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forty-four f

Cutting the Grass

B ecause we paid our mortgage in cash wired to us from Ben, Rajiv stopped by to collect his payment promptly at ten o’clock the morning after Mike arrived home from Thailand.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose,” Rajiv greeted us. “Do you have your payment?”

“Yeah, man, right here.” Mike pulled out a wad of American bills in excess of what was due.

“I see you have a great deal of money. You do not need to pay more than one installment but if you are so inclined, I will happily accept it all.” Rajiv smiled.

“This is nothin’,” Mike said. “We got a bottomless pit for cash, but I need the rest for other stuff.”

“Perhaps to pay those large white gentlemen who followed me here.” Rajiv no longer smiled.

Now that Mike was back, the mercenaries were, too.

“Whadda ya mean?” Mike asked.

“Your bodyguards? Your babysitters? Who are those men?” Rajiv asked.

“They work for me.”

Rajiv’s expression told me he didn’t buy Mike’s lie for a second.

“Somethin’ else,” Mike said. “I bought new furniture for the house. It’ll be here any day. What should we do with what’s here?”

“I can arrange to have it moved, but it will cost you. Best to notify your contact in the States for more cash,” Rajiv said.

Two days later the furniture and another new stereo system arrived, as did more cash for Rajiv. I sat on the veranda and watched as heavy pieces of carved, dark wood entered the house. I would miss Rajiv’s tropical pieces, but I was in no position to argue.

“Excuse me, madam, but I must trim the lawn,” Peter, our gardener, said to me after the delivery truck left. “Is this a bad time?”

“It’s fine,” I replied.

Peter used a sickle to hack away at the grass.

“Don’t you have a lawnmower?” I asked.

“No, madam.”

“We’ll buy you a lawnmower tomorrow, and while we’re in town, we’ll buy new beds for all of you.”

A grin spread across Peter’s face. “You are most generous.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” I said.

Now that our grass at home was getting cut properly, we took a drive to the farms to check on our other grass. It was late October and the first time I’d seen the crops in nearly a month. I stared at marijuana plants as tall as me. Some buds were as large as my fists.

“I had no idea pot could grow like this!”

“Kenya has rich soil, lots of rain and sunshine, and farmers who know what they’re doing,” Maurice explained. “They’ve been cutting the plants back, which makes them grow larger. By Thanksgiving, we’ll have our first harvest!”

“Americans’ll go wild for this shit,” Mike said.

“Can we try some?” I asked.

“The farmers harvested a few plants for us to try,” Maurice said. “Some are already dried. The rest we’ll take home and dry ourselves.”

We said our goodbyes, packed the pot in the trunk, and set off for our second village. Our personal mercenaries were never far behind.