I unzipped my trousers and pulled them down to observe the wound again and a loud knock on the door made me pull them up hastily, banging the wound in the process before I welcomed the knocker.

"Come in." I said, hating the caller even before I knew who it was.

The door opened and Cpl. Matolo came in. He carefully closed the door, glanced at the window and proceeded to remove something from the inside pocket of his coat.

His hand came out with the same crumpled notes that I had seen at Kaberengo and I wanted to tell him to get them the hell out of my house but I checked my tongue.

"Fred," he said in a voice just slightly above a whisper, "me and my companions have decided that you take this as a reminder of the dangers of this work. Just have a beer, or buy yourself something else." He handed the money to me and I accepted it and put it into my trouser pocket.

Then it started burning a hole in the cloth and through to my skin and I had to remove it and hold it in my hand.

"Thank you," I told the corporal and he left my house.

I thought of the best place to keep the money and had difficulty in coming to a decision. At last, I put it in an envelope, folded it until it

became a very small parcel and buried it inside an opened packet of flour! I had successfully finished my first course in corruption!

The following day, I was marched to the Divisional Commander's Office, in civilian clothes, where I shook his hand, was offered a chair and left his office fifteen minutes later, after a warm cup of tea, smiling like the cat that swallowed the bird.

"Keep it up, my boy," he had told me. "1 can see a very bright future in you as a Police Officer. One day, I hope that you will sit on such a chair as I am sitting on. Once again—well done!"

Overnight, my small unknown name had spread like bush-fire in Kakamega Town.

'Wonder-cop' was the nick-name got from Government officials, while bar-maids, matatu operators, businessmen, would-be thieves etc all kept quiet when I passed wherever they were and wore embarrassed grins and smiles in my presence.

I really did not know why they reacted that way to the death of a gangster. After all even the other Police Officers had played their part and I could not understand why I had been the hero. I had nearly lost my life! If the gangster had as much as raised his gun, just a foot above what he did, I would have been as dead as a wall—to use the corporal's phrase.

Anyway, the reaction was very embarrassing to me. Despite the hero-worshipping I received from the wananchi, the first two weeks were awful to me.

Even after spending the whole night awake, harassing drunkards and late movers, sometimes I would be required to 'help', as the sergeant put it, in taking prisoners to court and sometimes I was so weary and exhausted that I was repeatedly dozing, right there, inside the court-room, while on the duty of guarding prisoners.

It was also during those two weeks that I had a vicious attack of malaria and ended up being admitted for four days at the Kakamega Provincial General Hospital where I was reportedly half-crazy.

I was told that I slapped a nurse and that I was asking for Mum and Dad to come and take me back home. Even the doctors had a very hard time keeppig me under control and medication.

I was having illusions of all kinds and feeling very depressed.

Malaria was sapping my strength, but so was the police force and I wished I had not joined it, that in fact I had stayed at home, with Mum and Dad—digging our small shamba. Maybe we could have dug more, maybe deeper, and . . .

However, despite all these misgivings, I found solace. I spotted the women. Big women. Amazons, if you want. Women with fannies that don't need a pillow under them during the ritual of Venus. Women that make you feel that you are in bed with a woman—not a hole of muck!

After two weeks on night beat, I changed duties and was deployed in day patrol. I was supposed to be acquainted with this job by a young cop—just about my age—who was a far better teacher than my first collegue. Njagi did not have extra roles to play with suspects out of my earshot and he was the one who told me where the few shillings that the former colleague used to give me came from.

He said that, to survive, one had to have an extra cent here and there and that even when one took prisoners to the Police station where they were subsequently charged and taken to court, the fines which emanated from such procedures benefited only the higher authorities without a single cent being given to the original arrester.

After reporting off-duty each evening, Njagi would request me to accompany him to town where he would have a beer or two and I would have a soda or a glass of milk. I had refused Njagi's offer of a beer despite his reassurance that a bottle or two would not make me drunk. I had not tasted beer before and was not very much inclined to start drinking.

Most of the evenings, after the drinks, we would go home, me alone but Njagi would be accompanied by a woman whom he would pick from anywhere within the bars. Sometimes I would also feel that I could do with a woman but always shied away from the idea.

8

I hen one day, it happened. We went to town as usual but on this day, instead of the way Njagi used to pick his women at the last hour, he took his pick immediately we got to town and the woman

accompanied us into the first bar that we entered.

Njagi called for two beers, one for himself and one for his woman and a soda for me. As we were drinking, the woman excused herself and went out, only to come back some few minutes later, accompanied by another woman. The new woman was introduced as Judy Nekesa—Miss and there was even extra stress on the word 'Miss'. Njagi called for her drink and she said she'd take a soda. He friend urged her that one beer would not change the orbit of the earth and she smilingly agreed to take beer. Thus, I was the only one having a soda at the table and Judy was quick to comment on it.

"Why is my friend only taking sodas?" She asked smiling. I did not know what to answer and so I grinned. Njagi answered for me: "He is a clergyman." And we all laughed loud. I was feeling embarrassed though.

"Where is his church?" The woman went on. This time, I had to answer myself: "In my house; that is where I preach to women only and they have to receive the 'word' while naked!" More laughter.

"Then, 1 would like to hear one sermon," she giggled and sweat started to make my face shine.

It's not that I was impotent or that I was not capable of the game but somehow, my newness to the place, the distance from home and other displeasing aspects of life which had welcomed me to the place, had made a real celibate of me. Njagi was eyeing me from the corner of his eye. I bet he thought that I was going to blast the woman for her open offer but I was having other ideas about her. I looked at her and noticed that she was pretty in a rough way. She had a small round face on her small round head with her hair cropped short. Her bosom was, however, full and her waist small, giving way to what appeared an over-sized derriere and comfortably mascular legs. Her teeth were small, even and white and her lips were slightly upturned at the corners and frequently parted in lop-sided smiles. She was seated opposite me and I ogled her shamelessly. Right there and then. I decided that I was going to take her home, if she consented to at least . . . christen my house.

"That's a splendid idea," I said. The good thing about my church is

that one does not have to carry a bible." We all laughed. Then Njagi suggested that, because Judy was going to receive a sermon from me, it was appropriate that we should sit together so that she might be used to the smell of the clergyman. We altered the seating arrangement and Judy came and sat next to me while Njagi and Deborah, his woman, sat together. We formed bar-couples and my stupid heart started beating faster. We took three other drinks each before deciding that we should go home.

I had a terrific night with Judy. Immediately we got into bed, she stripped to the skin and literally undressed me. I was still shy about removing my pants. When I was naked, we fell to. She was sighing and cooing and gasping and when I came to the climax, she screamed and held me so tight around the middle and bit my shoulder while at the same time she was scratching my buttocks and the whole of my back! Then it was all over. I lay panting on top of her and she eased the grasp that she had on me. She then thanked me and I was so surprised that I had to ask her what she was thanking me for. She told me that she had had sensations that she had not felt before and thus the need to thank me.

We hardly slept that night. Most of the time was spent in exploring one another.

The following morning, she told me that she would be going to her birth home, in Chavakali and I gave her some two pounds. By the way she thanked me, I suspected that I had given her far more than she had expected from me. She also gave me her address and told me that I could write to her and invite her to come to my house anytime I wanted. I was sad to see her go.

Njagi wanted to know how it herd all fared and I told him that if life were like that throughout, then men would not have cause to cry.

I wrote to Judy three days later but the fool did not reply. I was very bitter about it and decided that even if she came on her own I would not welcome her to my house. There were other women. Bigger and better women and the field was open to me—to choose.

Then I met Charity. Charity Wangui. She was a cop. A very charitable cop. She taught me lousy screwing -manners and styles all for free. When I look at it from both sides, I feel that Charity was the cause of the beginning of my downfall. Not that she stole anything from me but she changed me. I was a nice, innocent, meek, humble and promising youth before I met Charity. She made me the opposite of all those things. She changed my being.

My meeting with Charity was very funny. When I arrived at Kakamega, she was on leave. She came after I had stayed for over a month.

On that day, I had gone to the canteen to look for some cigarettes and just as I was leaving the canteen, I met with her. She was entering the canteen, but. . . my God! She was the most beautiful thing I had ever set my eyes upon. Thing' because I could not believe that such beauty and shapeliness could be in a human being. She was more beautiful than any other woman I had ever seen.

Other than giving her way to enter the canteen, I just stood there, gaping at her. I was bewildered. She sized me up, smiled, and said hello—in a soft, musical voice that astounded me. I could not believe my eyes or ears, even as she stretched her hand towards me. I took it and just held it lightly, my hand trembling. Then I released her hand, quickly, muttered an apology, and let her pass. I walked to my house and tried to figure out whether I was dreaming or not. Still daydreaming, I walked back to the canteen, to look for her, but she was not anywhere around.

I had not tasted beer since I was employed but I surprised even myself, my collegues aside, when I called for a Tusker Export. I swallowed that. Not bad at all, I told myself. I called for another, and swallowed that one too. My friends who knew me as a teetotaller noticed that I was drinking and they started competing in buying me drinks.

I didn't know exactly how many of those small bottles I emptied.

but I got so drunk that that night I puked in my bed and had a splitting headache the following day. My advisors told me that what I had was just a hang-over and they 'prescribed' that I drink two beers to make the head 'straight'. So I went to the canteen and drank two beers and, surprisingly, the headache was gone within a few minutes. But it was replaced by a want of more beers. I did not even report on duty, but the boss must have known all about it because when I told him that I had failed to go to the office because of a headache, he said he was sorry about it.

That evening, as I was arranging to go to town, I saw Charity once more. She was putting out some clothes on the line, outside a house which was just a short distance from mine. I walked back into my house, and prepared myself to accost her; preparation which included eyeing myself on the mirror to see whether I had anything offensive on my face. I straightened my jacket, cleared my throat and left my house, locking the door behind me. I walked towards her but instead of looking at her, I had my eyes focussed beyond her—in the distance. When I reached her, I pretended to be surprised to see her once again, I cleared my throat. She turned and faced me.

"Hello," I said and hastily added, "how are you?"

"Fine, thanks," she answered and smiled broadly revealing some even white teeth.

"Do you think the clothes will dry in the night?" I said to keep the conversation going. I could not think of anything else that I could say.

"I hope they do. I would have cleaned them during the early hours of the day but then I was sent out on duty. These people here are merciless. I just arrived yesterday from my leave and instead of them giving meat least one day off to'get back to station', they just told me to report on duty." She said and laughed. The laughter to me was like music. Not loud and yet audible. . . .

"Oh, I am sorry, how was your leave?* 1

"Just fine, no rain and yet not so hot," she told me.

"Where is your home'.'" 1 asked, just to keep her talking.

"Nyeri, and what of yours?" She had stopped her work and was

now just standing there, looking at me with deeply appraising eyes. I felt shy—under her stare.

"Nyeri, as well. Where particularly is yours?"

"Mathira, at a place called Kiawarigi. Do you know it?"

"Yes, I've heard of the place but I have never been there!"

"Where is your home, in Nyeri?"

"Kaheti, Kaheti Village, where we have one of the oldest Roman Catholic churches in Kenya," I boasted. "Have you ever heard of the place?" She had started on her work again. As she was bending to pick the clothes and put them on the line, I noticed them ... I mean her thighs. A smooth pair of promising softness, stretching further above the knees and disappearing into her dress. I was getting transfixed. Her breasts were straining against her dress as she reached for the line and then relaxing as she bent. I was having wild calculations and imaginations. That dress should be removed to at least allow me to see what was beneath it!

"I've in fact been to the place once," she told me. "I had gone to watch the Nativity play that was being acted there every Christmas. Do they still act it?" She had finished putting the clothes on the line and I was afraid that she would go but she reassured me by just standing there, once again poring over me with her eyes.

I did not know what answer to give because I used to attend those plays a hell of a long time ago. Come to think of it, the last time I had attended any church service was long long ago.

"I should think they still act them, it's hard to break such an old tradition," I said.

"I see, by the way, when did you come here? You were not here when I went on leave," she had picked her clothes basin. Gosh! She wanted to go. I wished I could keep her longer. A few fellow cops had passed us as we chatted and I had noticed that not one single cop passed us without addressing a salutation to Charity. They were also very careful to particularise the addressee of the salaams—Charity. 1 had also noticed some dire longing in the eyes of most of them, which was turned to open hostility when the eyes were turned on me by the by-passers. Most of them were clearly envious.

"I've been here for about one and a half months now." I answered desperately.

"So. you have not been polluted by the women of this place?" What was that she said?

"What was that again?" At that, she laughed loudly. She twisted her body this way and that way and I was just about to go and grab her.

"I am telling you that we have some women here who, if you do not watch your steps, will make you completely forget your home. You .know you are very far from home and if you get over-involved in them, you will forget your home and you might even be spending your leave days here chasing them like there are no girls at your home. I know of quite a few people who have been thus victimised." She was serious and her face darkened. I guess at the memory.

"Well. I have not yet met them and anyway. I am quite sure that no woman can make me forget Mum and Dad even if she tries to bewitch me." I answered firmly, although I had met one already and was not very sure about forgetting home and all that.

"And where were you going just now when you stopped here?" She asked and laughed again. The way she was looking at me was not explicable.

"Not to look for them, of course," 1 defended myself.

"Okay, if you were not going to look for them today, what of tomorrow.'"

"Even tomorrow and the day after that and ..." she did not let me finish.

"And what will you be doing when you want . . .?" She did not finish. She ran off into her house and I was left standing there with my roused desires, my mouth very dry and my knees full of jelly. I just stood there. Over a minute passed and that is when I realised that I was standing in someone's door-way. So I moved. Not towards the town hut towards my house. 1 went on to my bed and lay on my tummy. 1 pictured Charity and felt that 1 had to have her or no woman at all. I got out o( bed, put on the light and went to the kitchen. 1 hen 1 felt that 1 was not hungry at all and so I went to the

table-room. My mind was completely blank when a knock on the door froze me. I thought it was Charity knocking and had wild hallucinations.

10

"Come in," I said in a voice, scarcely above a whisper. The door knob twisted and the door opened slowly and Nekesa came in. She was smilling, but I was scowling.

"Hey—how are you, man—you've been lost!" She was coming towards me and smiling all over but I did not even want to see her.

