Blessed Are The Solomons

By Githara Kimani

The Gatuas live their lives at the very bottom. Gatua, a former mau mau detainee is a dour character who is lame from the experiences of detention. His wife Wahu is a deeply religious woman, small and wiry from laboring incessantly on the Solomons' farm
The Solomons, on the other hand are a wealthy family.
The story begins with a quarrel between two boys, Jimmy and Joseph, a Gatua and a Solomon which forces Jimmy to run from home.
His sister Wanja drops out of school and joins her increasingly mentally unbalanced mother laboring on the Solomons’ farm. It is here that desperate, she gets seduced into sex and pregnancy by Joseph.
Building on the foundations of wealth and political networks his father, Solomon had acquired as a colonial chief, Michael has become a powerful government minister.
To protect their political and church positions from scandal the Solomons refuse to acknowledge Wanja then humiliate her further by giving her money to go away somewhere and have an abortion.
Angry, she runs off to Nairobi to have her baby, vowing to hit back at the Solomons some day.
Jimmy returns to find his mother mad and his father a cripple. That same night a fire burns down his parents hut and both die in it.
His parents had been kind of strange. While Wahu had chosen to live her life in her own secret world of fervent prayers and hymns, Gatua had lived his in dubious silence and resignation. And because neither of them ever spoke about themselves Jimmi and Wanja know very little about the past of their parents’ unhappy lives.
But as he stands against the mud wall of his hut, his mind abuzz with questions about them, Kingei, his father’s old friend comes and tells him:
“By the end of 1952, your father Gatua was a prosperous man and Wahu was the happiest of women.”
From here on the story runs in two strands: The real-time story moves forward to trace the fortunes of the two families to the early nineties during the tumultuous clamor for political reform.
Jimmy goes to Nairobi in search of his sister Wanja, is enticed into a middle-aged woman’s bed, and finally falls victim of a ruthless, mean drug dealer who lets him go to prison. When he comes . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Githara Kimani
• Release date: Dec 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9789966170071

Githara Kimani

Githara Kimani is a Kenyan who lives in Kenya.His other books are: GOLDFIELDS, published by Oxford University Press (East Africa) and available in print version. Blessed are the Solomons, available in E book, and Toy Phone also available in E book at major e-book retailers.He is presently working on another books.He writes movie scripts and radio plays.He can be contacted onEmail: [e-mail]: [phone]

Book preview

BLESSED ARE THE SOLOMONS

By

Githara Kimani

Published by Roseansa Books

All rights reserved

Copyright ©: 2012 by Githara Kimani

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This is fiction. Except for historical figures whose participation in the history of Kenya makes their mention impossible to avoid in a narrative of this nature all other characters are fictional and are not intended to represent anyone living or dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~

For my mother, Sarah Waithira and my father, the late Francis Kimani, both who still could smile after living through it all

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue:—A Game of Coins

Chapter One.—A Trap and a Fire

Chapter Two:—Sugar Boy

Chapter Three:—Road to Thiru

Chapter Four:—The Solomons Fight Dirty

Chapter Five:—The Spy

Epilogue:—The Ghost

About Author

Read Excerpt:—Eyes of the Devil

Read Excerpt:—Toy Phone

PROLOGUE

A GAME OF COINS

Jimmy felt the bite, a small tentative nimble on his neck. He waited, sure it would come again. And it did come again, this time deep, bold and confident.

His fingers stole quietly to the spot where he was being bitten, homed in swiftly and caught the soft plumpness of the bedbug between them. He pressed. There was that hateful, teeth-gritting soft PO as the bug burst between his fingers, then came the corruption, a surprisingly strong smell that wafted warmly all over. He bared his teeth in a grimace of disgust, wiped his fingers on the thin, worn blanket and lay still. A moment later, without being conscious of it, his fingers began scratching around the bite, and now he seemed to itch all over.

Through cracks in the mud wall of the hut, the sun’s rays shot through into the hut where they became glass tubes of swirling motes of dust, hit the opposite wall at an angle to spread in bright patches of light on the brown mud then reflected back to dispel the morning gloom.

He threw the prickly blanket off his body, swung his legs off the bed and stood up. His body stiffened as he stretched out, hands raised and spread sideways, mouth open in a big yawn. He put a hand under his wrinkled dirty khaki shorts and scratched around his testicles, walking stiffly to the door. He twisted down the nail that held the door closed, letting the heavy door swing inwards to hit with a bang on the old goat enclosure which these days was empty.

