Diamond Boy

by Michael Williams

  “You see, Patson, the tree was on fire with love. And like any young man,” she said, looking at my father, “he had no wish to let his bride return home to her mother.”

  “Indeed,” my father said, chuckling.

  “After many years of flight and pursuit, the tree and the goddess plunged into the waters of the great Kariba lake. There Mai streaked through the water like a silvery fish and then soared like an owl into the night sky. Below, her mate lay stuck in mud until a desperate idea pierced his sluggish, wooden brain—”

  “Not so sluggish,” interrupted my father.

  “He searched for a mighty round rock at the bottom of the lake, which he rolled into a ball, and in one lightning movement, with all his branches combined, he hurled it upward at the object of his love, now almost lost to him in the stars,” she said.

  “Straight and true went the soaring ball,” continued my father, “and the goddess, feeling a great blow on her silvery head, plunged back through the stars, the clouds, and the air, limp and unconscious—”

  “But to save her,” cut in my mother, “the great, ugly tree caught her in his outstretched limbs. ‘My dearest beloved,’ he crooned, ‘I do so love thee.’”

  “Meanwhile,” said my father, “the great ball that had bounced off the goddess’s head went into orbit and became our own shining moon.”

  I opened my eyes to see that moon moving rapidly through clouds, and the faraway sound of music from a radio pulled me back into the car. I didn’t want to leave my father and mother or the warm embrace of their love. The story was not over yet, but my mouth was dry, and Stumpy was restless.

  “Water. Can I have some water?”

  A bottle was placed in my hand, and I drank mouthful after mouthful, not caring that some of it spilled down my shirt. It felt cool against my burning chest.

  “How much farther?”

  Boubacar listed the names of towns we had passed and others yet to come, but all meant nothing to me.

  “Who’s snoring so loudly?”

  “Regis,” he said. “We’re taking turns driving. We’ve got the Karroo desert ahead of us, but as soon as we get to Cape Town, you’re going to a hospital, Patson.”

  “But what about Grace? I can’t—”

  “I will find her.”

  I reached inside my kitbag and saw that there were no new messages from her, and not enough ointment left to make any difference in Stumpy’s mood. I lay back again, searching for the moon racing through the clouds.

  And my mother’s arms encircled me while my father leaned forward and gently stroked her cheek.

  “Then the Great Spirit, in his almighty wisdom, declared the moon the Guardian of Love,” said my mother.

  “And to this day the moon makes lovers seek each other’s arms, and wives the comfort of their children’s father,” my father added, looking meaningfully into my mother’s eyes.

  “You see how romantic your father is becoming, little half-and-half,” said my mother with a shy smile.

  “Stop it, Baba, now you’re looking silly,” I squealed.

  “Time for bed, young man,” he said, picking me up and carrying me on his shoulders. “Your mother and I need time alone to work out some of the details of the story that were not fully told.”

  He laid me down in my bed, running his hand over my head. “One day you will tell this story to your own children, Patson. Think what a fine day that will be. And you must always remember, the story you tell makes you who you are.”

  How did you get here, Patson?”

  Sometimes the simplest questions take the longest time to answer. I had swum away from the place of love and safety, moving steadily back into the throbbing pain that still lived in my leg. My old companion had not left me. As I drifted to the surface of sensation, Stumpy was waiting, sharpening his teeth, as he always did whenever he craved my attention.

  The man had a white mask over his face and a funny floral cap on his head. Yet his soft, brown eyes twinkled with good humor.

  “It’s a long story,” I replied.

  “And I’d love to hear it,” he said, touching me gently. “I’m Dr. David Morris, and we’re going to have a good, long look at that leg of yours. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You’ll be going to sleep for a while, and we’ll speak again later. Everything’s going to be all right, Patson.”

  I nodded, looking around at the other people in what had to be an operating room. All wore masks, caps, rubber gloves, and identical gowns, and they seemed alert and very busy. A great disk of light hovered over me, while another masked woman leaned over me.