"I've been just around," I answered her tersely. I didn't even offer her a seat. What if Charity came in just then and found the woman in my house? What would I say the bag of flesh was doing here?

"What's wrong, Fred. You look sick?" She came towards me and wanted to hold me but I backed two paces from her.

"Don't touch me!" I found myself saying. She was startled. She also moved a pace or two backwards and then stopped. Then there was another knock on the door. This time, I went deaf and blind for at least two seconds.

"Come in," I croaked.

The door was flung open and Charity came in. She stopped abruptly on seeing us, whirled around and went out again. I just heard her voice as she said something like ... "Sorry, I did not know you had company .. !" and she was gone. I heard her retreating steps and cursed the woman standing there with her big derriere and her everything! Then I flopped on the chair and sighed.

The woman must have realised that she was not welcome and she hastily bade me good night. I could not find a voice to reciprocate. I just placed my head in both hands and wished that Charity had not come into my house when that woman was still there. Maybe she would not want me any more. What a mess!

Then, I went to the kitchen, so angry with myself that I was unable to cook. So, I went to the canteen.

At the door, I met with the lines' sergeant who demanded a beer from me telling me that he was the one who had saved me from possible disciplinary charges for failing to attend duty. He told me that he had talked to the O.C.S. and explained everything. I did not ask him what everything meant. I bought him two beers, bought myself a loaf of bread and a pint of milk and went back to my house. I felt that if I stayed in the canteen, I would drink myself silly or unconscious.

Back in my house, I ate half of the loaf of bread and drunk the milk and then flopped on the bed. I slept very fitfully. The whole night was full of torments. I did not wholly blame myself on what had happened but I really had nothing tangible to commend to myself. I noticed that, despite having met another woman in my house, she had developed some kind of sisterly friendliness towards me.

'She would invite me for supper for which, at first, I gave lame excuses. But, eventually, I found that I could go to her house, have supper, chat a bit and then leave. I was afraid of mentioning tfce real thing; for I did not want to try and fail, because that would force me to avoid her, yet I could not. Besides, she also never tried to encourage me. We would talk about beds, but never about sleeping in the beds. We would mention love—at a distance— but never about making love. We would discuss anything, save those which would lead us to bed, together.

When I tried to steer the subject to the you-know-what, she tactfully but quickly diverted it to safer grounds. She could look at me straight in the face, especially when trying to explain a point. She would flatter and wring her hands when she missed a straight word and I, the animal thing in me having been roused, would look at her hypnotically and wish a thousand things.

She did not sit carelessly tor once and her skirt was strictly and always below knee-level and even when she thought that a skirt was too short, she rallied the assistance of a lesso and thus her knees were always out of sight.

I was getting so much used to her. My friends said behind our kicks that we were lovers. They even mentioned that I spent most of

the evenings at her place instead of at my house. I had literally brushed aside Njagi's invitations to got to town and I was going to town only when expressly necessary. Njagi once told me that I was behaving like a novice when I confessed to him that all those evenings spent at Charity's place had not yielded a lay. I let him have his opinion, anyway. I had nothing to lose.

Sometimes, when we were chatting the hours away, she would steer lie on the bed and when sleep crept in, I would dream the cursed dream. Then I would wake up in the morning and swear that the next time I went to Charity's place, I would ask her for a lay—come what may! But I would go there and the same thing would happen. I would find no words for it.

Sometimes, when we were chatting the hours away, she would steer from safe grounds and then when she realized it, she would feel embarrassed drop her eyes and avoid looking at me. At such times, I would feel a leaden weight above my stomach and a lump in my throat.

She told me all about her life history and I told her about mine but you can bet I did not mention my butcher-man days. I had realized that she was very sympathetically sensitive to poverty, she herself having come from a poor family. I lied to her that I had been chased from school for lack of school fees and that I had resorted to the only job that I qualified for: being a cop. She shook her head and I could read something in her eyes—something of motherly protection towards me. Yes, it was there. Something beyond pity and yet, above friendliness. Something I could not explain.

My birthday was approaching and I had even mentioned it to her. She had told me to warn her beforehand so that she could know what to cook for the 'big occasion'. We had even discussed what would be the best meal for that day and we had concluded that Chapati and Mutton which were our current favourite dish, would do. I had also

put it in my diary that on that day, the birthday, I would break the ice and bluntly ask her to kiss me. I was sure she would not refuse. But, what if she refused? Then— hell!! Three days before my birthday, I went to Charity's house, just like

I had done so many times before. She seemed happier and ready to laugh at the flimsiest excuse. While eating, she did not sit opposite me like she used to do but came and sat on my left side and we were actually touching. After the meal, she took the fishes to the kitchen and when she came back to the table, she sat just where she had been; next to me and this time, I even thought that she was closer. I could feel her woman warmth seeping through her clothes and radiating into me and I started getting uncomfortable. She was sighing repeatedly and then she started singing. Her song went thus Oh, I wish I had someone to love me, Someone to call me his own, Oh, I wish I had someone to love me, 'Cause 'am tired of living alone.

She laughed after that. I looked at her and then, like a shipwrecked survivor who sees land after several days of floating on water, it dawned on me. So she had been waiting for me to make a move! And I had been the goat that I am!!

"Charity, do you know exactly what you are saying now?"

"Yes, I do; I wish I had someone to love me." and she looked quite serious about it.

"Okay, then, I love you," I just said it. I don't even know where the words came from.

"Are you serious?" she asked. If there had been a Bible around, I would have sworn by it!

"Honest, I am very serious. I have been'afraid of saying it for all this time but you have been in my heart from the day that I met you at the canteen door." I stammered on.

"What have you been afraid of?"

"Well, I really cannot say but I feared that you would not accept my love. I mean—I felt that maybe I was not suitable enough for you and that you would let me awfully down if I made a move". That was the absolute truth. She looked at me silently for a full minute and then her eyes filled with tears.

And so, it happened. That night, I laid Charity—even before the scheduled birthday. I laid her and found her to be the warmest—I mean the hottest woman I had ever laid. That woman had it—I mean what it takes to make a woman. I almost ate her with my teeth. I would have liked to swallow her and keep her in me so that no other person would be accesssible to her. She was above all and she filled my heart to the brim.

From that day, I laid Charity on every single day of the month except of course the three to four days per month when her dam broke up. But even on those days, we shared the same bed. She grew very possessive and did not want me to say hello to, let alone touch, another woman.

She taught me some very quaint styles of the bed-game. We could do it sitting, lying, standing, sleeping, rolling, crawling and kneeling. We could do it anywhere: in her house or mine, in the bathroom, in the bush in the evenings, at the golf-course after dark and we even did it once in the office. She taught me how to kiss—in the mouth and emphasised that kissing is even more loving than making actual sexual love. She was telling me that kissing is what feeds the love affair and that we were doing it like Whites. It's aping of course but it seems that we Blacks have got to ape the Whites from time to time—just to feel civilized. Very good thing—this civilization. Anyway, White civilization is not bad at all. They brought it here to us, togehter with all the atrocious civilized crimes that accompanied their entry and thus the dire need for a Police Force. That way I got a job; not forgetting that they also brought education, and trained the teachers who taught me and even the headmaster who expelled me from school. They were very good teachers—these Whites. Blinking colonialists!!

Me and Charity were actually living as man and wife. I was even thinking of marriage. When 1 come to think of the part I played, the part that bred the bacteria which started the decay on our cord of love, I sometimes wish there would be a mule around, to give me a

85

real heavy kick right on my balls! I did not play my part rig(it. I let her do all the loving. She even referred to me as her husband. Even when chatting with her friends, she would look at her wrist-watch, gasp and hurry away, leaving her friends laughing at her last word: "Let me hurry home and cook for my husband!"

I had literally moved from my house to hers where I took all meals. Charity just fed me without even asking for subsistence and I felt so much of a sucker. I had repeatedly tried to offer her money to buy the foods but she had bluntly refused my offers and even one day, she almost lost her temper when I went to her house with a pound of meat and told her to fry it so that we could have a meal. She just looked at me, looked at the still wrapped piece of meat and told me: "Fred, I can afford all the meat that I need in this house".

"But, I ... I just want to sort of help you in ..." I tired to explain. She would not let me finish.

"Did I tell you that I need help? Did I...?" She was getting worked up and I solemnly apologised.

Even when the meat was finally cooked and we were eating, she still retained that hurt feeling in her tone of speech and her eyes and I decided that I would not be buying any foods unless and until she asked me.

That year's Christmas found us at the height of our love and I thought that it would be the most appropriate time to give Charity at least something for all her love.

I went secretly to Kisumu and bought her a dress, a pair of shoes and four silk pants. To crown it all, I bought a bottle of Cinzano which I had noticed she cherished. I came back to Kakamega and 'hid' them in my house until the eve of Christmas day and I told her that we should have a meal at my house.

She prepared a stuffed chicken and the rice was cooked in coconut gratings. A very delicious meal. We sat as usual at the table and she was spoon-feeding me and 1 was enjoying every minute of the evening.

After the meal, 1 went to the bedroom and came out with the gift parcel, still wrapped and presented it to her.

"What is it?" She asked quizzically.

"Open and see!" I was smiling shyly. She undid the wrapping and the dress was exposed. She looked at it, dismayed and then fingered it reverently. Then, she removed the shoes from their box and placed them beside the dress, on the table. She tore the paper wrapping on the pants and they cascaded on the table. She shrieked in delight.

"Are they for me?"

"Yes ... yes ..." I had to clear my throat.

"You bought them for me?"

"Yes, it's your Christmans present."

"The dress . . .?"

"So that you may remember me everytime you put it on ... "

"The shoes . . . ?" She was examining each item as one in a day-dream. I could not believe that Charity could be so fascinated by such small presents. She had several dresses and pairs of shoes, not forgetting the tens of pairs of pants that littered her every box.

"For dancing ... I don't know whether I chose the right size of heels . . ."

"And these . . ." pointing at the pants. They were in four colours. White for Sunday service; blue for the day following a heavy loving night, green for a sign of readines for a love making bout and red for 'hell days' as she called them. I had chosen each with a purpose. "These are . . .?"

"To protect you from cold." I chuckled.

"Why did you buy all these...?" I could see that she was trembling. Her eyes were getting that far-away look that preceded our love-making. Her 'in-the-mood' look. She looked at me and a smile flashed across her lips. She shrieked again and was on me before I could duck. She threw her arms around my neck and smothered me in kisses muttering, "I love you, my wonder cop. I love you . . ." not giving me time to tell her the same and our embrace tripped us onto the sofa set.

Then, we got up and I ceremoniously produced the bottle of Cinzano from the cup-board and she was so thrilled by the very sight of it that she spilled some of it as she was trying to break the seal, in a hurry.

"I believe it now," she said matter-of-fact. "I believe it now when you tell me that you love me," she stopped. She looked at me for over a minute and then asked: "Fred, will you take me, as your wife?" My mouth popped open but I quickly hid my surprise in a smile. I cleared my throat but, before I could answer, she went on, "I know that's the most important decision to make in one's life and so, I'll not demand an answer just now. Please think about it but don't forget that that was an offer ..." she laughed and kissed me again. I did not know what to say. Our love had really reached a deeper dimension.

12

Then, one day, things changed. Changed for the worse for me. I did one thing that Charity, with all her love and devotion, could not stand. She was so possessive.

That day, I went to town. Charity did not accompany me as she used to do every day. I was just going to pick my suit from a laundry and rush back home and I left Charity so that she could do her cooking meanwhile. I had told her that it would take me a maximum of fiteen minutes to walk to and from tow^

As I was walking down Kenyatta Avenue, I saw Mary Wambui. She was my village-mate at home—in Nyeri, and the very sight of her made me remember home. Home which was out of sight and out of mind. Fate just arranged that meeting and I can swear that I had not known that she'd be there when I walked down Kenyatta Avenue. What a woman she had grown into!

When I was in school, Mary was a tiny girl. Not yet fit for human consumption. Now, there she was. As big and as mature and as fit as I like them. She was almost as good looking as Charity but then, I did not know whether her downstairs was cold or hot. At first, I thought it was a case of mistaken identity but then she turned her face towards me and although she was at a distance, I confirmed that she was the same Mary I knew. She was gazing at some clothes at a shop window. A thousand querries swirled for priority in my head. What had she come to do at (takamega? Of course not shopping. Then she moved.

She moved and entered into Flamingo Hotel. A middle class hotel, where you do not go except at the end of the month. The way she swayed her derriere as she entered the hotel, was a promise of a warm comfy night. She had not seen me and I felt like a hunter when he closes in on his game, unseen.

I wanted to know exactly what she had come to do at Kakamega. I hesitated some minutes outside the hotel and then I entered. The hotel had its share of sparse diners and I quickly spotted her at a table—eating and drinking. She was having some milk and some slices of unbuttered bread. A lousy meal especially for supper. This time I moved quite close to her and made sure that she saw me. And see me—she did. She stopped eating and gazed at me. I was also gazing at her. Then she smiled. Recognition dawned on her. She smiled broadly and opened her eyes wider. Gosh! What a beauty! Before I even said hello, I had made a mental note that, come what may, I would lay this woman.

"Hello, Mary, or am I wrong?" I asked knowing too well that I was as right as rain.

"You are not wrong, Fredrick—is it really you? It's a happy surprise—God! How lucky I am—there will be no problems for me tonight ... so you live here, Fredrick? I had almost even forgotten your face . . . you must have noticed that I looked at you too long." She said all those words so fast and happily that I believed that she was happy. But there was something that she had said. About night problem or was it a problem for the night? I had not fully grasped that one.

"Night problems, Mary—what did you say? Do you have any problems here ?" I asked her. I was smiling like the cat that swallowed the bird.

"Well, let me tell you, I came here looking for my brother. He is supposed to be teaching at Kakamega High School but when I arrived, I was told that he had left this morning for Nyeri. As it was, he was to give me my fare back home plus of course a place to sleep. I carried only a one-way ticket fare. Now I was wondering what to do with myself but thank God, here you are." She finished.

I was still standing over her. Laundry forgotten. I sat myself opposite her and inquired about home. Mary told me only about the persistent drought and the way animals were dying, et cetera. I asked her whether Mum and Dad were still existing and she told me that they were very much alive despite the inflation pressures that were making them age faster than normal. I did some quick thinking and realized that 1 had neither written to them, nor sent any financial help for a period of over six months. Six months! What a prodigal son! Then 1 quickly changed that flow of thoughts by inquiring about the meal on the table.

