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Authors: Lionel Shriver
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right away. Little by little, they bring their whole families, until the shamba is overrun, mat
tresses and plastic bowls; it's hardly your house any more! Cheeky bastards!'
'And when we took her on she said she had one child , can you believe it! Of course she had six, and now she's pregnant, again —'
'You really have to employ all the same tribe, sweety, or they're at each other's throats morning and night.'
Add a few pilots, a sprinkling of journalists waiting for some Africans to starve, for another massacre in Somalia or the rise of another colourful dictator whose quaint cannibalism they could send up in the Daily Mirror , and that, in one room, was mzungu Nairobi—inbred, vain, pampered, presumptive and imminently extinct, thank heavens.
Wallace declined to mingle, and perched on a three-legged stool, rocking on his chaplies with his cane between his legs, rearranging the straggles of his faded kikoi . It was times like these, while around him the bewildered got motherless, that he might have missed his pipe, but Wallace had given it up and regarded himself as beyond desire.
He had noted before that the mentally mangled found the proximity of perfect contentment and inner peace an upsetting experience and so they tended to avoid him. Conversations with Wallace had a habit of dwindling. Why? Just try explaining how we-are-all-one when your companion is fidgeting for a refill of whisky and looks so palpably disheartened at the demise of the banana crisps. So he was surprised when one of the paper dolls tore herself away from ogling the buffet table of forbidden fruit and sidled over to the fire. Perhaps, so tiny, she was cold.
'So what's your line?' she asked distractedly, no doubt having just learned her husband was bedding her best friend. 'KQ? WWF? A & K? I'd guess…' she assessed, 'UN, but not with those sandals. NGO. Loads of integrity. SIDEA?'
'I did,' he conceded, 'once work in population research.'
'Oh, brilliant! I know this sounds awful, but when I read about a plane crash or an earthquake, I think, well, good. There are too many people already.'
'And what if you were on the plane?'
'I suppose then I shouldn't have to think anything about it whatsoever.' She giggled.
'I've given up population work rather.'
'Well, I don't blame you. It must be so discouraging Everyone giving food aid to those poor Ethiopians, who just keep having more babies. And frankly…' Her voice had dropped.
'Sorry?'
'This AIDS palaver. I've heard it said, you know, that it's Nature's way. Of keeping the balance. Do you think me just too monstrous?'
Wallace was about to say 'Yes' when a cold draught raised the hairs on his neck. Even facing away from the door he could feel the room tingle. The girl who didn't really care if she was a monster clapped delightedly. 'Calvin!' she cried, and scampered off.
Wallace forced himself to turn slowly, by which time Evil Incarnate, Inc. had already set up shop at the big round table on the opposite side of the room. Too insecure to arrive without a protective claque, Piper had gathered his dwarfs around him, commanding the whole table so that no one could get at the food, and annexing most of the available chairs in one swoop. Arms extended languidly on either side, he took an audience as his due. That ghastly simian was always a draw, though gurgling fans got their comeuppance soon enough—already, from the sound of a yelp and covering titter, the hateful beast had managed to bite a hand that fed it. Shortly, standing room behind the circle filled up, while energy bled from other corners. Alternative conversations grew lack-lustre while trickles of prima donna pessimism drizzled to Threadgill's ear: 'You realize there are actually some people who believe that human population can expand infinitely?'
Wallace smiled. So Piper had noticed he was here.
Calvin was the prime of a type. They saw only mayhem and
tresses and plastic bowls; it's hardly your house any more! Cheeky bastards!'
'And when we took her on she said she had one child , can you believe it! Of course she had six, and now she's pregnant, again —'
'You really have to employ all the same tribe, sweety, or they're at each other's throats morning and night.'
Add a few pilots, a sprinkling of journalists waiting for some Africans to starve, for another massacre in Somalia or the rise of another colourful dictator whose quaint cannibalism they could send up in the Daily Mirror , and that, in one room, was mzungu Nairobi—inbred, vain, pampered, presumptive and imminently extinct, thank heavens.
Wallace declined to mingle, and perched on a three-legged stool, rocking on his chaplies with his cane between his legs, rearranging the straggles of his faded kikoi . It was times like these, while around him the bewildered got motherless, that he might have missed his pipe, but Wallace had given it up and regarded himself as beyond desire.
He had noted before that the mentally mangled found the proximity of perfect contentment and inner peace an upsetting experience and so they tended to avoid him. Conversations with Wallace had a habit of dwindling. Why? Just try explaining how we-are-all-one when your companion is fidgeting for a refill of whisky and looks so palpably disheartened at the demise of the banana crisps. So he was surprised when one of the paper dolls tore herself away from ogling the buffet table of forbidden fruit and sidled over to the fire. Perhaps, so tiny, she was cold.
'So what's your line?' she asked distractedly, no doubt having just learned her husband was bedding her best friend. 'KQ? WWF? A & K? I'd guess…' she assessed, 'UN, but not with those sandals. NGO. Loads of integrity. SIDEA?'
'I did,' he conceded, 'once work in population research.'
'Oh, brilliant! I know this sounds awful, but when I read about a plane crash or an earthquake, I think, well, good. There are too many people already.'
'And what if you were on the plane?'
'I suppose then I shouldn't have to think anything about it whatsoever.' She giggled.
'I've given up population work rather.'
'Well, I don't blame you. It must be so discouraging Everyone giving food aid to those poor Ethiopians, who just keep having more babies. And frankly…' Her voice had dropped.
'Sorry?'
'This AIDS palaver. I've heard it said, you know, that it's Nature's way. Of keeping the balance. Do you think me just too monstrous?'
Wallace was about to say 'Yes' when a cold draught raised the hairs on his neck. Even facing away from the door he could feel the room tingle. The girl who didn't really care if she was a monster clapped delightedly. 'Calvin!' she cried, and scampered off.
Wallace forced himself to turn slowly, by which time Evil Incarnate, Inc. had already set up shop at the big round table on the opposite side of the room. Too insecure to arrive without a protective claque, Piper had gathered his dwarfs around him, commanding the whole table so that no one could get at the food, and annexing most of the available chairs in one swoop. Arms extended languidly on either side, he took an audience as his due. That ghastly simian was always a draw, though gurgling fans got their comeuppance soon enough—already, from the sound of a yelp and covering titter, the hateful beast had managed to bite a hand that fed it. Shortly, standing room behind the circle filled up, while energy bled from other corners. Alternative conversations grew lack-lustre while trickles of prima donna pessimism drizzled to Threadgill's ear: 'You realize there are actually some people who believe that human population can expand infinitely?'
Wallace smiled. So Piper had noticed he was here.
Calvin was the prime of a type. They saw only mayhem and
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