  “I’m Dr. Kaplan, Patson, and I’m going to put you to sleep with this,” she said, showing me a plastic cup attached to a machine by a hose. “All I want you to do is breathe deeply, and count to ten.”

  That seemed easy enough until I forgot what came after six.

  “Patson, your mother has come to see you.”

  It would be nice to see my mother again. I have so much to tell her.

  Every day when I came home from school, we would sit at the kitchen table, drinking sweet tea and eating oranges cut into wedges. I would tell her about my lessons, the funny things I said in class, which always made her laugh. That was our best time to talk, and I loved having her completely to myself. Now there are days when I can’t remember what she looked like.

  “Wake up, Patson, your mother is here.”

  Floating upward seemed easier now. I remembered the coolness of the sheets, the size of the pillow, and the tall feeling of the bed. The flat Table Mountain of Cape Town. And the best part of it all was that Stumpy was numb, quiet, and still.

  “I think he’s awake, Mrs. Moyo. Just give him a moment. He’s still a bit woozy from the anesthesia. Patson? Your mother is here.”

  How could my mother be here in this hospital in Cape Town? I opened my eyes, but the bright lights and the sun streaming in through a window forced them shut again.

  “Oh, Patson, I’m so glad I found you. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’ve been so worried.”

  There was something familiar about that voice. I had heard it before, and it always made me angry. I opened my eyes and the Wife was standing at my bedside.

  I swallowed hard, but something was wrong deep in my throat. I was unable to speak and could only stare at her, not believing my own eyes. But it was definitely her, in a tightly fitting sunflower-patterned dress, smiling at me from a perfectly made-up mouth, patting my hand as if it were the paw of some disease-infected animal.

  And if the Wife was here, then Commander Jesus must be here too. I pulled my hand away and looked wildly around the room, silently imploring the nurse to do something.

  “I’ll be back in a minute, Mrs. Moyo. I’m sure you’d like a private moment with your son.”

  Don’t leave, I wanted to scream, this woman is not my mother. But nothing came out of my mouth. I reached for my cell phone, only to realize that I had given it to Boubacar, who must still be looking for Grace. I thrashed around for the call button, but found only the TV remote. The Wife laughed at my feeble attempt. She had already casually swept it off the bed.

  “Thank you, Nurse,” she said. “Patson and I have so much catching up to do.”

  As the door closed, her pomegranate smile hardened.

  “Where are they, Patson? I know you’ve got them,” she said, opening the small cabinet next to the bed. Helplessly, I watched her rifle through my stuff. “You led us on a goose chase, you little bastard. But did you really think you could get away with them?”

  At the sight of her frantically searching for something I no longer had, I realized how much I wanted to laugh. It started as a little bubble in my chest, and became a cough. You may have found me, I thought, but my girazis were lost in Marange a long time ago.

  The Wife pulled the sheet off me and flung it to the floor. I lay helpless in my hospital gown with the drip in my arm attached to a pole beside my bed. Stumpy was swaddled in thick new ba
ndages, my knee resting over a pillow. The Wife gazed at my leg.

  “God, that’s disgusting. But for someone with only one leg, you covered a lot of ground, Patson. Now, where are the diamonds?” She ran her hand under my pillow, the corners of my bed, even under Stumpy, before she turned out the drawers of my bedside table.

  “I don’t know where they are, and I don’t care.”

  “He always gets what he wants, you know?” she said, her red nails ticking out a short message on her cell phone. “He wanted me, and I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Not that I’m complaining.” She giggled. “You mustn’t deny him what he wants, Patson, he can get very angry. You always were very stubborn. Just like your poor father.”

  With that, she shrugged and moved to look out the window into the parking lot. Moments later, the door opened, and a man backed into the room pulling a wheelchair. He kicked the door closed and rolled it next to my bed.

  Commander Jesus smiled down at me.

