Murder At Midnight

another glass of milk, drank it andhit the sack. I had a nightmare in which Tonye kept interrogatingand cross-examining me.

CHAPTERTHREE
A NEW ATTITUDE
I was sitting in my room some days later,when I heard Mrs. Marshall call out to Nagoth from just below my window. She wasknitting a cap, asusual under the shade of the trees.
“Mr.Ali!” I heard her call out. I heard footsteps coming in herdirection. I got up from my table and peered through thewindow.
“You always keep to yourself,why is that?” she asked, as Nagoth stood before her.
“I enjoy my own company,”replied Nagoth. “And I like my privacy.”
“That may verywell be so,” said Mrs. Marshall. “But my guess is that you areafraid of associating with others. You have probably been hurtdeeply by someone in the past and you do not want to be hurtagain.” Before he could respond, she asked, “And what is it thatyou keep hiding with that fanciful, white handkerchief?”
Nagoth appeared rattled.Then,he looked amusedand laughed.
“Are you psychic?” he asked.“You see an awful lot, don’t you?”
“I make use ofmy eyes, young man,” replied Mrs. Marshall, who hadn't stoppedknitting. “Now, show me what you are hiding.”
Inoticed that Nagoth looked quite relaxed with her.
“I lost two of my fingers in acar accident,” he replied, with a touch of sadness.
“I thought as much,” repliedMrs. Marshall. “Let me see.”
Nagothchanged his handkerchief to his left hand and showed her his righthand. Two of the fingers, the index and the middle finger, weremissing. Mrs. Marshall paused in her knitting and held his hand forsome time, with a kind of motherly concern.
“And you feel it necessary tohide it?” she asked.
“You won’tbelieve how people react to it,” replied Nagoth, looking pained.
“I can guess,” replied Mrs.Marshall, resuming her knitting. “People can be cruel andtactless.”
“They make me feel like a freakwho is inadequate, an embarrassment to have around.” The wordsseemed to come out of the depths of his soul.
“Pull yourselftogether, Nagoth. You don’t allow people to decide the direction ofyour life for you, by their silly remarks or even their reactionsto you. Life cannot come to a halt because you have lost two ofyour fingers, or even one of your hands. Nothing is decided. Therehas never been a Nagoth Ali before you came, and there will never be after you havegone.”
Nagothpaused to digest this.
“My fiancée broke off ourengagement because of it. She couldn’t take it,” said Nagothlooking at his hand. “She felt repulsed.”
“Then, she was not the one foryou and does not deserve you,” replied Mrs. Marshall.
“I’m an artist, Mrs. Marshall,”said Nagoth. “I used to paint for a living. Now, I can’t even holda brush.” He looked sad.
“Have you tried to paint withthe remaining fingers?” asked Mrs. Marshall.
“It won’t work,” said Nagothlaughing at the very idea.
“Have you tried?” asked Mrs.Marshall.
“No.”
“Then, try it. Today,” said Mrs. Marshall. “Paint something today.If it doesn’t work out today, try it again tomorrow and the dayafter.”
I saw afire beginning to dance in Nagoth's eyes.
When he left, Mrs. Marshall continued withher knitting.
A newunderstanding of the man called Nagoth Ali now dawned on me. Ourinitial encounter had made it easy for me to misjudge him; I hadjumped to conclusions. But I now knew why he had taken the staplerwith his left hand.
This remindedme ofan incident, fromsome months ago. I had concluded arrangements with a man, who hadpromised to provide me with office space for my new business.Unfortunately, this arrangement had developed some bottlenecks, so he hadfailed to keep his promise. When I eventually called him, I wastold by the person who answered, to call back in an hour's time. Apparently, the man hadmade that request after seeing my name on the caller ID. I hadwondered why the man had felt too important to take my callimmediately. Was it merely because I had come to him to requestoffice space? It was later I learnt he had been informed, merelymoments before my call, of the demise of his wife. Apparently, shehad been ill for a long time. Of course, this bit of informationhad changed my whole perception of events.
I observed that Nagoth’sbehaviour towards me had become friendlier, especially since I felldown the stairs. He asked after my health, quite frequently. In myeyes, he actually increased in stature, especially as he had movedon beyond the initial annoyance that marred our first meeting.
He also began trying to paint. He no longercarried the white, silk handkerchief. His new attitude seemed to say, ‘If youcan’t stand the sight of my hand, then you can stand on yourhead!’
I often saw him sketching onhis canvas. At first, he was quite awkward in the way he held thebrush with his three fingers and made his strokes. At such times,the frustration on his boyish face would be clear to anyone who waswatching. But with time he gained confidence; his strokes becamebolder and more assured. Quite often, some of the guests wouldgather around him and compliment him on his work. Maria showed moreenthusiasm than anyone else over his paintings. On one occasion, I even saw hersitting for him to paint a picture of her.
Mrs. Marshall, to the best ofmy knowledge, never went to where he was painting. But Nagoth oftentook the paintings to show her, and her face would light up with pride whenever she saw hiswork.
“Didn’t I tell you that you hadit in you? That you could do it?” she would ask and Nagoth wouldsmile.
I was sitting in the lounge onecool Saturday evening with the unbearable Tonye Briggs, who was recounting astory that he had already told me a hundred times.But Iforced myself tolaugh at the appropriate junctures, just to be nice. Mrs. Marshall sat at anothertable with John. She knitted, while John nursed a drink and stareddisapprovingly at the television set. Philip was by himself,reading a magazine, which had the picture of a naked woman on thecover. Nagoth was also by himself at another table, totallyengrossed in the programme being aired on thetelevision.
Justthen, Maria sashayed into the lounge. Apart from her mother andJohn, we all turned to stare at her. I