The third girazi came to me because of a dream.

My mother was sitting in the sun, carving a stick in the shape of the letter Y. While she whittled, shavings flying from her blade, she sang a song I hadn’t heard since I was small. In the dream, the song was as clear a memory as I could have wished for. Her voice true and pure.

Pretty baby, where are you going?

Come here, come here, let’s play.

I’m going to the clouds, Mama,

To sleep and dream with my friends.

She sang the song over and over, occasionally looking up at me and smiling. Once she was satisfied with her work, she lifted up the Y-shaped stick and planted it into the ground. I walked over to her and she took me by the hand.

“What are you doing, Mama?” I asked.

“Watch, little lion-heart,” was all she said.

Green leaves started shooting from the stick, and a vine slowly curled around the Y-shape. Simultaneously, the stick grew into a baobab tree, which turned into a house, which became a building, which transformed into a gleaming skyscraper that soared through the clouds. I gazed in wonder at what had once been a simple Y-shaped stick but was now a towering edifice, breathtaking and radiant.

“This is all for you,” she said, and then, while I gazed up at the mighty building, she floated away. I didn’t mind her disappearing as the large skyscraper’s doors swung open. Inside were many brightly lit rooms. I walked slowly toward the entrance, exhilarated by what I would discover inside. Then I woke up and Arves was shaking me.

“Hey, Patson, get up! Come on, wake up! Sorry I ate your breakfast,” he said, without sounding the least bit sorry. “But you didn’t miss much. It was last night’s sadza fried up with tomatoes and onions. I took my meds as soon as I woke up and, man, did they make me hungry again. I’m feeling great! Why do you sleep with your shoes on, Patson? I like to let my toes breathe, otherwise I have bad toe-jam dreams. You should take them off at least once a week. You might get fungi-foot and that really stinks.”

I groaned. “Arves, did anyone ever tell you that you sound exactly like your granny?” I sat up, looking around for the gleaming skyscraper that had seemed so real.

“As long as you don’t think I look like her. I hope Magogo didn’t give you a hard time. No, don’t answer that. She probably did. We got to go. Look,” he said, hauling me to my feet, and pointing at soldiers herding miners onto the diamond fields. We were the only ones left in the tent and it wouldn’t be long before we were noticed.

“I got so much to tell you,” I said to Arves. “Grace is fine, and I saw Jamu. He was at the sheds the whole time. I think he knew the soldiers were coming. He told me my father had been killed.”

Arves looked away. “Yah, I know.”

“What do you know?”

“A lot happened around here last night after you were gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“After the rain stopped, soldiers went out into the fields beyond the fence and were digging. It made no sense to me.”

“Why would they dig for stones in the dark?”

“Because they’re stupid enough to think that girazis float.” He laughed, and I was amazed at how pills in a small red tin had revived my friend’s sense of humor. Then he reached into his pocket and handed me a shattered pair of glasses.

“Where did you get these?”

At first I didn’t want to touch them. There was no mistaking their familiar shape.

“Musi. Last night. He came looking for you.”

“How did he get them?” I took the glasses from Arves, my hands trembling. “What did he say?”

“He said I should give you your father’s glasses.”

I had no words. No tears. Only dull helplessness. I had held on to the idea that I would somehow feel in my heart the moment of my father’s death. Now these broken glasses mocked that idea. Was I still so much a child that I was unable to even think about the possibility that my father had been killed on the first day the soldiers came? Everyone had been talking about the miners who had been shot trying to escape and how their bodies were buried in mass graves. Yet I had blindly believed that he was still alive. The memory of him polishing these glasses, pushing them up his nose, overwhelmed me in pain and confusion.

If my father was dead, my girazi dreams were worth nothing now.

I would have to tell Grace.

“Patson, come on,” urged Arves, shaking me gently. “We’ve got to go. The soldiers are coming. Don’t think about it. Not now.”

Dazed, I allowed Arves to lead me back onto the diamond fields of Marange.

All morning I labored in the pits, tormented by the thought of the Wife dancing for Commander Jesus. Did she really care so little for my father that she could dance while her husband was shot dead by Commander Jesus’s soldiers and thrown into a pit? I knew the Wife was selfish but this was heartless and cruel. I lashed out at the earth with my pickax, blaming the Wife with every blow for my father’s death. She had forced us to come to Marange. Diamonds for everyone, she had said. If it weren’t for her, he would still be alive. We would still be in Bulawayo. Grace and I would be going to school and we’d still have our father.

The Wife wanted, the Wife got—to the death of my father.

I slashed and hacked away at the soil, tearing up the bank with my sorrow, losing all sense of time and place, grieving for my father. The doubt that I had lived with the past week turned now into a black pit that swallowed me whole as I tried to imagine a future without Baba. My father was dead and I would never see him again. My anger turned slowly into tears as I imagined him shot by the soldiers, his body thrown into one of the mass graves and the earth covering him, without any ceremony to mark his passing.

And then, as I tore into the bank, pounding the earth with my pickax, I saw the exact same Y-shaped stick from my dream. I dropped the pickax, gripped the two ends of the root, and pulled as hard as I could. A part of the sand bank gave way, and a sky-blue girazi sparkled into the sunlight.

