first few words of local African languages as well as acquiring some knowledge of tropical medicines and diet. Mr Murdoch was subsequently posted to Tanganyika while father had gone to Nigeria, but they had stayed in touch over the years.
Whenever the two got together they drank, smoked cigars, and reminisced about the good old times and their chums in the Corona Club. But it was not such a jolly moment for mother, who was left entertaining Nancy. Unlike some talkative types with whom one could 'umm' and 'ahh' without paying much attention Nancy's chatter was one of the intense variety that demanded responses. She spoke incessantly about herself, which was why, when Father refused to say no to the Murdochs, Mother insisted upon inviting Uncle Tony, in France same time, to valancy things out.
Father disapproved of his brother-in-law just as much as Mother objected to Mrs Murdoch, so this made them even. Uncle Tony was far too unconventional for father - he had never held a steady job or married, and rumours circulated about his preferring men to women. Moreover, his politics embarrassed Father, especially in front of people like the Murdochs, who shared his conservative views. Uncle Tony was not exactly a Communist Party member (his taste in clothes, art, and wine precluded this), but he sympathised with the Left. Father also resented his brother-in-law for having had the opportunities that he would have liked: being born upper class and achieving a place at Cambridge University. To make matters worse, Tony had squandered his opportunities, dropping out of Cambridge and associating with people Father deemed socially and politically unsavoury.
The Murdochs arrived on time but Uncle Tony missed his train and, because Father wouldn't go back to the station, Jane drove to fetch him instead. Father had wanted to start the meal without Uncle Tony too, but Madame Pagnole would have nothing of the sort. To Father's chagrin,Madame Pagnole exerted considerable authority over the home in France. She had been chef to the Hume family since Mother and Uncle Tony were children, and when it came to meals, she was boss. She had a voice like thunder and a girth to match, with the result that nobody ordered her around, least of all Father. And had a soft spot for her little "Antonie," so much so that the menu was chosen to uncle Tony's favourite dishes - foie gras, Coquilles St. Jacques with black truffles and Pagnole tarte aux poires.
During the meal, Jane and Uncle Tony sat next to each other, wisely paying no attention to father, who was scowling at the far end of the table. "Oh lala-lala," Carl thought to himself. At least there was something undeniably happy about Jane, which was a recent change. She still didn't say much in large groups, but Carl now noticed a quiet confidence that could be sensed, even when she wasn't talking.
Vietnam was the topic of discussion with Uncle Tony also describing his participation in recent anti-nuclear testing demonstrations. Not surprisingly, Father grunted his disapproval, but that didn't stop Carl from asking questions. Did Uncle Tony think that America would be forced to withdraw their troops? He tried several times to ask the question but, true to form, Nancy Murdoch, in collision with Father, kept interrupting. Mr Murdoch said nothing when his wife talked, either because he was too intimidated or, more than likely, because his wife embarrassed him.
"Did you know that the number of black children in English children's homes is on the rise?" Nancy spoke in her affected high-pitched voice, making no attempt to link her comment to anything said before. "And did you know that the brown children are the hardest to find families for?"
"And did you know", Carl thought as he watched Nancy's lips, "that you have chunks of green spinach lodged between your teeth?"
"And why is that?" Jane asked, the only one kind enough to indulge the woman in conversation.
"Well." Nancy paused. "Many parents won't take the brown ones for fear of what others might think. If the children are properly black of course, there's no mistaking the mothers. But with the brown ones…well, people gossip, you know. Few women want to be mistaken as mothers of…" Nancy paused again. "Mulattoes," she whispered hurriedly, as though the word itself were dangerous.
"That's just stupid," Carl scoffed.
"Fromages!" Mme Pagnole announced, arriving with another course.
"Well you can't blame them, 'Carl," Father said, covering his nose as he pushed away the plate of Munster and Camembert.
"Why not?"
"People will think it rape," Nancy answered, peering dubiously at the cheeses and opting for the date garnish.
"Oh that's ridiculous!" Carl insisted.
"I think 'Carl's right," Uncle Tony added. "There are probably very few rapes; its just people being too racist to deal with the results of their actions, or should we say passions."
"Precisely," Carl nodded.
"Et ba, c'est bien!" Mme Pagnole exclaimed, happy to find dents in her cheese. She had returned with the salad.
