Thabo was bought to the hospital by the police. He had presented himself at the Houses of Parliament earlier in the day and declared to the bemused security officers that he had come to take over the government that in his mind was corrupt and incompetent. It is not clear why this should lead to the conclusion that he was mentally ill but he was referred to our unit to be assessed. He was not an angry man. He was not violent in any way. For him overthrowing the government was more of a duty than a self-righteous insurrection. We did not think he was dangerous and he was moved to an open ward. I found him sitting at the fence looking at the birds on the river. He said ‘Our time will come. We will have to be patient. My army of birds are awaiting my command. Then we will take over the government. My birds are ready. Our time will come.’ He was calm. He was at peace with himself. He had a plan and he believed it was just a plan. The birds drifted in the shallow waters of the river, unperturbed.

The Journey to the Interior

“Kalasinga explained to him the mysteries of the engine, and Yusuf grasped something of this but was happier watching him magically coax the tangle of pipes and bolts into life. He heard about India, where Kalasinga had not been for many years, and South Africa, where he had lived as a child. It’s a madhouse in South. All kinds of cruel fantasies have come true there. Let me tell you something about those Afrikander bastards, though. They’re crazy. I don’t just mean wild and cruel, I mean round the loop. Hot sun has turned their Dutch brain to soup.

The Journey to the Interior

“Kalasinga explained to him the mysteries of the engine, and Yusuf grasped something of this but was happier watching him magically coax the tangle of pipes and bolts into life. He heard about India, where Kalasinga had not been for many years, and South Africa, where he had lived as a child. It’s a madhouse in South. All kinds of cruel fantasies have come true there. Let me tell you something about those Afrikander bastards, though. They’re crazy. I don’t just mean wild and cruel, I mean round the loop. Hot sun has turned their Dutch brain to soup.

VI: River Orwell, Suffolk, 1984

“Above all, shared desire, with its unfathomable, inexpressible peace. The hope implicit in their days and nights together.

IX: Rue Gazan, Paris, 1908

“Our beautiful spring day. The glorious flower meadow, the armful you carried home for us, Eugène, filling the huge heavy glass vase so that the thirsty marsh marigold, mahonia and broom in all their shining yellows could drink and drink the

singingly clear cold water.

That evening, I could not comprehend that the wildflowers you’d picked for us had outlived you.

On your wrist, the second hand of your new watch was lurching forwards, though your pulse had stopped.