style="font-size:15px;"> “Did he hurt you, Khosi?” Little Man asks, his voice low, like we’re having a private conversation. I’ve known Little Man all my life and we’re even in the same class at school. He’s a scrawny guy, short and skinny, but for now, he’s like some hero in the movies, rescuing me.
“I’m okay,” I whisper, ignoring the throbbing in my knee and trying not to limp.
He smiles at me and I can’t help smiling back, suddenly noticing that his lips are the same blue-black color as his skin. In fact, I’m seeing all sorts of things about Little Man that I never noticed before. Like the way he leans toward me as he talks, close, his arm almost touching mine. We have such different color skin—he’s so dark in comparison. Like my babamkhulu. Like my baba.
My skin prickles. How is it you can know somebody all your life and only start seeing them some few minutes ago?
“You’re all covered in dirt,” he says, reaching out and brushing my arm.
His fingers are so gentle as they graze against my skin. I quiver, my heart beating fast. I’m not sure if it’s racing because of the drunk man or because of Little Man touching me. Maybe it’s both.
“What about the milk, Khosi?” Zi worries.
“Forget about it.” I feel bruised where each of the drunk man’s fingers wrapped around my thigh.
“But we need it for Gogo’s tea,” she protests.
“I’ll get it,” Little Man says.
As he trots over to retrieve the box of milk, the drunk man begins to shout at me. “I’ll be here when you change your mind, little girl,” he yells. “I’ll be your sugar daddy! I’ll buy you whatever you want! See? I have so much money!”
He reaches into his pocket and silver coins slip from his fingers into the dirt. He begins to comb the dust, searching for them.
Zi laughs. “Oh, you have too much money!” she calls.
“Don’t be rude, Zi. Just ignore him.” Even as I chide her, I wish I had her courage. And she’s only five!
The next time an older man attacks me like that, I promise myself, I won’t be so helpless. They’ll know just who they’re dealing with.
But even as I make that promise, I wonder if I’ll have the courage to keep it.
“Catch it if you can, Zi,” Little Man calls, throwing the box of milk into her outstretched hands. “Good catch.” He grins at her and she grins back.
“I’ll walk you home, Khosi,” he says.
“Thank you.” I’m glad Gogo is at the funeral. I can hear her voice grumbling in my head if she saw me with Little Man: You can’t even walk home for some few minutes without meeting some boy? What am I going to do with you? Don’t you become one of those bad girls, always chasing after men.
“Hey, it is not a problem,” he says, his arm stroking against mine for some few seconds. It makes me shiver. “Cold?”
I nod, even though it’s not true, and keep my arm near his, hoping we’ll accidentally touch again.
He glances at Zi, who’s watching us, curious. “You feel warm to me,” he whispers, so low she can’t hear.
It suddenly feels like a dozen monkeys are dancing in my stomach.
That’s when it hits me. I have a mad mad crush on Little Man.
All this warmth is leaking out like tears from my eyes as I smile at him. Maybe I’ll regret it later, letting him see how much I like him, but I can’t hide it just now.
CHAPTER FOUR
DREAMS
I try to forget about what happened with the old woman and the drunk man, focusing instead on Little Man, my rescuer. But that night, nightmares flood my mind.
The worst is the one that finally wakes me, sweating and shivering and hot-cold all at the same time.
I’m flying high above Imbali, looking down through the smog at dozens of zigzag streets, twisting here and there, house after house after house crowded together, stair-stepping their way up and down hills and all the way to the city of Pietermaritzburg. An ambulance flashes its lights as it speeds around bends in the roads, goes down a wrong street and hits a dead end, backs up and turns around to try again to get out of the maze that is Imbali.
And then I see her. A witch—my witch, the woman who lives at the top of the hill—as she sneaks through the winding streets, as she passes each sleeping house, observing them all briefly until she comes to ours. And then she stops, staring right at the bedroom window where I sleep with Mama.
Though she doesn’t say a word, I know she’s daring me to come out and challenge her. I can hear her cackly voice speaking in my head: Hah! So! You think good always defeats evil, eh? Well, why don’t we find out, Nomkhosi Zulu?
Don’t do it, I whisper, but my body ignores my brain. It gets out of bed even while I scold it, even as I shout Stop! It walks to the window, and there I am, looking outside, watching that witch walk around and around and around the perimeter of our house, digging small ditches, scattering a white powder on stones, placing the stones in the holes, refilling each ditch with dirt, then stomping down until nobody can find the spot where she dug.
Muthi. She’s scattering a potion around our house, one that will harm anybody who steps into our yard.
No no no! Stop. I try to speak the words out loud but my voice strangles against the muscles of my throat.
She pauses to look at the bedroom window again, spreads her lips into a thin grin, and provokes me with her wordless taunt. What are you going to do about it? How are you going to protect your family from this muthi?
What did I do to deserve this? I ask. Why am I your target?
She laughs. You think you and your family are innocent? Ah, but there was an opening to evil. You invited me.
I didn’t invite you, I argue.
Somebody in your household did. And now I’m daring you to come outside and we’ll see who’s stronger. You or me. Hah!
Who invited evil into our lives? I can’t imagine Mama or Gogo or Zi doing anything that would cause this attack. Did I do something? I think back back back, months back. Of course, there are always these things that we should do for the ancestors, to ensure their protection over us. My family is not as faithful as we should be. But surely, our omission isn’t so big that it would open the door so a witch thinks she is perfectly welcome in our home.
Our eyes meet. My fear collides with her hatred, like two khumbis in a car accident. I start to shake and shiver.
There’s no way I’m going outside and facing her, alone.
And she knows
