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Beatrice bent down and picked up the money. Through her tears, she bade farewell to Shingi who witnessed the scene until Mrs Johnson turned in his direction with a look that clearly said “Get back to work.” He acknowledged Beatrice’s farewell with a nod.

It had been two weeks since Beatrice was fired. Shingi worked mechanically and found the job very routine. He thought of his wife and the baby that was due any time. Today was a Saturday, when he usually went home to see his wife. Those days were gone. He couldn’t continue working without a break. He knew however that Mrs Johnson was looking for a chance to fire him. He wouldn’t give her one. He retired to his room for lunch after finishing his morning shift. He did not feel hungry but he had taken some bread and beef from the kitchen. He showered and retired to bed for a siesta. He had extra work to do in the evening since Mrs Johnson had told him she was expecting visitors.

Later in the afternoon, a yellow Austin Morris roared in, raising a plume of red dust. The visitors were Mr Haddock and his wife. They lived in Mabelreign and were among the oldest farmers to have settled in the area. The rickety car cackled and groaned before stopping. Mr Haddock reversed, sticking his right elbow and head out of the window, looking for packing space. He ran over some red rose flowers and finally packed under an avocado tree. Mrs Johnson, who was standing on her verandah, looked on, expressionless.

Shingi was standing at a vantage position in case he was needed to give a hand. Since the sacking of Beatrice he had become aware afresh of the injustices that had somehow become part of his life. He managed however to mask his emotions, albeit they troubled him. He knew a lot about Mr Haddock’s reputation as very cruel farmer. The white farmer had once murdered a native and was only fined 30 pounds. In retaliation for his cruelty, a native farmer at the farm had poisoned a dozen cattle and run away to Mozambique.

Mr Haddock struggled out of the car carrying a cane. He was dressed in a khaki safari suit out of which his bulky body seemed ready to burst. He was sweating profusely from the harsh October heat. He wiped sweat away with a dirty handkerchief and waddled into the house. His svelte wife followed him, holding her broad hat, which seemed to be too big for her head.

Shingi went inside the house and started serving the visitors with drinks. He pulled the cork out of a bottle of whisky and poured some into Mr Haddock’s glass. The heavyset man was more or less squatting on a sofa, panting, with his squinty-eyes almost closed. His wife was drinking wine and Mrs Johnson settled for a soda.

“Your Kaffir has grown, Ethel. Bloody piccaninny when I first came here.”

Shingi pulled a face. Mrs Haddock looked at him sympathetically. Shingi acknowledged her kindness by smiling. Rather than appreciating her sympathy he really detested it, but wanted to mask his anger. He discovered that Mr Haddock was still looking at him probingly.

“I don’t like your kaffir, Ethel. Just look at him. He is the dangerous type. I have lived with these people and I know it.”
“Stop it Phil! How on earth do you know he is dangerous?” Mrs Haddock said, nudging her husband.
“He looks shifty like a caged beast.”
“Dave was attached to him,” Mrs Johnson said. “I couldn’t understand what he liked in him. Poor Dave. He loved natives.”

Shingi clenched his fist and gnashed his teeth, a lump rising in his throat. Mrs Haddock kept silent and sipped her wine fondling the neck of the glass. Mr Haddock poured himself another glass of whisky and dismissed Shingi with a wave of the hand when he tried to help. He gulped the liquor and closed his eyes tightly. Tarzan came into the room wagging his tail. Mrs Johnson stroked his back with her right hand while holding her glass of soda in the other. The dog sat on his hind legs and closed his eyes.

Mr Haddock, who poured himself glass after glass of whisky despite protests from his wife, started singing For He is A Jolly Good Fellow. He sang drunkenly like a sailor. His wife shrugged her shoulders and chatted with Mrs Johnson. Mrs Haddock talked of her son who was in Australia and never wrote letters to his parents. She talked of her bad knee that had prevented her from playing tennis with her friends at the European Tennis club. She then talked of natives who were fighting over improved conditions for Africans. Mrs Johnson cut in, talking about her late husband and how he had spoiled the servants. She said she planned to go to South Africa where there were more whites than in Southern Rhodesia.

Mr Haddock suddenly sprang to his feet and grabbed his wife, enveloping her in a bear hug. He swung her from side to side yodeling a song whose words were inaudible. He spun her faster and faster until she freed herself from him. He complained bitterly, raising his arms theatrically. Mrs Johnson laughed, her blue eyes twinkling merrily. She looked very pleasant. Shingi had only seen her this happy when her husband was alive. He was surprised that she could still show such cheer. Mr Haddock became aware of Shingi, who was still standing, and went for him in two long drunken strides. Shingi was thinking of Beatrice and was indignant about her dismissal and all the injustices he had suffered at the hands of Mrs Johnson. Mr Haddock unleashed a punch that hit Shingi in his chest. Shingi felt pain run through his body but he was more angry than hurt.

“Stop admiring white women kaffir!”, Haddock shouted.
“Stop it Phil!” Mrs Haddock shouted.

Mrs Johnson kept quiet. Mr Haddock did a jig and lashed out at Shingi again, putting all his weight behind the punch. This time Shingi dodged forcing Mr Haddock to collapse against the cabinet, shaking the furniture. He got up quickly and grabbed Shingi by the legs. The two collapsed in a heap. Despite his weight, he got up quickly and kicked Shingi who was still on the floor. He kicked him all over the body.

“Come on kaffir, fight..fight kaffir.”

Shingi felt a sharp pain in his face as the bulky man kept on kicking him. He got up briskly and felt blood running down his face. He had done nothing but he knew of so many stories of whites beating Africans for no apparent reason. He remembered the story of how Haddock had killed a black man, and vowed that that wouldn’t happen to him. He saw that the enraged and drunken man was aiming another punch but Shingi lashed out, hitting him squarely between his eyes. He felt pain shoot through his arm. Haddock fell back hitting his head on the floor with a thud. He gurgled once and there was silence.

“He has killed him..!” the two women shouted in unison.

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