"Is that your supper?" I asked bluntly.

"Yes, I could not afford . . ." she was wringing her hands.

"Sorry, I know how it is," I surmised, pretending to know what I really did not know. I called a waiter who had been all along hovering around us and ordered chicken and rice for me and for her. As it was

being brought to our table, I remembered that, just then, Charity must have been busy 'cooking for her husband—me!" But I quickly covered the line of thoughts with more questions.

"So, your brother has been teaching here all this time—and I did not even know?" She explained that her brother had been in Kakamega for over three months but since he was not a boozer or a 'chaser', having been converted into the religion of Christendom, he hardly left his house after classes. That explained why 1 had not met him.

We were eating then. She had left the bread and milk like she was not the one who had ordered for them. It was not her wish that she should have such a lousy meal for supper but then, she could not afford anything else. Reminded me of my school days. Damned days they were.

We finished our meals and I paid for everything—milk and bread included. This, I felt, was just the beginning of a long evening. I wanted to show Mary around town.

Just as we were leaving Flamingo Hotel, I met Gachanja, a fellow cop. Gachanja started talking trash and eyeing Mary greedily, trying to tell me a few unimportant things, just to make sure that he took all

W

the details of Mary.

Gachanja was a reputed gossip and I knew that that unfortunate meeting with him might be the subject of discussion the following day. I only prayed that word would not reach Charity. Anyway, Charity had an open dislike for Gachanja and so, or so I thought, I was safe.

I was feeling kind of thirsty for a beer and so we went to Blue Mountain Hotel. It's a posh place where only big shots, either in Government employment or business haunt. There was no rule that we, small timers, should not go there but then we just felt out of place. What with your own bosses occupying fifty per cent of the seats! All the same, I led Mary there and we occupied the table farthest from the door and nearest to the toilets. That way, I could have clear covering of all the tables and would not need to pass among the bosses when going to piss.

I called for a Tusker Export from the waiter who gave me a none-too-welcoming stare but whose eyes softened when he looked at Mary. I asked her what she would have and she said Fanta. I made the order as well.

On the third Export and her fourth Fanta, I ordered Sherry for her. High Life Sherry. A very arousing drink. She at first protested saying that she was still in school and as such, she should not touch anything alcoholic but I managed to convince her that Sherry was a very gentle drink, a particularly mild type of wine that would do her no harm and that kind of won her over. She agreed to take it but insisted that she would only take one small bottle. I argued that she should take one for herself and one for me and we settled on two none-too-small bottles of Sherry.

We were drinking and chatting and she was getting very excited. One of my bosses was seated on a high stool at the counter and was throwing venomous glances at me and Mary but I was trying to show no fear. My courage, being fed with the spirit of alcohol was at that time something to reckon with. If we had gone on for long, I would even have confronted the boss by asking him for a cigarette light. I was feeling as bold as that. Besides, I was not going to show Mary

that there were some people who coughed and I answered 'Yesir!!!' Oh no!

She was laughing very loud and getting over-excited and even careless with her dress and drink which she repeatedly spilled on the table. The waiter, every time he came to wipe the table, gave me a knowing look which seemed to say; "Get this bloody bitch from here!" She had taken four Sherries—two too many—and I then had eight Exports but when I have my eyes on a dame, I don't get drunk. You might as well give me a hose-pipe direct from the breweries and I will still be fit for the night service! That's me.

She was telling me some childish stories about school life and I was telling her some bits about my life as a cop. I did not tell her that I was a constable though. No! No! I could not let her know that I was in the lowest rank in the Police Force. I told her that I was a sergeant. I wanted to tell her that I was an inspector—like most cops pretend to be—but then I did not see the reason why I should decorate myself so much. She believed me like I was telling her that she was a girl.

It was high time that we went home. I called the waiter and paid the bills. I took her small hand-bag and we started walking out. As we neared the door, she reeled and would have fallen but she held on to the nearest table, shaking it so violently and almost spilling all the beer on the table. The occupants at the table gave her a cold eye. My boss had left but that did not mean that the fellows would not go and tell him of the mishap. The girl was letting me down. I had to get her out of the place, and quickly too. I took her hand to steady her.

13

1 was also wondering where I was going to peform the 'ante-mortem'. I was counting the number of friends in the Police Lines who would allow me to use their visitors' beds for a few tumbles and then leave the woman there and I found that if that was to happen, the house had to be very far from Charity's. I thought of Njagi, my friend but then I realised that, although Njagi's was last in the row of

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houses, I had to pass at Charity's before getting to his. I did not want to think of what would happen were Charity to see me with Mary.

She almost fell over the stair-case as we were climbing down and when we reached the foot of the stairs, she started puking. I pulled, her to a corner, away from the glaring lights and she puked. She puked everything, including the chicken and rice. Blast!

She got more drunk than she was before. I realized that that must have been the first time she had tasted Sherry. I dragged her out of the corner and we started our walk home once again. She was staggering and reeling and rocking and just as we entered the Police lines— Wao! . . . Tuikong! Mr. Robert Tuikong arap Songok—the Provincial Police boss was there. Just in front of us. He was coming towards us. No mistake. I had to stand at attention. What a situation! He was looking at me the way you would look at a nameless creature you encounter in your deep-sea travels.

"Good evening. Sir," I stammered. I was not standing at attention because Mary was pulling me. She did not know why I was standing there. She had no idea what 'Force Discipline' was. She was muttering things that only the devil could interpret. I was getting one hell of an embarrassment. My boss was just standing there, clenching and unclenching his huge fists. I bet he wanted only the least excuse to land one punch on me before throwing both of us in cells.

"Who is she?" He asked. He did not bother even to answer my respectful greeting. All he wanted to know was who Mary was. I had to tell a lie. I simply could not tell him the truth.

"She ... er ... ah ... is my ... relative from home, Sir." I said. He did not seem convinced. He was looking at Mary with Naja Naja eyes. Mary had incidentally started hiccupping. Gosh! I didn't want her to start puking again. At least not in the cop's yard! The boss looked long at both of us and then he spat. He spat right there in front of us and then he started walking away. When he was about ten yards from us, he turned:

"1 want you in my office tomorrow morning at eight, do you hear me?" 1 noticed that he had a lot of difficulty restraining himself from actuall) shouting.

"Yes, Sir, I will be there, Sir," I said. Geese and Ducks!! All the beer I had drunk evaporated immediately. I felt sober. As sober as a saint. You would need to be a cop to know the difference between a Police Constable and a Police Officer, holding the powers over a full Province. An Assistant Commissioner of Police!! At least I knew that the following day I was in for some marching. Some unusual marching whereby you do not put your belt and cap on. Some marching which leaves you in bad terms with the sergeant. Some marching that reduces your pay at the end of the month. That is what I was in for the following day. All because of a school girl. You should have seen her. She had started hiccupping again. She was making some noises only heard in a pig-sty. I hated her. I did not want to lose my job only because of a lay. I was getting steadily and quickly annoyed.

"Let's go home and please try to pull yourself together. You are making a mess of yourself," I said bitterly. She muttered some things that I did not understand. I had to half-carry, half-drag her for the rest of the journey. One thing was certain; I was going to lay her and then, the following day, I would go to the boss's office and explain. Very stupid explanation I would have. Ninety-nine per cent lies and one per cent fabrication.

At last we came to my house. I sat her on the ground against the wall as I fumbled for the keys in my pocket. I opened the door and led her in. As we entered and I snapped on the light, I remembered one thing—rather one person—Charity! All this time, as I boozed and caroused, I had completely forgotten about her. What explanation would I give her if by a fluke of a chance, she came and found Mary at my house? Would she listen to anyone telling her anything? Well, that was the question.

I left Mary sitting or rather lying on the sofa-set and went to Charity's house. The time was past eleven but I knew that she would not go to bed before seeing me.

I found her seated at the table, embroidering one of her table cloths. I tried to smile but the light seemed too bright for me. I did not want her to suspect anything. I went to her and planted a kiss albeit lightly, on her cheek. A very short kiss and then I sat myself opposite her. I did not want to sit too close to her otherwise she might have sensed that my heart was beating a trifle too fast. All the same, she eyed me suspiciously, conspicuously looked at her wrist-watch and then asked;

"Where have you been? I have been to your house twice this evening but found the door locked." It-was a plain demand. Not a request.

"In the town, of course ... babe?" 'Babe'—the term I used towards her only on occasions. She liked it very much and I was using it this time to please her.

"But, where particularly? Surely not just sitting in a bar drinking. Look at what time it is now ... you have not had supper . .. you have not even loved a bit and . . ." She did not finish. There drifted a voice from the direction of my house. Someone was calling my name. I knew too well who it was. I started sweating. This school girl was going to ruin my everything.

"Who's that . . . listen . . . who's that calling you?" Charity asked, cocking her ear towards the source of the sound. She was listening very attentively. She was at the same time looking at me with dangerous eyes. Since the day we had declared our love for each other, I had not told her any serious lie. I was going to start the lies and the task seemed quite difficult. I frowned pretending to be unknowing.

"I don't know—who can be calling me at this hour?" and I looked at my wrist-watch to avoid Charity's eyes. I pretended to be more puzzled than I really was. She looked at me steadily and then asked me whether I was sure I did not know who was calling. Thanks to the small amount of beer that had not evaporated when I had en-

95

countered my boss, I was able to look at her straight in the face and re-affirm that I, Fred, did not know who was calling. The caller had kept quiet.

"Let's go and check," she suggested.

"No, it's not necessary. Whoever is calling will go on calling and when he gets tired, he can go and sleep," I opposed. I used 'he' and not 'she' so that she might not suspect that I knew who was calling.

"That's not a 'he', Fred, it's a 'she'," she corrected me.

"Whoever is calling will go away after they get tired!" I was talking too loud. I wanted to pretend to be very angry. I knew she dreaded my anger because it would lead to a few days of no kisses. She was scared alright.

"Are you angry with me, Fred?" She asked timidly.

"No, am not, but if you start getting worried about trivial things like that, I will surely have the right to be angry. What do you care? If someone wants me when I am with you, she is in for a blank draw. Suppose it was you .. . you are at my house and then someone starts calling you from outside ... would you go? ... And at the same time, would you suggest that we go and check who that person is . . . V

"Of course not, darling . . . please don't be angry with me," she pleaded and came to me, held me around the neck and kissed me long and sweet.

There was something about Charity; every time she held me and kissed me, I did not think of anything else except how I would make love to her. Honest. She had made me a one-woman-man. Right then, I wished we were in bed. She nibbled my ear and begged me to forgive her. I told her that I had forgiven her, from deep inside my-heart that was.

I ate another supper at Charity's house. I could not bring myself to tell her that I had had another supper elsewhere. As 1 was eating, she was sitting on my lap. She was spoon-feeding me. That was her favourite hobbv. That way. 1 could use both my hands to explore her anatomy. I never seemed to get tired of that. Each time, there seemed to be a new contour here and there. I loved her.

I was citing mechanically that is chewing and swallowing, but

%

my mind was somewhere else. I did not have the whole of my mind on Charity. I did not know what Mary did after calling my name four times. She might have gone outside the house and missed it on coming back. She could have been moving around the houses looking for me. She might even have knocked on Charity's door in her search. At that thought, I threw a glance at the door and noticed that it was not latched. I was so deeply involved in that thought that I kept chewing a particular mouth-ful too long. She started me back to the old track:

"What are you thinking of, darling. Please do tell me and don't be angry with me." She pleaded.

"I am thinking of what position I will sleep in tonight—whether on your right or on your left. I have been sleeping on your right for too long. Would you like to sleep on my right tonight, babe?" I asked her.

"Of course, dear—any side you choose—and tonight ... we are going to try that new position we read about in that book—I think it will be exciting." She laughed happily.

That was another of her special treats. If we read a book, and we came across a new bed-style, we would, as a must, try it and most of the times, it was very exciting. I looked at Charity and wondered why I was not contented with her alone. I had by then known all her likes and dislikes and if only I had brought Mary early enough, and introduced her to Charity, she (Mary) would have been treated so kindly—like a child being nursed by her mother. I knew that she would have suggested that we leave Mary at Charity's house and spend the night at my house. That Way, we would have avoided any kind of scandal and everything would have been alright, but no! I have got to complicate things—even at the apex of our love—and with Charity, someone who was ready to sacrifice almost anything for me. She would not allow me to give her money for food or any other household needs. A person who was so generous that I was feeling ashamed of her kindness!!

I finished the supper that Charity had prepared for me. She gave me some orange juice and as I drank it, I felt my tummy distended to its limit. I also felt tired and sleepy. I started yawning.

I had thought of what I would do about Mary and found that I could do nothing. I had to leave her to herself. Maybe I could sneak after Charity had fallen deeply asleep, go and check what she was doing but then I was not even sure of that. Charity used to sleep with one arm around my neck and even the slightest stirring on my part would rouse her. So, I was going to leave things to work themselves out just like the universe unfolds.

"Let's go to bed, darling . . . you know it might take us some time before we can master that new game ..." She trailed off in laughter. I stood up and just as I was going towards the bed-room door, there came a knock on the outer door. I froze and the cigarette I held in my hand dropped. Charily was mid-stride as she was going to lock the outer door and when she saw the shock on my face, she too froze. The knock was repeated, this time louder.

15

"Who's there?" Charity asked. I was hardly breathing. I picked the cigarette with an unsteady hand.

"Is Fred there?" A man's voice from outside. I recognized it immediately. That was the voice of Njagi—my friend.

"Yes, what is it?" I asked and you could feel the relief coming over me from a mile off.

"Let me see you for onjy one minute, please. It's something to do with the office," Njagi begged.

