To Serve

Kisula sat as if in a trance. His face was frozen in shock. I put a coffee cup and saucer in front of him and slowly poured him a cup of coffee. All the time, I could not bring myself to look at Thornton.

I started to speak. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton, but it’s time for the change. We must change ahead of a forced transition that will take the company out of our hands, whether we like it or not. Kisula is the son of a chief of the Sukuma. They will own and control all of the coffee plantations in this region soon—perhaps within a couple of years. It’s time to wake up to reality. Kisula is my partner. We can’t do better than to start including him and the Sukuma in our plans.”

It was only when I had finished this speech, delivered rapidly, almost in one breath, for fear that if I had stopped, I could not complete it, that I looked up, first at Kisula and then at Sydney Thornton.

Kisula still sat, in shock. But he sat tall. All of the Sukuma sat tall. They were a proud people, with every right to be.

But when I looked at Thornton, what I saw was not at all what I expected to see. He was smiling. Not a broad smile, but a small, knowing smile.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry, I—” I started to say, the horror of what I had done beginning to dawn on me.