He walked out and round to the back. Here, Bindu the cow was still lying half-asleep in her enclosure. He urinated against the wall of the hut, trying to make an evenly round dark patch on the brown mud. Droplets of urine splashed his legs, seeped into the cracks on the scaly skin and he began to itch. He finished, bent and scratched his itchy feet. In the enclosure Bindu, thin and scrawny rose, exhaled noisily, arched her ridged, dragon-like back and let go with her own noisy stream of steamy urine.

Three huts formed a triangle in a small dusty compound, one of them old and disused, its thatch roof rotten and the mud fallen off the walls in several places to leave gaping holes. Smoke curled into the air above the big family hut.

Jimmy walked towards the big hut.

Inside the hut his father, as always, sat near the smoky fire on an old folding chair, its wood now black with age. He was only in his mid- fifties but he looked almost seventy, with a worn and haggard face, his hair thin and grey. On his cheeks was grey stubble, dirty and spiky with yellow whiskers. He wore an old pair of trousers with many patches of different colors and an old grey-green coat of a course and durable material. On his feet were tire sandals. Opposite him, seated among an assortment of sufurias, pots and cups was his wife, Wahu, small, thin and worn. There was a set to her lips, and a look in her eyes that conveyed permanent disapproval, as if life was such a burden. But unlike Gatua, her husband who often had that look of deep loss and despair on his face, there was about Wahu at times, an air of irrepressible expectancy, a look of hopeful longing, a buoyancy especially when she was singing one of her hymns that seemed to carry her beyond the squalor, as if nothing could touch her here. She was singing one quietly now.

"When he cometh, when he cometh…"

And in her mind, was the picture of Jesus descending, surrounded by a band of angels.

"….they shall shine in their beauty…"

And now the picture in her mind was that of a multitude that stood singing joyfully, eyes turned heavenwards, smiles on all their faces.

Wahu stopped humming when the door opened and her eyes looked at her son, narrowing with disapproval. For a moment, he stood there near the door, then when his mother’s eyes left him he crossed the dirt floor to a corner made by an intersecting walls, bent over a big black earthenware pot, put his hand in and pulled out a calabash of boiled maize grains. He scooped a handful, put it into his mouth and chewed noisily, for the maize was hardened from cold. He was famished. He had not eaten the night before because when he got back home, his parents were already asleep.

He felt his mother’s eyes on him but refrained from looking at her, concentrating on chewing and swallowing as fast as he could.

You! Put back that calabash, right now! Where were you digging for me last night so you now wake up and head straight for the pot? Take this water and go milk that cow before you infuriate me enough to spank you.

Quickly, Jimmy scooped a big handful and dropped the calabash back into the pot. He took a sufuria that contained some warm water and walked out, cheeks bulging.

Gatua, his father had remained quiet through all this. Now, as his son walked to the door, he watched him, and in his eyes, instead of despair, there stole in a faint glimmer of something else. Perhaps it was hope, but veiled, unsure and timid as though he felt it was preposterous to hope; or perhaps it was just some glimmer of amusement which disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

It took Jimmy only a few minutes to coax the meager liquid from Bindu’s flabby adder and as soon as he placed it next to his mother, who already had water for tea boiling on the fire, he made straight for the pot and again scooped out a calabash full of the hard grains. For a moment, his mother stopped and sat looking at him, her eyes stern, but then she turned away without a word and resumed work. Jimmy leaned against the wall and concentrated on eating.

From one of the two doorless doorways, Wanja, a ten year old girl with a radiantly beautiful face emerged. The hem of her dress was torn at the front and hang looping over her knobby knees. She came unsteadily to stand near her mother, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

And look at the other one. Now she can wake up because she knows tea is almost ready, Wahu complained, sweeping them all with her disapproving eyes, then launched into song as if she wished it would convey her from the room to where she would not have to put up with any of this:

"Magatura ona Jesu kuo

Mucii mwega wa matuini

Makaheo nguo njeru…"

And as she sang, she made tea which she served sugarless in chipped enamel mugs. With the tea they ate the boiled maize. Then it was over and it was time to go to work.

You, you take that cow to graze on the field and I don’t want you to come back until nightfall, Wahu told Jimmy.

