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beatings stopped, and a bloody-faced Saeed stood up, saying, Yes, I’ll call my lawyer—
    The lieutenant at our doorstep, who had just finished greeting Deepa, said in his gentle manner, It’s the Emergency, they only mistook him for a bloody—pardon me, ma’am—Kyuke hiding away inside. You can’t be too careful, can you.
    Touching his hand to his cap in a salute, he strolled away, reserving a sharp look for Mahesh Uncle as he passed him.
    What will happen to my silly brother? Mother whispered helplessly. To her surprise, Papa told her, In this case, he stood up for his friend.

    They took away four of the servants for questioning, including the two who had tried to escape. They confiscated a few goats and chickens, a radio, and some other items, including the banana leaf and the newspaper. Bastards, Mahesh Uncle was still muttering, bloody kaburu bastards, even as the police officers turned to cast a final eye upon the scene. Saeed had been supported to his house by a servant and his sister.
    And from our house emerged Njoroge, hesitant, frightened.
    Where did you hide, Njoroge? asked Mother.
    Under my bed, said Deepa, gaily tripping out behind him.
    That girl is going to be the death of me!
    No, she has done you proud, Mahesh Uncle replied, picking up Deepa, and I felt proud and yet jealous. Yes, she had been brave, she would always be the brave one.
    I watched Njoroge’s back, his tall bony shape, as he slowly made his way to his grandfather’s single room, entered its dark interior, leaving the door wide open. Mwangi was one of the men taken away for questioning.
    When on the following Saturday Mrs. Bruce came to drop off Bill and Annie and to order the groceries she would take with her later, she asked Papa if he had a bottle of whisky she could borrow or buy from him. Papa said, Of course. I could hardly refuse, she looked so desperate, he explained to Mother. It’s not that they are lacking water, she retorted; let her drink water for a change. When Mrs. Bruce returned, Papa had a new bottle of Johnny Walker waiting for her. Our friends’ mother left in very high spirits, ruffling Deepa’s hair on her way out. That gesture pleased Mother.
    Juma Molabux, the only wine merchant in town, in retaliation for his family’s humiliation by the police, had announced that his stock of whisky had been destroyed by accident. The District Commissioner sent the police to check, in case there was whisky around and Molabux was in breach of hoarding laws, but they found that the three cases of whiskywhich had been in stock had indeed crashed down from a height, breaking all the bottles. And so the Europeans had to send for their whisky from Nairobi or go without; since many of them had credit terms with Molabux & Sons, and were not doing so well in that year of drought, they went without. Except, that weekend, the Bruces.
    Saeed Molabux was kept in hospital for two days of observation. He received an apology from the District Commissioner and from the Commissioner of Police, who assured him that the officers in charge of the raid had been duly reprimanded. The police had been irresponsible, an editorial of the Nairobi paper said, this was hardly the time for the Europeans to antagonize another community, when the world’s eyes were upon Kenya.
    The Masai and Kikuyu peoples have traditionally been rivals, if not enemies, though there has been a tendency to deny this in recent times, in the interest of national harmony or political correctness. The Masai were herders of cattle in the vast plains of the Rift Valley, and the Kikuyu farmed the highlands and kept cattle and goats and sheep under the benevolent gaze of Ngai, the God on Mount Kenya. Occasionally, the Masai and the Kikuyu came into conflict. Governments, the British in the past and the more recent ones now, have found it expedient to exploit this rivalry, as my young visitor Joseph is only too ready to attest.
    And so there was some irony in Lieutenant Soames