I walked outside Charity's house and left her standing at the door as Njagi hurriedly pulled me towards the Canteen. He was so excited about something and the grip he had on my arm was actually turning into a pinching grip. We were hardly out of Charity's earshot when he whispered almost hysterically:

"Brother, there is a very cute dame in your house. I was just passing u hen I saw that the door to your house was ajar. I thought you were in and so I entered even without knocking—you know I have no manners to portray to you. Then, there she was! She's so good,

bwana. I startled her awake andshe asked me whether I had seen you anywhere. She did not know where you keep the key to your bed-room and she was dozing on the sofa-set. Bwana, that dame is real good. Leave Charity for tonight and go and taste her. I bet you will find that she is hotter than Charity. Don't let her sleep alone. 'Matunda ya uhuru, bwana" He was so worked up and talking so fast I had no time to say anything. Then, he took a break. He was panting. Right

then, a solution came to me. If I told her a lie, touching official matters, I was sure Charity would believe me. I hurriedly whispered to Njagi:

"Let's go back to outside Charity's house and you tell me that there is a road-block operation at Shirere. Try to make it that you are trying to convince me to go while I am adamant. Also mention that, the Police Woman at the Provincial Ops. Room had earlier come to call me and that she had returned to the office and said that I was not at my house. I will of course vehemently object and protest against going on duty but you will go ahead and point out to me that, the Duty Officer is waiting for me outside the Police Station, okay?" I was also worked up. I was planning to kill two birds with one stone. If the plan worked, I was not going to need any other explanation as to who was calling me and at the same time, I would go and lay Mary.

So, we walked slowly and stood just outside Charity's house. I knew that she could hear all that we were saying and so I put up the strongest protest against going for that 'road-block'. Njagi played his part so well. I told him, rather reluctantly, that I would be meeting him at the Police Station and stormed into Charity's house, wearing a frown. As I pulled the door to, I clicked my tongue and swore that I would not go for that duty.

"No darling, you must go. You know the O.C.S. does not like \ ou very much on account of our love and so he will be looking for the slightest excuse to put you in trouble. Please, you must go. Kiss me and then go before he gets impatient." That was Chanty herself. It was almost as if she wanted me to go and lay Mary. Anyway, the acting part was not over yet. I said:

"Just when I want to have the best night, with the best person in the

world—the fools come and pick on me. Are there no other Police Officers who can man a road-block in this damned station?" I pretended to be very bitter.

"Please, darling, just go—I am all yours all the time. There is tomorrow—please."

"You are telling me to go as if you also do not want me, are you expecting someone tonight?" I asked. She looked at me like she had been stabbed through the heart. She opened her mouth but no words came out of it. I pitied her. Then, she started weeping and I gathered her in my arms. I took her to bed, kissed her and apologised. I told her that I was sorry and that I would not leave her house until she had also told me that she had forgiven me.

Seriously speaking, I had over-acted. If you hurt Charity, you would know that there are some people who are more affected by one thing than others. I had done the same some time earlier and had to spend hours soothing and coaxing her before she smiled.

When I went out of her house, I did not go straight to mine. I went to the Police Station and lolled there for about ten minutes before walking on tip-toe back to my house.

Lucky me! Although my name was not in the list of those supposed to man the road-block, surely there was a road-block at Shirere.

When I got into my house, I found that Mary had at last spotted the key to my bedroom, and gone to bed and was snoring her head off in deep drunken sleep. I undressed, got into bed and although she was already asleep, I hoped for a good night.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Next time I see or even hear of anything like that, I assure you that you will go home. This is the last warning that I am giving you. Now, get out of my office and think twice!!" That is my boss—Tuikong! He has warned me against something. He did not tell what was the specific wrong I had done but he just warned me. He told me that I was behaving like a Bushman who did not have any idea what Force Discipline was. He even told me that I had completely forgotten the

small amount of discipline that I had had when I passed out of Kiganjo —Kenya Police College. He even called Mary a drunken prostitute and warned me against bringing 'walevi wa chang'aa' to the Police Lines,

4 Walevi wa chang'aa'? And then he told me to think twice! I think he is the one who is supposed to think twice. He called a school girl a drunken prostitute! Blast him and his balding head! I am tired of him and his half-cooked philosophies.

I walked out of his office and spat. The sergeant was there with me and was trying to get from me what had happened last night but he could bet his last grey hair that I would not tell him.

I told him that if the boss had not seen the need to tell him the problem, it is possible that the boss did not want him to know. I went further and explained that being called to the boss's office was not automatically a sign of error on my part. I could as well have been called to receive special instructions on how to handle a particularly difficult case!!!

That is the other problem with us cops. The sergeant is just told to march me to the lion's den but the bastard himself does not know what for. As many of these sergeants are only literate in Kiswahili, when you argue with the boss in English, the sergeant nods his head like an iguana, not knowing the head or tail of the whole issue. He just follows you outside the office pestering you with monotonous

questions. 'Ilikuwa nini buana, mimi naambie nikupeleke kwa mkubwa?" And if you don't want to tell him, simply advise him to go and ask the boss and that really puts a full stop to his questioning. This morning, as early as 0600 hours, I made sure that I had taken Mary to the bus stage, where she would board the bus to take her home. Before she left my house, we had a good laugh because she did not know exactly where she was. She just woke up, and because she could not see me in the half-light, she asked me who I was. A very strange question to ask of somebody who had spent almost the whole night making love to you. So I had to tell her who I was and where she was and we had a good laugh at that. She had to wash down four aspirins to cool her head which she complained was having a tomtom drama right inside. I gave her five pounds for her journey and she thanked me profusely. I was indirectly paying for her screw but I did not tell her so. She had been good—real good and she could even have been much better, had she not been drowsy all along. I had to slap her rump twice to stop her from going to sleep while I was still

'on'. At last I allowed her to sleep and I explored her curves unassisted.

On leaving the boss's office, I went to Charity's house. I found that she was still in bed. I knocked and she opened for me. She had that see-through night-dress of hers. 1 could see that she had on, green pants but no bra. I could even see her nipple, dark and prominent and I felt some excitement run through me. She looked very lovable and sleepy.

"Well . . . morning, dear . . . are you not going on duty today?" I asked her checking on my wrist-watch and noticing that it was already 0830 hours. On entering her house, I held her and kissed her lips. The lips 1 should have kissed the previous night. She still retained a faint smell of tooth-paste. She melted in my arms. She started cooing.

"Not in the morning. I will be reporting at 1400 hours," she told me. Anyway, the da) was my'off day but I had to act some more. To cement last night's lies—so to speak.

"How luckyl And you know what I am off-duty because I went for that lousy road-block last night!" I managed.

"So, what do we do with the day?" She asked with a lop-sided grin. I grinned back.

"Spend it. of course."

"HowT

"Well ... we could ... let me see ... we could go to the golf-course and see whether the grass has grown ..." she started laughing. We had earlier gone to the golf-course and had wanted to make love there on the green but the grass had been short and dry and we had abandoned the idea but promised to go there and do it when the grass grew greener.

"Yes, we could do that, but meanwhile, have some breakfast."

She gave me tea and buttered bread. After the tea, she went into the bedroom and called me in. I did and found her already between the sheets.

1 undressed and joined her in bed and, you know why I praise Charity so much? Do you know? Last night, I completely exhausted myself with Mary but Charity is able to keep me balanced throughout the game. There is something that she does with her hips that makes me stay 'on' all the time. I love her—my Charity. As I make love to her, I silently beg her heart to forgive me for running away from her.

We did not go to the golf-course. We spent the day making love and eating.

Four days later, it was house cleaning day. Charity used to clean mine and her house. She also cleaned all the sheets, that is at my house and her house. That was one occasion when I was able to pay back at least some of her kindness. She allowed me to buy all the detergents she would need for cleaning.

On this day, I went to town and left her cleaning the sheets and singing as she did so. She was quite happy.

On my return, I found that she had cleaned all, sheets and houses and was sitting on a stool outside her house, listlessly glancing at a weekly newspaper. Her countenance showed that she was far from happy and I immediately demanded to be told the cause. She looked at me with those searching eyes of hers and asked me:

"Fred, have you bought any hanky, recently?" I could not remember the last time I had bought a hanky. All the ones I had been using had been bought by Charity herself.

"No. Why?" I asked. I was sure I had not bought myself a hanky anyway. What a tricky question she had asked.

"I see," she sighed and kept mum. Now, what was it? What else had I done involving handkerchiefs? She looked at me and then turned and stared unseeingly at the far horizon.

"Well, I found a hanky under your bed but I don't remember having bought you that colour of hanky of late. It was old and pretty gummed up. I was wondering whether it was yours!" She concluded.

I saw at once where I had gone wrong in answering the question in the negative. Within half a second, the whole thing dawned on me. The hanky she was referring to must be the one which we used to wipe our wet parts when I had that game with Mary. That's it. There is nothing else to it. What a mess!!

"Can 1 see it? Maybe I would recognise it." I said not because I really wanted to . .e it but just because 1 could not simply keep quiet. I was almost trembling.

"I threw it away—it looked awful. I mean like it had been used to wipe you know—after a game," she blushed and dropped her eyes and I felt ashamed of myself. "It was awful and I thought a lot of bad things 1 mean 1 could not guess how such a thing came to be under your bed. It's a long time since we made love at your house and you know that and there is no place that I do not clean every time but . .anyway, let's forget it. What have you brought for me from town?" She resigned. Mishaps never come singly. Just today, when the

smallest present would have been needed to please my dear Charity, I completely forgot to buy her anything.

"Let's go back there—I mean'the town, I forgot to bring you candy, my sweet." I was feeling so guilty that I wished she would slap me.

We went to town and I bought her all kinds of sweets that she wanted. Then, we went home, and made love. During one break, she told me a funny recount of a dream she had had. She told me that she had a dream in which, she was the best-maid in my wedding and I was getting married to a White woman. We laughed it off but not before I told her that dreams are not things to worry about. I had to quickly change the subject so that she could not ask me for my answer about the connubial proposal she had made to me earlier. We made more love and I secretly swore that I would not lay another woman as long as Charity was my woman. I even decided to hasten the day when I would declare her my wife.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"You are idle, negligent, lazy, disobedient and utterly uncouth. Indisciplined and God knows what else! You are not fit to be in the Police Force! 1 will give you only this last chance and if you don't change your attitude, you will go home. Home I mean! I have nothing to lose. I am your superior and by gum, I am tired of you! Do you hear that? Tired! That's what I am!!"

He is my new boss, the Bungoma Divisional Police Headquarters commander and you should see him. He is heaving and sighing and gnashing his teeth. He is livid. Real hot! That's what he is. He is boiling. Gosh! I am always getting into trouble with my bosses. This one had called me to his office because last night I got myself drunk and walloped a woman. A bar-woman. A damned prostitute. I gave my hard knuckles and she accepted them. Not in a hand-shake but in a showdown.

Last night, I went to this bar they call Cool-In. I was feeling above normal temperature and so I was going to cool my throat with an ice-cold beer. On entering, I found this woman who was seated all alone at a table having a Guiness and soda. Prostitutes are always ha\ ing Guiness and soda. I guess it's because both drinks combined cost a little more than the other beers and the only thing that the greedy and merciless prostitutes want to see is the empty wallet of a buyer, \ftei that. the) can go and prostitute their stinking holes elsewhere. So. 1 joined this woman at the table where she was. greeted hei and ordered m\ 1 usker Export. Before the waiter had left our tabic, she asked me whether 1 was so selfish as to have ordered my beer only. seeing that she was at the same table with me and that she was drinking. So. I. as a Good Samaritan, called tor her drink. We now sat and discussed the only subject that prostitutes arc proficient in; money and drinks.

\ prostitute will nevei mention the weather to you. She knows that

her hole is well covered and that no rain can wet it or sun dry it. So I sat with this one and we discussed money and drinks. She was swallowing faster than me and was surreptitiously looking at her watch from time to time and I guessed that maybe she had another man's pending arrival and as such she was checking on the time to see whether he had been late. I did not mind that. I was not really after a woman. All I was doing was being a Good Samaritan. 1 had some surplus money from a job and I could drown her in drink if she so wished. A smuggler had bribed me handsomely that day.

After four beers each, I asked her about her plans for the night.

"What do you suggest?" She was smiling. I don't know why but I felt that that smile was not sincere.

"A night at my place with you ... I bought a new bed and it has not been tested yet." I declared. We both laughed and then she added; "That's a good idea—you mean I will be the lucky one to formally 'open' the bed?" She raised her eye-brows

"Yes, I think we might as well borrow some cello-tape which we will stick onto the bedcover and then you will cut it to declare the bed 'open'." We laughed again and then I called for more drinks. I.told myself that I had a woman for the night, or had I?

At about 22.30 hours, she told me to excuse her. She was going to remove her over-coat so that we could go home. She was a bar-maid at another bar and, as she put it, there were no customers and so she could afford to slip out of the place without other bar-maids making too much noise.

She left a half-full bottle of Guiness at my table—a sure sign that she would be coming back. I waited for her for over an hour and then I decided to go and look for her. I had decided that if I did not see her. 1 would just go home. If on the other hand I saw her, I would tell her to forget our small talk as a stale joke and then I would leave her.

I checked on her in four different bars without fruit and found her in the fifth. She was with another man and just as 1 was entering, she was kissing the man in the mouth. 1 went blind with rage and even ignored the few salaams that were thrown at me by the few friends I met in the bar.

However, I went to her and politely told her that I wanted to talk to her in private, for a minute or two. I did not want to grab her from her new-found love and, besides, I was not really in a mood for a woman. 1 just wanted to ask her why she had kept me waiting for her all that long when she very well knew that she would not return to the place she had left me. I had learnt that to fight in a bar, and over a prostitute at that, could be very scandalous. It can damage your name permanently.

The woman just looked at me and went on sipping her Guiness and soda. This must have been bought by the man she was kissing. Jeez!! These women can never go hungry a« long as there is a man who has an active prick around. I told her to excuse me again. The man she was drinking with pretended not to be seeing me. The woman spoke for the first time:

"Are you talking to me? Do you know me? Go your way and don't bring your drunkenness to me." I have never heard of such language being addressed to me by a woman. I don't really know what I felt but, within a second or two, the woman was on the floor, with her drinks and her friend's drinks. I just yanked her up and she carried the table with her. I lifted her and gave her several slaps on the face. She started to scream but a slap right on her mouth stemmed the screams. Then I gave her a kick at I guess the wrong place—her crotch—and she collapsed and rolled her eyes.