Jimmy scooped a double handful of grains and without being seen slipped it into the pocket of his dirt-browned, wrinkled shorts, then walked out. Beyond Bindu’s enclosure was the garden, and he could see the stunted maize plants already wilting in the early morning sun. Bindu was rubbing off ticks against the mango tree in her enclosure. Jimmy ducked into the old hut to look for old books to read with his mates when they tired of games. He liked books. There was one he especially liked, the one with stories of great men, like Horatius and Francis of Assisi and Hannibal. He forgot what the book was called. In class, he was always attentive when the teacher read those stories to them, and perhaps because he liked those stories so much, he also liked that teacher.

He was searching now for this book, the smell of decay filling his nose when he suddenly came upon a piece of brown leather at the bottom of the carton. He lifted it and examined it. It was the buckle end of an old belt and on one side, its foot length was studded with one cent imperial pieces. Instantly he forgot the book and began prying the coins from the belt. Soon he had all ten of them in his hand. He left the hut, the coins jingling in his cupped palms, the book forgotten.

He let Bindu out and followed her out of the compound to the road. It was not really a road, just two tracks with a ridge of grass between them. He let Bindu out and followed her out of the compound to the road. It was not really a road, just two tracks with a ridge of grass between them.

The Gatua’s immediate neighbors were the Solomons. Their land was more than a hundred acres stretching along both sides of the road

Old Bindu started grazing hungrily. Her teeth clamped on the tough tufts of grass, her head jerking mightily so that sometimes, instead of cutting, she uprooted whole tufts. He followed, playing with the ten little coins. Sometimes, he would try to juggle two or three in the air; or he would throw one on the ground, step off a distance and then aim the other at it, trying to hit it.

He popped a grain into his mouth and chewed, making it last for as long as possible.

Halfway to the Solomons’ gate, he saw his father come out of their compound into the road, leaning on his stout walking stick, still dressed in his old long coat, patched grey trousers and tire sandals and his old black hat from under which tufts of gray hair peeped. He stood for a moment on the road looking at Jimmy then began walking away in the opposite direction, dragging himself along, his stiff legs barely lifting off the road. Jimmy watched him wondering how it could be that rods of mental could be dug in and sewed up in a person’s legs, as his father said had been done to him.

He resumed playing, following the cow. Soon he came to the Solomons’ gate and last night’s events came flooding back to mind: He heard again the sharp sound as Joseph’s hand connected with his face, felt the pain and the sting of involuntary tears. He had sprung at Joseph, meaning to wrestle his fat body to the ground then stomp on him, but Joseph had jumped back, laughing meanly.

Now you tell me who is Jimmy, you little toad, Joseph said and again laughed. Blind with tears, Jimmy rushed at him again, but Joseph easily evaded him and disappeared among the movie watchers.

His name was Njuguna but this name was used only in the school register. Everyone called him Jimmy. This was a name he had taken from a heroic movie character. In their games on the big field where the village boys congregated on weekends with their cows, he always played this character, not just because he was tough and strong-willed, but also because the horse that was used in these games belonged to him.

Earlier on the way from school, Joseph had claimed the name but everyone who understood how Jimmy came to have the name for himself had laughed at Joseph. Not one to be put off so easily, Joseph had done something he rarely did; he had sneaked out of the house later when darkness fell and joined other boys going to the film show. The son of the headmaster and an only child, Joseph lived a kind of protected life, rarely mixing with the other boys at play outside school. He was fat and mean and all the other children tended to avoid him even in school

Jimmy had forgotten this quarrel until when, as they were watching the movie, Joseph suddenly came up from behind and slapped him hard. Standing beside him among several other boys from their village, his friend Kago warned:

Leave him alone. You know him. You touch him and he’ll go and tell on you to teacher Michael and on Monday, you’ll be caned.

But he started it. He slapped me first.

You know that doesn’t matter. He is the headmaster’s son. I would leave him alone if I were you. You beat him and you’ll be in trouble with his father, another boy said.

He’s just a coward. He ran away from me earlier, but I’ll get him. You wait and see. I’ll get him, he said and felt the hot tears of anger fill his eyes again.

On the way home, he moved from group to group, searching in the light of the moon but Joseph was nowhere. On reaching home, cold and hungry, he had crawled under his single, worn blanket and slept, forgetting about Joseph, until now.

