How did you get here, Patson?”

Sometimes the simplest questions take the longest time to answer. I had swum away from the place of love and safety, moving steadily back into the throbbing pain that still lived in my leg. My old companion had not left me. As I drifted to the surface of sensation, Stumpy was waiting, sharpening his teeth, as he always did whenever he craved my attention.

The man had a white mask over his face and a funny floral cap on his head. Yet his soft, brown eyes twinkled with good humor.

“It’s a long story,” I replied.

“And I’d love to hear it,” he said, touching me gently. “I’m Dr. David Morris, and we’re going to have a good, long look at that leg of yours. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You’ll be going to sleep for a while, and we’ll speak again later. Everything’s going to be all right, Patson.”

I nodded, looking around at the other people in what had to be an operating room. All wore masks, caps, rubber gloves, and identical gowns, and they seemed alert and very busy. A great disk of light hovered over me, while another masked woman leaned over me.

“I’m Dr. Kaplan, Patson, and I’m going to put you to sleep with this,” she said, showing me a plastic cup attached to a machine by a hose. “All I want you to do is breathe deeply, and count to ten.”

That seemed easy enough until I forgot what came after six.

“Patson, your mother has come to see you.”

It would be nice to see my mother again. I have so much to tell her.

Every day when I came home from school, we would sit at the kitchen table, drinking sweet tea and eating oranges cut into wedges. I would tell her about my lessons, the funny things I said in class, which always made her laugh. That was our best time to talk, and I loved having her completely to myself. Now there are days when I can’t remember what she looked like.

“Wake up, Patson, your mother is here.”

Floating upward seemed easier now. I remembered the coolness of the sheets, the size of the pillow, and the tall feeling of the bed. The flat Table Mountain of Cape Town. And the best part of it all was that Stumpy was numb, quiet, and still.

“I think he’s awake, Mrs. Moyo. Just give him a moment. He’s still a bit woozy from the anesthesia. Patson? Your mother is here.”

How could my mother be here in this hospital in Cape Town? I opened my eyes, but the bright lights and the sun streaming in through a window forced them shut again.

“Oh, Patson, I’m so glad I found you. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’ve been so worried.”

There was something familiar about that voice. I had heard it before, and it always made me angry. I opened my eyes and the Wife was standing at my bedside.

I swallowed hard, but something was wrong deep in my throat. I was unable to speak and could only stare at her, not believing my own eyes. But it was definitely her, in a tightly fitting sunflower-patterned dress, smiling at me from a perfectly made-up mouth, patting my hand as if it were the paw of some disease-infected animal.

And if the Wife was here, then Commander Jesus must be here too. I pulled my hand away and looked wildly around the room, silently imploring the nurse to do something.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Mrs. Moyo. I’m sure you’d like a private moment with your son.”

Don’t leave, I wanted to scream, this woman is not my mother. But nothing came out of my mouth. I reached for my cell phone, only to realize that I had given it to Boubacar, who must still be looking for Grace. I thrashed around for the call button, but found only the TV remote. The Wife laughed at my feeble attempt. She had already casually swept it off the bed.

“Thank you, Nurse,” she said. “Patson and I have so much catching up to do.”

As the door closed, her pomegranate smile hardened.

“Where are they, Patson? I know you’ve got them,” she said, opening the small cabinet next to the bed. Helplessly, I watched her rifle through my stuff. “You led us on a goose chase, you little bastard. But did you really think you could get away with them?”

At the sight of her frantically searching for something I no longer had, I realized how much I wanted to laugh. It started as a little bubble in my chest, and became a cough. You may have found me, I thought, but my girazis were lost in Marange a long time ago.

The Wife pulled the sheet off me and flung it to the floor. I lay helpless in my hospital gown with the drip in my arm attached to a pole beside my bed. Stumpy was swaddled in thick new bandages, my knee resting over a pillow. The Wife gazed at my leg.

“God, that’s disgusting. But for someone with only one leg, you covered a lot of ground, Patson. Now, where are the diamonds?” She ran her hand under my pillow, the corners of my bed, even under Stumpy, before she turned out the drawers of my bedside table.

“I don’t know where they are, and I don’t care.”

“He always gets what he wants, you know?” she said, her red nails ticking out a short message on her cell phone. “He wanted me, and I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Not that I’m complaining.” She giggled. “You mustn’t deny him what he wants, Patson, he can get very angry. You always were very stubborn. Just like your poor father.”

With that, she shrugged and moved to look out the window into the parking lot. Moments later, the door opened, and a man backed into the room pulling a wheelchair. He kicked the door closed and rolled it next to my bed.

Commander Jesus smiled down at me.

“I’ve checked through everything. They’re not here,” she said.

“Pack it all up,” he demanded. “We’re taking everything.”

Then he turned his full attention to me. “Had I known what you found on my mine, Patson, I would never have let you leave. Such a terrible accident, but all you had to do was bring me the girazis, and it would never have happened. If you had followed my rules, you would still have both your legs.” He yanked the drip from my arm, nodded to the Wife, and, while she continued stuffing my few things into my kitbag, he placed his hand on my chest and pressed me hard into the bed.

“It’s too late now to choose between the girazis and your leg. But I wonder what you would have chosen given the chance?”

He stank of sour beer and stale perspiration. I tried to wrestle my way free, but he lifted me off the bed, as if sweeping up a bag of laundry, and threw me into the wheelchair.

“I nearly had you in Musina. I should never have relied on those fools of the South African police force. But they did tell me your sad story, how poor little Gracie had been taken to Cape Town and how your Congolese friend was trying to get you to this hospital.”

He grabbed the sheet from the floor and tucked it firmly around my legs, pinning my arms at my sides. He hooked my kitbag over the handle and leaned down close to my ear. “You and I are going to have a man-to-man talk. About mining. You’re going to tell me how the gwejana syndicate steals my diamonds. And when we’re finished talking, you will return the diamonds you stole from me.”

“Remember what I told you, Patson,” chirped the Wife as we moved toward the door. “You don’t want to get him angry.”

We left my room and headed down the corridor. If anyone had bothered to look at us, all they would have seen was a happy mother reunited with her son, who was being wheeled out of the hospital by a kind uncle.