Chapter 7 The Fifth Farewell to the Manor｜１

gods and people, We are all so deceived! hard times When it comes to growing coffee, the terrain of my estate is a bit higher.During the cool months there are occasional frosts in the lowlands.Early in the morning, the twigs of the coffee tree and the small coffee beans on the tree were frozen and wilted, turning brown.A gust of wind blows from the prairies, and even in good years we don't produce as much coffee per acre as the lower Sika and Kiab regions, at four thousand feet above sea level. In the Nge mountains, we also lack rain.There are always three droughts in a year, and the coffee production drops sharply.In a year with 50 inches of rainfall, we harvest 80 tons of coffee beans, and with 55 inches of rainfall, we harvest nearly 90 tons.But in two bad years, the rain was only twenty-five inches and twenty inches, and we only received sixteen tons and fifteen tons of coffee beans.Those two years were a disaster for the estate.

At the same time, the price of coffee plummeted; it used to be £100 a ton, but now it was selling for £60 or £70, and life became harder for the estate.We couldn't pay our debts, and we didn't have the money to run the plantation.The shareholders of the manor, who are far away from my hometown in Denmark, wrote to me to sell the manor. I thought of many ways to save the estate.One year I was trying to grow flax in good land.Growing flax is good, but requires a high level of skill and experience.I asked a Belgian refugee to give me advice. He asked me how many acres I planned to plant, and I said three hundred acres.He suddenly exclaimed: Ah, madam!That's not okay.He said that if you want to be successful, you can only plant five or ten acres, and you can't do more.But ten acres is of no use to us!I planted one hundred and fifty acres.The sky-blue flowers blooming in the flax field is really beautiful, like a paradise on earth.What other product in the world is as satisfying as flax fiber?Tough and shiny, it feels like oil when you touch it.Once the flax fibers are shipped out, it's a good idea to wander around and imagine how these beautiful fibers are woven into cloth and pajamas.It is a pity that due to unstable personnel and lack of regular supervision, the Kikuyu people have not been taught how to smoke, retting and beating hemp correctly.I have not been successful growing flax.

In those years, many farmers in Kenya were engaged in different planting and breeding industries, and only a few were inspired by their success in the end.Ingrid of Enjoro.Lindstrom finally got lucky.During the 12 years of hard work, she has set up a flower garden, raised pigs, turkeys, planted castor beans, and soybeans. Seeing these projects fail, she was sad and cried bitterly, but in the end she saved her family , Saved herself She planted pyrethrum, which was sold well in London, where it was processed into various insecticides.My own attempts, however, were not successful.The dry climate and the strong winds from the Assi Plain have caused the coffee trees to wither and their leaves to turn yellow. Some coffee gardens are also plagued by diseases and insect pests, such as woodworms and black spot insects that specialize in gnawing branches.

To increase coffee production, we fertilize the fields.I have always been influenced by European farming, and I can't accept the practice of clearing crops without fertilizing.After hearing the news, the tenant farmers of the manor came to help. They sent old manure from the cattle pen and sheep pen, which was like peat and was easy to deal with.Between the rows of coffee trees, we plowed furrows with a single ox with a small plow newly bought from Nairobi.Bullock carts could not be driven into the fields, and the women in the manor carried bags of manure on their backs and spread them in the furrows, one bag per tree, and then let the oxen pull the plow to cover it.The busy scene was really pleasant. How much I was looking forward to the return of a good harvest, but in the end, the yield remained the same, and the fertilizer effect was not seen at all.

