A Fool's Knot Read Online Free Page A

same.”
    The two men signed the papers, despite the fact that in Kivara’s case he had no idea what the word substantively might mean. They handed the sheets back over the substantial desk to John. Beneath each statement he printed John Mwangangi Musyoka, and then rubber-stamped the words, District Officer, Mwingi, at the bottom of each page. He then countersigned across his printed name and the stamp.
    â€œThat seems to be all,” said John with an air of finality borne of relief. “I will write to you, Mr Muchira, as soon as a date for the hearing is fixed.” Turning to the policeman, he continued, “Those boys you have in the police station can now go in the Land Rover to Kitui. They are to be held in custody until all the witnesses have been traced and have made their statements.”
    The policeman got up and stood to an overstated attention, the Prussian-style heel click of his boots following some seconds after the achievement of his fully stretched height. Then, stamping his foot with a great slap on the concrete floor as he turned, he marched out of the room as if performing a military tattoo. A brace of consciously dignified, but clearly hurt and rather belittled teachers followed. John Mwangangi watched all three leave his office, carefully filing their mannerisms and behaviour in his memory for future reference.
    There was more to the case than met the eye, of that he was sure. But, as John collected the papers and filed them away in the neatly labelled grey cabinets along the wall behind his desk, his mind was initially filled with condemnation of the indiscipline of the children and their lack of respect for their elders. He had been taught to respect a teacher like he respected his own father. He wondered how many of the boys now handcuffed, and being ushered into the back of a police Land Rover with weld mesh over the windows, would have dared even to disagree with their own fathers, let alone stone them or beat them.
    After a glance at his watch, he slid back the hatchway door in the wall behind his desk and told Syengo that he could finish work for the day. Syengo waited until the hatch door closed again – a full minute after John had spoken – before grabbing his brightly coloured cap and setting off home. He liked to make doubly sure that Bwana Mwangangi had no more work for him before he left. The District Officer was a very important man and he would hate to offend him.
    Â 
    Â 
Chapter Four
    Â 
    April 1951
    Â 
    Good things are seen during the rains, but this season the rains were poor, a bad omen for the people of Migwani, the pessimists had claimed. The good things, however, were all planned. Sugar cane had been cut and stored for some weeks and children had been sent to climb trees to collect the hanging seedpods. Then, two weeks before the first day of the celebrations, the town’s old men had pulped and boiled the sugar cane with water, and set aside the liquor in large earthenware pots, which they kept for this one function each year. They ground seeds from the pods to a fine powder and stirred it into the liquor. During these two weeks the liquid fermented and matured to a fine, light sugar cane beer that would keep the gods awake. In every home, thoughts of celebration, dancing and music were paramount. Goats had been fattened for the feast and cows had been milked dry. All the beehives were empty, their honey brewed to beer, the special uki wa nzuki , and stored with care in fresh gourds. At one home in Migwani a high arch of banana leaves had been built by the parents of children who were to participate this year. The leaves were cut from the plants and carried by the youngsters. The adults sang as they built the arch, sang loudly, so the young children could hear the words which told them why, when and how, one day, they too would pass through this arch.
    Musyoka, son of Mwangangi, had taken part in every ceremony since his own father died. How long