Free Uhuru Street by M. G. Vassanji Page A

and who didn’t – perhaps he went around peeping under the partitions in the staffroom lavatories?
    Half way through the class Fletcher came to read an announcement. Fletcher was one of the new expatriate teachers from England, scruffy and eccentric, for whom Stuart showed a marked distaste. He was in charge of the Drama Society, which wascurrently producing
A Passage to India.
The class had heard his announcement before, which he read again from a crumpled piece of paper. He was looking for Chagpar, his lighting man – and was told, as he had been several times before, that Chagpar was in Form IB. This was Form IA. He left, a little flustered. He never seemed to find Chagpar. Stuart returned to his digression.
    It was one of his last classes of the year. It also turned out to be one of the last he taught in the school. The boys of Form IA prided themselves in having got rid of him.

    For Stuart had a secret. There was a woman in his home. He lived in the Teachers’ Quarters. But who was this woman? If she was his mother, it was argued, she would be well into her seventies and that would explain the mystery. But if she was his wife … well, there was no knowing old Stuart the lecher … all those mentions of the Girls’ School. She could be anyone. A kept woman? That would explain the secret. Perhaps she’s an ogre, someone said, a dahkun.
    It was Sumar’s idea to investigate. Sumar was bright (one of the three ‘geniuses’ in class) but awkward and gawky. He sweated from his palms and constantly sniffled. He was also serious and did not find much in Stuart’s jokes. And Stuart had developed distaste for him, which he showed with an occasional sneer but otherwise he left him alone. During the celebrated lavatory incident he picked Sumar for the demonstration. Poor Sumar had to endure all the stares and grins and back-handed remarks of his classmates as he crouched, squatted, and sat on the toilet seat at Stuart’s bidding, looking very much like an embattled owl.
    Kanji and Sumar were in the lead, followed by Rajani and Solanki, then Lalji and Rafael, returning from school in the mid-morning blaze. They entered a grove thick with coconut and mango trees. The ground under them crackled with fallen leaves as they walked, and the sky was completely hidden from sight. Thepath went behind the Girls’ School, which was still in session. In the Boys’ School exams were over and school had ended abruptly to allow the staff to meet.
    They emerged from the grove onto a hilly path. Before them, on the hill, rose the Teachers’ Quarters: four brown concrete buildings enclosed by a tall wire fence. They started climbing up in a file of two. To their right was the ancient Shivaji Hospital, closed off by a wire fence and a densely packed hedge, from which peeped out shrubs of wild ‘European tamarind,’ so called because of its white flesh and mild taste.
    ‘What time do you think it is?’ asked Lalji from behind, a little anxiously.
    Kanji took a peek at the sun. ‘Wait,’ he said. He did the clock trick. He picked up a stick, broke it in two, and flung the shorter part away. With the other he drew a clock face on the ground and planted it upright at the centre. The squat, twisted shadow pointed uncertainly toward the noon hour.
    ‘It’s eleven-thirty,’ pronounced Kanji, looking up from the ground. He was not believed, but they started walking faster. Stuart would be expected for lunch.
    At the open gate sat the watchman.
    ‘Jambo, askari,’ they said. ‘Where does Mr Stuart live?’
    ‘The third building. Third floor, number six. You are his pupils?’
    ‘Yes, askari!’
    Rafael said he would remain at the gate. Rajani stayed with him. The remaining four walked inside the gravelled compound. The buildings were well kept and looked new, each one had a bed of flowers at the side of its entrance. The walls were unmarked, the French windows painted white, and the floors and stairs polished red. There were a