The real headache was our lack of funds, which were spent before I took over the estate.We are incapable of carrying out any major reforms, and we are living just enough to live in our last years, which we have become accustomed to. If I had the funds, I think, I would have stopped growing coffee a long time ago, cut down the coffee trees and planted trees instead.Trees in Africa grow very fast. During the rainy season, you move soil boxes one by one from the nursery, and plant twelve young plants in each box one by one. After ten years, you can comfortably live under the tall eucalyptus and acacia trees. wandered off.By then, I'm sure, they'll be selling well in Nairobi's timber, firewood market.A long time ago, there was a large area of ​​virgin forest in the manor, but unfortunately, before I took over, these forests were sold to Indians, who specialize in felling and making timber.I myself, in times of trouble, felled the woods near the mills, and used them for fuel for my steam-engines.The tall trees, the living shade of this woods, have been my nightmare for many years.The most regrettable thing I have done in my life is to cut down this forest.When I was able, I also planted some eucalyptus seedlings, but not many survived.If I keep at it, in fifty years I can plant hundreds of acres, transform the estate into a singing wood, manage it scientifically, and have a lumber mill by the river.Farmers on the estate, though they have a different conception of time than the whites, have been looking forward to the day when there will be enough wood for everyone. In the first years, people are like this.

I also plan to raise cattle on the estate and run a dairy.But we are in an unclean place, and yellow fever is common on the east coast.If you really want to raise good breeds of dairy cows, you have to soak them in medicinal water frequently.This makes it more difficult to compete with ranchers in the interior. However, I also have the advantage of being close to Nairobi, so I can deliver fresh milk to the city every morning.At one point we had a herd of fine-bred cows and built a nice bathing pond for them on the prairie.But later, we had to reluctantly give up and auction off these cows.The bathing pool was also covered with weeds, like a dry well, or the ruins of an upturned old castle.In the following days, every evening when milking, I would go to Maugai or Kaninu's cowshed to smell the sweet smell of the cows.How I longed to have my own cow stall and cow room.I couldn't help but feel a sharp pain in my heart.When I rode a horse on the grassland, I vaguely saw spotted cows dotted on the grassland, like wild flowers.

But these kinds of plans, as time goes by, become more and more distant, and finally almost forgotten.I don't hold too much grudges though, as long as the coffee makes money and the estates stay afloat, I'm thankful. It is a heavy burden to maintain a farm.My natives, my whites, even I alone fear for them.Sometimes, I feel as if the coffee trees and the cattle on the estate don't spare me.Both the talking creatures and the mutes who can't speak seem to agree that it is my fault that the rains are delayed and the nights are unbearably cold; should.I'm afraid of losing the estate and I'll have to go out on a cruise.Farah understood all my sorrows, and he disapproved of my nighttime outings.He mentioned the leopards, who roamed around the house when the sun went down.Farah used to stand guard in the corridor, a white-robed silhouette looming in the darkness until I returned from night out.But my heart is very heavy, and I don't care about anything about leopards.I knew it would be of no avail for me to roam every avenue of the estate at night, but I went about it every day, like a ghost walking by night, without any definite motive or fixed purpose.

Two years before I left Africa, I was visiting Europe.When it's coffee harvest time, I return to Africa.But I did not get word of the harvest until after I arrived in Mombasa.Days and nights on the ship, I repeatedly weighed the difficulties in my heart: when I was in a good mood and life seemed friendly and amiable, I estimated that I could collect seventy-five tons this time, but when I was depressed and nervous, I thought again: No matter what, the sixty tons will always be received this time. Farah rushed to Mombasa to pick me up.I dare not ask him directly about the production of coffee.We chatted for a while about other things at the estate.But at night, when I was getting ready for bed, I couldn't help it anymore and asked Farah how many tons of coffee they had collected.Somali people are usually happy to report their worries, but at this moment Farah was very unhappy, with an extremely dull expression, leaning against the door, with his head tilted back, his eyes half closed, restraining the pain in his heart, he said: Forty tons, Musa cloth.As soon as I heard that number, I knew we couldn't sustain it any longer.The world around me lost all color and vitality.The bleak, suffocating hotel room, with its concrete floor, old iron bedstead, and battered mosquito net, devoid of any adornment of human life, stood before me starkly as a symbol of a depressed world.I had nothing to say to Farah, and he quietly left the last person in the world who was friendly to me.

