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head, he only half saw
it.
    When he finished walking Lippe’s Loop,
he left that street and went down the next one that said “loop.” He could
see the pattern—there were loops and a cul-de-sac in between. On this street, there was
also nothing. Shame sat heavy on his head, that he should need to beg like this. He
turned back to the main road. Everywhere, it was the same. The people living on the
other side of the walls, with their courtyards spilling bougainvillea—red, fuchsia,
white, purple—their servants hanging their sheets and pillowcases and shirts on the
line, their gardeners laboring in the sun, what did those people know? Had theyever seen a police dog go after a child? Seen their mother dragged off
to jail? He began to feel anger at the peace he found here and the complacency of the
blue sky and quiet roads, the watchdogs that made sure nothing would change. It was
peaceful, yes, but what was the measure of this peace? It seemed that just under the
surface was a familiar order—a few people owned everything. Aristotle said that it was
unbecoming for a young man to utter maxims. But how could you resist Aristotle’s
maxims? In a democracy, Aristotle said, the poor will have more power than the rich
because there are more of them, and the will of the majority is supreme. In time,
Aristotle’s wisdom would be borne out. It was necessary to believe this.
Otherwise, where was the hope?
    He called White Dog and went back toward the
main road and down another cul-de-sac with houses on either side. They looked unused.
You wouldn’t want to enter them. The earth was scuffed and swept clean as
concrete. Flowers were planted in tight little formations. He knew why people got rid of
everything green. They were frightened of snakes. They wanted the ground clear so they
could see a black mamba from a long way off.
    He knocked on gates all day, eighty, a
hundred, he lost count. At last, he turned toward Naledi. White Dog trailed, her tail
down, ears back, as though she’d heard each “no” and needed to lie
down and put her head between her paws. A truck passed on the road heading north, and a
cloud of dust fell over their heads. Isaac left the road and sat on his haunches in the
bush near where a footpath branched three ways. Flies buzzed around a pile of goat
droppings. A Toyota truck passed on the road, and then a Peugeot. “What shall we
do?” he asked White Dog. Small pouches of fatigue bagged under her eyes. She
wagged her tail at the tip. Neither of them had had food or water all day.
    When he reached Amen’s house, the sun
had nearly set. He poured water for White Dog and drank from a tin cup. Khumo, Amen, and
Lucky were away. Kagiso said they were working.
    “When will they be back?”
    “I don’t know,” she said,
her face sorrowing.
    “Where have they gone?”
    “This also I don’t
know.”
    She dished up a plate of mealie meal and beans
and gave Ontibile her breast while Isaac ate. When he’d finished half the plate,
he gave the rest to White Dog. Music from the neighborhood shebeen floated through the
air. A bat flitted here and there after mosquitoes. In the waning light, Kagiso’s
nipples were erect and plump with milk. As Ontibile began to nurse, a small pool of
darkness widened across Kagiso’s dress as her other breast leaked in sympathy.
    She seemed very unhappy. “Are you
frightened?” he asked softly.
    “Of course. One day he won’t
return, and then what will I do?”
    You will marry me, he thought, and
I’ll be Ontibile’s father. “I don’t know,” he said. The
sky was almost completely dark now, and night was beginning: the sound of barking dogs,
the relief of shadow, the earth giving off its faint moisture. “Where were you
born?” he asked.
    “Here in Botswana.”
    “You have family in
Gaborone?”
    “In Mochudi. Sometimes I think of
going back to them … But please,” she said hurriedly, “you
won’t tell him.”
    “No.” You are very beautiful,