The guys in the bar did not say anything. Even the guy who had been drinking with the woman just looked at me, agape. They all knew me for a cop. There is no better privilege than when mugs recognise you as a cop. You smack a woman—bang!! and the guys there pretend not to have heard or seen anything. They just sit on their goddamned asses sipping their foaming beers. Very respectful— these guys arc I hc\ know that you wear the head-dress inscribed 7 iimishi kwa Wot€ y and 1 guess they think that the slaps you give to a woman are part of the ' I 'tumishi . Fuck the blighters!!

I left the woman 1\ ingjust there on the floor and got the hell out of the place. 1 went to my house and put off all lights and hopped into bed. hoping loi a good night. 1 tie fight had released my pent-up

feelings and I did not even need a woman then.

However, I did not sleep for long before there was an impatient knock on my door. I went and opened the door only to find the night-duty cop standing there wearing a worried look. I told him that he should take his funereal countenance from my door-way but instead of him going away, he got into the house, told me not to put on the light and whispered agitatedly that there was a woman who had gone to the Report Office and reported that I had beaten her. She had a swollen face, bleeding lips and several other injuries. He further told me that the Divisional Commander was right there at the Station when the woman arrived and that he, the Divisional Commander, was the one who had sent the cop to come and fetch me.

There and then, I laid an egg. If that matter had reached the boss's ears—and eyes too, I knew too well that I was in for some stew. Some perfumed stew served on a rat-poison tin-lid.

I told the cop to go and tell the Divisional Commander that I was not in my house. The cop was a friend of mine and besides, not all cops have read that story of Ananias and the lie he told to Peter before he collapsed and died and as such, a lie, even if being told to the Divisional Commander would have little if any effect on the cop. The cop saluted me mockingly and left.

I went back to bed and closed my eyes. I also plugged my ears. I did not want to see or hear anything.

This morning, the boss called me to his office. That is where I have just been and that is where he has just warned me. If he knew my character fully, he would not have warned me. He would have sent me home. Dismissal would have been the word. Trouble is, he does not know me fully as I have been in this Division for only two months. Two short months and I have been called to his office twice and received two warnings. Today was the third day and, as he termed it—the final warning.

I was transferred from Kakamega Division because the bosses could not allegedly stand my behaviour. They accused me of gross misconduct. A very grave accusation especially coming from one's bosses. They again did not specify the particular misdeed that prompted their decision to transfer me but I had an idea—albeit remote. I had snatched a girl from one of them.

I left Kakamega in real disgrace. Charity had long said good bye to me. She too, could not stand my behaviour. I had laid another woman and she had found me out. She had met me right on top of the woman. She did not need any other proof that I was unfaithful and she did not even give me a chance to defend myself or even state my case. She acted as the Judge, Jury, Assessor, Advocate, State Counsel and all other members of the Bar that you can think of.

What happened is, I had gone to town to look for a beer. I had said good bye to Charity that afternoon. She was going home for a long week-end which would start on Thursday and end on the following Monday. I had seen her off ceremoniously and had even kissed her—at the bus stage—in front of all the other commuters—and she had wept a little as the bus took off. Then I had gone towards the town, with the aim of looking for a beer or two before retiring to bed.

As I was passing at the Muncipal Hall, I saw a woman standing by the road-side. She was waving every car and bus and lorry that passed on the road and I thought that she must be either crazy or stranded to do that.

As part of the 'Utumishi kwa Wote\ I went all the way to her and asked her if she had any problem. She told me that the last bus that was going to Turbon, her destination, had left her and she had nowhere to go and that was why she was trying to stop every vehicle that was moving on the road with the hope of a lift. I wished her luck in the thumbing and added, as a by-the-way, that if she completely missed the lift, she could find me at Teacher's Bar. Just as a by-the-u i\ an) wa) She asked me where Teacher's Bar was and, from the position where we were, the Bar was actually visible and I pointed it OUt to her. 1 then left her.

I went to the bar and when I was having my second beer, in came

the woman. She came straight to the table where I was, with another cop friend and told me that she was tired of waving at vehicles that were not stopping. I welcomed her to sit down and I had an idea that the cop friend I was boozing with had got himself a woman just out of the blue. I called for a beer for her but she told me that she was a teetotaller and so she preferred a Fanta instead. As she was sipping it, I asked her what her plans were, now that she had missed a vehicle. She told me that she was going to try her luck and trace another bar-maid, who had come from her home place and was working somewhere in Kakamega, failing which she would be forced to hire a room to sleep in. She added that the hire would be a handicap to her as she did not have so much money to spare. I was doing all the talking with her and my friend was just sipping his beer and ogling the woman without making any conversational contribution. I decided to test the chastity of the woman.

"Why waste all that money on lodgings and such when there are beds that would 'feel' privileged to be slept in by a person like you?" I was smiling amiably. She blushed, frowned a bit and then smiled.

"Where are those beds?" she asked.

"Just around here. For example, there is one at my house that has not had the smell of a woman for ages," I lied.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," I emphasised. All this time, I was waiting for my friend to make a contribution so that I could hand over the responsibility of the woman to him but he just sat there completely oblivious, or so he pretended to be, to the on-going conversation. Then to my utter dismay and surprise, he told us good bye. He just got up from the seat, paid for his five-beers and left. I was so surprised that I did not even ask him what he wanted me to do with the girl; but the girl was thinking different:

"Now that we are going to be together for the night, what is your name?" She just asked out of the blue.

"Fred," I answered. And despite the fact that I really did not want her, nor really intended to take her to my house or anyone else's for the night, I thought that she was too good a girl to let sleep in a

lodging—and alone at that.

"Fred, that's a nice name and I am glad to meet you, Fred," she laughed and I scrutinised her then. She was of average beauty and size and to be frank, I thought she was good enough for anyone. I thought of Charity and at that, I could have sent the woman packing and going without hesitation. The woman was far below the class of Charity in all aspects—as I saw it. Then I remembered that Charity was miles and miles from Kakamega and so there was no chance of her knowing of my night exploit over this woman.

After another two drinks, we left the bar and went to my house. Just like that: and when we got into the house, without further preliminaries, we just went to bed.

I was working it out and she was encouraging me with fake screams when the door burst open. I must have forgotten to bolt it. Some one was having a torch ablaze and was coming direct to the bedroom. I at first thought it was my friend, Njagi and so I told him to get the hellout of the house and sharpen his manners. He came all the way to the bedroom door, which was ajar, and directed the torch-light towards the bed where I was. Then, he snapped the light on and he was transformed into the la*st person I expected in my house at that time: Charity!!

My prick just shrunk. I felt hot, then cold. My mouth went dry. I was still there, on top of the woman. I was paralysed. The woman under me was also rigid. She did not know who was who and so she kept quiet. Charity spoke: "I am sorry, Fred, for interrupting your enjoy ment. I just came to check whether you would have supper at my house but then, I am sorry." She was looking at us with cobra eyes. She went on: "My bus got broken down at Eldoret and I thought it better to conic back and be with you instead of hiring a room there 1 am \ei\ sorry." She did not go on. Shejust stood there, squarely at the door.

"What am I living for?" She asked, taking deliberate steps towards us, tears dropping from her eyes and when I saw the tears, I came back to my senses and called her name: "Charity..." and I think my voice must have roused her anger even more becaue, without warning, she picked my shoe which was on the floor and banged me so hard on the head.

"Will I be cheated all my life?" She asked as I was trying to get out of bed, a process which I found quite difficult with the sheets having entangled my legs and my sight affected by the bang on the head. I managed to get out of bed and wanted to run out of the house and go to a place where she would not see me. But, I just stood there, naked as a new-born baby, facing my prospective wife.

Charity took a walking stick which I usually kept in my bedroom and started pummelling the woman. The woman screamed for mercy. I had to do something, but what? Charity then threw the stick away and went on the woman with bare hands. She got hold of her hair and dragged her from the bed. The woman thudded on the floor and that's when I thought of the easiest thing to do: I switched off the light. That made Charity leave the woman and she came looking for me. She found me at the door and hammered several blows on my face with her weak fist. The blows had no effect. Then she held me so tight and screamed loudly. There was someone already at the door trying to ask what was going on but I told him to go to hell.

When she released me, she put on the light again and the woman was crouching near the wardrobe. Charity jumped on her and this time, she held both her breasts, naked as they were and started pulling them. When I saw the naked woman, I also became aware of my own nakedness and instead of trying to separate them, I went looking for my pants but they must have been misplaced during the struggle between Charity and the woman. I could not find them anywhere and so I slipped on a pair of trousers. Then, I faced the two women.

"Cut it out, Charity!" I commanded. I had to hold the situation otherwise the woman might even have been killed in my house. My shout startled Charity back into her senses and she obediently released the woman. She came to me and gave me a slab that could

have been heard from Kisumu. Then she turned to the woman and roared: "Get out, you dirty bitch!"

The woman forgot all her pains and very easily picked her clothes from the tangle that had been created by the fight. She even threw my pants at me. We were all silent now as the woman picked her pants here, hurriedly slipped them on and walked out. As she was going out, she had to pass near me and I gave her a wide berth. Then Charity bolted the door.

"Well . . .?" She said. "Who was she?" The atmosphere was calm now. I was even breathing like nothing had happened. Then something struck my head. I realised that I had not even known who the woman was. I had even forgotten that name that she had told me. What she was was another matter altogether.

"I do not know," I said, as clouds of distant rain covered me. This was surely the end of me and Charity. Charity and her sweet everything. What was to be done, anyway?

"I am sorry, Fred," she said. "So sorry to have caused your sweet heart to leave you. Please forgive me." And she walked out of the house. I went to the tableroom, and just stood there. Five minutes later, Charity came back.

"I want you to make love to me, now," she told me, sort of an order. I hesitated, not knowing what to say, how to say it, or even what to do. I just gazed at her. Then she held my hand and led me to the bedroom. She undressed, removing all her clothes, making me feel that that was the last scene in the whole act. She was beautiful. She had a body, a really beautiful body. Maybe she was removing her clothes to give me a chance of comparing her beauty with that of the other woman, I thought as she took a step towards me, taking it on herself to remove my clothes. I did not question her course of action. I obeyed her, like an automaton. My naked manhood was just droopy. She held it and at once it became alert. Self-protection. She ma\ even have thought o( pulling it off. Something that I did not want to think about.

"Now, come on, Fred,* 1 she said, "do it. Do it for the last time. This is the last time, you know. You will not enter my body after this.

Please make love to me!"

She was getting crazy, twisting my prick this way and that way. I felt like screaming. I wanted to cry. How could she force me to make love to her? Still, I wanted to apologise. I wanted to do all the things that would show her how repetant I was. I would have done anything—but making love ... it didn't strike me as a way of apologising. How was I going to start? I would have liked to do it—if only to prove to her that I was real sorry. But my weapon just dropped. It had also agreed with my school of thought. Neither my mind, nor my prick could be forced to apologise the way Charity wanted. I opened my mouth to say something but Charity was at it again: "Please, Fred ... do me the favour. I will not finish your manhood. I will reserve some for you pick-ups. Just this once dear, and 1 will be satisfied. I know that I have been very unkind to you all through but, please, accept me this once." There was no doubt about it. She was insane. Stark raving mad!

"Please, Charity, you know very well that you have not been unkind to me. It's all my fault. You have nothing to blame yourself for. I know this accident might leau to my losing you but I can not even have enough words to tell you how sorry I am. I am sorry from right deep inside my heart. 1 wish there is anything that you would want me to do to prove how sorry I am. Just say it...' I found myself saying all this. The words just came out. I was in a real tangle.

"Yes. dear," she said in a low voice, "sure there is. I have told you the only thing I wish for in this world—making love to me. A mere tumble is all I need." And she climbed onto the bed, passing her fingers over this and that part of her body as if to feel whether or not she still had them intact, her lips about to display a smile, but her eyes very hard on me.

I looked down at her as she lay there stretched on the bed. Yes. I was feeling my manhood livening and it seemed then that the only solution would be to make love to her. I was wishing I could make it. Damn! Why had I involved myself with that woman?

She continued studying me, even as my manhood started hardening. She seemed to like it that way. I braced myself for the onslaught.

to meet her request. I cleared my throat, wishing there was something I could say but nothing came to my mind. I pulled myself together and started for her, my manhood, the only weapon left, at the ready. But suddenly, she jumped out of the bed. Then, she quickly put on her clothes and by the time I reached the bed and sat on it, she was fully dressed. I shuddered in agony. Life! Then she walked out of my house and slammed the door shut behind her, without saying a single word either to me or herself.

As I sat on the bed, I felt relieved and at ease. I ponderd over the whole episode, the effects of the several Exports I had taken earlier in the evening already gone. I felt like laughing. And I did actually laugh until my sides were aching and my eyes were wet. I really do not know why I was laughing but the whole thing seemed so funny.

That night, I slept even without covering myself and in the morning, the laughter lines were still around my eyes.

The following day after I reported off-duty, I went to my house and started working on a plan of how to recover Charity. I knew that I would need hours of coaxing before I would be re-accepted. 1 planned my peace-plan and was satisfied that it would work.

Then, I shyly went to her and found the door locked from outside. I went back to my house and Njagi, my colleague came. We started talking of the previous day's episode and that's when I learnt that Charity had, in the morning, applied for ten days leave, on compassionate grounds. Ten days! That would be too long but then, Njagi assured me that by the time Charity returned to Kakamega, her anger would have abated and she would probably listen to me.

So. I waited until the ten days elapsed. Those were some of the most trying days in my life.

1 had not gone to the kitchen to eook for over eight months and I was not going to start then. 1 became a 'mama ya kuchonw' man. Altci eatmu the meat, to avoid going to my house and staring at

Charity's portrait on the wall, I became such a hard boozer that I was most of the time one of the 'gentlemen' who left the bars only when the barmaids started sweeping the places.

Every night, I went to bed—a very cold bed—and would wish Charity were back. At least I could know whether it would be love or hate. She would tell me whether she would accept me or not and I would know how to go about my sex life then. If she completely refused my apology, I would start looking for another woman. If on the other hand she accepted me, I would apologise and 'pinch my ear'.

At last she came. Her arrival raised my spirits a mile high, only to be hurled down with such force that I have never fully recovered since then.

When she arrived, I gave her about twenty minutes and then cautiously went to her house. I knocked on the door and she invited me in. I pushed the door open and when she saw me, she opened her eyes wider and then fixed them on me.

