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.Deborah threw herself onto her back and looked up at the sky through the branches.It was a never-ending blue.No sign yet of the rains her mother was hoping for.Closing her eyes, she inhaled the heady perfumes of the river's edge: the moist earth; the grass and trees and flowers; the crystalline mountain air that swept down from the Aberdares.She felt a pulse beneath her hands; she heard the wind breathe.Africa was alive.Deborah opened her eyes with a start.There was a boy, standing a few feet away, watching her.Deborah got to her feet and said, "Hello.Who are you?"He didn't answer.She studied him.She had never seen him here before; she wondered where he had come from."Do you speak English?" she asked.He stared at her, warily.Deborah thought he looked ready to turn and run.So she asked in Swahili, "Do you speak English?"He shook his head no."Swahili?"He nodded slowly."Good! I speak Swahili, too! What's your name?"He hesitated, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, shy, "Christopher Mathenge.""I'm Deborah Treverton, and I live in that big house up there."She pointed to the top of the grassy ridge.Christopher turned and looked up.The house couldn't be seen from down here by the river—just rows of dead coffee trees."Where are you from?" Deborah asked."Nairobi.""Oh, Nairobi! I've never been there! It must be very big and wonderful! How I envy you!" She reached into her pocket and then held out her hand."Would you like a sweetie?"The boy looked at the candy in her palm.He seemed uncertain.He was so serious, Deborah thought.When Christopher finally took one, she said, "Take two; they're awfully good!"They ate the candy together, and by the time all the pieces were gone, Christopher was starting to smile."That's better!" Deborah said."You're new here.Where do you live?"He pointed to the mud huts clustered at the edge of the abandoned polo field."Oh!" said Deborah, feeling a delicious thrill."You live with the medicine woman! That must be terribly exciting!"Christopher didn't look too sure about that."She's my grandmother.""I don't have a grandmother.But I do have an aunt.She owns that mission over there.Do you have a father?"He shook his head."Neither do I.My father died before I was born.I live all alone with my mother."They looked at each other in the diffuse, tree-broken sunlight.It suddenly seemed very significant to Deborah that this boy also had no father, and she sensed something sad about him.He was older than she was—he looked as if he was around eleven or twelve—but they had something important in common."Would you like to be my best friend?" she asked.He frowned, not understanding."Or do you already have a best friend?"Christopher thought of the boys he had only barely known in Nairobi.Because his mother moved so often and they had lived in so many places since their release from the detention camp, Christopher and his little sister, Sarah, had never been able to make permanent friends."No," he said quietly."Don't you have any friends?"He looked down and dug his bare toes into the earth."No.""Neither do I! We shall be best friends! Would you like that?"He nodded."Very well then! I'm going to show you my special place.Are you afraid of ghosts?"He gave her a suspicious look."My special place is supposed to be haunted.But I don't think it is! Come with me, Christopher."They followed the river while Deborah kept up constant chatter."I'm supposed to be doing my lessons, but Mrs.Waddell is taking a nap.She's my governess, and she isn't very good.I was going to the white school in Nyeri town, but they closed it because so many white people are leaving Kenya that there weren't enough pupils anymore to keep the school open.Why do you suppose that is? Why are all the white people leaving Kenya?"Christopher wasn't sure, but he knew it had something to do with a man named Jomo Kenyatta.Christopher's mother had told him all about Jomo, who had spent as much time in jail as she had and who had been released at the same time, two years ago.The whites were afraid of Jomo, Christopher had heard.They thought he was going to take revenge on them for having kept him in prison for so many years."Actually I do have a friend," Deborah said as they skirted the polo field.She swung her arms as she walked and kicked stones with her bare feet."His name is Terry Donald, and he used to go to the white boys' school in Nyeri; but that was closed down, too.He has two brothers and two sisters, and they're all in boarding school in Nairobi.But Terry's too young to go there.He's only ten.He has a tutor to give him lessons.He lives in Nyeri town.His father used to own a big cattle ranch called Kilima Simba, but they sold it last year.Africans bought it.Can you imagine that? Terry comes and plays with me.He's going to be a hunter when he grows up, and he already has his own gun!"They paused at the busy entrance to Grace Mission.A paved road passed under the impressive wrought-iron arch and widened into a treelined street that had a stop sign at the end and a policeman's kiosk.Large stone buildings stood among old Cape chestnuts; there were people everywhere.From one of the three school buildings came the voices of children singing."It's the biggest Christian mission in Kenya," Deborah said with pride."And my aunt Grace built it many years ago.She's a doctor, you know.I'm going to be a doctor when I grow up.I'm going to be just like her
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