However, the human spirit has the great power of self-renewal.In the middle of the night, I thought, for old Knudsen, those forty tons of coffee would be enough, and pessimism is the deadliest thing.Anyway, I'm going back to the manor now, and I'll be circling up the drive again.My people were there and my friends would visit me at the estate.In ten hours, from the southwest side of the railway, I will see the blue silhouette of Ngo Mountain under the blue sky again. Misfortunes never come singly.This year locusts flew to the manor again.They are said to have flown in from Ethiopia.There was a severe drought for two years in a row, and the locust swarms began to move south, sweeping away the crops on the way.Before the locusts were seen, all kinds of strange legends began to spread in those disaster-stricken places. In the north, once the locusts passed, the corn fields, wheat fields, and vegetable gardens all turned into deserts.The settlers sent out messengers to inform their neighbors to the south of the arrival of the locusts.However, even if you get the forecast, there is nothing you can do about the locusts. In all the manors, people prepare piles of high piles of firewood and corn stalks. When the locusts arrive, they will be set on fire immediately.All the workers in the manor were sent to the fields, holding empty oil barrels and cans, beating and coaxing to prevent the locusts from landing.But this is only a temporary reprieve. No matter how frightened farmers are, locusts cannot stay in the air forever.Every farmer's only hope is to drive the locusts south to the next estate.The more estates the locusts flew over, the hungrier and crazier they fell.I have a large grassland on the north side of the Masai Reserve. I hope that the locusts will cross the grassland, cross the river bank, and fly to Masai.

I had three or four reports of locusts from neighboring emigrants, but with no more, I felt confident that it was all nonsense.One afternoon, I rode to the manor grocery store. This store is run by Farah's younger brother Abdullah, and it supplies daily necessities for manor workers and sharecroppers.The shop is located on the side of the road, and an Indian was playing with mule cart covers outside the shop. When he saw me, he stood up from the car seat and greeted me. The locusts are coming, ma'am, please be careful, don't let them fly into your field.When I got to him, he said.

The locusts are coming, the locusts are coming, I have heard it many times, but I haven't seen a single shadow.Maybe things aren't as serious as you've been told.I said. Please look around, madam.said the Indian. I looked around, and on the northern horizon, there was a shadow in the sky, like a long line of smoke, like a city on fire.Cities of millions puffing smoke into the bright air, I thought. what is that?I couldn't stop asking. locust!The Indian replied. I rode back to the manor, and on the prairie path, I found about twenty locusts.I pass the manor manager's house.Command him to make all preparations against the locusts.The two of us looked north together, and the black smoke in the sky rose higher.While we were watching, one or two locusts occasionally flew past us in the air and landed on the ground to crawl. The next morning, I pushed open the door and looked out, and there was a low, monotonous brown-yellow in the wilderness.Trees, lawns, driveways, everything I could see was covered with brown-yellow, as if a thick layer of brown-yellow snow had fallen on the ground at night.Locusts gather in the wilderness.As I stood and watched, the landscape began to oscillate and shatter, and the locusts became active and soared upwards. Within a few minutes, there were flapping locust wings all around, and they flew away. This time, they didn't do much damage to the manor, they just spent the night with us.We saw what locusts looked like, about an inch and a half long, gray-brown with a hint of pink, and a little sticky to the touch.They knocked down several big trees in the driveway just by landing on them.When you look at the trees and remember that each locust is only a tenth of an ounce, you can easily imagine how many thousands of them there are. Locusts go and come back.For two or three months, our estate was continuously attacked by them.We quickly gave up trying to intimidate and drive them away, it was a tragic move that was purely