My shavi must be the shade of my mother, and she brought me here to find this stone. But why today, Mama, why on the day that I learned of Baba’s death? What happened in the photocopying room last night hardly seemed real this morning. Nothing seemed real anymore. Had I heard the voice of my mother coming from the old woman? But she had called me “half-and-half.” She could not have known my mother’s pet name for me. And then she had called me “little lion.” That was even stranger still. Using one of the pet names might be a coincidence but her knowing two was just plain creepy.

And she had said, “You must look to Grace.” What was my mother trying to tell me? I hated to think of Aunt Prisca pinching Grace and her sleeping at the back of the shed, with only her soft toys to comfort her and Boubacar’s tie to protect her. Had my mother led me to this diamond so that I could take Grace away from this place? With my father dead I was the only one who could look after my sister. I had to get her out of the sheds and away from Marange. I had three girazis now. That had to be enough.

The more I thought about my mother’s presence in that photocopying room, the more bewildered I became, but I was certain that last night I had carried her back with me to the camp, under the wire and into my dreams. I shook off the rippling sensation down the back of my neck, quickly pressed the stone back into the soil, and tossed the root aside. I glanced around to see if anyone had seen what I had done and continued my work: thrust pickax into ground, wriggle it free, pick up shovel, scrape ore into pile, load sack, carry it to sieve. And the whole time, I had to be sure not to lose sight of where I’d reburied the dream-stone.

When I felt calm enough and ready to think about getting the girazi out of the mine, I knew I would have to plan it carefully, one step at a time, not let any of my tangled emotions get in the way. It might be small enough to slip inside my shoe, but with three in there I’d be sure to walk with a limp that would attract attention. Putting it into my pocket or under my tongue was out of the question, and I didn’t have any chewing gum to stick it to the inside of my clothes. The girazi was so close at hand, and yet so far from being mine. I scanned the mines, looking for inspiration, and saw Arves watching me.

Our eyes locked.

I tilted my head at him, and without acknowledging anything, he casually lifted a sack onto his small, bony back and headed toward me. He crouched down and emptied his sack into my sieve, and whispered, “Where?”

“One hand-width up from your right foot,” I said, carefully watching the soldiers strolling along the mound directly above us and pretending to work.

“How big?”

“A large raisin. A sky-blue girazi,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow, and speaking to Arves as if we were talking about nothing more important than who was going to take the next break.

He whistled softly. “You’ve been a miner for two months, Patson, and you’ve found two girazis. What do you have that all these other miners don’t have?”

“I’ve found three, Arves. Three girazis.” There didn’t seem any point in lying to Arves now. “And I don’t know why I’m the one to find them.”

“I feel the most amazing sick coming on. You’ll have two seconds to get it out. Will that be enough?”

“Yah, but Arves—”

“Then you give it to me and help me back to the tent.”

Before I could say anything, Arves slipped his finger down his throat and vomited. He coughed and groaned loudly, clutched his stomach, as a second plume of sadza-onion-tomato-vomit landed exactly where I had indicated, and Arves collapsed right on top of it. All eyes turned to the vomiting boy, and as I reached down to help him, the blue-sky girazi found its way into my hand. Arves looked up at me, winked, and then, never one to let the perfect moment pass, he puked once more into my hands.

“He’s sick,” I called out to the nearest soldier. “Help me. He’s the HIV boy.”

The soldier winced. “Not me,” he said. “You get him out of here yourself.”

I slipped the girazi into Arves’s hand and together we stumbled toward the soldiers guarding the mine entrance. They patted me down, looked once at Arves, and the bits of sadza and tomato on his shirt and legs, and let him pass. Everyone knew about HIV and bodily fluids. When we got to our tent, I brought him a basin of water and Arves stripped off his shirt.

“Pretty spectacular performance, hey?” he said, grinning, then he rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face clean. There was no girazi in either of his hands.

“Oscar-winning, but where did you put it?”

“Time will tell,” he said, tapping the wristwatch on his skinny arm.

How was it that I didn’t know Arves had his own secret place for diamonds?

“We’ve got to go,” I said. Now that I knew for certain my father would never come for me, there was no point in staying. It was time to leave this place. Arves and I would slip out of the mine, fetch Grace from the sheds, find Boubacar, and get the three stones to the Baron and leave Marange. “Tonight. We’ll go the same way Chipo and Kamba went.”

“Yah. Let’s do it. You’re going to be rich, Patson,” he said. “I can’t wait to see the Baron’s face when he sees your stones.”

I turned away so Arves would not see my tears. My girazis meant nothing to me now without my father. Searching the soil for stones had been for him, to prove that I could do a man’s work, and help look after our family. My diamonds had meant my father could be a teacher again, and fulfill his dream of seeing Grace and me back in school. Now there was no purpose to any of it and I no longer had anyone to prove anything to.

We heard a jeep skid to a stop outside and the soldiers hurriedly ordering everyone back into lines in front of the tents. Outside, Commander Jesus stood in the jeep yelling. His soldiers barked orders at the miners, who quickly dropped their tools and were herded at gunpoint before the jeep. Commander Jesus stood over us, with one foot up on the dashboard, scanning the crowd as we shuffled closer.

