The Eleventh Hour

THE ELEVENTH HOUR.

The blasting sound of the marching band rang in the air like a village enchanter announcing that there would be no rain for the next three and a half years. It was on a sad note than expected. This was the last day of the term and school year and students were supposed to be excited about breaking for the Christmas holidays. The mournful tune only helped to remind the students that they would be reporting back to school on Saturday 3rd the following year immediately after the New Year festivals.

I clung to my clarinet at the extreme end of the parade as if it cost all my life. I scanned its darkly polished body against the green grass on the quadrangle and had a momentary vision of a black Mamba slithering on the grass. I wished that a miracle would happen, a sign to be given in the sky that the Ministry of Education had revised the dates for reporting to school the following year but it was like praying for rocks to start dancing to some tunes.

All the same, the excitement of heading home after staying in school for thirteen weeks was alive in every heart especially the fourth formers who raised such a huge cloud of excitement as most of them were breathing the Starehian air for the last time. They had sat for their final exams and the issue of coming back to school the following year wasn’t running anywhere in their system.

The slogan of strong brotherhood was very common in our school and one of the fourth form leaver used the slogan to give all of us an extra week holiday at home. He was a house captain and he knew that the Director would listen to him. He trusted his sons especially members of his cabinet.

 “Sir, I just heard through the radio that the holidays have been extended by one week.”

“Sure my son?”

“True as Gospel.”

That did the trick. The following day as I left for home, I eyed the leave-form suspiciously. I could see the place where the house captain had whitened out 3rd and changed it to 10th. It was for my own convenience and I thought no twice about it.

The December holiday flew past as if it never was. It is the most awaited holiday and yet the one with a lot of work to be done since farms are weeded at this time of the year. There was also the preparation for Christmas, which was so merry that when it passed, one actually doubted whether he had really gone home for holidays as the opening date drew nearer. It is at this time when people especially students discover that there are some bits of jobs that have not yet been done including private ones like meeting your girlfriends.

This eleventh hour. It makes one do things he wouldn’t normally do in a hurry to finish in time. You get bad results when you expect good and mostly get away with the stupid things that one can do at this time. It is this eleventh hour that makes one realize that he hasn’t done any assignment at the end of a weekend and hurries to do something we call H.S.D. (High Scholar Diplomacy) in presence of a teacher while it actually means, High Speed Dabbing. That is copying from your friend’s book.

I had a brother and many friends in high school but none of the mentioned about the additional week in the holidays. The broadcastings didn’t mention it either and it was then that I started smelling a rat and I was sure the captain had his fingers in the soup. All other students were reporting to school on 5th January. This means that only one Sunday was left in the holidays. A Sunday was a day to be embraced since it was a day that one was free from farm work. This one was the eleventh hour.

The Sunday morning dawned clear. I had always mused that Sunday meant that there was going to be sun. The sky was blue and the birds were riding in the air in long slow glides. The almost silent breeze blew softly through the settlement and caused the evergreen cypress trees to add romance to the atmosphere as their leaves cooed in the morning breeze like the birds of paradise in love. The sun appeared like a happy bridegroom out to meet his bride. Even the mountains and hills along the golden-lined horizon which most of the times was covered by low lying dark clouds were exposing their beauty for the whole world to see.

I told mom and dad that I had to go and confirm the dates for reporting to school from a school mate who lived forty miles away. It wasn’t difficult to make the parents believe this kind of story for they also suspected something wrong with the dates. I was however not going to miss the chance of staying at home for an extra week, mistake or no mistake. I wasn’t going to confirm anything but I was on one of the eleventh hour rush business.

I had discovered through personal means that she would be going to school on that very day. The plan was to cycle for the forty miles and waylay her on her way to school. I considered that it would have been too stupid even suicidal to go to her home. In ones right senses, no one would want to meet her father there and start introducing yourself and your business there. I smiled idly and rode off under the caressing warmth of the morning sun.

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      It dawned to my brother Harry and our great friend Sam that they would be going to school on the following day. I hadn’t told them what I was after in my journey and they had the same version of the story my parents had. They had to use the eleventh hour as efficiently as possible and at least perform an event that they would remember when they went back to school the following day_ a mark that they had been at home.