useless.Sometimes, a small swarm of locusts flew by, a free detachment that broke away from the main force, and hurried past.But sometimes, the locusts came overwhelmingly and continued to rampage in the air all day long, and it took several days before they flew away.When the locust plague reached its climax, it was like a blizzard in northern Europe, whistling and whistling.All around you, on your head, are those little hard locust wings flapping their wings.In the sunlight, the locust wings shone like thin steel sheets, but the sun was finally covered by them and became dim and yellow.The formation of locusts remains normal, from the ground to the top of the tree, behind the belt of locusts, the sky is clear.They whizzed toward you, burrowing into your collar, cuffs, and shoes.They dance all over you, your eyes are dazzled, a special morbid frenzy and despair dance in your chest, you are full of fear of locusts.One or two of them are insignificant, and it doesn't matter if they are killed.A swarm of locusts flew across the estate, like a long thin puff of smoke, towards the distant horizon.They fly away, but your face, your hands, the disgust of being crawled over by them will haunt you for a long time. Immediately following the attack of the locusts were swarms of birds.They hover over the locusts, and once the locusts settle in the fields, they descend with them, wandering about in style.They are storks and cranes noble and conceited. Locusts sometimes inhabit estates and do little harm to coffee trees.Coffee leaves, like laurel leaves, are very tough, and locusts cannot bite them.They just crush the coffee trees here and there in the field. But a cornfield ravaged by locusts is a different story.A few dry leaves hung from the broken stalks of corn.My riverside garden, once carefully watered and green all year round, is like a heap of dirt where flowers, vegetables and herbs have all been swept away.The sharecropper's Shamba farmland is like a desolate wilderness that has been burned, and the high and low furrows have been filled by crawling locusts.In the dust, several dead locusts can be seen here and there.The sharecroppers stood and watched the locusts.The old women who plowed and sowed shamba with their own hands stepped on the heads of locusts and waved their fists towards the last fading shadow in the sky. After the locust brigade passed, dead locusts were everywhere.On the road, where they used to live, ox carts and horse carts ran over the locusts.At this time, the locust swarm was far away, and the ruts were clearly visible, like the tracks of a running train, covered with small corpses of dead locusts. Locusts lay eggs in the soil.After the heavy rainy season in the second year, small dark brown creatures appeared. This is the first stage of the locust's life. Although it can't fly yet, it crawls around, eats whatever it sees, and sweeps it all the way. First, I didn't have more funds, and second, I couldn't make any money, so I had no choice but to sell the manor.A big company in Nairobi bought my estate.They thought the place was too high for coffee growing, so they didn't plan to do any more farming.But they decided to take all the coffee trees as collateral, rezoning the land and building roads.When Nairobi expanded westward, they sold properties.The matter of selling the manor is over, and it is almost the end of the year. Even then, if it were not for a great event, I do not think that in my heart I have given up the estate.The coffee tree of the manor belongs to its old owner, or the property right belongs to the bank, which is the first mortgage of the manor.The coffee cannot be picked, processed and sold until May of next year.In the meantime, I will stay and tend the estate, and it will be business as usual, no matter what other people think.I think that during this period of time, changes may occur, and the situation may completely change, because the world is not a regular or predictable stage after all. Under such circumstances, I entered into a strange age of manor life.In fact, all the facts show that the manor no longer belongs to me.But even so, those who are incapable of knowing the truth can still ignore the truth, which is of little importance to everyday affairs.Every hour during this period I was learning the art of living real life or the art of eternity, and what happened in real life had only a minimal