DR. WANAGANDA first saw Mrs. Anders at the Lake Victoria Hotel. He remembered the incident well because of the English boy who was leaning on the second-story balustrade peering intently through a large pair of binoculars.
The boy was still, like an animal that had spotted its prey, and Dr. Wanaganda knew some apprehension. The radio said an invasion from Tanzania was at any moment imminent, and as the hotel was near Uganda’s only airport, he feared the boy had sighted airplanes.
He excused himself from friends at the bar and went outside onto the balcony. He scanned the sky. From far off came the sound of a prop plane, painted in a camouflaged jungle brown and green that against the blueness of the African sky could not have been more conspicuous.
“Is it one of ours?” he asked the boy.
The boy appeared to jump. He drew himself in from the railing and came to attention. “Sir?” he piped in that particular pre-adolescent voice of English schoolchildren.
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