Free A Grain of Wheat by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o

look at it twice, but hurried on to the next page: afterwards he felt ashamed of this reaction, but he could not bring himself to look at it again. Thompson already knew the Duke of Edinburgh would deputize for the Queen. Any news of Uhuru always reminded him of this knowledge. No matter how he looked at it, Thompson was pinched by sadness at the knowledge that the Duke would sit to see the flag lowered, never to rise again on this side of Albion’s shore. This sadness was accentuated by his mind racing back to 1952 when the Queen, then a princess, visited Kenya. For a minute, Thompson forgot the newspaper and relived that moment when the young woman shook hands with him. He was then District Officer. He felta thrill: his heart-beat had quickened as if a covenant had been made between him and her. Then, there, he would have done anything for her, would have stabbed himself to prove his readiness to carry out that mission which though unspoken seemed embodied in her person and smile. Recalling that rapture, Thompson involuntarily pushed away the paper and rose to his feet. There was a flicker in his eyes, a water glint. He walked towards the window muttering under his breath:
    ‘What the hell was it all about!’
    The momentary excitement died and a hardness settled in his belly. He leaned forward, his eyes vaguely surveying the scene: in front of him lay the low corrugated-iron roofs of the three laboratories – one for plant pathology and forestry, one for soil-physics and the other for soil-chemistry. To the left, hot-houses were scattered about in groups of two or three. He watched Dr Lynd, a plant pathologist at the station, cross the tarmac road; soon she disappeared behind the hot-houses; a few seconds later her dog, a brown bull-mastiff with black dewlaps, dashed from the laboratories and followed her. To the right, he could just see the library: a group of Africans lay on the grass below the eaves. Everything was so quiet, Thompson reflected, now looking from the green grass compound to the chemistry-block, the nearest laboratory. Test-tubes upon test-tubes were neatly arranged by the glass window. Would these things remain after Thursday? Perhaps for two months: and then – test-tubes and beakers would be broken or lie unwashed on the cement, the hot-houses and seed-beds strewn with wild plants and the outer bush which had been carefully hemmed, would gradually creep into a litter-filled compound.
    The bull-mastiff emerged from the other side of the chemistry-block, sniffing along the grass-surface. Then it stood and raised its head towards the library. Thompson tensed up: something was going to happen. He knew it and waited, unable to suppress that cold excitement. Suddenly the dog started barking as it bounded across the compound towards the group of Africans. A few of them screamed and scattered into different directions. One man could not run in time. The dog went for him. The man tried to edge his way out, but thedog fixed him to the wall. Suddenly he stooped, picked up a stone, and raised it in the air. The dog was now only a few feet away. Thompson waited for the thing he feared to happen. Just at that moment, Dr Lynd appeared on the scene and, as the dog was about to jump at the man, shouted something. Thompson’s breath came back first in a long-drawn wave, then in low quick waves, relieved and vaguely disappointed that nothing had happened.
    He left the office and walked across the grass compound towards the library where a small crowd of Africans had gathered. Dr Lynd held her dog by the collar with the left hand and pointed an accusing finger at Karanja with the other.
    ‘I am ashamed of you, utterly ashamed of you,’ she said putting as much contempt as she could into her voice. Karanja looked at the ground; fear and anger were visible in his eyes; the sweat-drops had not yet dried on his face.
    ‘The dog – dog – come – Memsahib,’ he stammered.
    ‘I would never have thought this of you