impact. Strange to say, at that time, I did not even believe that I would give up the estate or leave Africa.People around me told me I had to do this.They are all reasonable people.Letters from Denmark testify to this point, and all the facts of daily life point to this point.However, my mind was unwavering, and I always believed that I must die in Africa.Based on this firm belief, I have no other reason or principle to imagine anything else. During these months I have in mind my plan or strategy against fate, against the allies of fate in those around me.I thought, from now on, no matter how big or small, I will take it seriously and avoid all unnecessary troubles.I will keep my opponents involved in their affairs, day after day, both in words and in writing, because in the end I will still come out victorious and keep my estate and the people in it.Lose it all, I thought, I can't.How could something impossible to imagine happen? And just like that, I was the last person to realize that I had to leave the estate.When I look back on my last years in Africa, I have a vague feeling that those inanimate things felt my parting far before I did.The mountains, the forests, the grasslands, the rivers, and the wind in the wilderness all know that we are about to part.When I began to come to an agreement with fate, when the negotiations to sell the estate kicked off, the attitude of the landscape towards me began to change.Until then, I have always been a part of it. When the land is dry, I feel my fever;And now, the earth parted from me, receding so that I could see it more clearly and see it in its entirety. The mountains will do the same in the week leading up to the rain.In an evening, when you stare at them, they will suddenly move violently, remove all coverings, and become suddenly enlightened. No matter the shape or color, they are extraordinarily clear and vivid, as if they are determined to tell you everything they contain. As if you could walk all the way from where you were sitting to the green hillside.You think: If a wild boar emerges from the clearing, I can see its eyes and see its ears move when it turns its head; singing.In March, this farewell scene in the mountains meant rain, but now, it means separation for me. I've had similar experiences elsewhere before.When I am about to leave, everything on the earth is revealed to you, but I have forgotten the meaning of it.I just thought, never have I seen such a lovely country, as if just looking at it is enough to keep you happy all your life.Light and shadow interweave the earth, and rainbows tower over the sky. When I was with other white Nairobi lawyers and businessmen, or with friends who advised me on my travels, the loneliness I felt was eerie, sometimes a suffocation of a palpable substance.I see myself as a wise man among them.But once or twice I feel that I am a madman among sane people.This feeling is also taken for granted. The natives of the manor, from the radical realism of their souls, knew the situation of the manor and my state of mind very well, as if I had given them a lecture or written a monograph for them.However, they only count on my help, support, any of these things, and they don't try to plan for their future.They made great efforts to keep me on, and for this they whispered to me that they had many plans for me.After the sale of the estate was settled, they gathered and sat around my house from morning to night, not so much to talk to me as to follow me.Between the leader and his follower there is a delicate relationship, the follower must see clearly every weakness, every mistake of the leader, capable of identifying it with unbiased precision, but at the same time incapable of Avoiding falling towards him, it seems that the only way out of life is to follow him around.The sheep may have this attitude toward the shepherd boy, who know far more about the environment and climate than the shepherd boy, but are still willing to follow him, if necessary, into the abyss.The Kikuyu are more adaptable to circumstances than I am, because they have greater insight into God and the devil, but they sit around my house and do my bidding, while in ordinary days they are probably always free Talk about my ignorance, my imbecility. You may think, since I know that I can't help them, and since their fate weighs heavily on my heart, isn't it unbearable for them to sit