“Oh no, not more campfire singing,” quipped Arves.

The silver lenses of Commander Jesus’s reflective glasses zeroed in on me and Arves and a sliver of fear ran down my spine.

“I thought we had come to an agreement,” he shouted, his voice booming over us. “You work Mai Mujuru, and we pay you for what you find. We give you good food, water, medicine, and a dry place to sleep. But this is not good enough for you.” His words were chillingly sarcastic, his voice deadly calm. “People run away. They are unpatriotic. They are not loyal to our president. They are not men. They are traitors. We must now put an end to people leaving Mai Mujuru without permission.”

A fearful mumbling went through the crowd. Some miners protested, others shook their heads. A few brave ones called out that as they had not run away, they should not be punished.

Commander Jesus raised his hand and the men fell silent.

“I do not punish loyal workers. But some of you have thought of running away. Such thoughts must be reconsidered,” he said, reaching down to a soldier who handed him up the oven glove Kamba had stolen. “However,” he went on almost casually, “I have decided to let one of you go.” The mitt came flying through the air and landed in the dirt at my feet.

“Patson! Come here,” he said.

The miners backed slowly away as if I were suddenly toxic. I was alone, except for Arves’s small hand curling around mine and squeezing it tight.

“Show him no fear,” he whispered. “Bullies hate that.”

“Come here, boy. Don’t be frightened,” Commander Jesus said pleasantly. “I know about you and your family.” An image of the scarlet-lipped Wife dancing in an army shirt flashed into my head.

“You want to leave these mines? Well, you can go. I will not stop you.”

Confused, I glanced at Arves. He shook his head.

“Come closer, boy.”

I hesitated while Commander Jesus jumped down from the jeep and waited for me. I stopped before him and he laid his hand on my shoulder. He turned me slightly away from the miners and spoke in a voice only I could hear.

“Did you like what you saw last night, Patson? Your stepmother dancing in her bra and panties. Did it turn you on?”

I was too stunned to answer. My throat dried up and I couldn’t stop trembling. I shook my head, not daring to look at him.

“That’s okay.” He chuckled, squeezing my shoulder painfully. “Sylvia told me all about you, and how you like looking at her breasts. I don’t blame you. I was once a boy in love with an older woman. And Sylvia is a real woman. I know, I’ve tasted her.”

He jerked my shoulder, forcing me to look up at him, and gave me the smile of a man whose mind was not smiling. I had nowhere to look but at the reflection of my terrified self in his mirrored glasses. Commander Jesus turned me around to face the company of miners and stood behind me, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders. “I have decided that this boy can leave Mai Mujuru. We only want men who wish to work here. Men who serve our president. So you are free to leave, boy,” he announced, pushing me forward. “Go!”

I jumped at his command, looking desperately at the miners who viewed me now with pity instead of fear. I spotted Uncle James and Musi and stared hard at them, willing them to do something, but they shrunk back, dropping their eyes to the ground. Arves met my gaze and forced a smile. I was waiting for the branches with thorns and the soldiers with their sticks, but none of the soldiers moved. They stood watching me, their rifles slung limply across their backs. I felt small and pathetic, too scared to do anything.

“I said you can go,” insisted Commander Jesus. “Go, the same way you went last night.”

Totally confused, I looked up at him, hoping it would be for the last time.

“Leave. Now! Before I change my mind.”

I turned toward the gate and saw that a jeep had blocked the road. I walked slowly out of the mine, feeling all eyes on my back. My head was spinning. How did he know it was me at Kondozi Farm last night? He seemed so sure. Could Jamu have told him? Or did the Wife somehow get something out of Grace?

I headed out past the barbed-wire fence, behind the toilets, and glanced back at the mine. Nobody had moved. Commander Jesus had climbed back into the jeep for a better view of my departure.

“Run!” he shouted, drawing his pistol and firing it twice into the sky.

I started jogging across the field, my heart beating in my chest. Was he planning to shoot me as I ran? I picked up speed, my heart now thumping, my body darting from side to side, making sure not to run in a straight line. I expected the sound of gunfire, bullets hitting the ground around me until one smashed into my back.

I ran harder.

No gunshots. No bullets.

I was elated with every stride that took me away from the mine. I had managed to escape. With my diamonds. I’d fetch Grace. We’d be free.

And then I felt a metallic click under my left foot. There was searing heat and a flash of bright white. A crack of thunder; a cloud of dust.

I was airborne. A violent force from within the earth propelled me off the ground. My breath was sucked from me as if I had been splashed with freezing water. My ears stopped working. In slow motion I saw myself falling back to earth and landing on my side with an enormous thud.

I tried to get up but couldn’t.

As I looked down, I saw a bloody tangle of white bones where my left foot should have been. The skin of my leg was smoldering. Some distance away lay a running shoe that looked very much like my own.

I lay there thinking how strange all this was, until pain roared through me like a blast of furnace wind, blowing away my thoughts and replacing them with an uncontrollable, raw scream that went on and on and on.

And then I went away.