asked Julia as they watched from a distance. The children around the hole were lifting up buckets of soil and chanting: “Chi-na! Chi-na!”
“If they want to go to China,” snapped Howard, who had just opened his second beer, “let them go to bloody China!”
“What about the neighbors?”
“Damn the neighbors. It’s their bloody kids who are responsible for tearing up the company garden.”
“How can you let them?”
“One of those kids belongs to my boss,
that’s
why!”
“What about Will? Where is his common sense?”
“Clearly,” Howard said, “he’s been brainwashed by these children. What an awful neighborhood.” He sighed. “Why did we ever move here?”
A tall African police officer had propped his bicycle up on the garden path and joined the Laments. He removed his khaki pith helmet, dusted it off, and folded his arms to survey the scene.
“Who’s responsible for this?” he asked sternly.
“Certainly not me,” said Howard.
“Who is the occupant of this house?”
“I am,” admitted Howard. “But I—”
“Then you are responsible.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Howard, trying a different tack. “You’ve arrived just at the right moment.”
The officer removed his white gloves carefully, slipped them into his belt, and walked to the edge of the hole so that the shiny tips of his shoes reflected the activity around him. The children looked at him with interest, though they kept chanting and passing buckets.
“Chi-na, Chi-na!” they murmured.
The police officer, much impressed, peered down at the bottom of the hole and made a solemn declaration. “China is a long way away.”
“Exactly what I said,” replied Howard. “But they wouldn’t listen to me!”
The policeman frowned, folding his arms again. “This hole is a menace.”
“I know,” Howard said. “I work for the copper mine.”
“Then you of all people should know how dangerous this is!” fumed the officer. “What if someone fell? What if it caved in? What then? Who would be responsible?”
Howard wilted under the policeman’s glare.
“If they dig the hole in the street it is my problem,” the officer declared. “But this is your problem.”
“Chi-na! Chi-na!” cried the children.
The policeman put on his helmet and gloves and mounted the bicycle.
“Isn’t he going to help us?” asked Julia as the officer rode off.
“Bloody civil servants.” Howard walked miserably back to the house.
THE AFTERNOON LIGHT SHIFTED abruptly as enormous blue storm clouds approached from the east. The sun was low in the west as the first glittering raindrops struck the soil, sending tiny clouds of dust into the air.
Will paused from digging, and peered up at the circle of sky at the top of the hole.
“It’s a monkey’s wedding,” said Ruth.
“A what?” asked Will.
“When the sun shines and it rains too, it’s a monkey’s wedding,” she explained.
Will felt a delicious shiver of delight as Ruth looked at him. She was covered with red dust, too, which made them members of the same tribe. A rumble of thunder shook the ground, and the chanting grew louder.
“Will,” whispered Ruth, “we’ll get to China soon!”
He gazed back at her, elated.
Lightning flashed in the distance, and a violent clap of thunder jolted them. Ruth grabbed Will’s hand and they both giggled with fear and delight.
Against the advancing storm clouds, a line of red silhouettes danced across the garden. The wind picked up, whipping the red dust into tiny twisters, making the banana trees shake and flail like the long manes of wild stallions; then amber raindrops started pelting the dusty ground like diamonds. In another second, a shroud, black and billowing, engulfed the sun, swallowing light and sound until only the voices of parents could be heard, faint and anxious.
“Ruth! Ruth! Out of the lightning!” cried Joseph from the kitchen. Ruth squeezed Will’s hand with a reckless smile and skipped
“If they want to go to China,” snapped Howard, who had just opened his second beer, “let them go to bloody China!”
“What about the neighbors?”
“Damn the neighbors. It’s their bloody kids who are responsible for tearing up the company garden.”
“How can you let them?”
“One of those kids belongs to my boss,
that’s
why!”
“What about Will? Where is his common sense?”
“Clearly,” Howard said, “he’s been brainwashed by these children. What an awful neighborhood.” He sighed. “Why did we ever move here?”
A tall African police officer had propped his bicycle up on the garden path and joined the Laments. He removed his khaki pith helmet, dusted it off, and folded his arms to survey the scene.
“Who’s responsible for this?” he asked sternly.
“Certainly not me,” said Howard.
“Who is the occupant of this house?”
“I am,” admitted Howard. “But I—”
“Then you are responsible.”
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Howard, trying a different tack. “You’ve arrived just at the right moment.”
The officer removed his white gloves carefully, slipped them into his belt, and walked to the edge of the hole so that the shiny tips of his shoes reflected the activity around him. The children looked at him with interest, though they kept chanting and passing buckets.
“Chi-na, Chi-na!” they murmured.
The police officer, much impressed, peered down at the bottom of the hole and made a solemn declaration. “China is a long way away.”
“Exactly what I said,” replied Howard. “But they wouldn’t listen to me!”
The policeman frowned, folding his arms again. “This hole is a menace.”
“I know,” Howard said. “I work for the copper mine.”
“Then you of all people should know how dangerous this is!” fumed the officer. “What if someone fell? What if it caved in? What then? Who would be responsible?”
Howard wilted under the policeman’s glare.
“If they dig the hole in the street it is my problem,” the officer declared. “But this is your problem.”
“Chi-na! Chi-na!” cried the children.
The policeman put on his helmet and gloves and mounted the bicycle.
“Isn’t he going to help us?” asked Julia as the officer rode off.
“Bloody civil servants.” Howard walked miserably back to the house.
THE AFTERNOON LIGHT SHIFTED abruptly as enormous blue storm clouds approached from the east. The sun was low in the west as the first glittering raindrops struck the soil, sending tiny clouds of dust into the air.
Will paused from digging, and peered up at the circle of sky at the top of the hole.
“It’s a monkey’s wedding,” said Ruth.
“A what?” asked Will.
“When the sun shines and it rains too, it’s a monkey’s wedding,” she explained.
Will felt a delicious shiver of delight as Ruth looked at him. She was covered with red dust, too, which made them members of the same tribe. A rumble of thunder shook the ground, and the chanting grew louder.
“Will,” whispered Ruth, “we’ll get to China soon!”
He gazed back at her, elated.
Lightning flashed in the distance, and a violent clap of thunder jolted them. Ruth grabbed Will’s hand and they both giggled with fear and delight.
Against the advancing storm clouds, a line of red silhouettes danced across the garden. The wind picked up, whipping the red dust into tiny twisters, making the banana trees shake and flail like the long manes of wild stallions; then amber raindrops started pelting the dusty ground like diamonds. In another second, a shroud, black and billowing, engulfed the sun, swallowing light and sound until only the voices of parents could be heard, faint and anxious.
“Ruth! Ruth! Out of the lightning!” cried Joseph from the kitchen. Ruth squeezed Will’s hand with a reckless smile and skipped
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