Summer 2009 • Vol. XXXI No. 3 Fiction |

Pole, Pole

Goodness, she said. That was something. You're something. With you I am. She added under her breath, apparently. She looked across the room of the cottage to heavy curtains, which blocked out the daylight. That sliver of light, she said, it's totally white. You can't see the trees or grass or anything. It must be late. The African noon, he said. It's blinding. Too bright to go out in. You better stay right here. Here? she said. I don't even know where I am.     • • The night had ended late. It had started way back there at the engagement party she'd gone to with Bragg. Bragg was the ex-fiancé of a friend of hers in London and the bureau chief in Nairobi, who'd taken her under his wing when she'd arrived in Kenya a couple of weeks before. He seemed to know everyone in the crowd at the Muthaiga Club, which spread out into a lantern-lit interior garden. At one point he called to a tall man who walked toward them, looking at her. Here

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