Read Online A Girl Named Disaster by Nancy Farmer - Free Book Online Page B

was so clever! After we left Zimbabwe, her headmaster sent a letter to our village. ‘I have spoken to the nunsat the Catholic school,’ he wrote. ‘They have agreed to give Runako a—a scholarship .’” Ambuya ’s tongue stumbled over the English word. “That’s a kind of bonsella , a gift. Imagine! They would pay for her food, books, everything. I was so excited. I sent her off at once. She was only fifteen.”
    The assistant arrived with three large bowls of food. As much as Nhamo was riveted on the story of her birth, her stomach demanded that she pay attention to dinner. The sadza was white and beautifully cooked. The relish was like nothing she had ever seen. It was a rich tomato stew flavored with strange spices—and full of chicken! Nhamo, who hardly ever got meat, had to control herself to eat politely. Grandmother was equally delighted by the meal and for a few moments applied herself to steady eating.
    “Now can we have the radio?” someone asked.
    “Silence, you tsotsis ! * ” shouted the trader. “Why do I let you drunks sit on my porch? You better off with the goats.”
    “If only I had kept Runako at home,” said Grandmother as she cleaned the last crumbs of sadza from her bowl. “She met a boy at that school. He was called Proud Jongwe.” Ambuya spat out the words. “Proud! I should like to know what he was proud of. Useless would have been a better name.”
    “But nice-looking,” guessed the trader.
    “Oh, yes.” Grandmother sighed. “Poor Runako. She seemed so intelligent, but they say girls turn stupid for a few years after they become women.”
    “That’s true,” said one of the drinkers. “It’s a well-known fact.”
    “You be quiet!” the trader shouted.
    “They got married in a Catholic church. Wicked, disobedient children!”
    “Not bad to marry in the church,” the trader said, slightly offended.
    “It’s all right for you. You’re Portuguese. Among us, the son-in-law has to get the family’s permission—and arrangethe roora. One day I saw Runako walking along the trail to our village. ‘What happened?’ I cried. ‘Did the nuns send you away?’ Then I saw her stomach.” Ambuya paused to finish the beer. She waved a fourth bottle away, for which Nhamo was thankful.
    “He was right behind her, the scheming hyena! Not a coin in his pockets, not a cow to his name.”
    “Sometime poor man work for pay roora. That okay,” the Portuguese man said.
    “ If the man works! I never saw Proud Jongwe do anything. Oh, he was full of plans! He would find gold; he would build a square house like they have in Zimbabwe—our huts weren’t good enough. But the only talent he had was to empty beer pots!” Ambuya glared at the shake-shake customers, and they nervously looked away.
    “One night…” Ambuya paused dramatically until everyone had turned back to watch her. Nhamo held her breath. No one had ever told her about Father. If she approached when someone was speaking of him, people immediately changed the subject—and here was Grandmother revealing the secret to a whole crowd of strangers!
    “One night Proud went to a beer-drink in the next village.” Ambuya straightened up and put her hands on her hips. The lanterns painted her face with a harsh yellow light. The shake-shake drinkers bent close to listen. “He got into a fight with a man called Goré Mtoko,” she said in a hushed voice. “They were both tsotsis , both useless. Goré knocked Proud into a bed of hot coals, and Proud was so enraged he—he grabbed a rock— and he smashed in Goré’s skull !”
    “Hhhuuu,” murmured all the beer drinkers.
    Nhamo felt like screaming, but her throat had closed up so tightly she could hardly breathe. So that was the secret! Her father was a murderer! Her stomach twisted with nausea. No wonder Aunt Chipo and Uncle Kufa didn’t like her!
    “Proud ran away like the mangy dog he was. He never even said good-bye to Runako. Later I heard he returned to the Catholic