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

there—on the top shelf—that belongs to the mamu . She uses it to buy eggs and produce from the village women.”
    “I assumed as much. But I was only borrowing the money. I will replace it at once.”
    “Very well, mamu . May I speak frankly?”
    “Yes, of course.” There was no stopping him anyway.
    “I do not think you are a very good example, Mamu Ugly Eyes.”
    “ What? An example for whom?”
    “The village woman who limps, she who is called Cripple. She is coming up the road; I can see her now. She is a heathen, mamu . But she will never believe in your Jesus if you are to be her example.”
    Amanda felt like there must be steam rising from her ears. Why was Protruding Navel pushing her so hard? What was his agenda? Or did he just enjoying sticking the knife in and turning it slowly? Like a corkscrew. Surely there were plenty of men in the village who could be trained to be housekeepers.
    “Are you a Christian, Protruding Navel?”
    “Of course, mamu . As was my father, and his father before him. My three mothers are Christians as well. There are no heathens in my family.”
    “Excellent. Then you will have to set the example for Cripple.”
    “But mamu , she is a woman!”
    “Yes, but Jesus was a man—and so are you, yes? And only a man can accurately portray another man. Therefore you must act like Jesus.”
    “Does mamu mock me with her clever words?”
    “No, she does not. In fact, she has never been more serious in her life.”
    Amanda turned her back on her housekeeper and smiled at Cripple.
     
    Strategy. It was all about strategy, Husband mused, during his long walk to the post office. Life was like a game of soccer, or football, in which there were many players but only one goal per team. Husband had been an exceptional player as a student in the Catholic mission school, not because he was faster or more coordinated, but because he knew when to pass the ball and when to keep it. More often than not he passed it, but only when it gave his teammates a clear shot into the goal. Only on rare occasions did he run it all the way in. But for Husband to profit from a diamond that large would take a great deal of strategy, perhaps more than he was capable of engineering.
    To say that Consortium was paranoid might be a bit overstating things, but nonetheless, the mine at Belle Vue amounted to a maximum-security prison. Ten-foot-high cement-block walls, surmounted with rolls of barbed wire, were intended to keep the uniformed workers in, along with any diamonds they may have pilfered. Three days before their shifts were over, the workers were fed a laxative and their subsequent bodily wastes were closely examined. They also had to undergo a personal cavity search, have the insides of their mouths examined, and had to submit to having greased combs dragged through their hair. Any cuts or scabs that had not been noted on their bodies when they first checked in had to be reopened, on the suspicion that a diamond might be concealed in the wound.
    Husband breathed a sigh of relief to find M. Dupree alone at the post office. There was still some time before the flag had to be hoisted so that the doors could be officially opened. If Husband didn’t act now, he would be miserably tense the rest of the day.
    “Monsieur Dupree,” he blurted, “may I have a minute?”
    “Of course, Monsieur Their Death, but literally just one minute. I have to finish sorting the outgoing mail before the plane arrives.”
    “ Oui . It is about a diamond, sir.”
    “A diamond? What about a diamond?”
    “Let us say, Monsieur Dupree, hypothetically speaking, that someone found a very large diamond way out in the forest somewhere, far beyond the Consortium’s land. Then let us say that the person who found it tried to sell the diamond—perhaps to a white man. What would happen to the person who tried to sell such a diamond if the man he approached turned him in to the authorities?”
    M. Dupree stepped to the window and