Free A Girl Named Disaster by Nancy Farmer Page A

Grandmother said, until he was run over by a bus. “ She made him walk in front of that bus,” Ambuya said with satisfaction.
    Perhaps Goré’s spirit pursued Father even now. And yet Grandmother had said the whole business had been settled years ago. Did she pay compensation to the Mtoko family? That would have been unfair—after all, she was no blood relative of Father’s—but perhaps they blamed Mother. Ambuya would have done anything for Mother.
    Nhamo’s throat ached from holding back tears. A daughter belonged to her father’s family. Most people would have sent her away after Mother died, but not Ambuya. Grandmother had insisted on keeping her, had treated her kindly and called her Little Pumpkin. When she remembered this, Nhamo’s control broke down. Tears poured out of her eyes and she clenched her teeth to prevent herself from making a sound. Her whole body trembled, but she managed to keep from disturbing Masvita at her side. Lucky, lucky Masvita! Her name meant “thank you.” Her birth had been welcomed and, in spite of recent troubles, everyone would rally around to make her future as pleasant as possible.
----
    * muti: Medicine.
    * tsotsi: A hoodlum.

9
    I t’s happened!” cried Masvita, pushing through the reeds of the stream. Nhamo was perched on a rock, watching the effect of a fish trap she had made.
    “What’s happened?” she said.
    “The muvuki. ” Masvita had been running so hard, she had to sit down to catch her breath. “He says we can see him tomorrow. Ah! That’s a clever device.”
    Nhamo bent down, whisked a smallish fish from the cone-shaped trap, and popped it into a basket. Her heart was beating very fast, but she didn’t want to show her cousin how frightened she was. “Thanks. I learned to make it at the trading post. There’s a man there who can weave almost anything. Are…we all going?”
    “Oh, yes! We have to be present in case, in case…” Masvita’s voice trailed off.
    In case one of us is discovered to be a witch, Nhamo thought.
    “It’ll be wonderful to get it over with. I want to go home. I thought I’d like travel, but really all I want to do is stay in one place and never, never have any surprises.” Masvita opened Nhamo’s basket and counted the fish inside.
    “I don’t like surprises either,” murmured Nhamo, thinking of Father.
    When they returned to the camp, everyone was busy packing. They would return home soon if everything went well. Uncle Kufa went to thetrading post to buy powdered milk for Aunt Shuvai’s baby. The infant was recovering rapidly—his face had already rounded out, and he seemed to have accepted Masvita as his new mother. This, in turn, had an excellent effect on Masvita.
    She already looks like a mother, thought Nhamo. She could be five years older than I—but then, she grew rapidly like a weed. Grandmother’s comment had once made Nhamo smile, but now it only aroused a dull ache in her heart. It doesn’t matter if I turn into a fruit tree in five years, she thought. Who would want to marry the daughter of a murderer then—or ever?
    Early next morning everyone dressed with particular care. Masvita combed Nhamo’s hair and rubbed her skin with butterfat. Her cousin’s hands were cold, and Nhamo knew that she was frightened, too. They set off just as the sun rose in a dull red ball beyond the musasa trees. The trail was damp under Nhamo’s bare feet, and the forest was full of glossy starlings with dark blue-green feathers and orange eyes.
    The settlement was built in a long line close to the stream. The trader’s house, Nhamo had learned, lay at one extreme, with the muvuki ’s house nearby. The Frelimo camp was at the other. The store was at the center. The villagers followed the stream past clusters of huts and granaries perched on stilts. Uncle Kufa was at their head, and the men carried presents for the doctor.
    One mile, two miles passed. They came at last to the muvuki ’s garden. He had a square house with