"Well you can't just blame the English for being racist, you know." Mrs Murdoch raised her palms meekly. 'The blacks are just as bad, if not worse. They reject them too. It's terribly distressing, but at the end of the day we just need to find these little dearies a home, don't we?"
"So Carl, how is Oxford these days?" Uncle Tony asked.
Carl smiled, knowing that his uncle felt the same way as he did about Nancy Murdoch. Everything about the woman was irritating: her high-pitched voice, her supercilious tone, her feigned generosity, and the green spinach lodged between her teeth.
"He's having a jolly time, aren't you Carl?" Father answered.
"And what's this I hear about you writing for the Oxford newspapers?" Uncle Tony asked.
"Oh, it's just a few things for Is."
"So you're a writer now?" Nancy interrupted. "How delightful! I've always thought it was a super career for a man - something that you can do at peace when you have children. You must also learn to type, darling."
"Carl is very interested in Africa," Mother added. "He supports all their independence movements."
"Well, he might not be supporting them for long. Wait and see if they last," Father added, dryly.
"Jonathan, please." Mother tapped the side of her glass again.
Carl shook his head, wishing he could disappear from it all. Mother had been doing so well, but now Nancy's stupid comments and Father's equally stupid remarks, she was back to her drink and it was only going to get worse.
"So, tell me more," Uncle Tony urged, offering cigars. "Cuban, Lizzie?"
Mother declined.
"Jane?" He added with a wink.
Carl watched with curiosity as Jane accepted. So this was the new Jane!
"Tell me more about your writing Carl," Uncle Tony probed, thinking he had been silenced by Nancy.
Carl mentioned a few of the articles, including the one that he was most proud of, which critique American foreign policy as it pertained to their previous discussion.
"Rather silly if you ask me," Father mumbled.
"Well, nobody's asking you," Mother replied, pouring another brandy, as Mme Pagnole entered with the prized tarte aux poires.
"Carl had lots of foreign friends up at Oxford, especially from our colonies," Father continued, ignoring the tart that brought a round of applause from everyone else.
"Ex-colonies you mean! Madame Pagnole, this is délicieux. Fantastique!" Carl smiled.
"Bien se nourrir pour bien se porter." Mrs Pagnole winked.
"We've had quite the foreign lot to visit, haven't we, Elizabeth? One feels rather obliged to show them the world. It's very civilizing for them really."
For many years, Carl thought that this was just Father's way of speaking, that he spoke condescending on most subjects without really meaning to do so. This was also how Mother explained it, but Carl no longer believed it.
"Didn't we meet some of them at the Christmas party?" Mr Murdoch asked.
"There were Indians I believe, and a coloured man, wasn't there?"
"Yes, that's right," Father replied. 'They must make special concessions for them to get into Oxford these days. They're still bright for Africans mind you - future ministers and leaders of their countries."
"Oh really, Jonathan, don't be so stupid!" Uncle Tony replied.
"Well, I'm simply telling you what I observed at Oxford," Father continued.
"I hardly think a summer course counts as having gone to Oxford."
"Please," Mother pleaded.
"Well, some of us did go to Oxbridge," Tony insisted.
"And dropped out," Father added.
"Will you two stop it!" Mother's voice was raised.
"As I was saying," Father continued, "we've had quite the foreign lot to visit, including Nigerian chapie at Balliol. Now there's a bright lady for you, with good manners reading PPE at Balliol, and she's Yoruba of course. They've always been the most straightforward. With the Hausa you can never tell what they are up to, and the Igbos are always so sly."
"Oh, Daddy you can't say things like that!"
"Why not? They would tell you the same thing if you asked."
"Actually, I recall that chap looking rather like your gardener in Jos," Nancy remarked. "A lovely young man. Why ever did you sack him?"
"Because he was an idiot," Father snapped.
"Oh dear! I always thought…"
"Nancy," Mr Murdoch glared at his wife, cutting her off in mid-sentence.
"Jonathan's the idiot," Mother muttered, recklessly filling her glass without looking.
"Oh for Christ's sake Mum!"
"So tell me Carl" Uncle Tony winked again at Jane, "Are Oxford women still being treated as second-class citizens and what about.."
"Jonathan's the bloody i-di-ot," Mother interrupted.
