world had been invited, comrades or not, and they had been conveyed on this bush road or by helicopter to a Growth Point not far from the birthplace of the Comrade Leader. Near it, among trees, two great marquees had been erected. Inside one trestle tables offered buns and Fanta to the local citizens, while the other had a feast laid out on white cloths, for the elite. But the church service where the marriage was being solemnized went on too long. The povos, or plebs, having consumed their buns, surged into the tent for their betters, and consumed all the food, while waiters futilely protested. Then they vanished back into the bush to their homes. More food had to be flown by helicopter from Senga. This event, so aptly illustrating... but one that is so like a fairy tale does not have to be annotated.

Along this road, in not much more than ten years, the bully-boys and thugs of the Leader's Party would run with machetes and knives and clubs to beat up farm workers who wanted to vote for the Leader's opponents. Among them were the young men – former young men – to whom Father McGuire had given medicine in the war. Part of this army had turned off from this road on to the minor road to the Pynes' farm, which they did not appear to know had already been forcibly acquired by Mr Phiri, though the Pynes had not yet left. About two hundred drunks arrived on the lawn in front of the house and demanded that Cedric Pyne should kill a beast for them. He killed a fat ox – the drought having relaxed its grip – and on the front lawn a great fire was built and the ox was roasted. The Pynes were dragged down from the verandah and told to chant slogans praising the Leader. Edna refused. 'I'm damned if I'm going to tell lies just to please you,’ she said, and so they hit her until she repeated after them, ' Viva Comrade Matthew. ‘When Mr Phiri arrived to take possession of the two farms, the garden of the house was black and fouled and the house well was full of rubbish.

Along this road eight years ago Sylvia had been driven, dazed and dazzled by the strangeness of the bush, the alien magnificence, listening to Sister Molly warn her against the intransigence of the male world: 'That Kevin now, he hasn't caught on that the world has changed around him.'

By this road, not far from here, in a hilly area full of caves and rocky clefts and baobabs, is a place where the Comrade Leader was summoned at intervals by spirit healers (n'gangas, witchdoctors, shamans) to night sessions where men (and a woman or two), who may be working in a kitchen or a factory, painted, wearing animal skins and monkey hair, danced themselves into a trance and informed him that he must kill or throw out the whites or he will displease the ancestors. He grovelled, wept, promised to do better – then was driven back to town to take up his residence again in his fortress house, to plan for his next trip to meet the world's leaders, or a conference with the World Bank.

The bus came. It was old, and it rattled and shook and emitted clouds of black greasy smoke that trailed for miles behind it, marking the road. It was full, yet a space appeared and admitted Sylvia and her two – what were they, servants? – but the people on the bus, prepared to be critical of this white woman travelling with them – she was the only white among them – saw her put her arms around the lads, who pressed up close to her, like children. They were doleful, trying not to cry, afraid of what they were facing. As for Sylvia, she was in a panic. What was she doing? What else could she have done? Under the rattling of the bus she asked them, low, ‘What would you have done if I hadn't come back?’And Clever said, ‘I don't know. We have nowhere to go. ' Zebedee said, ' Thank you for coming to fetch us. We were too-too afraid you wouldn't come for us. '

From the bus station they walked to the old hotel that had been so thoroughly diminished by Butler's, and she took a room for the three of them, expecting comments, but there were none: in the hotels of Zimlia a room may have half a dozen beds in it to accommodate a whole family.

She went with them to the lift, knowing that they had never seen one, nor, probably, heard of them, explained how they worked, walked along a corridor where a dusty sun was laying patterns, and in the room showed them the bathroom, the lavatory: how to turn taps and cistern handles, open and shut windows. Then she took them to the restaurant and ordered sadza for them, saying they must not use their fingers to eat it, and then a pudding, and with the aid of a kindly waiter, they managed that too.

Then it was two o'clock and she took them back upstairs, and telephoned the airport, booking seats for the following evening. She said she was going to get them passports, explained passports, and said they could sleep if they wanted. But they were too excited, and were bouncing on the beds when she left, letting out cries that could have been joy, or a lament.

She walked to the government offices and as she stood on the steps wondering what next, Franklin stepped out of his Mercedes. She grabbed his arm and said, 'I'm coming in with you and don't you dare say you have a meeting.' He tried to shake her off, and was about to shout for help when he saw it was Sylvia. He was so astonished he stood still, not resisting, so she let him go. When he had seen her weeks ago she had been an imposter who called herselfSylvia, but here was what he remembered, a slight creature, whose whiteness seemed to gleam, with soft golden hair and enormous blue eyes. She was wearing a white blouse, not that horrible white madam's green suit. She seemed positively transparent, like a spirit, or a gold-haired Madonna from his long-ago schooldays.

Disarmed and helpless, he said, ' Come in. ‘And up they went along the corridors of power, up stairs, and into his office where he sat, sighing, but smiling, and waved her to a chair.

‘What is it you want?'

‘I have with me two boys from Kwadere. They are eleven and thirteen. They have no family. Everyone has died of AIDS. I am taking them back to London and I want you to arrange passports for them. '

He laughed. ‘But I am the wrong Minister. It is not my department.'

'Please arrange it. You can.'

'And why should you steal away our children?'

'Steal! They have no family. They have no future. They learned nothing in your so-called school where there aren't any books. I've been teaching them. They are very bright children. With me they'll be educated. And they want to be doctors.'

‘And why should you do this?'

'I promised their father. He is dying of AIDS. I think he must be dead by now. I promised I would educate his sons. '

' It is ridiculous. It is out of the question. In our culture someone will look after them. '

‘You never go out of Senga, so you don't know how things are. The village is dying. There are more people up in the cemetery than in the village now. '

‘And is it my fault their father has AIDS? And is this terrible thing our fault?'

‘Well, it's not ours, as you keep saying. And I think you should know that in the country districts people are saying that AIDS is the fault of the government because you've turned out to be such a bunch of crooks. '

His eyes wandered. He took a gulp of water. He wiped his face. ‘I’m surprised you listen to such gossip. They are rumours spread by South African agents. '

' This is wasting time. Franklin, I've booked seats for tomorrow night's flight to London.' She pushed across a piece of paper with the boys' names on it, their father's name, their birthplace. ' Here you are. All I need is a document to get them out of the country. And I'll arrange for them to have British passports when we get to London. '

He sat looking at the paper. Then he cautiously lifted his eyes and they were full of tears. ' Sylvia, you said a very terrible thing.'