Free The Witch Doctor's Wife by Tamar Myers Page A

ELEVEN
    Because potential brides were at such a premium amongst the Bashilele (due to polygamy), baby girls were contracted into marriage before they were even born. A man in search of a wife would give a pregnant woman and her husband a down payment on the unborn child. If the baby turned out to be a boy, the prospective bridegroom got a full refund. If indeed a girl was born, a formal engagement would ensue, with the girl moving in with her husband at about the time she experienced her first menses.
    A manda was pleased to get the senhora’s invitation. It would be wonderful to have a friend among the white community, she thought, and then immediately chided herself. Black, white, it shouldn’t matter. What she meant to tell herself was that it would be comforting to have a friend who was also an outsider, and with whom she shared some cultural affinities. Of course it wasn’t as good as an American, or even an English friend, but—oh stop it, she said to herself. You don’t have to justify everything. It is what it is, and you will enjoy it. Or not.
    But one thing she definitely would not enjoy was drinks at the club. It was wrong to drink alcohol because it destroyed one’s body, which was the temple of God. And it was wrong even tojust sit in the club and sip a glass of grenadine, because it gave the impression to others that she approved of their behavior. No, if Senhora Nunez really wanted to meet Amanda, and possibly be her friend, then she would agree to come tomorrow afternoon for tea. Say four o’clock?
    She wrote her invitation on a crisp piece of rose-scented stationery while the houseboy waited, but when she gave it to him, he wouldn’t budge.
    “Madame, please, you must also sign the note I brought with me.”
    “Why?”
    “My employer is very strict. If you do not sign it, she will be angry with me.”
    Hmm. Perhaps this Senhora Branca Nunez was not going to be compatible after all. Well, time would tell. She signed the note, and then on an impulse gave the servant a two-franc piece from a jar of coins she’d found on a top shelf in the kitchen. It was nothing, really, just four cents in American money.
    “Madame, what is this for?”
    “It is for you.”
    “But I do not work for you, madame.”
    “Yes, but you walked here with the message.”
    “It was my job, madame.”
    “Are you refusing the money?”
    The man shifted feet, staring past her head as he thought. “No, madame, I am not refusing the money. But with this”—he held the coin—“I can buy nothing.”
    Amanda could hardly believe her ears. In Language and Orientation School, one of the staff had informed her that the average wage of a full-time servant was one dollar a day—or fifty Belgian francs. She had just tipped the man four percent of his daily wage, and he was unhappy?
    “Here,” she said, and handed him another two-franc piece.
    He took the money and left without another word. Confused, Amanda stared at his retreating back.
    “You have insulted the man, Mamu Ugly Eyes.”
    Amanda whirled. Protruding Navel was the last person she wanted to see today. The man had the ability to sneak up on you like a cat, but he had none of the redeeming qualities of a domestic feline.
    “You were listening?”
    “ Mamu , it is my job to cook and clean this place. I had business in the kitchen.”
    “Protruding Navel, if it pleases you, tell me why this man was insulted.”
    “Because he is not your servant, as he explained. Therefore, you must either let him do his job without a matabisha , or else pay him what he is worth. Instead, you have treated him like a child. Like an errand boy.”
    “So you would have been insulted as well?”
    “No, mamu , because I do not deliver notes.”
    “I see.”
    “Mamu Ugly Eyes, do you believe it is wrong to steal?”
    “Yes, of course. It is one of the Ten Commandments.”
    “Then, mamu , why is it you have stolen from Mamu Singleton?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “The jar