He looked through the open gate to the red tile-roofed stone bungalow. The house was built in a large grassy compound among great old trees. It had a front verandah with white chairs and tables and a wide front door made of steel and glass. He stood looking in, hoping to see Joseph, wondering how he would deal with him.

Dare he take revenge on the only child of teacher Michael, the school headmaster, the man who was a Man of God, the leader of the church and who owned a car?

****

When Gatua left for the shopping center, Wahu and Wanja took each a machete and followed a path across their narrow piece of land into the expansive farm owned by the Solomon’s. And immediately on getting there, the richness of this land struck them: Huge banana clumps bent with heavy bunches were planted in neat rows. In between these rows grew healthy maize, and beyond, they could see the coffee plantation, thick, darkly green trees in neat, well-tended rows. Here, everything, including the acres of napier grass was green and healthy, in sharp contrast to their own land where the coffee trees were yellow-leaved and sickly and the maize was stunted.

The path led through the garden to a small gate on a barbed wire fence that surrounded the compound. They went through. Wanja turned and closed the gate while Wahu waited. Wahu wore an old black skirt of a course material, patched in several place, and an old sweater over it, the sleeves of which were rolled up to reveal scrawny hands. Together they walked to the house, passing near a cattle pen in which giant cows fed from concrete troughs, and as she walked, Wahu hummed a hymn. They came to the back of the house just as Michael himself came out of the back door.

How are you this morning, our father’s daughter? he hailed her.

I’m fine our father’s son, she said, looked at her dirty hand and started brushing it on her dirty dress in case teacher Michael wanted to shake it. Michael saw the preparations but ignored them. Wahu did not feel in anyway offended. He looked at her, completely ignoring Wanja who was trying to hide behind her mother.

I’m in a hurry, our father’s daughter. You’ll go and continue where you stopped weeding yesterday. But just a minute, he said and turned his back on them, calling out.

Joseph! Joseph!

A fat boy came out of the back door. He was about twelve, but he was tall with a fat belly and big buttocks. He had a large china mug in one hand and a thick piece of buttered bread in the other. His mouth was full.

Joseph, tell your mother our sister Wahu is here, maybe she has a cup of tea for her.

Joseph nodded, his eyes lingering on Wanja a while, then retreated through the door and they could hear him calling: Mamie! Mamie!

Michael turned to Wahu.

I’ll leave now, and may God bless you sister.

Wahu nodded.

You too our brother, she said and watched him walk to the car, lift the hood and begin checking things under it. He was a tall, strong man, impressive in his grey suit and tie, shiny brown shoes, his hair long and parted on the left side. Lately, the teacher was spending weekends in Nairobi talking to politicians and leaders of the party because he was intending to vie for the local parliamentary seat later in the year.

Miriam the maid brought out two plastic cups of tea on a small try. Wahu and Wanja took one each. Wanja tasted hers and felt the sweetness spread through her entire self. It was so thick with milk it seemed to coat her mouth with a creamy layer. She drank, savoring every mouthful. Somewhere inside the house was the sound of radio music.

Wanja thought of Joseph, Michael’s son. He was definitely a bad boy. The other day, he had found her sweeping dung at the cattle pen and made that naughty sign with his finger. She knew what it meant. Wanja did not know whether to hate Joseph or not. He was so fat… but… he was the headmaster’s son. He lived in this big house and he ate so well and his father had a car- the only man she knew who had a car- and a big shop and …Oh, it seemed they had everything. Joseph even came to school in shoes and stockings.

Her tea gave out. Too soon. She stood there holding the cup, licking her lips to gather in any stray sweetness, and waiting for her mother to finish hers so they could go and start weeding. She hated Saturday because for her it was a day of work here at the Solomons’. And of course, holidays! Ugh! Yet, it had its bright sides, like the cup of refreshing tea she had just enjoyed. Sometimes, she and her mother were asked to help in the house when there were visitors- washing dishes, splitting wood, and fetching water, and they got to eat the good food that was cooked.

Her mother finished her tea and handed her the cup.

Take the cups into the kitchen. And don’t you touch anything. Just place the cups on the sink and walk out.

