The messenger knocked and walked into Polycarp’s office at 12 in the afternoon.
“Sir, a high Chief is waiting to see you.”
“What is he like?”
“He’s on a simple traditional regalia with those trinkets on his arms and wrists with two white eagle feathers on his tall red cap. A man in his late sixties, six feet plus I guess.”
“All right go, let him in after five minutes, I must finish with what I have at hand.” He was visibly disturbed.
The messenger slipped back into the waiting room. Polycarp’s second mind was functioning speedily. The description fitted the dress sense of the traditional ruler of his hometown. That was he. Where he was looking for what to eat, a chubby grasshopper came and perched him on the mouth. All along, he had an eye on this old man and his throne. Polycarp had
