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sideways with his feet down on the ground. He cradled his head in his hands and his robes were filthy, covered with soot and pulled around so roughly that he looked like he had just been in a battle for his life.
    â€œAlhaji,” said Nurudeen’s dad. “Minister, are you not fine?”
    The minister looked slowly up, but when he saw Jerry standing there he reacted violently, jerking to his feet and staggering forward.
    â€œWhy are you all so evil!” he screamed. “Whenever there is tragedy, whenever a truly loathsome act occurs, there is always a white man involved!”
    It was clear that the minister was in shock but Jerry, nevertheless, had no idea what to do. The minister nearly lost his balance, and then to everyone’s surprise he came at Jerry wildly, actually scratching his face with one of his out-of-control hands.
    â€œHey!” Jerry yelled. “Ouch! Stop it!” The minister’s blind thrust had hit him just above his left eye, tearing the flesh somewhere around his eyebrow. Jerry dropped the teachers’ files, both hands shooting up to his face. He arched forward so that wayward drops of blood would not come down on his clothing, and at the same time he tried to find the teachers’ files, kneeling and feeling around for them on the ground. Though he couldn’t see, he could sense that everyone had been stunned by what had happened, and once he had the files again he stood up.
    â€œSurely there must be medical help nearby,” he said. He meant for the minister but Nurudeen’s father thought he meant for himself, and when he went off to bring a medic back, the minister struck again, grabbing Jerry’s arm and shaking him. “Here he is!” he screamed. “This is the man who started the fire!”
    The minister spun Jerry around so hard that Jerry nearly dropped the files again. “Why do you despise us so?” he shouted.
    Jerry’s eye was burning but he could see out of it again, and he tried to stop himself from going in the direction that the minister wanted him to go.
    â€œCome!” screamed the minister. “Cast your eyes on what your evil has wrought!”
    The minister pushed Jerry back toward the side of the building and pointed at a spot on the shady ground. Mindless of the blood now, Jerry jerked his arm free and wiped a sleeve across his eye. He then looked down at the spot where the minister’s finger led.
    â€œMy God,” he said.
    The minister’s secretary was there, the lazy one from the outer office. A piece of torn cardboard partially covered her oddly angled body, but she was wearing the same yellow dress she’d worn the day before, and her face held that same bored look.
    Jerry wanted to ask if she was alive, but by then Nurudeen’s father was back, not with a doctor but with the same police captain who had opened the cordon to let them in. The minister seemed, to have calmed by then but the policeman poked a stiff finger up against Jerry’s shirt. “Do not speak,” he commanded. He then pulled Jerry hard, jerking him away from the secretary and back along the shady side of the building to where another group stood.
    â€œLook,” said the policeman, “and explain, please, what it is that you see.”
    Jerry’s eye still throbbed, and when he looked at the ground he expected to see someone else hideously hurt. This time, however, there was nobody. Rather, on another piece of cardboard stood five one-gallon cans of copy-machine toner. And on top of one of the cans was Jerry’s plastic sandwich box, his name written on a piece of masking tape and stuck across its lid.
    For a moment Jerry was unable to take in the meaning of what he saw. He remembered turning in the direction of the captain of police once more, but then someone struck him and he was on the ground.
    â€œKeep back!” he heard the captain yell. “I want a car here now. Keep those people