Black Mischief Read Free Page B

caring that it was his second son who was the political animal, the one he should be supporting and encouraging. Reuben knew that his father did not approve of what he liked to call his social failings, letting the family down for the sake of his stupid ideas.
    As a boy, he rarely came home in the car sent out to pick up the Rubai children from their city schools. He preferred to find his way down into town. He was constantly sharing with street kids money, food even clothes. He insisted on travelling on matatus, anytime he could. This infuriated his father and stirred the scorn of Julius.
    â€˜Listen, little brother, you got to stop this crap way of living. You may not look like a Rubai, but you better try acting like one.’
    Reuben had a sharp answer ready but did not want to risk another thump in the head for crossing his touchy bully of a brother.
    But it was at a matatu stop in Tom Mboya Street in Nairobi where Reuben met Lydia. She asked him for a light. His response was to snatch the cigarette from her lips, stamp it into the pavement and invite her for a cup of coffee. When he discovered that she lived in Kibera, one of the three large slum townships scattered around the city, his interest was roused. It was a place he wanted to visit, but it was a place he was wary of entering alone.
    â€˜What’s a good looker like you doing living in that dump?’
    â€˜Well, for one thing it is not a dump and for another you’re wasting my time unless you are looking for a bit of fun. Not expensive, just two thousand an hour.’
    â€˜Mucho cheapo! That’s way below the going rate even for an old banger who’s been on the game for yonks.’
    â€˜Why do you talk so funny?’
    â€˜I read a lot of books.’
    â€˜I can read. But I don’t get much books. My brother can read, too. He’s in America.’
    â€˜Does he approve of you doing this?’
    â€˜Approve?’
    â€˜Does he mind you going to bed with strangers?’
    â€˜He don’t know. Anyway, it’s my first day. You could be my first customer. But I don’t have no bed. I have a friend who will rent me a room in her hotel. Not far from here. You pay for the room. No bedbugs, no cockroaches.’
    Reuben was about to make the big moral statement, but no words came from his mouth, only a sad groan. His eyes welled up. It was part pity but mostly anger. Even in this thin, poor quality dress and the plastic shoes she was an attractive girl, a child forced to grow up too quickly who would not be short of customers out on the streets. Her limbs were well formed and smooth as carved brown ivory. Her lips were thin, her trusting, dark eyes were calm and inquisitive, her body lithe. And she was shorter than Reuben. He liked that. He pondered for a moment, taken up with a piece of mental arithmetic. Then, his mind made up, his tone became businesslike.
    â€˜Listen. Don’t do this. Come here every week at about this time and there’ll be an envelope waiting with five thousand shillings inside, six if I can raise it. I’ll come myself if I can. You just stay off the streets. I know people. I can help to get you into a good school near home. You can learn to talk funny like me. What do you think?’
    There was a long silence. Lydia was staring over Reuben’s shoulder at passers-by in the street outside as if she was making some calculations of her own.
    Fearing that she might turn him down, he pushed in another argument.
    â€˜I know that a girl like you, fresh on the streets, could make a lot more than five thousand a week, but for sure sooner or later someone will give you a dose. You’ll be sick or you could die. Now then?’
    â€˜Who are you? Have you got the religion or something? Just like those who come ‘round Kibera every day. They talk a lot but nothing changes. Except the nuns in those crazy uniforms. They live in there with us. I like to talk with them.’
    â€˜But