  “I’ve checked through everything. They’re not here,” she said.

  “Pack it all up,” he demanded. “We’re taking everything.”

  Then he turned his full attention to me. “Had I known what you found on my mine, Patson, I would never have let you leave. Such a terrible accident, but all you had to do was bring me the girazis, and it would never have happened. If you had followed my rules, you would still have both your legs.” He yanked the drip from my arm, nodded to the Wife, and, while she continued stuffing my few things into my kitbag, he placed his hand on my chest and pressed me hard into the bed.

  “It’s too late now to choose between the girazis and your leg. But I wonder what you would have chosen given the chance?”

  He stank of sour beer and stale perspiration. I tried to wrestle my way free, but he lifted me off the bed, as if sweeping up a bag of laundry, and threw me into the wheelchair.

  “I nearly had you in Musina. I should never have relied on those fools of the South African police force. But they did tell me your sad story, how poor little Gracie had been taken to Cape Town and how your Congolese friend was trying to get you to this hospital.”

  He grabbed the sheet from the floor and tucked it firmly around my legs, pinning my arms at my sides. He hooked my kitbag over the handle and leaned down close to my ear. “You and I are going to have a man-to-man talk. About mining. You’re going to tell me how the gwejana syndicate steals my diamonds. And when we’re finished talking, you will return the diamonds you stole from me.”

  “Remember what I told you, Patson,” chirped the Wife as we moved toward the door. “You don’t want to get him angry.”

  We left my room and headed down the corridor. If anyone had bothered to look at us, all they would have seen was a happy mother reunited with her son, who was being wheeled out of the hospital by a kind uncle.

  I don’t have them,” I croaked, still finding it hard to speak, as Commander Jesus rolled me toward the hospital’s front door. “You’ve been chasing me for nothing. I lost them in Marange a long time ago.”

  “That’s not what Jamu told us,” said the Wife.

  “Jamu doesn’t know anything, you stupid woman.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Stupid—”

  “Did you hear this little brat?”

  “Shut up, both of you,” hissed Commander Jesus, walking rapidly toward the double glass doors. “You can have your family fight later.”

  “She is no family of mine,” I retorted, feeling power return to my voice and clarity to my brain. Once they had me out of the hospital I would have no chance. I glanced anxiously around, trying to attract someone’s attention.

  “Stay right where you are,” called out a familiar voice. The Wife and Commander Jesus stopped and looked around as Regis, Dr. Morris, and two burly hospital guards surrounded us. “You are not taking that boy anywhere,” said Regis.

  Commander Jesus’s eyes shot toward the exit, as if he might try running for the door. However, outside, a South African police van pulled up with its tires screeching, and two policemen jumped out and dashed up the hospital steps toward us.

  “I’m taking my boy home with me right now,” blurted the Wife, standing behind me and placing her hands on my shoulders. “You can’t stop me. I am Mrs. Moyo, and he is my son and I can prove it.”

  “Patson is still under my care, Mrs. Moyo, and no one can leave this hospital without properly signing the required release papers,” added Dr. Morris calmly.

  “I am not your son,” I said, shaking her hands off me and trying to rise out of the wheelchair. “My father might have married you, but you were never my mother. You abandoned my family a long time ago.” I snatched the crutches away from her, hooked them under my arms, and turned toward Commander Jesus, now full of the courage I needed to face him for the first time. “This is the man who blew off my leg and who killed my father,” I said loudly, so that everyone in the room, everyone in the whole hospital for all I cared, could hear me. The two policemen stepped forward, blocking any possible escape. “He is the commander of the Fifth Brigade of the Zimbabwean army who took over the Marange mines and murdered hundreds of miners there. He has been chasing me ever since I left Zimbabwe, because he thinks I have diamonds. Well, all I own in the whole world are these crutches and what’s in that bag. If you don’t believe me, ask her,” I said, and pointed straight at the Wife. “She searched everything in my room, and when she found nothing, they both tried to kidnap me.”

