A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,37

resemblance ended there. He wore a sort of toga of scarlet cotton and his hair was plaited into long, intricate braids that had been reddened with ochre dust. Long strings of beads hung across his chest and wrapped around his wrists, and he carried a tall spear. When he rested it was on one leg, the other tucked up like a stork, and his gaze was solemn and watchful. He helped Ryder move a table outside and together they carried hot water and tore up sheets and generally made themselves useful.

I surveyed the contents of the first aid kit while Ryder filled me in.

“They are Kikuyu. Word travels fast in the bush, and to these people white women mean medicine. There’s not an Englishwoman out here who doesn’t dispense castor oil and antiseptic on her front porch.”

“I thought my farm manager had a wife. Why doesn’t Mrs. Gates take care of this?” I asked, scrubbing irritably at the table with a moderately clean rag and a bucket of hot water.

“Gates doesn’t believe in spoiling the workers. He thinks their native remedies are good enough.”

“Clearly not,” I snapped. I took a deep breath. “Very well. What do I need to know about the Kikuyu?”

“They’re farmers, mostly, with some blacksmithing ability. It’s their handiwork you admired on my truck,” he added with a smile. “But they really are quite skilled. They can fashion whatever you need—keys, knives, that sort of thing. The one thing they can’t do is fight. They’re rotten warriors, and that’s why they’re so attached to the white farms. They work the fields for the whites and tend their own shambas—smallholdings,” he added when I gave him a questioning look. “When the British started settling this area, it meant the Kikuyu weren’t getting slaughtered by the Masai and the Somali anymore. They still skirmish, but nothing like what they used to get up to. You’ll be treating mostly accidents and quarrels and stomach upsets and worms, not the effects of tribal warfare, if that’s what you were afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

He was still laughing when I motioned for the nearest woman to come forward. She placed a small child on the table and I looked her over. She was getting enough to eat; her muscles were sleek and her ribs weren’t visible. But her eyes were listless and a loose, dirty bandage drooped from one arm. I didn’t even have to look under it to know what the smell meant.

Gingerly, I peeled away the filthy bandage to find a small suppurating wound. I rummaged through the travel case Dora had fetched but there was nothing besides the usual assortment of tweezers and lint and antiseptics and digestive aids. Certainly nothing like a scalpel. I turned to Ryder.

“Give me your knife.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a clasp knife. “How did you know I had a knife?”

I took it from him and pulled it open. “Your kind always does.”

I held the blade in the fire as long as I dared, and when it was red-hot, I gestured for the mother to hold the child fast. I stuck the blade into the wound and the pus ran freely. The child screamed, but the mother was firm, holding her tightly and murmuring words of admonishment as I worked. The tissue was still wholesome, and I worked fast, pressing a little to encourage the pus to drain faster. The thick yellow fluid mingled with blood, and I wiped carefully, peering at the wound. I took tweezers from the case and went back in, emerging a moment later with a long thorn. I held it up to show the mother and she smiled broadly. Her teeth were white and beautiful, although she was missing a few. The child had quieted completely and did not fuss, not even when I pressed the sides of the wound again to make the blood flow freely. I wanted to make certain the gash was clean, and as the blood ran fresh and bright, I held a cloth over the top to staunch it. After it clotted, I applied an antiseptic powder and bandaged it firmly.

I turned to Ryder. “Can you explain to her that the bandage must be kept dry and clean? I want to see the child back tomorrow.”

He stared at me, a hard appraising stare, and after a long moment, he nodded. He gabbled something at the mother and she ducked her head shyly at me. “Asante sana.”

“What did she say?”

“She thanks

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