Diamond Mine

by Felicia Rogers

  Melanie couldn’t see or feel the sun, but she’d been allowed to keep her watch. With a small stone, she marked the wall at twelve-hour intervals. After two marks, she announced the new day.

  For five days, they’d been together in this stinking hole. Three times a day, the guards brought one pinch of bread and a thimble full of brown putrid water. The refuse bucket was collected once a day. With ten children and Melanie, that wasn’t nearly enough. Dirt surrounding the corner where the bucket sat was saturated with urine and heaped with piles of feces.

  Long ago, before she graduated college, she’d volunteered to work at a leprosy hospital. The stench of rotten flesh would remain with her forever, but the smell of fresh feces and unwashed bodies was ten times more potent.

  Melanie counted herself lucky that the children had been allowed to stay with her.

  At first, every time the door creaked, she’d cringed, expecting the soldiers to come for her wards, her children, but they never had. Finally that fear passed to be replaced by another. Hannah.

  Where was she? What had they done with her? To her? Melanie hadn’t seen her since they’d arrived in the canvas-covered truck. They had been moved from the back and sorted into two groups. Hannah had stood alone, while Melanie had been placed with the children. Brave Hannah had tried to stand up to the men, but it had done nothing but ensure she’d received a mouthful of earth. Cowardice had edged around Melanie’s heart and she’d held back assistance.

  Before being taken, Melanie had heard rumors that Tapiwa and his men dealt in human flesh. If this was true, then why had he taken Korzan? All she could figure was they’d taken him because he had stood up to them.

  For over a year Melanie had kept silent. She’d allowed atrocities of the worst kind and had said nothing for fear of what might happen to her or the children. And for what? So Tapiwa could come in and take Hannah?

  The children lay strewn around the room as far from the dung corner as possible. Piled on top of one another, they attempted to sleep. Melanie had told them to lie down, and they had obeyed. But she herself couldn’t be still. Her mind was a whir of tumult emotions. Filled with confused thoughts and unanswered questions, she couldn’t relax.

  The cell was a mere twelve feet by twelve feet. From barred, windowless door and back again, Melanie paced. One… two… three… four… ten steps each way, every time. With each step her pulse quickened as her mind ran amuck.

  “Why did she have to come?” she whispered.

  Why had Korzan sent a ticket to Hannah more than two years ago? Yes, that was around the time she’d lost their child. But it still made no sense.

  Melanie massaged her forehead as fresh tears fell. Would she ever know peace? That fateful day had changed everything. They’d left Sudan and come to South Africa only to find more trouble.

  Right before they left, Korzan had smiled and told her he had some things to mail. Several packages had been in his arms. No doubt, one of those was Hannah’s invitation. But what had happened to keep the package from reaching her? Divine intervention?

  Melanie sighed. There had been so little time to talk before Tapiwa and his men arrived. They must have been close by, waiting, hiding. Tapiwa had told her, “One hint and we come for you.”

  If only the men had given her time to explain. If only she could have told them that Hannah was a surprise guest. That she had told nothing of the atrocities to her or anyone else.

  Guilt and shame assailed her. She’d lied to everyone — Korzan’s parents, Tonya, Hannah, herself. She’d sat idly by while Tapiwa and his men, the traffickers, took people against their will.

  Melanie was a child of God, His vessel. She’d chosen to be an instrument for His truth in Africa. First in the Sudan and now here. In both countries she’d failed miserably. But no more. She would pray for strength. All things were possible for God. If He could save men from the lion’s den and the fiery furnace, and open the doors of prisons for Peter and Paul, then there was hope for her, the children, and Hannah.

  ****

  His back stung as the whip splayed across his flesh. He didn’t flinch but kept on working. That was what they wanted. They wanted him to work. Nothing more, nothing less. It would be different if he were doing what he desired, if he were allowed to do his tasks in a more personal fashion.

