Free Deadly Harvest by Michael Stanley Page B

didn’t understand the prolonged and convoluted discussion of Exodus 21:22–25—­“eye for eye, tooth for tooth”—­and whether the pastor was for or against the concept. All he knew was that if he found the man who had taken Tombi, he’d chop him into little pieces.
    After what seemed an eternity, the pastor ended the ser­vice by asking the Lord to give Witness strength and urging the congregation to pray for Tombi. However, it was nearly half an hour more before Witness was able to leave. Several of the parishioners wanted to talk to him, to console him, and, of course, to reassure him that Tombi would show up.
    W HEN HE EVENTUALLY R EACHED the police, a peeved duty constable raised his voice. “Rra Maleng, please! We’ll definitely start searching tomorrow morning. We don’t have the staff today. It is Sunday.”
    â€œAnd my daughter is missing!” he yelled. “She may be dying! Don’t you care?”
    â€œRra Maleng—­”
    â€œShe was fine after school. Rra Mikopi saw her. Then she disappeared in a white car! You’ve got to look for a white car . . .”
    The constable came from behind the counter, took Witness’s arm firmly, and led him from the building. “Come back tomorrow at lunchtime, rra. We may have some information then.”
    â€œYou’re useless!” Witness shouted. “You do nothing while ­people are being murdered! Go to hell, all of you!”
    W ITNESS TOOK THE WEEK off supposedly to look for Tombi. In reality, he spent most of each day either walking up and down the road where she was last seen or moping at home, replaying memories of incidents where he could have been a better father. In the evenings, further depressed by a total lack of progress by the police, he visited BIG MAMA KNOWS ALL and drank increasing amounts of Shake Shake beer. Sometimes he would go outside with Gordon Thembe and they would surreptitiously share a joint. Big Mama wouldn’t tolerate that in her shebeen . On other occasions he would go on drinking until he ended up picking a fight with someone and being taken home by friends, who were now worried about his state of mind.
    â€œHe’ll drink himself to death,” one said as they dropped him off at home for the fourth time that week.
    â€œIf he doesn’t get killed by someone at the bar first,” replied a second.
    O N T HURSDAY W ITNESS WAS walking toward the school when a pickup truck drove slowly by, posters pasted to its side, a loudspeaker blaring.
    â€œThe government is destroying the country. It’s corrupt and getting worse. What are you going to do about it? Now is the time to stand up to the government and its nepotism. Join us in the fight. Come to a rally on Saturday morning at Motswedi Junior Secondary School. Come and hear the Freedom Party candidate, Jacob Pitso, and the leader of the Freedom Party, Bill Marumo, tell you how they can make the country strong again. How you can prosper. Believe in yourselves, and we can change the world!”
    Witness turned and shouted at the truck. “Marumo seduces young girls! He’s unfit for any office! He should be in jail!”
    Some of the ­people on the truck made obscene gestures in reply.
    O N S ATURDAY MORNING, W ITNESS woke up with a blinding headache. A week’s worth of Shake Shake and dagga was catching up to him. He struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily, then stumbled toward the kitchen to make tea.
    As he sat drinking it, he was overcome by sadness. Now he was sure that Tombi was gone; gone forever. His prayers hadn’t been answered; the police hadn’t turned up anything, and hadn’t traced the white car. No one except Rra Mikopi had come forward with any information. As he drooped over his tea, he heard music outside, bright, cheerful music. Then he heard the loudspeaker again, encouraging ­people to the school where the rally was to start in