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believe—have to believe—in the existence of the Devil along with God, Capital Initials for both. How else? How else answer why. But what there was in that place was not ontologically incurable! Just that a cure was not yet discovered. Preventable. That was the succour, in the meantime! Research facilities, preventive
education—that was what, under the mantra of diffused tapes repeating pop songs, the people who were doing something about these were arguing, as the coffee revived blood run cold. And that was the code she belonged to: whatever there is, the ethic is do something about it. But she couldn’t respond when her Administrator, with his usual consideration of the worth of her views, looked to see if she was going to speak.
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    The official car drew up at the gates just as she arrived back at the house. Dismay difficult to overcome: not this afternoon, end of this day! Draw the curtains pour yourself a whisky, no-one but the face, familiar in this delegated house, this tour of duty, of the attendant Tomasi.
    Nothing for it but to blast the horn for Tomasi to come and open the gates—and dismay gave way to embarrassment, the blast sounded exasperated, she had the duty of a polite show of welcome, at least. As the gates were opened she waved a hand to signal the car to precede hers. The Deputy-Director of Land Affairs was deposited at the front door and his car proceeded once again round to the yard. She left hers and produced a smile to greet her guest.
    Tomasi the sprinter was already opening the front door. Once she and Gladwell Shadrack Chabruma were in the livingroom she excused herself:—May I dump my papers and tidy myself up, we’ve been about out of the office all day. Please—be comfortable.—
    He will have heard her flushing the loo, water coming from the old squeaking taps as she washed, she did not look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Hadn’t made himself comfortable.
There in his parliamentary dress he was standing as if he had just entered.—Come.—She turned to the sofa; while he seated himself, she indeed drew the curtains and opened the cupboard where the hospitality bottles were.
    â€”It’s too late for tea, don’t you agree. Gladwell. What’ll it be?—
    â€”Whatever you are having.—
    â€”Whisky? Soda, water?—
    â€”I prefer soda.—
    She drew up a little table for their drinks and joined him on the sofa.—We have a visitor from WHO in New York, we’ve been taking him around with people from the Ministry of Health, some from Welfare.—
    â€”It is good when these principals come, see for themselves. Sometimes.—
    â€”And other times?—
    â€”They don’t understand what they see, what it means; what we are doing.—One of his pauses.—They’re seeing something else they bring along with them. What is it, the word … when I was a student at University of Virginia—a paradigm. Yes.—
    Sometimes.
    The curt proviso caught at her abstracted attention. The few occasions they had met, even in the opportunities of the weekend drive, he had not allowed himself any uncertainties. Now from this small indication that this official was also a man with doubts came the release coffee at the Holiday Inn had not brought her.
    â€”I shouldn’t be doing this job.—
    Spoken suddenly for herself. But as if overheard by both—
the man was here so it must have been for him, too.—We were at that new water purification plant … two clinics they fund. And the old Queen Mary Hospital. You know.—
    â€”Their AIDS programme.—
    â€”WHO’s and ours, the Agency.—
    â€”You have had a very busy day. Roberta.—
    And she was the one who had not seen what there was to see: here was a reassuring presence seated in physical solidity, affirming her worth, the correctness of the three-piece suit a sign of order—like the gown of a judge in the