it, and it scraped across the floor with a loud noise. Before he could get out the door into the night, the guard was blocking his way.
The light of a torch flew into his face. “O mang?!” the guard shouted loudly.
Isaac gave him his name.
“O tswa kae?” He sounded almost as frightened as Isaac.
It didn’t seem wise to say where he came from, and he remained silent.
“O tswa kae?” the guard repeated, louder still, and Isaac told him he was from the Old Village.
“What is in your hand?”
He showed him the money.
“Where did you get it?”
“There,” Isaac said, pointing.
He grabbed Isaac’s wrist and said, “Show me.” He had not put the concrete back for fear of making noise, and it was clear, once they were inside the room, where he had found it. “You knew it was here.”
“Yes.”
“Give me the money.” Isaac put it in his hand. “You are with the ANC.”
“No. I am not with them.”
“Then how did you know the money was here?”
“I lived in this place.”
“Then you are with the ANC.”
“No, rra, I am not with them.”
“Your speech is South African. You are not from Botswana.”
“No, rra, I am not from here. May I explain to you?”
“You may explain to my superior. We will wait here until morning when I will be relieved, and then I will take you to the station. Do not try to escape. Do you understand?”
“Yes, rra, I do understand. But please let me tell you. I was living here …”
“Rola ditlhako.”
“My shoes?”
“Take them off.”
“But they are my brother’s shoes.” He was crazy with hunger and fear, or he would not have said such a thing.
“I don’t care if they are your grandmother’s shoes. Take them off.” He had the fiery zeal of a young man doing his first work.
Isaac took them off, and the guard closed the door of the house, with himself and Nthusi’s shoes on the outside and Isaac on the inside. It was suddenly very quiet. Isaac felt the man’s presence just outside the door, alert. Sitting on the floor in the darkness, terror entered his bones and traveled the river of his blood and beat in his head. He imagined his friends waking to the explosion of guns. He wished to be out of that place, but he also wished that dawn would never come. He was like a monkey cornered by a lion. He had always been told how clever he was. He had begun to believe that his life was charmed. But he thought, sitting on the concrete floor in utter darkness, that he had been stupider than stupid.
After the sun rose, he heard voices speaking outside, and then the door opened. There was the young policeman and an older policeman who’d come to relieve the young one. They looked him up and down. The older man’s eyes were puffy and full of sleep. His skin was slack, and his tummy large.
“What is your name?” he asked.
Isaac told him.
“You are South African?”
“Ee, rra.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I am a refugee.”
“You are with the ANC?”
“No, rra, I am not.”
“Where are you working?”
“I am a gardener in the Old Village.”
“What were you doing in this house?”
“I was getting some money I had saved. I was living here with an old school chum and his family.”
“Your friend was with the ANC?”
“I cannot say, rra.”
“If you cannot say, he was. Then it is likely that you also are with the ANC.”
“I am not with the ANC.”
The two men held a conversation at a distance from where Isaac was standing. He could hear the younger one saying that Isaac was lying and the older one neither agreeing nor disputing. In the end, they decided Isaac would be taken to the chief of police. He hoped the old one would take him. He thought he could persuade him on the way to let him go. But it was not to be. He was too fat and tired and didn’t wish to walk to town.
“Come,” said the younger one. He handed Isaac Nthusi’s shoes, which he put on. He had no handcuffs, so he tied a rope tightly around both Isaac’s wrists and held it in his hand. Isaac followed him like a goat on a tether. The guard did not wish to walk side by side. All the same, Isaac tried to talk to him. He asked if he was from Gaborone.
“Francistown,” he muttered.
“You grew up there?”
He was not wishing to talk further.
When they were almost to town, Isaac tripped over a