endlessly in front of and behind my house?But this is not the case.I believe that at the last moment, we will feel a kind of unusual comfort and comfort in being dependent on each other.We understand each other more deeply than all reason.During these months I have often thought of Napoleon's evacuation of Moscow.It is generally believed that he would have suffered a great deal from the sight of his host dying and dying around him.It is just as likely, however, that Napoleon would have fallen dead on the spot had he not had this broken army.At night I counted the hours, looking forward to the moment when the Kikuyu would reappear around the house. death of the chief In the same year, Chief Kina Zhuyi passed away.One night one of his sons came to my house and begged me to accompany him to the chief's village, where he was dying.Anataka Kufa, he is going to die, the native said so. Kina Zhuyi was very old at that time.Not long ago, a big event happened in his life.The infectious disease isolation order in the Masai Reserve had just been revoked. As soon as the old Jikuyu chief heard the news, he took a few entourages and went south in person, and traveled long distances to the Masai area to settle various debts with the Masai people. Take back the cows and calves that were fostered there.He can't afford to be dirty there.As far as I know, he was hit in the thigh by a cow, and the wound was gangrenous, which was the chief's death.Kinajuyi stayed with the Maasai for too long, and perhaps when he wanted to go back, his sick body could no longer bear the fatigue of the long journey, and he decided to bring all his livestock back.Maybe he let one of his daughters married there take care of him first, and then got upset about dragging her down.Finally, he finally set foot on the return journey.Undoubtedly, his entourage had done their best and suffered so much to bring him home. They carried the dying old man on a stretcher for such a long distance.At this moment, he is lying in his hut, and he will soon pass away. The special agent invited me to have a look. Kina Zhuyi's son arrived at my house after dinner.I, Farah and him, a group of three drove forward, it was already dark.The moon rises, revealing a quarter of its face.On the way, Farah raises the topic of who will succeed Kinajui, the chief of Kikuyu. The old chief has many sons.Clearly, various forces are exerting influence.Farah told me that the chief's two sons were Christians, but one was a Roman Catholic and the other a convert to the Church of Scotland.Both churches are doing everything possible to win their followers to succeed as chiefs.The Kekikuyu themselves seem to be inclined towards the youngest son who is not religious. The last mile to the chief's house was a bog in the swamp.Dew glistened on the wild grass, and it was gray.Before entering the village, we had to cross a river bed, in the middle of which ran a winding silver stream.We walked through the white night fog.I rushed to the chief's big courtyard, but I saw the moonlight melting, the high and low huts, the small peaks of the granaries, and the cattle pens, everything seemed so peaceful.We turned a corner into the courtyard, and by the lights of the car, I saw a car that the chief bought from the American consul parked under a thatched shed.The car looked lonely, rusty, and dilapidated.It can be seen that Kina Zhuyi can't take care of it now.He turned to the traditions of his fathers, to meet the cows and women around him. The village was dark, but not asleep.People heard the sound of cars and came out and surrounded us.However, the atmosphere changed and it was no longer the usual.The courtyard of Kina Zhuyi has always been a noisy and active place, like a well spring spewing out from the ground, flowing in all directions. Various plans and projects of the tribe are brewed here, and spread to every corner of the tribe from here.And all this activity is under the supervision of the flashy and benevolent central figure Kina Jui.Now Deathwing covered the courtyard like a powerful magnet, disrupting the original pattern and forming new constellations and groups.The interests of the various members of the family, the tribe, have come to a critical moment.Such sights and intrigues, which have always taken place before and behind the deathbeds of kings, will be felt eminently now, in the strong smell of the cattle, in the dim