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Ndoto Vumbi

Paul Stansbury

    James pulled the Elgin from his vest pocket. The watch read 7:39 p.m. It had been Colonel Winsted’s during his long military career in Kenya. Upon returning to England, he brought James’s mother along, installing her as his housekeeper. Djimon, as he was known then, was 8. He stayed with the Winsted family even after the Colonel’s death, rising to the position of Butler.
    James figured the nurse should be finishing bathing Will, who was Colonel Winsted’s great grandson. James held his hand over the small pan on the stove. Satisfied the milk was hot enough, he poured it into a small working glass and placed it on the serving tray. It would cool to the right temperature for drinking by the time he made his way upstairs. He had already retrieved the small, worn ebony box he kept locked in the butler’s pantry. In it, he kept his mother’s special tinctures and powders. She had taught James how to make them and how to use them. He placed it on the tray next to the working glass.
    James left the kitchen and climbed the stairs. He placed the tray on the nightstand, then turned back the bed clothes and plumped up the pillows while he waited for the nurse and Will to arrive. The familiar creak of the wheelchair announced their arrival. James met them at the door. “Thank you Sarah, you may go,” he said, lifting the child from the wheelchair. He carried Will to the waiting bed. “I have some nice warm milk for you,” he said, pulling the bed covers over the boy’s lap. “There you are – the great giant of Counterpane.”
    “Yes, indeed,” said Will.
    “And did you dream of pirates last night?” James asked.
    “Oh, yes! Just as you said I would. There was a great battle between the pirates and the royal navy over Spanish gold.”
    “I trust the Senior Service won for King and Country.”
    “Quite!” Will’s smiling face suddenly grew solemn.
    “What is the matter?” asked James
    “I heard the chambermaids talking. They said she was going to send me away to a ‘sylum’. Is that true? I don’t want to go away.”
    “Well, it must be that they do not have enough work to keep busy. I will set them to washing the windows. As for sending you away, I will have a word with the Lady. I am sure things will not come to that. Now, do not worry yourself with this anymore. Promise?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well then, Master Will, what shall you dream about tonight?” asked James. “Perhaps flying in one of those new aeroplanes, or dashing about the countryside like Mister Toad in a stolen motorcar?”
    “Oh, that would be great fun no doubt, but I should like to go to Kenya where you say you were born. It sounds like a grand place.”
    “Indeed it is, or so as I remember it, for I was but a young boy like you when I left. I am honored that you would wish to dream there. But, you can not start until you have had your milk.”
    “Did you bring it” asked Will.
    “Yes, and the ndoto vumbi – the dream dust,” James said, reaching for the ebony box. He opened the lid and selected three tiny vials from the many inside. He tapped a dash of powder from each into the milk, then handed the glass to Will. “Drink it up and soon you will be running with the lions. After that, you can climb Mount Kilimanjaro. It will be good practice for when you are well enough to run through your own forest and climb your own trees.”
    Before Will put the glass to his lips, he wrinkled his brow and asked, “Won’t the lions want to eat me?”
    James smiled. “Not in this dream. The lions may be kings of the jungle, but you will be their Kaizari – their emperor.”
    Reassured, Will took a sip.
    “Enough of this nonsense, James!” a harsh voice interrupted from the doorway. “I have rung for my tea. I should like for you to serve it.” It was the Lady of the house, Mildred Fenkler.
    “I was just tucking the boy in, Ma’am,” said James.
    “And filling his head with foolishness no doubt. It’s time he learned to tuck himself in.”
    Will drained the last of his milk, then whispered, “Goodnight,” before handing the empty glass to James.
    “Sleep well, my little Kaizari,” said James, taking the empty glass from Will’s hand. The boy’s eyelids had already begun to droop as James adjusted the bed clothes. He touched Will’s forehead gently. “Ndoto gani unastahili - dream what you deserve.”
    James returned the vials to the ebony box, then picked up the tray and walked up one flight to Mrs. Fenkler’s apartment. He placed the tray on a small table in the hall, then went inside.
    Mrs. Fenkler was waiting in the anteroom, seated in a straight back chair. The tea service was already waiting on a small table inside the door. She glared as he looked about for the kettle. “It hasn’t come yet,” she said.
    “Shall I go find the kitchen maid?” James asked.
    “No, she will be here directly,” said Mrs. Fenkler. “There is something I need to tell you.”
    “Yes Ma’am?”
    “I have decided that William should go to the Blendon Sanatorium For Invalids.”
    “So it is true!” gasped James. “Surely there is no need for that. Master Will has all he needs here. Dr. Berdell says he is making progress and he has his nurse to insure his comfort. . .”
    “And he has you to fill his head with nonsense,” she hissed, “the false hope that he will walk again. And your obsession with dreams, filling his head with your heathen mischief. Dreams have no purpose other that to disrupt a night’s sleep. Dreams will not make him walk again. The harsh reality is that he is bound to that wheelchair and that is where he will be for the rest of his short life.”
    “I do not believe that,” said James. “I believe dreams can be powerful experiences. I believe some dreams can be so wonderful they have the capability to heal mind and body. I also believe they can be so terrifying the dreamer never awakens. I believe healing dreams will visit Master Will. I believe one day he will walk again.”
     “Pish posh,” growled Mrs. Fenkler. “Dreams would not have saved my husband from the consumption and they certainly didn’t kill him. Just as dreams didn’t cause the train derailment that killed William’s parents and crippled him. And it’s obvious dreams didn’t save them either. With regard to William’s status, in the eyes of the law, he is an orphan. The fact of the matter is that I am Colonel Winsted’s grandniece, whether you like it or not. As such, I am William’s closest living relative, and therefore rightfully justified to assume the role of his guardian and sole trustee of his inheritance! As for what that means for the rest of you, don’t forget all are here solely at my discretion. I will not abide insolence from the servants, whether it be a scullery maid or you!”
    James took a deep breath, letting his anger subside. “No insolence is intended, Mrs. Fenkler. I simply request you reconsider your decision, as I believe Master William has a better chance to recover if he stays here.”
    “My mind is made up. He goes when the next bed opens up, which should be very soon. I trust this ends any further discussion of William and dreams.”
    Before James could answer, the kitchen maid appeared in the doorway. She held a tray with an ornate spirit kettle resting snugly in its stand. “Your kettle, Ma’am.”
    “I can see that, I’m not blind,” barked Mrs. Fenkler, “Just set it down and you may leave. James will prepare the tea.”
    James carefully positioned himself so his back was toward Mrs. Fenkler. He poured some water into the waiting teapot. Next, he pried up the lid of the tea ball infuser and filled it almost to the top with crushed chamomile flowers. Then, he slipped his finger inside his collar and pulled free the gold chain which hung around his neck. A small black vial dangled from it. Bending forward, he pulled the stopper and emptied the pulverized mixture of thorns and desiccated spiders into the infuser. He snapped the lid shut and bobbed the infuser in the water until it turned a light amber color. Then he poured the concoction into a fine china cup. “Chamomile is an excellent choice before bed,” he said, turning around with the teacup and saucer in hand. “It has a calming effect – good for the digestion and sleep, they say.” He handed them to Mrs. Fenkler.
    She inhaled the aroma then took a sip. “Very good,” she said, “you are dismissed.”
    As he bowed, James whispered, “Ndoto gani unastahili.”
    “Did you say something?” Mrs. Fenkler asked, looking up from her cup.
    James just smiled and turned away.

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