Wanja dropped the machete, took the cups and walked to the kitchen. At the door, she paused, looking in timidly. There was no one. She walked in. The kitchen was lined with white painted cupboards with fancy, lace-like knobs on the doors. There was a huge gas cooker and a shiny kitchen sink with beautiful taps. She paused, looking at the flowered tiles on the wall around the sink, and feeling intimidated. She heard footsteps, turned and saw Joseph coming towards her, munching on something that looked like the biggest piece of meat she had ever set eyes on. Joseph stopped, looking at her, a wicked smile spreading slowly on his lips to show pieces of meat wedged between his teeth, piggy eyes peering maliciously from a fat face, his cheeks shinny with meat grease.

Well, who do we have here? What do you want little girl? he asked.

Wanja walked quickly across to the sink, put the cups on it and turned to go out only to find Joseph blocking her way. He crooked his finger and wagged it obscenely at her. She came forward, and as she passed, he put his hand on her buttocks and pinched. She slapped his hand away and run out.

The whole day on the farm she felt his fat hand on her buttocks and she could see the crooked greasy smile on his face. But what was most tormenting on her mind was the big, tasty looking- piece of meat he had in his hand. When she grew up and got married to a rich man, or went to college to become a teacher and earned her own money, she would always eat meat, she thought. She would want a house like that Joseph lived in with his parents, and a maid to do the work. And her man would have to have a car so she would never have to walk to church or the shops.

****

Gatua dragged his lame, steel-braced legs on the path. When he came to where the steepness began, he walked even slower, more carefully, until he came to the stream. Here he paused and looked about him. Up-river and down river, the wet bottom of the valley was cultivated and planted chocking with arrow roots, patches of maize and beans, cabbages and kales. Nowhere could he see a patch that did not have something growing on it. Opposite him, the steep slope was covered with coffee, thin of tree and yellow of leaf, the earth underneath raw-red, poor and gullied. As always, a feeling of despair engulfed him. He could remember times when the land was rich, well covered with vegetation, when anything planted grew quickly and strongly. He could remember when this river, now no more than five feet wide, shallow and placid liked the stream from an old man’s penis used to come roaring down and mothers never dared to send children to fetch water alone.

Whatever happened? Where did the water go? Where did the forests go? What happened to the country?

He dragged his feet onto the make-shift bridge and started laboriously up the steep path. Half way up, he stopped, turned carefully and looked across at the opposite ridge. His eyes surveyed the narrow strips of individual holdings, some as narrow as twenty feet. That was the answer to those questions: Congestion on the land: Over cultivation and over-population. That was what had eaten the precious top from the soil leaving the ugly weak redness; it was what had drunk all the water from the rivers leaving the shallow trickle. It was what had killed the once lustrous countryside, killed the birds, the hares that had flitted from bush to bush, killed the squirrels, the hedgehogs, the butterflies, the bees; silenced forever the forlorn cry of the bush babe in the dead of night…

He turned and dragged his leaden legs up the slope. He came to the shopping center, walked between two buildings and came to the front. He paused, looking about him. Of the eight or so shop buildings only one was open. It was the big shop owned by Michael. There was a line of simple wooden hovels roofed with an assortment of materials, three of which were open. One was a tea kiosk, the other a clothes repair shop, and the last one a barbershop. And that was all the commerce of Thiru shopping center.

He started off towards the end of the line of buildings. The center mad man saw him and waved good-naturedly from beneath the mountain of rugs under which he lay on the verandah of one of the closed shops. Gatua waved back, walked on to stop outside the last but one building. He surveyed it a moment, then walked to the back. There was thick bush all over the area, and in the middle of the bush was the half-visible hulk of an old bus, its once green paint now sun-bleached white, the rubber around the windows hanging down in streamers, bush thrusting out of the windows, the top a matted nest of climbers. He stood for a long moment looking at it, and he thought of a night, now almost two decades back when two men had come to him in this very building…

He sighed and his mind switched to his son Jimmy, and to his daughter, the hem of her skirt torn and looping over her knee. And he thought too of other children, long dead.

Perhaps had I not…

He tried to push the thought out and forget it but it persisted and in his mind the question formed: What was it all for? How could I ever have hoped…?

He shook his head to scatter the thought. He had gone down that road a thousand times and all there was at its end was pain. His mind once again switched to his son playing the psychological hide-and-seek game with his mother.

Perhaps the boy had more spirit, more strength than he himself had shown.

****

The car appeared unexpectedly and Jimmy tried to merge with the hedge, but there was nothing much to hide him. He did not like its owner, teacher Michael, not just because he was a stern and unbending disciplinarian at school, but he also had a way of looking at you that made you feel that there was something wrong about you even when you had done nothing.

