The Planter’s Dream

Abstract “The nightmare suddenly became real,” Taylor later told me. “The noise of the gun was no dream, though the dream had seemed very real. I found myself standing there, shotgun in hand, close to the bed, her head and chest blasted, lumps scattered everywhere.” Dr. Veraswami had arrived before me, called by Taylor’s boy, Aka Thon, who then came shouting on to my bungalow. Veraswami had bicycled up the hill at top speed through a predawn rainstorm. When I got there, dawn was breaking. Taylor sat slumped forward in a chair on the verandah, Aka Thon squatting anxiously nearby, the details of the scene appearing like a developing daguerreotype as the light increased. They made no move as I hurried inside.