For some unknown reasons, Harry put on my clothes. He wouldn’t have done it if I were around though he knew that I didn’t mind it. We had the habit of sharing clothes and actually, on that particular day, I was in his black T-shirt ‘the schools of hard knocks. We were all on the rush to the eleventh hour. It can be disastrous this hour for it has a grim habit of setting a trap that mostly catches those who are far and spares those who set off the trap

I arrived at the small town where I was going to waylay her in good time. I left the bike with a repairer for I had physically airlifted it over the rough roads and it had an ill puncture and several spokes missing. I chose a good spot and waited patiently. I could foresee some sweet moments ahead. She didn’t know that I was around and maybe wasn’t expecting to ever see me again. All around me in the small urban centre, the atmosphere pulsed with efficiency and a sense of duty.

I started drifting into fantasy. I was deep in my daydreams and just about to undo the top button of her blouse when the hail of a mouthy conductor floated in the air like a bad omen. It penetrated my know-how and brought me from fantasy to the world of the living. I should have guessed that she was going to show up at that time.

 I could see her from far walking in springy steps as if she was walking on a delicate ground. She was five feet six inches tall, dark haired and wearing a maroon school skirt that clung tightly to her well shaped body and exposed her figure. She looked immensely attractive in black shoes and pure white stockings with her dark hair caressing her well-shaped shoulders. Her lowly cut white school blouse revealed a magnificent pair of lungs and set off her chocolate complexion.

Many whistled obviously mesmerized by her beauty. Traders urged her to buy something just to hear her say, “no please”. Only to hear the way she spoke. Some would have wanted to see her bewitching smile but she didn’t do one. She was half shy, half embarrassed at raising such a hullabaloo of excitement from men. I got embarrassed myself when a man of about fifty who sat close to me made a hissing sound at the sight of her.

A group of young men approached her. I held my breath and wanted to storm out of my sanctuary and confront them. The old man who sat close to me saw my intended move, “Cool it man, you have no chance.”

“Let’s see.” I said.

I eyed the young men who I was sure were high school students as they were in uniform. How dare they put cyanide in my soup only when it was cooking so deliciously enough to water anyone’s mouth? One of them tried to touch her. She whirled around and gave the young man the kind of look you receive from custom men at the Ugandan border which induces even i
n the most law abiding traveler an almost irresistible urge to confess. They turned away from her and maybe went to look for greener pastures. I didn’t wait to see which way they went.

 I sprang from the seat and managed a sickly grin at the old man who was now gaping with his mouth. “It is now my turn.” I said and stretched myself to full six feet seven inches tall like a cat ready to pounce on an easy prey. I figured that it would be too stupid to wait there and be discovered. I wanted it to appear like a chance meeting and not the waylaying business. My heartbeat quickened. I wasn’t sure of what was going to happen in the next two minutes or so in a market place

 Harry and Sam borrowed a bike from the immediate neighbor. It was too dilapidated for their liking but since I had taken the family bike, they had no choice but to use the old wretch.

“Can we borrow your bike?” Harry asked.

“No you can’t. I know it will be a smashed piece of metal when you bring it back.”

‘It still is’ thought Sam but said nothing.

 “I promise and guarantee its safety,” retorted Harry beginning to feel angry at the thought of having to beg for such an old scrap. They got the bike and were soon on their way to see their girlfriends. Harry’s girlfriend lived nearer and they decided to go as what Harry called, ‘one mile at a time’. Sam later told me that they didn’t want it to turn like the events of a story, ‘No Feast for Kiundu’ where the old man missed both feasts for moving from one place to another.

They must have spent too much time at Harry’s girlfriend. She had the charm of making people stay longer. They never wanted to mention to her that there was also Sam’s girlfriend to see. Sam started getting nervous. It was already four o’clock and she still insisted that they stay longer. Harry understood the situation and gave the excuse that they had to take the bike back to the owner as he used it to move to and from the workplace. This was half-way true. The bike would be required the following morning for the owner to go to work.

