"Yes, Bwana," said Walla.

Lippincott counted three, cuts on his face when he turned from the mirror and took the blade out of his safety razor.

"That's six for you, Walla."

"Bwana, I got something better for you than cutting."

"Six cuts," said Lippincott who had intentionally given himself the last two in anticipation of taking revenge for his discomfort on Walla.

"Bwana, I know where you can get woman. You need woman, Bwana, don't cut poor Walla."

"I don't want some little black ape, Walla. Now you have cuts coming to you and you know you deserve them."

"Bwana, you look. You want woman. You don't want Walla."

It was then that James Forsythe Lippincott realized his body was indeed calling out for a woman.

"White women, you do whatever you want. White women, Bwana."

"There are no white women available in Busati, Walla. That will be another cut for lying."

"White women. Oh, yes. White women. I know."

"Why haven't I heard of them before?"

"Not allowed. Not allowed. Secret. White women at the big house with the iron gate."

"A whorehouse, Walla?"

"Yes, Bwana. White women in the whorehouse. Don't cut Walla. You can do anything to them you want if you got money. Anything. You can cut white women if you got enough money."

"That's outrageous, Walla. If you're lying, I’ll give you twenty cuts. Do you hear me?"

"I hear, Bwana."

When Lippincott drove up to the large white house with the iron gate, he saw to his delight that the windows held air-conditioning units. Iron bars held the gray units in place. If he had looked closer, he would have seen that there were bars also on windows that had no air conditioners. But he did not look closer, nor did he wonder why Walla did not accompany him, even though the servant knew he would be punished for just disappearing the way he had.