moonlight.When we got out of the car, a little boy with a lantern came up to us and led us to the house where the chief lived, and a large crowd followed us and stood outside the house. I had never been in Kinajui's house before.This chief royal family is much larger than the ordinary Kikuyu hut; but when you go in, you can see that the furnishings in the house are not luxurious.A bedstead made of sticks and rope, some wooden benches, two or three fires were burning on the bare clay floor, the heat was suffocating, and the smoke was so thick that I couldn't see clearly when I walked in. people inside.Although there is a hurricane lamp standing on the ground.After I got used to the environment in the house, I found three old men with bald heads inside, who might be Kina Zhui's uncle or mediator.An elderly lady, leaning on a cane, stood by the bed.And a pretty little girl and a thirteen-year-old boy in the sheik's death chamber, under the influence of a magnet, what a new constellation! Kina Zhuyi lay flat on the bed, his fire of life was about to be extinguished.He is half way to death.His whole body emitted a foul stench, which frightened me so much that I didn't dare to speak at first, for fear of contracting a disease.The old man was lying naked on the checked blanket I had given him, his poisoned thigh probably couldn't support any weight.It was a horrible thigh, so swollen you couldn't tell it was the knee.Under the windproof light, I could vaguely see black and yellow stripes drawn from his hips to the insteps of his feet.The blanket under his legs was black and wet, as if water had been flowing from there all day long. Kina Zhuyi’s son, the young man who came to pick me up from the manor, brought an old European-style chair, one of which had shorter legs than the other three, put it in front of the bed, and asked me to sit down. Kina Zhuyi's head and limbs were so thin that only a large and hard skeleton remained.He looked like a big statue of black wood roughly carved with a knife.His teeth and tongue were bared between his lips, his eyes were half-dark, milky white in his swarthy face.But he still has eyesight.I walked over to the bed, and he rolled his eyes to look at me.His eyes were fixed on my face all the time I lingered in the house. He moved his right hand slowly, little by little, to touch my hand.He's in excruciating pain, but he's still who he is, weightless, naked on the bed.From his expression, I can feel that he returned in triumph. Except for his sons-in-law of Masai, he brought back all the animals.I sat and stared at him, and suddenly remembered that he had a weakness in the past: fear of thunder.That time when I saw him encounter a thunderstorm at my place, he was as frightened as a rabbit, wanting to burrow into the ground.But at this moment, he is no longer afraid of lightning, nor is he afraid of thunder like rolling stones.I think, he has already fulfilled his mission in the world, Ye Luo returns to his roots, and waits peacefully, it can be said that he is satisfied.If he can look back on his life soberly, he will feel that there are very few regrets in this life.That great vitality, that contented demeanor, that rich and colorful achievements have now reached the end.Kinajuyi lay peacefully.Kina Zhui, you are perfect.I meditate in my heart. Several elderly people in the room stood there, as if they had lost the ability to speak.Only the little boy who was in the house when we came in, I guessed to be the sheik's recent son, walked up to his father's sickbed and talked with me.I think this was negotiated before my arrival. The doctor of the church, the boy told me, also came to see Kinajuyi when he was informed of his illness.The doctor told the Kikuyu that he would come next time to take the dying chief to the mission hospital.That night, they waited for the church car to arrive.But Kina Zhuyi did not want to be hospitalized.That's why I was called here.He hoped that I would pick him up and take him to my place of residence. He meant to leave now, before the church car came.The chief kept looking at me while the boy spoke. I sat and listened with a heavy heart. If Kinajuyi had been critically ill at any time in the past, I could have taken him to my residence at his request a year ago, or even three months ago.But today it doesn't work.Things got bad a while ago, and I fear it's getting worse.I have been