"What do you want?" She demanded.

"To talk to you." I cleared my throat.

"About what. . . what is there to talk about?" She was breathing heavily and her lips, those beautiful lips, were trembling. I suddenly did not know how to start.

"Aren't you inviting me to sit down?" I asked and looked at the wall behind her. I could not bring myself to look at Charity's face.

"What for? I don't think what you have to say will take such a long time that you would need a seat," she said and I noticed that there was pain in that voice. She was all this time looking at me with eyes that expressed something between regret and accusation.

"Anyway, well ... I wanted to tell you that whatever happened was an accident and because I do not think that I can explain it to you , I will beg you only to be ... I mean ... I want you to be the judge of this. I am sorry for what happened and would like you to take it from me that—I still have the same feelings towards you as before." I finished. She had then sat herself on a chair and was looking at her hands which were on her lap. I did not think I had made even the slightest impression on her.

"Fred . . . Fred," she swallowed hard. "I don't want to cry. These last ten days have been too painful for me but now I am alright. I have noticed that love and devotion to a man like you is all rewarded with bitter shame." She was on the verge of tears, but she continued; "You know that was not the first time that you have cheated in our love. There was the other occasion but I pretended that it was nothing, even after a friend of yours who knew all what happened had told me all the details of the woman you had on that day. I refused to believe him. I wish I had believed him then and would have loosened myself from your net before it closed too tight . . ."

Then she broke down. She sobbed once but before I could go to her, she hid her face in her hands and spoke through sobs; "Please go away, Fred, please go ... I can't stand seeing you here in my house I don't want to say that lam fed up with you; but you know it. . . just go," and she rushed into her bedroom and slammed the door shut.

I stood for about half a minute. I was in two minds. One was to follow her into the bedroom and maybe in the process of comforting her, I would win her back. The other was to leave her house and go because following her into the bedroom was taking a risk. What if she did not want my kind of comforting? What if I went to the room and she chased me out? But, before I decided what to do, she came out of the bedroom. She had wiped off her tears and was having one of the most terrifyingly hostile looks in her eyes.

"I told you to get out of my house: If there is anything which belongs to you here, I give you five minutes to pick it and get out!" She snapped at me.

Something in my head snapped as well. I looked at her and all her beauty was completely lost to me then. I saw her just like any of the hundreds of women that pass on the streets. I did not have any words to tell her but went out of her house and walked towards the canteen.

1 was in such an irritable mood that, after six beers, a fellow cop came to me and made a joke about something stupid and before I knew what was happening, 1 had landed a full-weight punch on his Corrupt nose

1 he cop, too surprised and stunned to readjust asked me: "What

is it, Fred? Why did you just punch me? What is it?" and he was wiping blood from his nose with his handkerchief. Instead of answering him, I pointed my long finger at him and told him to behave.

I stormed out of the canteen and my legs seemed to know just where I was supposed to go. I found myself inside Wananchi Bar. Even during my high-love days with Charity, I had spotted a barmaid at Wananchi Bar, who was either a top-class hypocrite or a holy prostitute. She did not even once show the money 'mania' that most barmaids have. She had even refused to 'keep-change' once. I was determined to know which category she fell into. A man must always keep a substitute in case of desertion.

I perched on a chair at an unoccupied table, amid hellos from the few friends I found in the bar.

The barmaid I was going to 'try-out' was seated all alone at another table and I beckoned her to come over. She walked towards my table with that air of nonchalance that I had noticed in her and said a very soft hello. I grinned and told her to sell me an Export. Before she left, I added that it was my birth-day and that I could buy her a drink if she had the time to sip one. She smiled and I thought that she lifted one eye-lid higher than the other one in a wink. To me, the game was set.

She came back with two drinks; my Export and an opened bottle of Coke. I felt disappointed. Me, when I want a woman, I like her to drink something that will weaken her defenses and make the wooing game easier for me. When a woman takes a soda, you can be sure that the negotiations will not be as easy as A.B.C. and I protested at this immediately.

"Surely, you can have a beer. I can afford even two . . . after all I told you that today is my birth-day?" I was smiling invitingly and waving my hands actor-like to stress the dire necessity of a beer for

her. She looked at me, looked at the door of the bar and sat on the chair next to mine.

"Where is your wife, today?" she just blurted out. I felt my face swell in anger but I quickly composed myself. I even managed a very insincere smile. The changes that had occurred on my face were not lost on her and I noticed that the mischievous smile that was starting to form on her lips had died off.

"She died or rather, our marriage died ... ten days ago," I replied casually.

"Oh, I see," she swallowed a sip of the Coke. She was loooking at me intently.

"What about that beer I offered you?" I asked as a peace offering.

"I don't start drinking beer before eight in the night and now," she consulted her wrist-watch, "it's only 6:30," she giggled. Then she sighed, and looked at the door again before adding; "Anyway, I can drink it now. After all, it's your birth-day," she giggled again, picked my empty bottle and headed for the counter. By just closing my eyes, I could almost see her removing her pants for me.

When she came back to the table, I licked my lips and asked for her name. She was so taken aback that she spilled some of the Guiness which she was pouring into her glass.

"What?" she demanded, "you want to tell me that you . . . of all people ... do not know my name?"

"I would not have asked you if I knew, would I?" I tried to sound so much unknowing. Did she think that she was the Mayor of the town that we all should know her name?

"And how did I come to know yours, you are Fredrick, aren't you?" She was smiling so triumphantly.

"Your knowing my name does not necessarily mean that I must know yours, does it?" My voice had an edge. "Mine starts with a *C\ can you guess it.'" 1 was \er\ soon going to lose my temper.

"Carol!* 1 1 almost shouted at her. I did not want to imagine that Charit) also started with a XT and 1 would not have liked her name to turn OUt to be Chanty. It Carol was wrong, then I was going to guess l Cow\ I he wa\ she slowk shook her head told me that I had failed.

"Wrong, anyway, it's Christine, Christine Nafula from Ndivisi in Bungoma," she sounded very proud of her place of origin. Pride which reminded me that I also came from a place which I had almost forgotten and adopted Kakamega as my birth place. Just like someone had told me during my very first days at Kakamega. Unfortunately, that same person was the main cause of my forgetful-ness. I did not want my thoughts to follow that line.

"That must be very far from here," I suggested.

"No, it's only . . . anyway, I don't know how many miles but, we pay six shillings to Bungoma and another three shillings to Ndivisi by matatu—it isn't very far."

We chatted more and more and as more and more beer cascaded down my angry throat, so did my feeling of utter loss disappear.

She mentioned Charity and I was surprised to find that, I could discuss her without flinching. Christine at one time told me that she felt like a thief to have me all to herself but I reassured her that, even in the law of'Offences against property', a boy-friend, and a jilted one at that, was not capable of being stolen.

At 10.30 p.m., half an hour before closing time, she winked at me as she moved through the rear door. I hurriedly swallowed the dregs in my glass, stood up and checked my equilibrium, which I found to be grossly impaired, and casually sauntered through the front door. I found her standing against an electric pole—as if hiding from a casual glance from anyone entering or leaving the bar. I held her hand to steady myself and together, we started for home.

The distance from the bar to my house was not very long but it was burdensome due to the excess drink which I had taken. She had to half-support me as we jumped over the road-gutters.

When we entered the Police compound, I wished Charity were able to see us together!

Then, on close scrutiny, I noticed that Nafula had protruding upper teeth. Something that reminded me of a laughing horse—if the beast ever laughs. She also had a walking gait that resembled the canter of a horse. For no apparent reason, I thought she aiso smelt

like a horse and started having misgivings about her suitability as Charity's substitute.

However. I had made the decision of taking her home, and I had to take her there, horsv or not.

We reached my house without encountering Charity and I opened the door, welcoming my new 'find' home. There was nothing that we were going to do at the table-room and our main job was in the bed-room. We went into the bed-room, stripped and united.

She was bottomlessly hollow and after only one round. I decided that we rest our weary bodies despite her appeals for". ... some more ... I have not had enough . . . you can't bring me all this way for only one ..." 1 do/ed off leaving her very wide awake.

The following morning. I offered her a pound for her services but she refused. She just looked at me, pretending to be insulted then pointed out to me that she was employed. She added that she was not the type that sold love. Love? All I could tell her was, "Thank you. Madam."

I met Charity regularly but. because she had refused to answer my greetings the first day we met, we passed one another just like total strangers. Njagi mourned the death of our love for almost a month before he realised that. me. the bereaved, was not mourning with h i m.

One evening when I arn\ed at my house, with an Amazon at my side. I found a small carton outside my door. 1 did not call for the bomb-disposal unit but took the risk and conveyed the carton inside the house On opening it. I found that Chanty had returned all my photographs, letters and all other small gifts that I had given her; including a cheap ring that I had placed on her finger, as a sign of 'ow nershipV Without stopping to think. I took thecarton outside my house, poured kerosene on the contents and set them afire, just like they bum bhangi outside the law courts.

It was only after I had a hand-ful of ashes left that I realized that, all that I had burnt was actually my own and that there was no loss to Charity.

All the relationships that I had with women were temporary to me and I had no intention of getting married to any of them. There was plenty of time to romp about before I got myself tied to the nagging life of a husband—I told myself.

I was also not planning to breed kids all over the town and although the bouts cost me a fortune, they also provided healthy exercises. I think the real reason why I was romping all over town was to shut out the picture of Charity. I was looking for idemnification for the loss of Charity.

Marriage was still a far note to me until I met Judy Nekesa again, in different circumstances though.

It was this hell of a weekend when everyone feels a milionaire. I was having a beer in town, not thinking of anything in particular and generally feeling in love with the world. I had had a satisfying meal of chapati and mutton and still had plenty of money on me.

I was in a new shirt, a new pair of shoes and, that afternoon, my doctor had certified that I had been completely cured of a 'clap' that I had contracted earlier.

The clap, besides giving me a hell of a pain around my'protected area', had cost me five pounds and had given me a very uneasy week!

As wise as anyone who does not over-indulge in alcohol at the end of the month, I bought myself a packet of cigarettes and started for home, unaccompanied.

I had to pass through the Police Station to report my return to quarters and even before I entered the report office, I was aware of excessive noise coming from the cells, which were adjacent to the report office.

My mind clicked and I remembered that earlier, some officers in a 'Black Maria' had been dispatched from the station for the usual end-of-the-month swoop. A swoop which netted all kinds and sorts of petty offenders from drunks, vagrants, loiterers, idlers, solicitors for immoral purposes etc. Even the town residents had dubbed the

swoop 'jaza' because, as they said, the main intention of the Police was to fill the Black Maria with people, whether offenders or non-offenders

Almost everybody who was found in the streets after 1800 hours was stopped and questioned and-as most of them would be smelling of alcohol, the end of the interrogation would be arrest and detention at the Police Station, pending charges. Several people would be released depending on who the Duty Officer was for the day, but several others would ultimately be taken to court.

I entered the report office where the din was deafening despite the report officer's shouts at the prisoners, threatening that he would pour water in the cells, if the prisoners did not keep quiet.

Most of the noise was coming from the female part of the cells while from the male side, came a combination of unmelodious song, which were all out of tune and over-pitched.

"Full house, tonight?" I asked the report officer.

"Over-full! Damned it! I am wishing this clock would run and 2300 hours come so that I report off. Spending a night here would render one crazy". He complained.

"Pole, bwana, I just want to book my return," I told him as I took the Occurrence Book and borrowed his pen to do so.

"Lucky you! You fellows working in crime branch are luckier than some of us here. We are imprisoned here the whole day and even when we walk in town, people don't recognise us as officers! I am totally fed up with this," he threw his hands up in despair and then he turned his mouth to the cells, "Nyamazeni! Ghasia.... malayaV He shouted at the top of his voice to the women and a comparable silence followed his bawling. He turned to me then.

"By the way. there is a woman who was asking for you. She is here in the cells, but 1 told her that \ou were not around." At that, I stopped writing. M\ lewd brain told me that a woman who would have been asking for me was a potential date and 1 quickly inquired,

"What's she like" -

"She looks new to this place I mean I have not seen her in the Streets but again, owing to m\ dail\ confinement here, I cannot claim

to know many women. You are lucky ..." I knew that he was going to start complaining to me about this 'confinement' and I had to cut him short. I waved him to silence.

"You mean you don't know her?" I asked him.

"No ... I don't... you could check in the cells register ..." I did not let him finish but quickly took the cell register and hurriedly leafed through the pages until I came to the days' entries.

I ran my eyes down the name column, reading the numerous Nanjalas, Nafulas, Wanjalas, Queens (wondering why anybody chose Queen for a name!), Odakes, Khaembas, Wangilas, Ongetis and at last I came to a name that somehow seemed to ring a memory bell in me. "Judy Nekesa," Offence: "Loitering with intent".

I remembered that somewhere, sometime in my earlier days in Kakamega, there had come a certain Judy Nekesa in my life but her existence had been quickly brought to an end by the arrival of yet another woman.

I operated my memory buttons and tried to picture her but several indistinct negatives passed through my mind's screen and I would have taken longer except the report officer roused me back to the present.

"Got her?" He asked me, joining me at the counter.

"I think so—I think she should be this Judy Nekesa . . ." He stopped me by banging the counter top, "Yes! Now that you mention the name, I remember—she should be that Judy Nekesa!!"

I went to the cell door and was unable to see anything in the cell through the three inch square hole on the door. I told the cell sentry to open the door for me. Nasivili, the cell sentry, was an old friend of mine and he obligingly opened the door.

I almost told him to shut it immediately he had opened it! There emanated from the cells some liquid stench of unwashed bodies and a din that, as the report officer had earlier said, would render one crazy!

When they saw me, several women started calling . . . 'Fred . . . Fred ...' and I had to shout them down, "Shut up! All of you or I... "

Silence fell. No wonder the report officer had complained of not being recognised as an officer by the public. I looked at them and I realized that I could have sworn to have seen twenty-six out of the thirty in the cell.

"Judy Nekesa!" I called out and the women once again got a chance to open their mouths. They repeated the name "Judy Nekesa' severally, until Judy, the same old Judy, came shyly from behind the others. I at once noticed that she had been weeping and took pity on her.

