Read Online Deadly Harvest by Michael Stanley - Free Book Online

poured out some dried plant material. Witness guessed it was dagga , the local name for marijuana. He wanted to be angry with Gordon, to tell him to leave. But after all, the man had risen early to help search for Tombi. He shrugged. Gordon rolled the dagga in the paper and neatly sealed it by licking along the edge.
    When the pungent smoke started to rise, Witness took the joint and inhaled deeply a few times. He coughed a little, but after a while felt the tension ease. As Gordon babbled about nothing in particular, Witness listened quietly, taking a drag from time to time, letting his brain unwind.
    â€œThey’re probably right,” he said at last. “Tombi will come home. I’ll be very cross with her!” That struck him as funny, and he giggled. Gordon chuckled, too, while he rolled another joint.
    Suddenly Witness grabbed Gordon, almost pulling him over. “Look at that man!” He pointed toward the road, his hand shaking. “You can see he’s a witch doctor!”
    Gordon looked at the shabbily dressed man walking along the road, perhaps looking for work. There seemed nothing unusual about him. He started to chuckle again.
    Witness turned to him angrily. “Can’t you see? He’s changed himself into a man but he still has hyena fur! He’s a witch doctor. He has Tombi!” Witness clambered to his feet, but Gordon grabbed his arm.
    â€œWitness, my friend, it’s just a man. He has torn clothes, not fur. No one is with him. Come, sit down again.”
    Tense, Witness watched the man until he was out of sight. Then he collapsed back under the tree and smoked more dagga . He started to count the branches of the tree, but they kept moving, confusing him. He laughed aloud. He tried to explain the joke to Gordon, but he was laughing, too. Witness closed his eyes. It was much easier to count the branches that way. Gordon watched him for a few minutes while he finished the joint. Then he climbed to his feet.
    â€œWitness will be all right here,” he said to himself. “He’ll sleep in the sun with good dreams.” He shook his head. “But he’ll wake again to his pain.” He rose to his feet and shambled away.
    â€œ A RE YOU ALL RIGHT, rra?” The young female voice seeped into Witness’s mind.
    â€œTombi!” He jumped up. “Tombi, where have you . . .” He stared at the young woman, dressed in a T-­shirt and jeans, and the smiling man next to her.
    â€œYou’re not Tombi! You’re not my daughter.” His temper flared. “I’ve lost my daughter. How dare you pretend to be her!” He gave her a shove but was so unsteady that he nearly fell over and had to grab the tree for support. He glanced at the man and shouted, “You’re old enough to be her father! Leave her alone!”
    The girl looked at him in surprise. “It’s a poster , rra,” she said hesitantly. “We’re putting up posters for the election. I was going to put it on the tree here. It’s just a poster.”
    Witness shook his head vehemently. “You’re too young to have sex!” he shouted at her. “You’ll die of AIDS! That man could be your father!”
    Still holding the poster, the young woman backed away, turned, and ran to a ­couple of other women taking posters out of the trunk of their car. She pointed at him. They talked for a few moments, stacked the posters back in the trunk, and drove away, shouting something he couldn’t hear properly.
    Witness leaned against the tree and closed his eyes, his mind swirling.
    W HEN W ITNESS EVENTUALLY PULLED himself together, he decided to go home, grab some lunch, and then call the hospitals again. And the morgue. If there was no information, he’d go back to the police and make them do something.
    As he drove home, he noticed that each telephone pole had a poster, but not of Tombi. One poster read F REEDOM P ARTY. P UB LIC M