  For instance, he would stand straight and stretch his back. He would wipe the sweat from his fevered brow. He would stop and take a long drink of cool water. There were lots of things he would do had he been in charge of his own life.

  But he wasn’t in charge. No, they’d taken everything. His clothes, his money, his jewelry, his dignity, his pride, his children, and most importantly, his wife. Everything physical they had ripped away from him, leaving behind nothing but memories. But there was one thing they couldn’t take away.

  Tapiwa and his men had taken him from his home over a year ago. Korzan had sat at Tapiwa’s compound, a concentration camp, for close to two weeks. He’d been beaten, tortured, and almost starved. His knees were rough and calloused from constant hours of praying to the Almighty. Strangely enough, he didn’t pray for himself, but his wife and family. He knew his future. Yet a bleak existence on this earth for just a while longer, then he would be rejoicing in heaven with his Lord. But his family. His family’s future was more uncertain…

  As he lay down in his cell to die, and all will to remain here grounded to his planet passed, a strange thing happened. Tapiwa entered the room in a rage. In his weakened state Korzan had trouble translating the Zulu words as they flew from the trafficker’s mouth. One thing he gathered was that the scathing words weren’t directed at him.

  Tapiwa’s men were unhappy. They grasped Korzan under his arms and dragged him to another room. Stripping him naked, they blasted him with cold water, yelling Zulu words that meant filthy pig.

  Afterward, he was escorted to another room, full of raggedly dressed men in varying shapes and sizes. They sat along the walls on wooden benches and stared blankly into space. These men had lost hope.

  Forced to sit among them, the oppressive spirit of sadness overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes, he prayed.

  “What are y’ doing?” came a whispered voice.

  “I’m praying.”

  “That’s good. Perhaps I should do the same. I’m from Zambia. My first visit to South Africa,” the man guffawed. “It is ironic, no? In Zambia, I worked for the newspaper. I wrote articles about the lies told about South Africa. I said the country was safe. I said there was no such thing as human trafficking. Or people being taken against their will to search for blood diamonds. I laughed at the thought that slavery was still a part of the culture. Yes, ironic, indeed. My first visit. Just looking over wares in the market place. They knew I was a foreigner. I had no wedding band. They figured no one will miss him. They kidnapped me and brought me here. Here! A concentration camp in South Africa. To be sold as a slave by my own people.”

  Korzan had listened to the man ramble on about the irony of his situation for hours. However, he had not spoken another word. Then a sudden silence filled the entire room as the cell’s large wooden door opened.

  The men in the room instantly clammed up. The group leaned farther into the wall, hoping to blend into their surroundings and escape notice.

  Through the door walked the epitome of a paradox. An entourage of seven tall, well-constructed fellows with dark skin and black eyes, their suits tailored to fit giants. Yet as impressive as the seven quintuplets were, it was nothing compared to the man they surrounded.

  The auspicious man was around five-two in height and almost as round. The meager light from the crowded room reflected off his bald head. He wore a white linen suit that was covered in so much bling it was a wonder he could move. The white stood in sharp contrast to his ebony skin color. A Cuban cigar was clenched between gleaming porcelain teeth. When he spoke he sounded like Al Pacino in The Godfather. Grunts and barely perceptible sounds left his throat, none of which Korzan could understa
nd. However, the others in the room seemed to have no trouble.

  “Lucky” they called him. He was one of the chosen few. He’d left camp that day.

  He still didn’t know where they’d taken him. All he knew was that now he belonged to Biashara Githinji, The Butcher, and without a miracle he would be destined to work in the diamond mines for all eternity.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Hannah?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you coming, love?”

  “Yes.”

  Hannah rose from the log and walked toward the miniscule shelter. Her voice belied her irritation and her urge to rebel. Why did she need to follow what he said? Who died and made him king?

  But exhaustion and worry inhibited her natural impulses. Her shoulders hunched, she ambled toward the tent. Lifting the flap, she dropped to her knees and climbed inside.

