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off sniffing around the cookhouse. Marcus stood restlessly in the centre of the room, obviously upset.

'Yossi,' he said suddenly.

I looked up at him. He looked strange.

'Yossi, you can have your shitty note!'

He took the crumpled note out of his pocket and threw it in my face. It landed on the floor. The room was silent. Kevin looked on without a word.

'Pick up your shitty note, do you hear me?' Marcus was hysterical. 'You should be ashamed of yourself! It was contemptuous of you to have written it, an insult to the Indian. He isn't your servant. He went to the trouble to come and give you a message, and you shouldn't have made fun of him.'

'For the past week Karl and I have been making all the arrangements, waiting on you hand and foot. All you do is sleep. When we finally ask you to do one thing, you screw around and weasel out of it. It's an insult to Karl, after all he's done for us.'

It all came pouring out in a shrill voice. When he had finished, he stood there, glaring reprovingly at me. He probably had taken a long time building up his nerve for the outburst.

I floundered awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Marcus had recognised my handwriting and blamed the note on me alone.

'I was only kidding around, Marcus,' I said in a