Footprints by Robert Rayner Page B

reads out the titles:
The Politics of Disobedience. Passive and Active Protest. The Direct Action Manual
.
    Harper is looking at a poster on the wall. “Here’s where Dexter gets that stuff about the stages of political protest.”
    The poster states, in vibrant red lettering on a black background, in Spanish with the English translation underneath,
DIALOGO...PROTESTA...ACCIÓN. DIALECTIC... PROTEST...ACTION
. Then, in smaller lettering, it says,
Adapted from the political writings of Raul Battista de la Cruz
.
    â€œHere’s the man himself,” says Isora. She’s standing before a poster headlined
Raul Battista de la Cruz
. He wears a beret, which perches on a mass of black curly hair. He has a short stubbly beard and rimless glasses, behind which his eyes glitter. Drumgold and Harper join her as she reads – stumblingly first in Spanish, then in translation – the message superimposed over the portrait: “‘
Las semillas de la acción revolucionaria residen no solo en los conocimientos de los agravios causados o de las injusticias cometidas, ni siguiera en su realidad, pero en la respuesta de los poderosos lamentos...
The seeds of revolutionary action lie not in the perception of wrongs inflicted or injustices committed, nor even in their reality, but in the response of the powerful to those grievances.’”
    They’ve been back in Isora’s kitchen for less than half an hour when there’s a sharp rap at the door and Lully walks in with, “Who’s here?”
    Isora says, “Just us.”
    â€œWere you in my study?”
    She knows she shut the door when they left, and they hadn’t moved, or even touched, anything. “Sorry.”
    â€œI don’t mean you. I know when you’ve been in.” Lully turns to Drumgold and Harper. “You guys. Were you in my study with Is?”
    They start mumbling apologies and Lully mutters, “Okay. Sorry. I don’t mind you going in. I just need to know. That’s all. But...no-one else, right?”
    The boys shake their heads, and Isora says, “’Course not.”
    Drumgold asks, “How did you know we’d been in?”
    Lully shrugs. “I can tell.”

13
    Two weeks later, just before midnight, Drumgold, Isora and Harper are lying in the undergrowth beside the Old Beach Road, where they’d dived a few seconds earlier when they’d heard a vehicle approaching fast. Almost at the same time as they heard it, the vehicle appeared, its headlights illuminating the dirt road where a moment before they’d been swaggering three abreast, confident in the moonless darkness.
    It’s a week before the end of May and they are on their way to the Anderson cottage. They wear black clothes and blackwoolen hats and feel like commandos.
    Drumgold has found a rock, and is thinking, If the driver sees us, and stops, and gets out, I’ll throw this, and that’ll slow him down long enough for Isora to get clear.
    Harper is wondering whether being on this part of the Old Beach Road counts as trespassing and whether the driver, if he sees them, will tell Mr. Anderson they are there and whether Mr. Anderson will call the police and what Sgt. Chase will say to Mr. Meating and what he will say – and do – to Harper.
    Isora is thinking, If Dexter could see me now, would he be proud of me or would he laugh? She thinks of how he smiled when they showed him the ultimatum, at the same time as he said, “That’s terrific.” It was in her kitchen, the night they’d looked in his study.
    They duck their heads, then raise them quickly as a car sweeps past. They hear it slow, and then the cottage gates open and slam shut.
    Drumgold stands. “Did you see the licence plate? AA1. At least we know he’s home.”
    Harper says, “Is the envelope all right?”
    Isora holds up the red envelope, on which she has written:
For the Urgent Attention of Mr.