  Rory had spread out her sleeping bag mere inches from his. His back faced her as she slithered into the bag and zipped herself inside. She lay on her back and pulled the top of the bag up to her neck. Sweat beaded across her upper lip and brow. Strands of hair clung to her face. The clothes she’d worn all day now stuck to her. Every shift had the rough fabric grating against her skin.

  Weariness caused her eyelids to flutter closed. Just as dreams were set to overtake her, Rory flipped over. Now facing her, she felt his hand snake toward her in the darkness, wrap around her side, and drag her body next to him.

  He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. A pent-up sigh escaped his lips as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

  He stilled and Hannah released her breath. Rory was asleep.

  His calloused hands clenched together on the outside of the sleeping bag. His hot breath hit her neck and caused a flush to creep up her body, making her glad for the darkness.

  As Rory’s touch of protection became more familiar, Hannah’s eyelids drifted closed, and she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  ****

  The sun crested over the distant mountains and shone mercilessly in Rory’s eyes. He flexed his hand and felt something soft and warm.

  Hannah moaned and moved closer. A moment of uncommon embarrassment flushed his face as he removed his hand from the curved swell of her breast. Slowly he retreated from her frame and headed outside to stir the fire.

  In misery, he ran a hand over his short stubbly beard and rubbed sleep from his eyes. Pains from a massive sore, covering the remnants of his leg, caused a burning stabbing pain with every movement. He stared at the prosthetic, wishing he could remove the contraption, but he didn’t want Hannah to see.

  As the embers came alive, the flames of passion ignited within him. What he wouldn’t give for a cold river right now? Sighing deeply, he realized the cold air would have to suffice.

  The flames licked the wood, holding him mesmerized. All he could think about was kissing Hannah and repeating their one brief encounter where their lips touched. Her full, luscious lips.

  Perhaps if he went back to the tent, then they could, could what? Hannah was different from anyone he’d ever known. She wasn’t like a coffee filter, just use it one time and throw it away. A relationship with her would demand his essence, his very soul.

  If he was honest with himself, he’d hooked up with Monica because she’d been easy. Not in the sexual sense but in the relationship sense. She’d demanded little from him, which, in his opinion, was a good thing. Her shallowness and superficiality suited him perfectly.

  I never want anyone to bump Hannah’s place in my heart. What? Where had that thought come from?

  She would never have left me after the accident…

  Rising on his imperfect leg, he walked to the tent and glanced in. His heart rose to his throat at the sight of a scorpion, resting on her chest. Had it come in because of his carelessness?

  What was he going to do?

  ****

  Nightmares plagued her. Dreams of thick walls and closed doors, wails of anguish floating through the air. In her dream, she stretched out her arms and pushed at a closed door. Her mouth opened but no words came. Silent screams, like from a black and white horror movie, rose in her chest.

  There was a sharp poke in her arm. Arousing herself slowly, she noticed the darkness of the outside world. Completely awake, something didn’t feel right.

  “Hannah, don’t move,” came a hoarse whisper.

  “What?” she said, attempting to rise on her elbow.

  “For goodness’ sake, Hannah, be still!” Rory forced between clenched teeth.

  She almost shook her head in frustration, then she saw it. Lying there on her chest, almost looking at her, was a scorpion. Its tail posed to strike.

  “Rory!” she hissed.

  “Did you zip the tent up last night? Don’t answer that. Just be still and do what I say. I’m going to back out slowly and get something.”

  “Rory…”

  “Please, Sparkles, no sudden movements.”

  Gulping deeply, Hannah wished she’d listen to Rory when he’d said not to move, because now her neck was lifted three inches off the ground and her body was in a constant state of contraction. It was like a bad workout DVD she’d used where she had to hold a sit-up for way beyond normal limits.

  Her stomach muscles burned. Her neck ached. She couldn’t keep up this static pose much longer. Where was he?

  “Here I am, love. Miss me?”

  “Rory.” Hannah attempted a growl but it sounded more like a groan.