"You're the one who looks idiotic, Elizabeth," Father snapped.
"You and your beloved gardener. Did you ever tell him you were a drunk?"
"Oh, I say!" Nancy exclaimed.
"You say what? Mother shouted, glaring at Nancy and then at Father.
"Don't you remember the gardener's name? He had a name you know." She banged the bottle back on the table.
"Mother!" Carl pleaded, but she was already up and marching unsteadily, but determinedly, out of the room.
***
"Well, that was quite some drama for one night," Jane remarked as she and Carl went to the sitting room after helping Madame Pagnole clear the plates.
"I can't believe my mother", Carl muttered.
"You shouldn't let it bother you, Carl. Nancy's enough to drive anyone to drink. But you've got to tell me, who is this chappie from Balliol? 'Very nice chap'"- Jane imitated Father's accent.
"Oh shut up!" Carl tossed a pillow at her.
"So let's have a look at that photo again." Jane hopped from her sofa to Carl's.
"Why?"
"Because I want to see it, silly! Come on. Not all of us are lucky enough to have beautiful girlfriends, or even a girlfriend at all. And have you done it yet?"
"Done what?"
"You know…" Jane cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. "Oh, don't be such a prude."
"I'm not being a prude!" Carl picked up the fallen pillow, and lobbed it back at Jane.
"Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
"Promise then to tell me about her and I'll tell you a secret."
"What secret?"
"Promise?"
"What secret?"
"Promise?"
"Okay, yes. Promise." Carl nodded impatiently.
"We, as in me and your uncle, did it on the way back from the station."
"Did what?"
"Had sex."
"You what?"
"You're so dramatic, Carl. This isn't Victorian England. It's the 60s for God's sake."
"You and…"
"Your Uncle Tony."
"But he's not that way incli…" Carl stammered.
"Inclined? Oh yes he is!"
"Oh God, Jane! Is this serious?"
"No! Tony's far too old for me, though I must say that older men really have that touch. The way he…
"Jane! I don't want to hear."
"Well, if you don't want to hear, tell me about your girlfriend. What do you two get up to?"
"Obviously nothing compared to you, but we do things."
"Like.." Jane rolled her hands in continuous circles for more details. "It's not like you to be lost for words, Carl."
"Oh Jane, what does this mean for you and Tony?"
"It doesn't mean anything. Read some Freud. It's just sex. Speaking of which, is it really true what they say about size?"
"I have no idea!"
"Okay, so what did your parents think of her?" Jane asked.
"They like her."
"But how about what nattering Nancy was saying? Wouldn't they worry about the way people would view their children?"
"It's just a skin colour, Jane."
"I know that and you know that, but your Father's not exactly the most liberal of thinkers."
"Liberal enough to marry against his parents' wishes, so I don't see how he could object. Anyway, who said anything about marriage?"
"Of course you will." I can already imagine you married to her. You'll be next Prime Minister, and she'll be living here in one of those fancy mansions with servants bringing her food. You'll have those lovely brown children running around. The local papers will carry the headlines. Prime Minister 'Carl Richardson and his wife… what's her name again?"
"Sonia, Sonia Ajayi". Carl smiled, momentarily forgetting his annoyance.
"Prime Minister Richardson and his wife Sonia A-ja-yi," Jane annouced.
"Let's go and see Jean-Pierre and Olivier tomorrow. They ought to be back now."
Carl wasn't excited about them as he might have been a year ago. It was Sonia he dreamed of. Perhaps she would be a journalist one day. Perhaps he would be the same. Or perhaps he would write for one of the national newspapers. They would live on campus or in the city maybe. He imagined her shopping in the outdoor market and at weekends enjoying long walks by the beach and nights of music and dance. He wondered what Sonia was doing at that moment without him.
Hopefully she wasn't meeting men. He didn't like it when she flirted with other men and especially with coloured men. It didn't help that whenever Richard's name was mentioned she became withdrawn, and when he remarked on it she accused him of not understanding her culture, which made him angry because he was doing all that he could to understand.
"So, let's say, just hypothetically, if I marry Sonia, would you definitely come to Africa and visit me? Because I'd like to move to Africa. Nigeria to be precise" Carl asked.
"Jane?" He whispered, but Jane was fast asleep.