On August fourth, my birthday, our old friend Steve, with diabolical timing, made that event unforgettable. Since that chilly dawn in April he had searched the slum streets for his escaped dupes, thirsty for revenge. I waited eagerly in the hotel room for Mama who had promised to bake a cake in her white woman’s kitchen. She said she would be home early at six o’clock to celebrate my birthday. Well, she came home all right on the seventh of August, from a hospital, with her broken jaw wired, and her body covered with bruises. Steve had stalked her and attacked her with his fists and feet and
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