The sun was almost down. The wind had gotten a bit strong and howled angrily causing the leaves to rustle and others to be airborne. One could only hear the fine burr as the wheels crunched on the murram road at a speed of 50km/ hr. Sam was the cyclist and Harry the passenger on the carrier. It was hard to keep a conversation going at this time. They were heading to Sam’s girlfriend and had to get there before sundown

 She became aware of my presence only when she was four meters away. A look of surprise crossed her face accompanied by a surprised smile. I had to pretend that I was also surprised to see her. Then, she ran towards me, hands open, mouth open, eyes wide open and am sure ears closed. Closed to the comments that anyone was likely to make after the bear-hug at a market place. She never said anything except for the cry of surprise and joy that escaped from her lips as she advanced joyfully towards me.

I knew that many people shy away from hugs and some feel extremely embarrassed when hugged. I once felt so when my cousins hugged me at a crusade. But here were two high school students happy at their ‘chance’ meeting. I had seen her last two years ago at primary school. Nevertheless, she kept in touch through the letters. At this moment, I quickly hoped that the old man who had said that I had no chances could see this reaction of triumph. I’m sure he felt envious. Harry always says that when you turn green with envy, then you are ripe for trouble. I find it so paradoxical. I don’t know whether the old man got into trouble with himself.

The moment my hands went round her, the moment I felt her tender and soft grip around me, the moment her sweet-smelling perfume fell strongly on my Olfactory cells, there was no market, no people, no vehicles or hailing conductors. There was no noise of the traders and nothing. I actually doubted whether I was standing on the ground. We were on an imaginary world of our own light-years away from the earth. I felt hot tears from her eyes touch my face and at first, I thought that I was the one who was crying (I could have cried) but I wasn’t.

It was only intended to be a bear-hug. No one thought that it would suddenly change to something else that was not planned for. But the two teenage high school students were running mad in joy of meeting after a long time separation by both distances from home and schools. The hug crossed to a higher level. I felt our lips meeting. I hadn’t closed my eyes but I can swear that I couldn’t see the people around us. I sucked hard at her tongue like a lollipop. I think most people thought it was stupid. Most of them were seeing it for the first time I’m sure. Where was my old friend? Could he still see this? Three minutes elapsed. Where was I?

I suddenly stopped. No, we suddenly stopped. We seemed to be waking from a bad nightmare. I had even forgotten where I was. I was surprised that I had been ‘snogging’ in public. She was equally surprised. Instinctively, we both whirled around. One scallywag who had completely been taken in by the act was still staring rooted to his spot. I threw a glance at him and he walked away embarrassed. We chuckled at that and walked away hand in hand.

I could feel the eyes of a multitude boring into us. I say ‘us’ because I felt as if we were a single entity. I however didn’t care because no one knew who I was. Maybe some people knew her but she didn’t seem to care either. I saw my old friend seated on the same spot. He winked and I winked back. I accompanied her all the way to school. I won’t get into details of the events that took place during the short time we spent together (I can’t) but all I can say is that it was worth the trouble.

 Soon as I stepped out of the Matatu at the point where I had met her, most people recognized me and I could see them looking at me with mixed feelings. I caught one market woman pointing at me to a colleague who maybe hadn’t witnessed the comedy. She withdrew her finger hurriedly. One envious double-legged varmint even dared to approach me and ask about the girl. He earned himself two rude words that we commonly used at school. He didn’t give up, “All that glitters is not gold” he said. He thought he was wise and philosophic.

“There is no gold that doesn’t glitter you fool.” I snapped back.

A moment of surprise passed across his impish face. I could tell that he hadn’t viewed it from that perspective. He was in old shoes that had busted at the front, obviously because they were a misfit in his king-size feet. His toes peeped through the openings like rodents suffocating in a sealed basket. I didn’t want to hear another word from him.

I cycled back home but you can imagine what a show I raised on the roads. I was more riding in fantasy than riding the bike. I actually found myself concentrating on the cycling only when a Canter lorry showed up in front of me and I had to duck to a side-walk to evade the cloud of dust trailing behind it. I felt like an idiot when a man at some point f my journey back home thought I was smiling at him and had to stop and ask whether I recognized him. I hadn’t seen him until he spoke.

