Deadly Harvest by Michael Stanley Page B

frowned. “Where did she come from then?”
    Kubu sighed. He had told his father the whole story by phone earlier in the week. “She isn’t my child, Father. Joy knew her sister. We’re just looking after her.”
    Wilmon shook his head. “You should have more children,” he said with annoyance. “You should not look after the children of other ­people, because they will not look after you when you are old!”
    He looked around. “Where are the girls?” He struggled to his feet, causing an irritated Ilia to fall to the ground again. He stepped off the veranda and looked toward the back of the house. “Look! They are in my herb garden.” He called out angrily to the girls. “Children! Come out of there right away. Quickly now!”
    The girls ran up with worried expressions. Kubu came to their defense. “Father, you told them it was okay to look at the herbs.” But now Wilmon was smiling. “Tell me what you saw, girls. Tumi, what are the names of the plants?”
    Kubu frowned. His father’s thoughts often jumped without apparent connection these days. His mother must have noticed it, too. He would have to talk to her. It was time for his father to see a doctor, but he had no idea how they would persuade him to do that.
    J OY HAD BROUGHT FRESH tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, radishes, and a selection of cold meats and fruits. It wasn’t traditional fare, but Kubu liked a generous cold lunch on a hot Sunday. And the older Bengus had also come to enjoy this style of meal. At home, Kubu would wash it down with a generous helping of dry white wine, suitably chilled, and retire for an afternoon nap. However, Wilmon didn’t approve of wine on the Sabbath, so Kubu had brought a cooler with the makings of steelworks, his favorite nonalcoholic drink—­Kola tonic, lime juice, ginger beer, bitters, and ice.
    While Kubu made a pitcher of the drink, Joy and Amantle worked in the kitchen, slicing cucumbers, washing lettuce, halving radishes, and making a fruit salad.
    â€œNono is a sweet little girl,” said Amantle. “It is a pity about the AIDS. It is so sad.”
    Joy paused. “She doesn’t have AIDS, my mother. She’s HIV positive. She’s had the virus from birth. But she’s perfectly healthy right now. As healthy as you and me.” She went back to her vegetables.
    Amantle continued. “And you must be worried about Tumi. You know how children are. Touching and kissing. I am very worried about her. She could pick it up, too.” She finished washing the lettuce. “Do you want to keep Nono?”
    â€œShe’s just with us for a few weeks. Till we can find her a permanent home,” Joy said firmly. “Have you finished the lettuce?”
    â€œI think you want to keep her. I do not mind—­everybody needs a family, but you must fix the AIDS problem.”
    â€œFix it? What do you mean?”
    â€œWhen Kubu told me about it on the phone, I spoke to Wilmon. He knows about these matters. He makes good medicines from his herbs, but not for this. First, we must all pray.” She hesitated. “And then Wilmon knows someone who handles such things. A very wise woman. She only deals with good spells and medicines. She can fix the AIDS. But Kubu will have to pay. You will need to arrange it with him.”
    All Joy’s training and education kicked in. Nothing cured HIV. Antiretrovirals only held it at bay—­if you could get them. She shook her head.
    â€œJoy? Are you listening to me?”
    â€œA witch doctor? It’s not possible. You can’t fix AIDS. HIV is a virus. You can’t wish it away.”
    â€œThis woman can. You know Funile, who lives by the school? She tested positive. She took the special medicine, and we all prayed. And the next test was negative!”
    Joy muttered about false positives, then finished the salad in silence. Amantle let the matter drop.