  But as powerful and angry as I felt, I was still too weak to stand for long. Regis caught me before I hit the floor, and helped me back into the wheelchair. As he rolled me back through the hospital lobby, I glanced over my shoulder to see the Wife arguing with Dr. Morris and a policeman holding her arm. But the best part was seeing the hospital security guards hand Commander Jesus over to the police with their handcuffs at the ready.

  “What will happen to him?” I asked Regis.

  “The police in Cape Town have their own ways of dealing with men from other countries who attempt a kidnapping from a state hospital.”

  “But how did they—”

  “You mustn’t forget that Boubacar is a great soldier. He ordered me to stay here and watch over you. When I saw them taking you from your room, I called the doctor, who called security, who called the police.”

  “Has he found Grace?”

  “Not yet, but he will.”

  Regis took me back to my room, where the nurse couldn’t stop apologizing as she reconnected my drip. “She told me she was your mother, and showed me her passport. I am so sorry, Patson.”

  “She can be quite convincing. It’s not your fault,” I said, pulling up the sheets and resting my head against the pillows and closing my eyes while she fussed over me; I wished that she would leave me alone.

  “Rest now. We’ll talk later,” said Regis. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  Once I was alone I opened my eyes, and felt the trembling that had started in my hands work its way up my arms. I took a deep breath, exhaled, and reminded myself that I was safe in the hospital. Commander Jesus was no longer chasing me. He’d been arrested, hauled away by the police. I had stood up to him and accused him of the death of my father, and nothing had happened to me. I let out another long, slow breath, and this time instead of fear, I felt relief. I had defeated him. There would be no more running from Commander Jesus.

  When I opened my eyes again, Dr. Morris was closing the door behind him. “Well, it’s been quite a morning, Patson,” he said, placing a metal tray at the side of my bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Okay, I suppose, although my throat’s sore, and I get a bit dizzy when I stand up.”

  “Those are the normal symptoms of the anesthetic wearing off,” he said, checking my pulse and temperature. “By tomorrow you’ll feel a lot better.” And then he smiled as he sat down beside my bed. “I had a long conversation with Mrs. Moyo—”

  “She’s not my mother,” I said ab
ruptly.

  “I know that, Patson, but you are still a minor and, legally speaking, she is responsible for you.”

  “But that’s impossible! You don’t understand, Doctor,” I said, and all the reasons why the Wife was not fit to be my guardian poured out of me. “She abandoned us a long time ago. I don’t want to have anything to do with her. I don’t want to see her ever again.” She danced for Commander Jesus while my father lay in an unmarked grave. I could never forgive her for that. I didn’t realize how loud I was getting, until the doctor laid his hand on my arm.

  “It’s okay, Patson, I understand. Calm down. The hospital’s security guards have removed her, and I don’t think she’ll be coming back. As far as I’m concerned, Boubacar brought you into the hospital, and he can be the one who signs you out. Is that all right?”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much.”

  “Now, I need to talk to you about your leg. The operation we performed early this morning is called debridement, and that means we cut away all the damaged tissue and infection around the wound so that it will heal properly. Thankfully, there was no sign of gangrene and I was able to stretch the skin around the wound to make a healthy stump that will hold your future prostheses nicely. You are a strong boy, Patson, and with physiotherapy and, later, regular exercise, I know you’ll get your full strength back in your upper leg. How does it feel now?”

  “Whatever you did, Doctor, Stumpy has gone all quiet. That horrible pain is gone.”

  “That’s good news, and what I have here may make you feel even better,” he said, picking up the metal tray. “Part of the debridement procedure is to remove any foreign objects embedded in the wound. And as yours was caused by a land mine, it was possible that there were shards of metal, dirt, even pieces of your clothing or shoe still inside. So I did a meticulous cleaning of the wound, and, I have to say, I was quite surprised at what I found. In fact, no one in the operating theater had ever seen anything like it before.”