A Fool's Knot by Philip Spires

How interesting. I’ll bear that in mind.”
    On one occasion John came close to offending and alienating Helen completely. From the start he had insisted on drinking only water. He seemed to regard the wine they drank with sufficient distaste to want to distance himself from it. He was clearly a thirsty man, however, and soon finished the whole jug of water that Helen had provided at table. He was speaking at the time, trying to describe some aspect or other of his home area to Bill, whom he faced. He reached for the jug and began to pour before registering that it was empty. Almost without breaking the flow of words directed at his tutor, he cast a glance aside to Helen and said, “More water.” His stress was placed on the start, with the intonation falling across the words, the flat ending making the phrase a command in Helen’s ear. She was visibly and immediately startled, despite her beginning to fulfil the request before pausing to show her shock. But, not wanting to make a scene, she took the jug and refilled it from the kitchen tap. Meanwhile Bill stopped John and explained how he must follow certain rules of politeness in British society and learn to use them constantly. When Helen returned, John apologised, still not understanding what he had done.
    â€œI am sorry,” he said. “I have much to learn and hope that you can help to educate me. ‘Please’ is not a word that exists in my language.”
    The explanation, though acceptable to Helen as an apology, reinforced her developing opinion that had formed as a result of other things that had transpired. When John spoke of a Kamba woman’s life of hard labour and of what she interpreted as his people’s lack of politeness, she found it hard to believe how anyone from that background could possibly be regarded as ‘educated’. In fact, John had said nothing to create these images. The meaning was entirely in her imagination and, perhaps, in the collective imagination of her own people, a code of assumptions that few were ever called upon to question.
    Later, with the meal finished and the evening still quite young, Bill suggested that the three of them should adjourn to the lounge. John rose, picking up the napkin he had completely ignored until then and used it, after dipping it into his glass, to wipe his hands, as if it were a small towel. Like any other skill, this was another he would have to learn. Immediately, and to Bill’s consternation, he expressed his desire to leave.
    â€œWell actually,” said Bill, “I had wanted to talk to you about this piece you gave me today…” So saying he walked briskly into the other room and returned with his sheaf of papers.
    But as he re-entered the dining room, a confused-looking John Mwangangi Musyoka confirmed that he must leave. “It is right,” he confirmed. And go he did.
    â€œWhat did he mean when he said that? ‘It is right’,” asked Helen.
    â€œI have not the faintest idea,” admitted Bill. It was not until fifteen years later that Bill would understand. Then, seated in John’s father’s house and having eaten rice and soup, he watched as the host stood up to announce the end of the meal. “We must leave now,” John whispered to Bill. “It is an insult to the cook to stay when the food is finished. It is like saying the meal was poor and you expect more.”
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Chapter Seven
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    January 1975
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    Oh Mwanza, John thought. If only life were a mirror! What image would you see of yourself?
    Mwanza lived within a whirlwind of his own making. It accompanied him wherever he went and sucked in those unfortunate enough to come within range. To spend time with him was to contract activity like it was an infectious disease. No one was immune, but each person he knew had found an individual way of coping with the challenge. Janet, who saw a lot of him socially, found it best to head straight