The car came to the gate and stopped. Jimmy looked down on his hands and felt the teacher’s eyes on him for what seemed like an eternity then the car turned up the road. He looked up after it for a while then resumed playing with his coins, now and then popping maize grains into his mouth. Old Bindu grazed on. He let it go on its own.

When he looked up again, Joseph was standing outside the house looking at him. He stopped and looked at the fat boy for a moment, then, as though dismissing him, he resumed his game. He measured three steps, drew a line with his heel and put his foot behind the line. He threw a coin, took out another and holding it between thumb and finger, aimed and swung his hand, one- two- three- and threw. There was a `clung’ as the coin came down on top of the other. He took another and aimed, all the time throwing surreptitious glances Joseph’s way. Curious to know what he was doing, Joseph had crept closer, and by the time he had thrown all nine coins Joseph was standing just inside the gate.

Joseph could not see clearly what Jimmy was doing, but aware of last night, he was wary of going too close. He realized it may have been a mistake to pick a fight with Jimmy for now, he risked remaining forever closed outside the circle of those boys who hang around Jimmy and never learn why they all willingly called him Jimmy and accepted him as their leader. He began to think about making up with him. Maybe Jimmy had even forgotten about last night. In his hand, he still had the half-eaten chunk of meat. He saw Jimmy pop something into his mouth and chew. He came closer, almost, it seemed, pushed by an invisible hand from behind.

I’m going to offer him the piece of meat to placate him if he turns hostile.

He felt like throwing it away anyway. The thought emboldened him so that he took a step further and then another. He stopped, muscles tensed ready to run if Jimmy showed the slightest sign that he was about to rush him.

Jimmy threw a coin and missed. He too was tense. Far down the road, he saw Kago come round the corner driving two lean cows before him. He popped another grain into his mouth and slowly turned towards Joseph.

Joseph’s fat body suddenly spasmed and rippled as he took a step back, tensed again ready to run. But seeing no violence on Jimmy’s face, he stopped. Jimmy seemed to smile faintly, or had he imagined that? He had not, for Jimmy now spoke, and Joseph relaxed.

I have got money. Want to play, Joseph?

He cupped the coins in his palms and jingled them. Joseph came closer to stand just on the edge of the road. Is that real money? he asked.

Of course. Money is money.

Maybe it’s the old money, Joseph said and smiled in a superior manner that seemed to suggest he knew about money

Jimmy jingled the money again. Listen to that. That is the sound of money.

Let me see and I’ll give you this, Joseph said and held out the piece of meat.

All of it? Jimmy asked, eyeing the meat. It was a big chunk.

"Yes. I have eaten enough already. Here, take it and give me one of your coins to play with.

Jimmy stepped up to Joseph and took the piece of meat. He bit on it. It was soft and tasty. His throat rang with anticipation.

I’ll give you one coin to play with but afterwards you’ll give it back to me. Here, take, he said and gave Joseph a coin. Joseph looked at it then nodded knowingly. He knew about money.

It isn’t real money. This is the old money. My dad had some of it and he told me it is the old money which is not useful anymore. See, it has a hole.

Money is money. Just bring it if you think it’s not real, Jimmy said and stretched his hand to take back the coin. Joseph closed his palm over it possessively.

I want to play with it. Why don’t you give it to me for real? We have a pot full of meat in the house.

You don’t give away money like that. You can have it to play with, and give it back to me later.

But I gave you my meat, Joseph said.

I didn’t ask you to. You gave it to me your own self, Jimmy said, his voice raised a little.

Joseph shrugged, remembering last night.

What game were you playing?

I’ll show you. Let Kago come up and we can all play together, he said and then suddenly noticed that Bindu had got almost to the junction of the road. There were unfenced gardens down the road.

Let’s go to the field and play there, he said and began to run.

Hey, wait, Kago called from behind.

We’re going to the field. Hurry up, Joseph called back to him cheerily, turned and ran up the road after Jimmy, not wary any more, quite un-aware that Jimmy had cleverly managed to put him off his guard.

Kago urged his two cows into a run, puzzled. Had Jimmy not vowed to beat up Joseph when he got him, and now there they were running off to the field together?

They came to the field and found two other boys were already there with their cows. The field was flat and grassy with sparse bushes growing at one end. Behind them was a think wattle forest that belonged to teacher Michael. Immediately, Joseph who was the last to arrive, having been overtaken by Kago and his cows, started to impatiently urge Jimmy to show him the game he had promised.