The bike creaked annoyingly as Sam continued exerting more force on the pedals. He was not still satisfied with the speed. He bent low towards the cross-bar to get as streamlined as possible. I knew that they missed my company but Sam and Harry are of the same age. Harry is older than I am but only by one and a half year, so close that most people thought we were twins and Harry grew a bit bigger.

They left the Murram road and the bike now ran on a dusty path that could only fit one bike. If another one showed ahead, there was going to be a nasty collision. The bike was now literally flying. Sam did not intend to reduce the speed although the path had started to slope gradually.

Suddenly, a ditch materialized on the path. Harry could not see it. He was enjoying the high speed and had even turned his head to stare at the dust they left in the wake. Sam however saw it. He tried the rear brakes, nothing. The bike didn’t respond. It actually accelerated and was now moving at a terminal velocity. He thought that it was risky to apply the front-wheel brakes for the bike would somersault. But he tried. Even the front brakes failed. He felt adrenaline shoot from the adrenal glands. 

“Harry!” he screamed.

“What is it?”

“A ditch”

“Where . . .?”

Crash!*$£**

 The bike went into the ditch at a break-neck speed. Both the driver and the passenger were thrown forward by the force of inertia. A groan or two escaped from each of them. Laughter wasn’t coming out. Sam could be seen opening his mouth but he neither laughed nor cried_ just opened it agape. Each was holding the spot where he had been hurt most. Sam was clutching at the Tibia bone of the leg. The pedal had done a good job over there. Harry clutched at the left loin where he had landed on the hard path like a heap of flesh.

Then, there was a sudden burst of laughter mixed with pain. The sight of the mangled wreck of the borrowed bike was enough to set anyone crying. Instead, they were laughing it off although Harry’s heart was not into it. He just laughed because that was the only thing he could do then. The guarantee on the safety of the bike was on him.

They inspected the bike. The front wheel had been cruelly twisted into figure 8. The loud burst from the tire had been drowned by the nasty crash.

“Hey! Harry not so bad.”

“What?”

 “The bike, see; only the front wheel is in a mess. I think the rest of the bike is O.K.”

 “And where do you think we are going to get another wheel with spokes, tube, tire, screws and bolts?” This sent them chuckling again.

At this point, I must say that Harry and Sam are good boys and are held in high esteem in the immediate society. If one ever reported anything wrong that Harry, Sam or even I had done, he was likely to be thought crazy. They were the last people that could be suspected of any mischief. However, when they are pushed in a corner they can do anything to get out of it. They can turn as warlike as wolves at times when provoked.

At this time they considered that, they were going to play fast and loose with their private image for the sake of the public one. It would be ridiculous for them to return the bike while it was in that condition after the owner had rightfully prophesied that they would bring it back as a scrap. Sam said that it was impossible. They had better just disappear into the forest even with the knowledge that school was on the following day.

The plan was laid down quickly but carefully. The carried the bike to a friend’s hut. He was too sick to get out of bed and so he actually knew nothing of a bike in the house. Their plan was on the old men who went to have the local brew at the confluence of two great rivers in the Mwea plains. We jokingly called it Mesopotamia (land between two rivers).

The old men left their bikes on the bank and crossed on to Mesopotamia. The bikes were left behind because of the police who sometimes raided these brewing sanctuaries. It was now dark, at the eleventh hour. Harry knew that the owner of the bike would be starting to wonder where in the name of all hells they had taken his bike. He promised himself to take back the bike in an hour’s time. Sam ‘borrowed’ a tool box from his father’s room with enough spanners to separate a machine into pieces. Harry was to keep the watchman as Sam performed the grim ritual. Sam volunteered to do it for he knew that Harry would be slow or end up selling them out.

