The Witch Doctor's Wife Read Free

THREE
    The Belgian Congo was home to two hundred tribes, each with its own language or dialect, and different customs. The majority of the people were Bantu (meaning “people”) who settled the region from the north and west during the 10th to 14th centuries, and shared some physical and linguistic traits. The rain forest, however, was home to the Pygmies, who were, perhaps, the earliest inhabitants of the area.
    A manda Brown awoke with a killer headache. All through the night she’d awakened from nightmares, reliving those last moments on the plane or, worse yet, the certain knowledge that the exploding fuselage would kill her. Of course, as with any dream, sometimes they were bizarre and bore little similarity to the chain of events. Eventually, however, it became difficult to sort fact from fiction.
    Each time she’d awakened, a kind, handsome man appeared just as she thrashed her way into consciousness. He told her repeatedly that she was safe, then sat by the cot on which she lay until she’d drifted back to sleep. He’d told her his name a million times, and it was simple enough—Paul—no, Peter—that’s right, Pierre! French for “Peter.”
    But where was he now? She sat up on the narrow cot andswung her feet over the edge, bringing them to rest on a cool cement floor. The darkened room was vaguely familiar from the night before. She looked down and was relieved to see that she was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, including her bobby sox.
    “Pierre,” she called softly.
    She called several times, and after receiving no answer, padded to the door. With each step her head throbbed. Amanda breathed a sigh of relief when she discovered that an open door directly across the hall led to a bathroom. There was a mirror above the sink and she took the time to examine the lump on her forehead, wash the rest of her face, and run her fingers through her short brown hair. A bob, they called that style. It was old-fashioned and not particularly attractive, but was supposed to be suited to the intense African heat.
    Feeling much refreshed but still headachy, she wandered down the hall toward the strongest source of light. The room was empty, save for chairs and books—acres of books—but French doors opened onto a patio. At a small, round table sat a man drinking coffee. It was Pierre.
    He smiled and stood. “ Bonjour, mademoiselle .”
    “Bonjour, monsieur.”
    “How are you this morning?” His accent was barely noticeable.
    “I feel like I got hit on the head with a—uh—an airplane.”
    Pierre laughed. “Here,” he said, handing her a white paper packet. “The doctor said to take these for a headache. Start with one, because two might make you sleepy. You may not wish to be sleepy on your first day in the bush.”
    The doctor was right about that. Outside, in the cool sunshine, the air was suddenly magical. She took the pill with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, even though she’d already begun to feel much better. She looked around. The patio was completelyencircled by orange trees, but the world just beyond promised adventure. And redemption.
    “ Mademoiselle —”
    “Please call me Amanda.”
    “Ah, what a beautiful name. Amanda, the doctor had to drive the pilot to the hospital in Luluaburg. He will be back late this afternoon, but we are in communication by shortwave radio. So, if there is a problem, a need to see him before then, I am to let him know. In the meantime, I am to keep a close watch on you.”
    “The poor pilot! How bad is it? Was anybody else hurt?”
    “It is a broken arm that needs special attention, but do not feel too sorry for the pilot. Because of him, all of you might have died. After he receives the necessary treatment, he will be put in jail in Luluaburg. As for the rest of the passengers—well, your bump on the head seems to have been the worst of the injuries.”
    “Thank God!”
    “Amanda, now that you are fully awake, please allow me to introduce