We’re here now, show me the game you’re playing, he whined.

Kago stared at Jimmy, and Jimmy could see the questioning on his face. He had not forgotten last night. He only wanted to handle this right.

I will show you, but first give me back the coin. There is another game I want us to play first. Bring it.

Joseph put his hand behind him.

No. You show me the game first. You promised.

I said I’ll, but first let’s play ‘Jimmy’.

All the boys exchanged looks wondering what Jimmy was playing at. They were at the film show last night.

Jimmy? How? We have no horses, Joseph said rather bewildered and not the least suspicious.

I have a horse.

Where is it?

Give me the coin first, and then I’ll show you the horse. In fact I might even let you ride on it a bit.

Joseph looked undecided for a moment. He had completely forgotten about last night. And now the bait had been sprung at him and he was torn between the need to keep the coin, and the curiosity to know what this new thing about Jimmy having a horse was. All the others understood. It was Jimmy who had shown them this game, and because he owned the horse on which they played, they all had agreed he was Jimmy. But last night, Joseph, who did not know all this had asserted that he was himself Jimmy, then gone ahead to reinforce his claim by sneaking up to the unsuspecting Jimmy and slapping him in the face.

Joseph did not like this feeling that they were looking upon him as the outsider. He had to break into their circle, and the only way in it seemed, was to give up the coin.

Jimmy took the coin and slipped it into his pocket.

Let’s play ‘Jimmy’ then, he said and added: The one where Jimmy shoots down the robbers who attack him on the road.

Ah, I know that one, Joseph said eagerly, jumping up and down and waving his hands excitedly. I’ll be Jimmy. I saw that film also. he said.

All of them stared at him in surprise and all thought: He is so greedy. He wants everything. He doesn’t even know what it’s all about.

Jimmy looked at him calmly and thought: If he agrees that I’m Jimmy, I’ll forget last night and even let him ride on my horse.

He was willing to make peace with Joseph, to settle the quarrel without a fight, not because he was afraid of Joseph but because he was afraid of Joseph’s father, teacher Michael.

You don’t understand Joseph. Jimmy has to have a horse. You don’t have a horse. Nobody here has a horse except me. That’s why I am Jimmy. Jimmy also has to have money which the robbers want to steal from him. I’m the only one who has money. You can’t be Jimmy unless you have a horse and money, he said.

Oh, shut up you little liar! You don’t have a horse and those coins are not even real money! Joseph shouted at him, his eyes flashing with anger.

It was difficult for Joseph to have to take anything from the likes of Jimmy. At home, he got his way with everyone because he was an only child in a home that over-flowed with abundance.

Jimmy shrugged.

That’s what you think? You watch us play then. Kago go and strip bark from saplings and let’s get on with our game.

Kago left and soon came back with long strips of tender bark. They made a long rope, working all together, and then Jimmy took it and approached old Bindu. Quickly, as the old cow waited patiently, he tied the two ends of the rope to its horns then jumped on its back and turned to Kago.

Where are my pistols?

Kago gave Jimmy two thick pieces of wood. Jimmy shoved them in the waist band of his shorts and pointed at the other two boys.

You two will be the robbers. The road passes near those bushes and you two are hiding in there. As I approach, you will come out with your guns. I’ll drop from the horse and shoot you both dead. Kago, you find something you can strike on to make the sound of a gunshot. Watch me and strike it as I aim.

Joseph watched all this, his cheeks puffed out with anger, chest heaving with resentment.

Kago found an old piece of plywood and a stick. The two boys took their position in the bush. Jimmy guided Bindu along the imaginary road and as he came to the bushes the two boys emerged, crouching and looking mean. Jimmy dropped rolling from Bindu’s back, hit the ground and rolled behind a bush and when he turned, there were two pistols in his hand. He aimed and there was a loud report from somewhere. One robber dropped dead. He aimed again and the other robber arched his back, dropped his gun and fell dead. Jimmy waited, crouched behind his bush, then slowly stood up and cautiously approached the dead robbers. Behind him, Kago came up smiling. Jimmy heard him approaching, suddenly whirled round, pistols aimed. On cue, Kago struck his piece of plywood and at the sound, his hands flew up and he fell dead.

Alright boys, that was good,