AT SUNRISE, with the mist drifting toward the ridge, Johnny packed his clothes and papers back into his suitcase. He lashed the sharpened machete and his cookpot to the outside of the suitcase with the piece of clothesline from behind the house, lifted his bag and typewriter and stepped outside, closed the door carefully behind him, and started walking, downhill along the road to Whitehall, descending through the cool mist, and after an hour, emerging below it, where he caught a ride on a flatbed truck heading for Maggotty. By the time he reached Maggotty, the sky was clear, endlessly blue, and the heat-browned hills behind him lay precisely carved against the sky. A higgler sold him an orange for ten cents, and before he had peeled it, the Kingston bus, leaning and wheezing, had pulled in. He got on, paid, and then was gone from Nyamkopong.