The Witch Doctor's Wife (25 page)

“I would
not
beat her!”

“Eh, I did not think so. But there you see; Cripple is fine.”

“Then what I can I do for you?”

“It is not for me,
mamu
. It is for the child.”

“The little one here?”

“Yes,
mamu
. I would like your permission to name him Amanda.”

“Him? Amanda?”

“
Eyo, mamu
. Never have I seen such a brave woman as you—except for one. And since the boy is not crippled,
mamu
, I wish to honor him with your name.”

“It is I who am honored,” said Amanda, because she did not see herself as brave; she’d only been desperate to save a friend.

In a country where names had meanings and were tied to everyday events, people were given names such as Their Death, Protruding Navel, and Cripple. What then did it matter that Amanda was a girl’s name? Not one iota.

T
he dominant female danced along the edge of the manioc field, impatiently awaiting the arrival of her pack. Her sudden appearance had scared away the jackals whose yips had filled the air since sunset. Although her jaws could crush the bones of a buffalo, she dared not attack an adult human by herself. Something in her primitive brain told her that a human, although unarmed by fangs or claws, was a beast to be feared. A tasty beast, nonetheless.

In only a day or two the female would give birth to her second litter. Already she’d co-opted the burrow of an aardvark in which to have her cubs. But for now, despite her distended belly and swollen teats, she was ravenous. If her pack did not arrive soon, she would have no choice but to move on, in search of some less dangerous prey.

Cripple was aware of the hyena’s presence; the disappearance of the jackals had been the clue. At first she’d thought a leopard was responsible for the silence. But then the hyena, apparently unable to restrain her excitement, burst into the hideous laughter that characterized her species.

Cripple dug faster, strong fingers raking the damp soil. A leopard might have been scared off by a show of strength—false
bravado in this case—but a pack of spotted hyenas would tear a person limb from limb, and then laugh about it afterward. Cripple knew that the pack would announce itself by whooping, from perhaps a kilometer away, and when it did, a life-or-death decision must be made.

But just as the first faint sound of the advancing pack reached Cripple’s ears, her digging fingers touched something cool and hard. A moment later the priceless object glinted in the light of the rising moon.

It had been six months since she’d replaced the stone that Their Death had hidden in the banana grove with a piece of glass she’d recovered from the crashed plane. It had been just over six months since she’d buried the diamond next to the body of the Portuguese store manager. She’d chosen this location because she knew Second Wife would never plant manioc here again.

For six months Cripple had shared her secret with no one, waiting for the day when selling the stone would be worth the risk. The day had finally come when she could wait no longer. Soon there would be another mouth to feed.

Cripple placed a hand under her distended belly to support it as she stood.

I
am, as always, indebted to my husband for his support and comfort. Thank you. And sincere thanks go to my editor at Avon, Tessa Woodward, for her many wonderful suggestions, and to my copy editor, Ellen S. Leach. The same thing goes for my agent, Nancy Yost. The book would not be the same without these fine ladies.

The tragic savanna fire scene in this book is based on a true incident. When I was five years old, my best friends, Ndombe and Kahinga, ages five and seven respectively, were caught inside a circle of fire intentionally set by hunters. As with the character Geete, my friend Ndombe did not survive. May he rest in peace.