The Deadliest Games by Janet Hutchings

Author:Janet Hutchings [Hutchings, Janet]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE BIG DANCE

By TOM VERDE

Bancroft sat on the porch of the Regency Cafe waiting for his pot of tea to steep and fanning the flies away with a small dessert menu. The aqua cement walls of the cafe’s terrace and the green potted ferns in the corners made the place look cool, but provided little actual comfort from the pervasive heat. On the lawn in front of him were round, wooden tables surrounded by delicate, painted cane chairs. Even though the tables were shielded by red-and-white Cinzano umbrellas, no one was sitting at them.

The sky was clear and brilliantly blue, although Bancroft knew that at any minute it might cloud over and the rain would fall in heavy, powerful sheets. This would last for an hour or so and then suddenly stop, like a faucet being snapped off. The rains had come early to Malawi that year. Each morning, noon, and evening it rained and this would go on for the long months that preceded the summer. Although they were a predictable annoyance, Bancroft didn’t mind them much. They were fairly punctual and Bancroft admired punctuality, even that of rainstorms.

Waiters in dark trousers and stiff white shirts stood at the doorway to the cafe holding round brown trays and lazily chatting among themselves. Bancroft kept glancing over at them, hoping to intimidate his waiter into bringing the plate of scones and jam that he had ordered. He continued to be mystified by how long everything took in this country, especially something as simple as cutting a scone in half and placing it on a plate. Although he hated to wait, he got a sense of pleasure out of snapping at waiters, tailors, street vendors—anyone at all in the city who caused him irritation. “Get away from me, you dogs—choka, choka, iwe,” he would snarl, employing one of the few Chichewan phrases he had bothered to learn.

“You there,” he now said to the small black man who was his waiter. “What the devil is taking so long here? A man could starve to death.”

“Yes, sir,” said the waiter with a short bow. He hurried into the cafe but returned empty-handed, promising Bancroft that he would soon have his food.

Bancroft huffed and poured his tea. “Well, make it fast.”

He loosened his tie and placed his hat on the chair next to him. The stiff collar of his shirt had crumpled around the top and he pulled his handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the back of his neck.

“Damned heat,” he said out loud.

A tall blonde woman and her young daughter stepped up on the porch and sat down at one of the tables. Bancroft eyed her carefully as she put her bags down on the floor and crossed her long legs. Her daughter plopped down in the chair opposite her and asked for ice cream; the woman ordered tea and unfolded a map on the table. Bancroft didn’t recognize her and he believed he knew every white person in Blantyre, for he had been there fifteen years.

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