  He laughed and Hannah made plans to throttle him just as soon as he rescued her.

  She wanted to crane her neck to see what Rory was doing, but she was afraid to move. From her viewpoint he appeared to be placing something on the ground outside the tent. The scorpion faced the object and backed toward Hannah’s face. Obviously it couldn’t decide which was the juicier meal.

  “Go on now, shoo.” Her neck muscles cramped, and soon her head would fall no matter what she did.

  “Come on, you know you want it.”

  With a slowness set to rival any turtle, the scorpion left Hannah’s chest. Through the thin sleeping bag she felt it walk across her tense abdomen, down her right leg, and out of the tent. Hannah leaned back with a sigh of relief and stretched flat, causing almost as much agony as her previous position.

  No sooner had she relaxed than the sound of a gunshot caught her attention. The attempt to jump to her feet was thwarted by her sleeping bag. Fighting to a standing position, she hopped outside the tent, still swathed. There stood Rory holding a gun, the scorpion smoking at his feet.

  “What did you do?”

  “Why, I killed it.”

  “Give me the gun.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Because I want to shoot you.”

  He laughed. “I believe you mean that.”

  “Rory. What… why… I mean you should have…” She stopped for lack of what to say.

  “You’re all right then. Go over there.” He pointed to a bush around two feet high. “Do your morning business. Then we’ll pack up and head out.”

  “Rory Chance, are you crazy? That scorpion almost stung me, and now you want to just saddle up and head out toward the sunset?”

  “Aye, I do. Fact is, it didn’t sting you, right? And even if it had, there was only a small chance that you would have died. I believe I read only a few of them are poisonous.”

  The popping noise of a slap echoed.

  He laughed and rubbed his arm.

  “What in the world did you use to get it out of the tent? And if it wasn’t dangerous, then why did you shoot it?”

  “I shot it to make you feel better.”

  “Humph.”

  “As for what I used to lure the little devil out, I thought about using peanut butter, but then this cricket started calling my name.”

  “What? That’s crazy.”

  He took a breath and continued to stare at her as if she might not be real. “If you’re finished being concerned with
the local wildlife, I believe we have a long way to go. So chop-chop, let’s get started.”

  In her anger, her sleeping bag had pooled around her feet. Taking her first step, her foot tangled and pitched her forward. Rory caught her before she struck the ground.

  He placed her upright and patted her shoulder like a buddy. “There you go. Get started, eh?”

  He turned his back on her, and Hannah resisted the urge to stomp her foot. Rory was the most frustrating, irritating man she’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. Compassionate and understanding one minute, gruff and standoffish the next. She never knew what kind of mood he was going to be in.

  Things gathered into her pack, she leaned back on her haunches and stared at the dry ground. Again there was an urge to relieve herself, and they hadn’t even started walking.

  The bush Rory had chosen earlier wasn’t exactly what she was looking for in the way of privacy. Why, if she went there many more times, there would be no more secrets between them for sure.

  Gnawing her lip, she spotted a larger, thicker clump of bushes nearby. While Rory’s back remained turned, she decided now would be the perfect time to take care of personal matters.

  Hannah edged toward the area. With a nearby branch she beat at the bushes. This was to encourage any animal that had taken up residence to believe that she was bigger and smarter, and she wanted them to leave. If she could have spoken to the inhabitants and explained the temporariness of her need, she would have, but this might’ve warned Rory of her intentions. Besides, it wasn’t likely they would understand anyway.

  Behind the large foliage, she unbuttoned her shorts and prepared to squat. What would Tonya think if she could see her now? Clothes embedded with a day of filth, her hair stringy, oily, and dirty from a week of not washing. Why her friend would never believe her. Hannah didn’t even like to camp at a state park!

  In order to go, she had to peel her underwear away from her body. The odor that wafted toward her nose caused her to gag. No wonder Rory was back and forth on his closeness. No doubt he watched the direction of the wind. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. How had he stomached her presence?