I thought she would smile and start pleading with me to activate her release but, instead, she just stood there, looking at my feet, not saying anything and about ten seconds must have elapsed in the embarrassing silence. I had to break the ice.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her, sizing her up and wondering what I had found wrong in her the previous time.

She just looked at me, seemed to swallow something and blinked her eyes.

"Why do you just keep quiet—say something!" I told her.

"Like what?" she could hardly pronounce the words.

"Well ... for example, wouldn't you like to go home?" I found myself asking. This time, she looked at me straight in the face, swallowed hard and then focussed her eyes on my feet again. I guessed she was admiring my new shoes and almost felt proud to have them on!

"Yes. I would like to go home, but, how can I...? I am a prisoner... here ... I am . .." she sobbed once My pity was quickly transformed into annoyance. I found that I had difficulty in restraining my temper and voice. 1 hate tears. To me tears are a fraudulent way of hiding something. I have a chauvinist's belief—and a very strong one—that women hide their misdemeanours in tears!

"I am asking you whether you would like to go home. Answer me that only!" She looked at my face again and I thought there was a flicker of hope in the eyes. She tried to smile but I guess that needed a lot ol effort, and she gave up.

"^ cs. I'd like to," she told me.

"Yes, that's all I wanted to know. Now, wait while I see what I can do." I was going to push the door to, but she held it with her hand, "and please," she told me, "I've got my cousin here with me ... I don't know whether . . ."

"Name?" I cut in.

"Queen—Queen Abungwa. We were waiting for a bus ..." I waved her to silence.

"Okay—okay—just wait there," I noted the name in my mind and told the sentry to re-lock the door. He was pushing the door to but the women all started calling my name at once... "Fred ... Fred ... even me . . . even me . . . Salome Nanjala please . . ." Some were holding the door and the sentry had to use his upper masculine strength to push it closed. He latched it, cursing and then we went back to the reports counter. Musenjeli, the report officer, was laughing his head off. Nasivili scowled at him, "What's so funny?"

"Nothing ... I was just watching Fredrick Wamatu and all his women..." He laughed off and then pretended seriousness. "Tell me, have you had an affair with all those...?" he waved his hand towards the cell.

"Of course not! Most of those have at one time met me when they had problems or as witnesses in cases. I'd need artificial insemination equipment to serve such a herd!"

"We all laughed as I leafed through the cell register again. Queen Abungwa was also charged with 'Loitering with intent.' So were most of the other women in custody.

I checked on my wrist-watch. A relic from my hey-days with Charity. She was the one who had chosen it, had paid half the price for it and had actually strapped it on my wrist. I remembered her every time I looked at the watch!

The time was 2110 hours. I threw a glance at the wall-board where the names of the Duty Officer, Provincial Orderly Officer, Stand-by personnel, Orderly sergeant, Crime stand-by officers and even the night-duty driver, were listed. My name was in the crime stand-by list.

Inspector Fanuel Nzuki was the Division Duty Officer. The only person who would release a prisoner. He was familiar and friendly to

me and I had run some unofficial errands for him sometimes earlier. I was going to ask him a favour. I knew it was a long shot but I had to try.

My reason for wanting Nekesa released was not based on love, what made anxious to see her free was her indifference. I had thought that she would see me and literally fall on her knees, begging me to release her. Instead, the look she had given me was almost unfriendly if not downright hostile and, actually, it was me who had suggested the idea of release. I thought that maybe she doubted my powers at the station and that thought made me decide that I would even kneel in front of Nzuki, to see that she was released.

I checked myself and found that I was sober alright. My breath had the faintest traces of alcohol but that would have to be put up with. After all, Nzuki was a hard boozer himself—I told myself as I nervously rapped on the Divisional Operations Room Door, avoiding looking at the inscription on the door: STRICTLY NO ADMISSION.

"Come in," I heard a voice invite me in, and as I twisted the door-knob, I braced myself.

The first thing that attacked me was the heat and the unmistakable fragrance of perfume. The lights seemed very bright and the Stonner Set at the corner was craking incoherently. Nzuki sat at the Very High Frequency Console, reading something but my attention was diverted to the far end of the room where the Telex Machine was. The Operator, who had stopped manipulating the machine on my entry now tried to go on with her job and I caught my breath sharply when I realized who it was. I could hardly guess what words I was going to tell Nzuki—with Charity in the room.

"Good evening, sir," I stood at attention.

"Evening. Wamatu. What can I do for you?" Nzuki querried and added, "do sit down." And I perched myself at the chair opposite his. However, I could not bring myself to start talking.

"You are on Crime Stand-by?" Nzuki prompted me.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"Has anything happened?" He raised his eye-brows and I was almost glad to note that his eyes had that extra-redness, which meant

that he too had had his share of alcohol.

"Not really, sir, I mean nothing on the'hard' crime line but we have more than enough 'intent' cases in cells," I said casually.

"Yes, it seems that the swoop lot had something against the women-folk today ..." he chuckled and threw a fleeting glance at the direction of Charity. I also glanced at her and noticed that despite her placing her hands on the Telex key-board, she was not typing and was listening intently to our conversation.

"That's why I am here, sir. The truth is there are two girls in the cells who were arrested while they were waiting for a bus to take them

"Waiting for a bus!!"

"Yes, that's what they told me and it was confirmed by one of the swoop officers," I lied firmly. I did not want to look at Charity. I knew that she would be having that half-smile and spiteful knowing look on her beautiful face.

Nzuki pondered over my statement for half a minute and then seemed to come to a definite decision.

"What are their names?" He asked me as he took a pen from his pocket and tore off a page from the signal pad on the desk. I told him both names. Then, he told me to wait in the Ops Room, while he went out.

When he was gone, Charity spoke, "You mean your latest pick-up is in cells?" There was a very bitter note about the pronouncement. I did not know what to tell her and so I let her question hang. I just looked at her with cobra eyes and she muttered a soft 'sorry' and then started hammering on the Telex machine in such a speed that I knew she was making seventy five spelling mistakes out of every one hundred words. I had a mind to follow Nzuki in the Report Office but the V.H.F. set came to life:

"Control from Butere." I looked at Charity who was still very 'busy' at the Telex and thought that she had not heard.

"Five Yankee India Two Control from Five Yankee India Seven-how do you read me over".

I grabbed the handset. "India Seven from India Two—five go ahead."

"Roger, Sir, I want to submit my Delta Charlie India Romeo over."

"Wait one, over." I looked at my watch again. 2130 hours!! Quite late for any station not to have submitted its Daily Crime and Incident Report for the day to the Divisional Headquarters. I also realized that Charity, as the Telex operator for the day, was supposed to have received the reports from all the stations before relaying them on Telex to Force Headquarters after they had been checked by the Provincial Orderly Officer. I looked at her and noticed that she was still bent over the Telex. I wanted to tell her what Butere had wanted but then I did not want to talk to her.

Over a minute passed in silence and then the telephone on the V.H.F. Console came to life with a shrill ring. I almost jumped out of my skin. I let it ring a second time before I picked it up. "Ops Room." I answered.

"Hello—can I speak to Charity Wangui?" The voice of a man.

"Who's calling?" I asked looking at Charity and noticing that she was not typing.

"I want to speak to Charity—what has my name got to do with you?" The voice asked and I telt mad at tnat.

"One moment," 1 said. I don't know what came over me but I felt that I should not allow that man—rude as he was—to speak to Charity. I slowly replaced the receiver and looked at Charity and she had resumed her pounding of the Telex.

"Ukuigua uguo." I told her silently.

8

Then, the door opened and Nzuki came in, followed by two girls. Charity stopped typing and half-turned her chair to face us.

"1 will release these two—but, they are the only two I will release tonight. The rest can be sorted out tomorrow." He told me. I thanked him profoundly, using words which implied that he would hear more about that gesture of kindness and consideration. I was gesticulating

with my hands as words were hard to come by in the situation and environment.

Nzuki, an old timer, understood and nodded sagely as I, accompanied by the two ladies, left the Ops Room.

"Have you left anything in the Police Station?" I asked them as a way of opening conversation.

"No. Nothing!" Answered the other girl. Queen. I was already having misgivings about releasing them. I did not quite know what would happen after that and so I had to ask.

"And now, what do you propose to do?" We had stopped mid-way between the Report and Inquiry Office and the Ops Room.

Judy cleared her throat to say something but then kept quiet. Queen laughed softly and then said, "I think we shall bother you some more by asking you to 'lodge' us for the night. We can sleep on the floor in your house . . . it's better that way than sleeping on the floor in the cells and ... and ... as Judy had mentioned," she turned to Judy, "you two are old pals and . . ." She laughed off again.

The security was partially obstructed by a guava tree which grew between the station block and the armoury and so I could not see their faces clearly. I'd have liked to see their faces, especially Judy's and note her facial reaction.

"I guess that can be arranged," I said softly.

"What's the time?" Judy spoke for the first time. I turned towards the light and checked my watch.

"It's a quarter to ten," I answered. Judy turned to Queen

"Do you think we could still get a bus home? I think the Kisumu O.T.C. passes here at ten-thirty. I think ..." but Queen cut her words.

"Go to the stage again? With the possible chance of rape if not arrest! I am not going ... I'd rather take myself back to the cells instead of risking a second arrest." She said firmly.

I was listening to the dialogue, bemused. I was also wondering what Judy was thinking. I was wondering whether it had been very wise of me to have put all that effort—including lying to the Duty Officer—to see that they were released. I was wondering why I had done it.

"Fred," Queen spoke to me, stretching her right hand and holding my upper arm, "I think Judy has been upset by the events of the day. Please bear with her. Let's go home and maybe while there, she will regain her confidence and with it, her mood." And she started pulling me towards the Police lines.

I did not need any arguing. I had decided that if they had continued to argue about the time and O.T.C. buses, I was going to leave them just where they were and get back to my house. Judy followed us meekly.

Queen was telling me how neurotic Judy could be sometimes and how ungrateful she must be not to realize that I was her saviour and how they would have spent the night on a cold floor amid stinking drunks ... I found her very garrulous and could not keep pace with her rhetorical questions and comments and so I let her do all the talking.

We came to my door and I noticed that Judy was some five feet behind us. Queen was still overly excited and was muttering some things about her first arrest, first day in cells, police unfairness and apologising to me for that! How good it is to be a friend of a friend of a cop etc and when I had opened the door, snapped on the light and welcomed them in, Judy rushed to the toilet and Queen, without warning, threw her arms around my neck, standing on tip-toe to balance our heights and said several 'thank yous' before she released me and flopped on the sofa.

On her return from the toilet, Judy's mood must have also changed because she smiled, came to me, held my hand lightly and I thought she was going to lift her face for a kiss but, instead, she told me,

"Forgive me. Fred, if I misbehaved, but, you can't imagine the pain that I have felt today. Thank you very much for what you have done for us." I looked at her and noticed that she appeared very small and helpless.

"Don't mention it," I told her and released her hand.

"I think I had better rush to the canteen and see whether there is any milk or bread left. I am sure you must be feeling hungry and as I don't cook in this house, there is hardly anything that can be fed on

here. You poor girls will have to do with tea and may be bread only," I laughed off.

"That's a splendid idea . .. the truth is, I was going to suggest just that but was feeling . . . you know ... shy ..." That was Queen. She was ready with a word in any situation.

"So, why don't you go to the kitchen and put the kettle on? I am sure Judy knows where the kitchen is." I told them as I left.

I hurried to the canteen and noted that not only was there plenty of milk but that there were also several crates of bread. I should have known that the canteen manager would stock to the ceiling, at the end of the month!

I bought two packets of milk and two loaves of bread. I also noticed that there were eggs and I bought six. When these items were being wrapped, I felt a hand touch the back of my neck and I turned to see who it was but found no one. I looked at the counter again, dismissing the touch as that of a flying insect but it was repeated. This time I turned fast enough and caught Njagi before he squatted on his hunches as he had done the first time. We both burst out laughing as we shook hands vigorously.

"Where have you been hiding, you son of a gun!" He asked.

"Hiding?" I asked in mock shock. "I've been so much in the open today—re-connecting old wires and practising polygamy!" I told him laughing.

"Polygamy? How is that?"

"Polygamy to the very last letter of the word," I told him. Then, a bit more seriously, "Let's go to the hall and I will try and explain to you what is going on," I suggested. The 'hall' was a euphemism we used for the bar part of the canteen. I picked the two loaves of bread, the two packets of milk and the eggs and Njagi asked me, "What are all milks and breads and eggs about?"

"Part of the polygamy ..." more laughter as Njagi orderd mine and his beer. When they Jiad been opened and the waiter had gone from our table, Njagi asked again.

"So—what about the polygamy?" He pronounced the word 'polingame' I cleared my throat, pretended to be very serious and said:

"This evening, at about 2110 hours, I triggered the release of two Luhya female adults from the cells. Their names are Judy Nekesa and Queen Abungwa. Then, I took them to my house where they complained that they were hungry and I went to the canteen and bought two loaves of bread, two packets of milk and six eggs all valued at seven shillings and eighty cents. That is all I have stated," I finished.

"Read over correct by Njagi?" Njagi finished the statement format.

"No! Self recorded," I told him and we both laughed. Then, I dropped into a more serious whisper, "Guess what! I think we had better finish these drinks, take, these foods to the girls and you will have a chance of looking at the specimens then. And then, after that we can come here for another beer and probably planning the night." I told him and then, something that had been bothering me all evening at last surfaced. I had all the evening been trying to connect Judy to Njagi but somehow, the link was missing. This time, when everything became clear, I banged the table, so loud that the waiter came almost running and Njagi pretended to cower away from me.

"What has gone wrong?" He asked in mock surprise.

"Wrong? There is nothin' wrong. In fact everything is right. I have just remembered something that will make you laugh." I was looking at him.

"And what do you think would make me laugh ..." he was already laughing.

"Does the name Judy Nekesa ring any bell in you?" I asked him.

"Should it? . . let me see Judy . . . Nekesa no!"

"Then, let me tell you, Judy Nekesa is a girl who was introduced to Fred Wamatu by a friend of Njagi, some months—in fact several months ago."

"You don't say . . .!"

"I am saying it!"

"Then, let's go ... but, first...," he dropped his voice again. "I have got a specimen in my house, bearing new registration numbers but I am yet to test the engine and driver comfortability ... so I think you will have to practise polygamy to the end."