running around some offices in Nairobi every day, listening to businessmen and lawyers, and meeting the creditors of the manor.Kina Zhuyi asked me to take him in to live in this house, but it no longer belongs to me. I sat, looked at Kina Zhuyi, and thought to myself that he was dying and would not save himself.He will die on the way to my house, or on arrival there.People in the church will blame me for his death.Anyone who learns of this will join them in accusing me. I sat in the broken chair in the room, and all this seemed an unbearable burden to me.My heart can no longer resist the various authorities of this world.I am now incapable of offending authority at all, let alone all authority. Several times, I tried to work up the courage to pick up Kinajui.But never enough courage.So I thought, I should leave. Farah stood in the doorway, listening to the boy.Seeing me sitting silently, he came over and explained to me in a soft but eager voice the best way to get the chief into the car.I got up and walked with him to the back of the house, somewhat avoiding the sight and smell of the old man on the bed.I told Farah I wasn't going to take Kinajui back.Farah was unprepared for the rejection.His eyes and whole face were clouded with surprise. I would like to sit with him a little longer, but I don't want to wait to see someone from the church come and pick him up. I went to Kinajui's bed and told him I couldn't take him to my mansion.There was no need to state a reason, and we took our leave.When the old people in the house learned that I declined, they gathered around and were very disturbed.The little boy took a few steps back and stood there motionless, there was nothing he could do.Kina Zhuyi looked calm, not nervous.He just stared at me, the same as before.He looked as if something similar had happened to him, and it was reasonable. Kua Haili, Kina Zhuyi.I say goodbye. His hot fingers flicked lightly on my palm for a while.Before I reached the door of the house, when I looked back at him, the dim light and the thick smoke had swallowed up the huge, straight silhouette of our Kikuyu chief.As I stepped out of the room, a chill came over me, the moon had dipped below the horizon, it must have been past midnight.At this time, a rooster of the chief's family in the yard crowed twice. Kina Zhuyi died that night in the mission hospital.The next afternoon, his two sons came to my place to report the funeral and invited me to attend the funeral.The chief's funeral is scheduled for the following day in Dagoleti, near the village. The Kikuyu, according to their customs, do not bury the dead, but leave the dead in the wild, and let them be handled by hyenas and vultures.This custom has always fascinated me, and I find it quite beautiful to have the remains exposed to the sun and the stars, cleaned up so quickly, so cleanly, as one with nature, as the landscape ordinary part.At that time, there was a Spanish flu epidemic on the estate, and the hyenas patrolled the shamba all night.After that, I used to find brown, smooth skeletons among the tall grass in the woods, like a walnut dropped from a tree or prairie.It's just that this custom is not in harmony with the environment of civilized life.政府費了不少口舌讓吉庫尤人改變習慣，教他們土葬死者，但吉庫尤人全然反對。 可現在，他們告訴我，將為基那朱依舉行葬禮。我想，吉庫尤人因為死者是酋長，同意開個先例。也許他們想在那一天搞個盛大的土著集會。隔天下午，我驅車前往達戈萊蒂，期待著見到肯亞所有地方民族的老酋長，領略一番吉庫尤人的隆重治喪活動。 可惜的是，基那朱依的葬禮完全是歐化的、牧師的事務。來了幾個政府代表，還有區長、奈洛比的兩名官員。那一天的場面都讓教士占去了。草原在下午的陽光下，因教士們而顯得暗淡，法國教會、英格蘭、蘇格蘭教會來了不少人。如果他們想給吉庫尤人這樣的感覺他們已為去世的酋長祝福，現在酋長屬於他們，那麼，他們已取得成功。他們是如此具有影響力，使人感到基那朱依要脫離他們，是絕無可能的。這是教會慣用的手段。在葬禮上，我第一次見到，不知有多少教會少年、信教的土著，也不管他們充任什麼角色，卻都穿著祭司的服裝；我見到胖墩墩的吉庫尤青年戴著眼鏡，交叉雙手，顯得像冷漠的閹人。也許基那朱依的兩個兒子在那裡，暫時將宗教分歧擱置一旁，可惜我不認識他們。一些老酋長出席了葬禮。凱奧伊在場，我與他談了一會兒基那朱依的事。但老酋長們多不出頭露面，只是混在參加葬禮的群眾之中。 基那朱依的墓穴挖在草原上幾棵高高的桉樹下面，用一根繩子圍著。我那天到得早，得以站在繩前，距墓穴很近。在那裡，我可以觀察越來越多的人猶如一群蠅子匯集而停留在附近。 他們將基那朱依從教會的卡車上抬下來，放到墓穴近旁的地上。我不認為在我生平中有比那次我見到他的情景更令我驚心動魄的了。他是一個身材魁捂的人，我清楚地記得他在隨從的簇擁下，健步來到莊園的形象，我也忘不了就在兩夜之前他躺在床上的模樣。可此刻，他們抬他來的棺材幾乎是一個方形的盒子，肯定長不過五英呎。我乍一見到，根本沒想到這就是棺材。我只想一定是個裝葬禮用品的木盒。但這就是基那朱依的棺材。我一直不明白那些人是怎麼挑選的。也許，這是蘇格蘭教會裡的存貨，可他們怎麼裝殮？他又怎麼躺在裡面？他們將棺材放在地上，距我站的地方很近。 棺材上有一塊帶銘文的大銀牌，事後我得知，這是教會送給基那朱依酋長的，上面有一段《聖經》語錄。 葬禮持續得很長，教士們一個接一個地站出來講話。我想他們布道勸誡，不厭其煩。可是我什麼也沒聽到，我緊緊地抓住攬在基那朱依墳墓四周的繩子。一些土著教徒隨著傳教士的布道，也在綠色的草地上哼哼唧唧。 最後，基那朱依的棺木放到了地下，故國的熱土覆蓋著他。 我去達戈萊蒂時帶著我的僕人們，以便他們也能參加葬禮。他們在那裡與親友交談，步行回來。我與法拉赫開車回家。法拉赫沉默得像剛剛離開的墳墓那般。對法拉赫來說，很難容忍這一事實我沒將基那朱依帶回家，兩天來，他一直像失魂落魄，深深陷於巨大的疑慮與苦惱。 我們的車來到莊園大門前，他終於開了腔：不必過慮，姆沙布。