After the deed had been done they were unable to think straight, to fashion a plan to extricate themselves from what they had done. The consequences lay before them like an open book, an elderly man wheezing what little life he still had in him away, blood still flowing steadily from two deep wounds in his chest. They had gone to his home to rob him. After he had recognized one of them and called his name they had reasoned that they had to kill him.
Jomo was Mr. Samuels’ neighbour, two houses removed. It was he who had planned the crime. He used to observe Mr. Samuels collecting money from Mr. Kandasammy just before the businessman’s truck pulled off laden with agricultural produce from the Samuels’ farm. Afterwards, the farmer would clean the mud left on the bridge after the wheelbarrow had crossed over it several times laden with ground provision. He would then retire until the next day when he would make a trip to the bank to do a deposit.
It was only when he was staring at Mr. Samuels gasping vainly for breath that it struck Jomo that his involvement in the crime rendered him guilty of, among other things, the grossest ingratitude. He remembered that the farm had provided many a meal for his