"That's bad . . .eh," I told him.

"Not really. Queen can sleep on the sofa set while you take Judy to bed or vice versa . . ." he suggested.

"Do you think it would be wise ... I mean the vice-versa hint?"

"It depends on who is who to you . .." We laughed as we finished our drinks and left the canteen. Njagi was telling me about the new 'car'—as we dubbed women. The body-work was perfect, not many dents and did not appear to have been refilled after any accident. No visible blemishes but he had not opened the bonnet yet to check on the engine. But he hoped the engine would be clean if not perfect.

We got to my house and found that Judy had prepared black coffee and they were drinking it while dancing to the music coming from my radio-gram, which they had put on, at a volume too high for the hour. The dance died upon our entry and I walked purposefully to the radio-gram and lowered the volume.

I introduced Njagi to them and noticed that Judy could not remember him. He had to remind her point by point of the previous meeting at the bar and at the end of it all, the way Judy nodded her head told me that she was only half-convinced. She seemed to remember that there was a previous meeting but the venue was not in a bar! We let it remain that way. Then, she cocked her head comically to one side and told Njagi:

"I think it's my turn to introduce you to a girl. . . meet Queen . . . Royal both in name and office . . ." We all laughed.

"And where is her palace?" Njagi asked still holding Queen's nand. I had been observing what was going on on Queen's face as she was introduced to Njagi. At first the face had clouded but after a second scrutiny, she had accepted.him and had actually smiled. The question by Njagi made her laugh more loudly than necessary. Women!

"Still under construction ... the kingdom was established about three hours ago ..." more laughter.

"Why don't you call it 'queendom?" I asked and we all laughed as we mixed the coffee with the milk, cut the bread into slices while Judy smeared excessive margarine over them and then we sat at the table. I t"bld Judy that I already had had my meal and would only have a cup of coffee to keep them company but Njagi said that despite his having had supper he would eat and drink the 'queen's toast'!! And we had a merry time over the coffee and bread. Then, I thought the right time to ask a question which had been bothering me all along was come. I had wanted to ask what these two girls had come to do at Kakamega but I had not had the right moment.

When Njagi expressed his sympathy at the two girls having been arrested while waiting for a bus, I took the opportunity and asked,

"So you had finished whatever mission you had here in town and were ready to go home . . .?"

"Yes," Judy answered and then kept quiet.

"Was the mission just around the bus-stage?" I asked desperately. I wanted to ask her point blank—'What had you come to do here?' but I thought it would have been impolite. My impatience was again telling on me.

"No, we had come from the hospital, where we had gone to see our uncle, who is admitted there. The poor man was mauled by a leopard yesterday. When we had seen him, we went to the bus stage to wait for any matatu or bus and that is when the police truck arrived and when almost everybody else ran away. We were left standing there and we were picked . . . it's like a curse ... our uncle is in the hospital. . . we are in cells . . . and my uncle was only luckv to have escaDed from the beast's claws alive . . ." Then I remembered that we had received a report of a marauding leopard and we had sent word to the wananchi that they should report a second sighting of the leopard so that the Police could try and capture it if not to kill it. The previous report had talked of slight injuries on the victim of the leopard.

"Soma to hear that . . . and how is your uncle now?" I was clucking mv tongue the only way I know of expressing sorrow.

"Not \er\ bad but. . . his hands and face will bear witness to the encounter tor the rest of his life," Judy said sadly.

"It's better to be ugly and alive than beautiful and dead!" That was Njagi and we all laughed, despite the prevailing circumstances.

After the coffee, Njagi announced that he had to go away and Queen could not help showing disappointment on her face. I escorted him outside the house alone and bade him good night; none-too-friendly.

I went back to the house where Queen was slumped on the sofa set and Judy was clearing the utensils we had made dirty.

"Feeling sleepy?" I asked Queen as I sat myself on the set opposite her. She looked more fair-skinned than Judy and I had to admit that she almost had a right to her name. She was extremely beautiful and except Judy was there . . .

"Not really ... I just want to get used to this bed of mine," she was pressing the settee with her hand.

"Why don't you try stretching on it—for size?" I suggested and she quickly pulled off her shoes. Even before she stretched on the settee, I knew she would be too tall for it. She wriggled into position, having folded her legs at the knees and the knees protruded at the edge.

"Five marks out of the test of royalty . . . queens are supposed to be neither too tall nor too short." I told her as she re-sat on the settee. She looked sad and I guessed she had put some hope on Njagi and was feeling the loss of his going away.

Judy had finished cleaning the utensils and she came from the kitchen rubbing her hands together.

"Queen is too tall for the settee," I told her and she laughed.

"I knew she'd be. I guess we are all going to share the bed. After all, it's only for a night and then tomorrow ..." Judy said with a finality.

"How?" I asked. I admit I had had several affairs with several women, but, an affair with two women at the same time was just not in my line. Judy must have had a very queer mentality.

"How?" She mimicked me. "I mean going to bed and sleeping—the three of us," she put extra emphasis on the word sleeping.

"I see," I said although there was nothing to be seen. I simply could not imagine how I would spend the night with two women!

Queen was already on her feet and Judy was propelling her

towards the bedroom. I had made myself busy; locking and bolting the outer door, checking on all the windows and even straightening the curtains and keeping the books on the shelf in line—and all these chores took about ten minutes. Then I went to the kitchen and put off the light, which Judy must have forgotten to do, switched off the tableroom light and joined my ladies in the bedroom. Their clothes were hanging on a chair and the girls were actually between the sheets.

10

Istarted undressing, so much conscious of their double gaze that I had problems unbuttoning even my shirt. I don't know how I would have reacted if by a bad stroke I had found that my feet were stinking.

I removed my coat, which I carefully put on a hanger and took to the wardrobe, taking my time. Then, the shirt, being careful about looking for a hanger and a nail on the wall where I could hang it. Then I removed my shoes. The only smell that came from them is that of newly tanned leather and I felt at ease.

I peeled off my trousers and, if I had had to put it in the wardrobe, I would have had to walk five feet from the bed, with only pants on and with the double barrelled gaze still on me. I decided to throw the trousers on the chair at the far end of the room—to see whether my previous darts sessions had paid their dividends.

I carefully folded the trousers and aimed low at the chair and threw the trousers. They landed squarely on top! I realized that I was so strained that I was humming a nameless tune!

"Push a bit," 1 told Judy who I noticed was the extreme outer edge ol the bed and had left a small gap betwen her and Queen who was at the tar end.

"No you will sleep in the centre of the bed," she said and made more room there. Queen also moved an inch or so towards the wall edge of the bed. I was standing naked and despite the warmth in the

room, my upper arms and thigh had developed goose-pimples all over.

"What d'you mean at the centre?" I asked holding tightly to the leash of my temper.

"This . . ." and she threw off the sheets which had covered her so that I could slip between her and Queen. My eyes caught the blue of Queen's pants and the white of Judy's. I also had a passing glance at both their voluminous bosoms—which were naked to the skin revealing warmth and comfort! And their buxom flanks. I had no choice but to slip between them, wriggling gently into position, more conscious about the warmth around me than the sweat on my nose. Judy pulled the covers over us and turned to lie on her back. Queen had faced the wall but she also turned to lie on her back. I was surprised that my bed could comfortably 'lodge' three people.

"Anyone needing a light?" I asked them and noticed that my throat was extemely dry. I would have to wake up and go for a cup of water!

Judy asked, "What for?" as she snapped off the light through the bed-side switch. That was better! In the darkness, without their probing eyes, I felt more confident.

I was lying on my back with both my hands at my sides and I felt Queen move her hand stealthily to my crutch. I held my breath for a second. I wanted to remove her hand which was surreptitiously caressing my 'man' and which in turn was making its life and existence known, but I knew that a sudden movement would have made Judy know that there was something going on.

Judy suddenly turned to face me and shot her hand at my belly. She touched my navel and then her hand started moving downwards; slowly but purposefully it traversed downwards.

My body tensed involuntarily and Queen must have felt it because she quickly jerked her hand away just as Judy's hand reached its apparent destination, where it started doing things which almost made me scream in ecstasy; but I quickly turned and lay on my belly.

I had a lousy night with the girls and as the Agikuyu say, Mbogo nyingi itiri nyama.

At 0715 hours the following day, I was up and bathing, the cold

shower only helped ease half of the tension in me. I didn't know what I was feeling but then, there was a small voice saying 'You are inadequate . . . you are a fool, . . you should have . . .' I finished the shower with only the thought to get the girls out of my house as soon as possible.

When I went back to the bedroom, I found that the girls had snuggled closer and Judy had one arm over Queen's bosom. I clicked my tongue as I picked my clothes to go and dress in the table room. I could not possibly dress up when the two girls were lying so lovably in front of me! I would have been tempted to go back to bed and .. .

When I was lacing my shoes, a knock sounded on my door. I checked on my wrist-watch and noticed that it was 0800 hours, Sunday 30th. June, before I called the knocker in.

The door-handle twisted but the door would not budge. I then remembered that it was still locked and I went with one shoe still unlaced and unlocked the door. Outside, the report officer was smiling at me,

"Good morning, Fred," he greeted, stretching his hand.

"Morning, Matheka," I answered, and went about lacing my shoe. I did not invite him in. He was one of the known gossips and was ready to magnify trifle scandals into bone-chilling outrages.

"Well. . . ?" I asked him as I finished lacing the shoe.

"You are required at the station. There is a follow-up of the marauding leopard's report from Chavakali Chiefs camp. The leopard has been spotted again and this time it has snatched someone's goat . . ." He laughed after that.

"I'll be coming soonest," I told him.

"Yes, the duty officer is waiting. Meanwhile, I'll go and call the sergeant for the keys to the armoury and also driver Kinyua ..." He went on although I had no need to know all the details of what he was going to do! When I didn't say a thing, he left and I went back into the house. I thought of waking the girls up but then decided against it. I went to the wardrobe and retrieved my coat, threw a sweeping glance at the sleeping forms, clicked my tongue again and went out of the house, closing the doors gently so as not to awake my sleeping beauties.

At the station, I found four men who looked like they had just finished a twenty-one mile cross-country. They were still panting and they looked exhausted, that is from their heads, through their clothes to their dusty feet. Even the walking sticks they carried looked weary.

I grunted a greeting at them and instead of replying, they all stretched their hands and I had to go through the ritual which the Abaluhyas seem to so deliciously relish: shaking each person's hand vigorously, muttering, 'Swa-swa-swa'.

The duty officer, I.P. Muriuki who had relieved LP. Nzuki was smiling slyly at me.

"You behave more of a Luhya than a Kikuyu these days," he told me.

"Indoctrination, sir—two years is not two hours with the same community!" And we both laughed. To crown it all, I stretched my hand towards Muriuki who took it in his and I shook it even more vigorously than the Luhyas. He winced in mock pain, withdrew his hand and blew on to the fingers.

"Well, now that that is done," he turned LP.—in front of P.C. all over, "these Wasakhulus have brought a follow-up report of the leopard which attacked a man the other day. It was reportedly seen hauling a goat into a thicket and the bush has been surrounded, so that it can not escape. I am sending you there, knowing that you are a crack-shot from early days to go and bring that culprit—dead or alive, but I'd prefer him dead as we do not have any cells for animals here. You will go with driver Kinyua and P.C. Onyango.

"Go and take a rifle or would you prefer a revolver?" He asked me. Arms have a feeling that they create in each individual. A revolver makes me feel more of a detective and I like it when I am patrolling the town or visiting a scene of crime within the town.

On the other hand, a rifle makes me feel more military and its weight alone gives me more confidence than the bullets inside. I even change my walking gait when I am carrying a rifle.

141

"No, sir, I'd rather have a rifle as I am not planning to get so close to the cat as a revolver would demand," I told him.

"Okay, rifle then, and as many bullets as you think you will need for a hunt in the bush. Carry as many as you can. There is no limit in that." He dismissed me and I went to the back of the station where the armoury was and found P.C. Onyango, already armed and practising silent drill—alone—with the S.L.R. which is supposed to be carried at shoulder arms.

"Hi," I shouted at him and he in turn moved the gun to 'present arms' position and saluted me. Onyango! He had an exhaustless store of fun and amusement.

I entered the armoury and the sergeant handed me a rifle. I took it in my right hand and balanced it and then took three clips of ammunition, slipped one into the magazine slot and put the others into my coat pockets. All in all, I had thirty rounds of ammo. Enough to kill thirty leopards dead!

"Where is Onyango?" The sergeant asked me.

"Outside, practising Denham Drill," I answered.

"That's all he is good at—and when it comes to the actual drill, he cannot differentiate 'mark-time' and 'slow-march', the sergeant remarked as he noted down my name, number and rank, type of gun removed from the armoury, type and number of rounds of ammo. And at last I signed in the register and went back to the station.

"All set?" LP. Muriuki asked.

"Just one thing, sir, I had not locked my house and would like to go and do just that," I begged.

"Five minutes only!" Muriuki said as I ran towards the Police lines with my rifle and ammunition.

I knocked on the door hurriedly, entering even before I was invited and found that Queen was in the bathroom while Judy was in the kitchen, brewing coffee.

"Good morning, dear," I greeted.

"Don't endear me! You refused to even kiss me last night," she accused and then her eyes fell on the rifle, "and what's the gun about? You are not going to shoot someone ..." I decided to ignore the first

part of her statement and answered the second question, "I am going to kill that leopard which mauled your uncle." I informed her. "You don't say! That's the best news I've heard in a long time!" She clapped her hands.

"Yes, it should be and I've only five minutes—no—two minutes in which to drink my coffee and get back to the station. The driver is waiting for me in the vehicle and the engine is running. I also think that if you be ready in the same two minutes, we would all take the same vehicle and go to your area. After all I might even visit your home after killing the leopard—how would you like that?" I asked her knowing that she would only answer in the positive.

"Yes, I'd like that very .much!" she was bubbling with joy.

"Then, get Queen out of that bathroom and let's get going," I told her as she put some coffee in a sufuria and started swirling it round to cool the coffee while she blew into it. She then transferred the coffee to a cup which she handed to me together with a slice of bread reset in egg and I gobbled them down quickly. The coffee was still hot and I had to blow into it before every sip.