He disappeared behind the bush where the bikes leaned waiting for their owners to get some local liquor. He felt nervous. He had never done it before but he was sure that he was going to succeed. The moment that the spanner slid into the bolt, he made two quick revolutions and ducked back into the bush as someone passed by. Damn! That was too close. What in the name of fifty demons is Harry doing? Harry saw the man too late and chuckled when he saw Sam bolting into the bush like a shot. Sam went back to his business. He was taking it seriously not as Harry thought that this was just another act of mischief.

 One bolt was out of the screw and into his pocket. He was about to dash back into the bush to give himself time to cool down when someone behind him bellowed, “You there walking like a thief.”

 His heart missed two beats. He however realized the man’s voice carried no conviction at all and instinct told him that this couldn’t be possibly the owner. He had to get out of the mess and the sooner he did that the better.

 “Hey man. Why do you call me a thief . . .?” he trailed off into one of those feigned lectures till passer-by apologized and left on his way. Sam knew that there was no time to be wasted. He could now hear the drunken voice of the real owner singing an old song from the other side of the river. “If you find my bike please leave it in peace,” he sang.

“Ha!” chuckled Sam, I will leave it in pieces.”

And he did. The wheel came off. Even Harry left his watchtower to help Sam ferry away the precious loot though it wasn’t necessary. It had been done in total secrecy of only two. They had set off the trap of the eleventh hour, the one that catches those who are far and spares the ones who set it off.

That evening when I met Harry and Sam, they said that they had missed my company. I hadn’t missed theirs. They narrated the episode at Harry’s girlfriend.

At that moment, I just wondered why they hadn’t gone to Sam’s girlfriend but I didn’t ask. They never mentioned the bicycle business. I was however quick to point out that they looked extremely nervous about something. They were talking in low tones and laughing as if they were afraid of the dark.

I asked about their nervousness and Sam strained a tonsil and let me into the scary secret. I only laughed at the point when the crash occurred and when Sam promised to leave the bicycle in pieces instead of leaving it in peace as the owner politely requested. They wouldn’t have discovered my episode with the girl if I hadn’t hugged her for so long. Harry was quick to get curious.

“Stan, you do not use perfumes, do you?”

“Sure, I smelled a sweet fragrance the moment you came,” agreed Sam.

I told my story. I was surprised that even Harry and Sam hadn’t thought from the perspective that true, all that glitters is not gold but there is no gold that doesn’t glitter. Sam was surprised that I had ‘snogged’ in public leave alone in the market place. They were the only people who I told what had happened after I had accompanied her on her way to school. A lot really happened but don’t be curious to know. The curious monkey earned himself a bullet in the head.

It was 10th January. The sky had little wispy clouds that spread all over like a curtain. It seemed as if someone had then disturbed the clouds with a rough object. The sun had a brassy look and the day was dull. Sam and Harry had long gone to school on the day that followed the bicycle incident. I was now heading to school. I had enjoyed an extra week at home.

I tried to appear as official and dignified as possible. I had turned down three requests to board vehicle, which could have taken me to my destination. I preferred the ones with full blast music and in good shape; ones that I would be sure would take me to school without giving me a shortcut to hell. I saw the kind I preferred. I started walking towards it. The force of an arm around me threw me off balance. Instinctively, I jabbed my elbow into his stomach. He fell off and I knew that the blow had registered.

The young man was in the company of another older man whose hair had greyed. He was tall and looked more like a vicar than a drunkard in his three-piece suit and a regimental tie. Staring at me in contempt, he looked like a vicar who had just discovered that some members of his congregation were playing fast and loose with the seventh commandment.

“He was dressed that way,” said the young man.

 I stood there wondering what I had done but when he mentioned about dressing, I suddenly knew what the bone of contention was. On that day, Harry was dressed in my clothes. He was now miles away from there; maybe attending a Chemistry lesson. They thought that nobody had seen them. They had paid no attention to the figure huddled in thick rain-coat who had dozed off in the bush over a paperback.

The eleventh hour had trapped an innocent prey that was forty miles away from the scene. I hadn’t thought that it would end up to that. All I wondered was why it had to come at this time when I was heading to school. Just at the time when I wanted to board a vehicle. At the eleventh hour. See? An Eleventh hour incidence gave birth to an Eleventh hour co-incidence just at the ELEVENTH HOUR.