Diamonds in the Shadow (19 page)

Hunter took aim at a distant trash can, threw the pebble overhand and made the basket. Cheering himself, he jogged out of the locker room.

I don't even know yet if it's a diamond, thought Jared. But if it's lost in that trash, I not only don't have it, I can't put it back.

I'm Brady Wall, he thought.

His tongue felt dry and swollen. His heart felt old and creaky. He upended the trash container and kicked the contents around
the floor. The assistant gym teacher came in. “I fell over it,” said Jared. “Don't worry, I'm cleaning it up.”

“I'll help,” said the guy, which was the last thing Jared wanted. Then he saw the pebble under filthy gym shorts somebody had probably thrown out rather than lugging them home to wash.

It was warm and familiar in his hand. It was a diamond, he knew it was.

Mrs. Dowling sat at her home computer.

Poor Mattu was in need of friends. His own kind. People who would understand him. Mrs. Dowling could not trust a lazy slug like Jared to use her careful research. And poor Mattu was superstitious about the Web.

Mrs. Dowling took action. She compared the various sites she had turned up. She chose the most active. Then she posted a kind and detailed description of Mattu Amabo and all she knew of his family.

I
T HAD NOT OCCURED TO
Mattu that he might love his American family. He was grateful and he ate their food, but he had not planned to love them.

The skinny, rushing, constantly talking mother had been so tiring at first, with her relentless pushing and doing and her countless activities. But the minister and the church committee faded away, while Mrs. Finch continued to believe that all problems could be conquered, all hurt souls rescued and all hands reattached.

The father was gone so much, working to pay for this amazing house and the family's cars and computers. He was visibly sad and exhausted. But when Mr. Finch was home, he offered his good suits and ties for Mattu to wear in church and patiently gave him driving lessons.

How clearly Jared hated sharing his room, his friends and his time. But it was Jared who watched out for Mattu, tutored him, even stepped in to protect him. As if Mattu—fresh from a world where you needed a submachine gun to defend yourself—cared about some minor bully like Hunter. Jared was reaching out even to Alake, who could not—should not—reach out herself.

But the real reason Mattu loved his American family was
Mopsy. This little girl completely adored the four strangers who had invaded her house with their problems and demands and secrets. When Mopsy spun and danced and clapped over nothing at all, Mattu could almost hear his mother's laughter, back when there had been joy.

He loved the Finches. But how he had ached to be among black people. He was so glad to be at a restaurant with Daniel's family, who had the same color skin he did. And what a family: the mother a college professor and the father a doctor. He wished he could be alone with them, instead of saddled with Alake, Celestine and Andre.

The restaurant was filled with fresh flowers, bright colors and soft seats. The food was arranged like art. Mattu had expected Daniel's family to be like everybody else but more so—blasting him with questions about Africa and his past, refugee camps and suffering. He'd been wrong. Conversation was entirely about the future: Celestine's future, Andre's, Mattu's—even Alake's.

“Daniel is hoping to be a doctor. He's more interested in research than in patient care. Mattu, have you thought about what you want to be?” said Daniel's mother, leaning forward with the same intensity Kara Finch had.

I want to be safe, thought Mattu.

He did not try to explain. She was talking about careers and education. Mattu did not want these beautiful people to know the depth of fear and horror that slept with him by night and engulfed him by day.

Celestine was not sharing Mattu's thoughts about safety. She
was actually looking at him the way a mother would look at a son…a son who could become a doctor.

Daniel's father smiled. “Is it too soon to plan the future, Mattu?”

Mattu smiled back. “The present is enough for now. I am behind in every class. But I will catch up.”

“What's your best class?” demanded Daniel's mother.

“I am not best at anything. In every class, I am at the bottom. There are not always schools to attend when a country is at war. I am deficient in many fields.”

“But what do you
like
the best?”

Doors that lock. Trees that don't hide killers. Plates with food on them. “Math,” he said politely.

Finding the library took several days.

The librarians could not have been nicer. They located ten agencies that were licensed to settle refugees in America, but they found no clues about Victor's dear friends, the Amabo family. “We'll keep working on it,” they assured him when the library was closing for the night. “It's a challenge. And how exciting that we may be able to reunite you with your friends.”

“Celestine has her first checking account,” Mom told Kirk Crick. “She chose checks with a background of wild animals.
Would you believe that even though Celestine is African, she has never seen leopards or tigers or elephants? We're thinking of going to the Bronx Zoo this weekend to make up for that. Meanwhile, Alake is now going to the high school, where she has a wonderful buddy assigned to her, and wait till you see her beautiful hairstyle! And we're having such fun with brand preference. They all know the difference now between Pepsi and Coke, Burger King and McDonald's, whole milk and skim. Celestine prefers mint-flavored floss. Andre prefers hazelnut-flavored coffee.”

Jared hadn't known about any Bronx Zoo trip. There was an area of Manhattan called the Diamond District. If he could get Mom to change her plans and take everybody to the Empire State Building, which was also in Manhattan, he could take off and go into one of those shops and get his pebble identified.

The other afternoon he had actually stood on the sidewalk in front of Prospect Hill's jewelry store. Its windows were filled with necklaces shining on white velvet throats and engagement rings gleaming on black velvet trays. But the salesgirl inside looked only an hour or two older than Jared, and he didn't think she would even have heard of rough diamonds, let alone been able to identify them. And did he really want to be asked right here on Main Street, a block from his church and half a mile from his school, just exactly how he had come by an uncut diamond?

It crossed Jared's mind that he might not be the only one in this house who would like to find the Diamond District.

Kirk Crick sighed. “You're treating the Amabos like household
pets, Kara. Your task is to give them a boost and shove them out, like birds from a nest. All your projects are way too much. It isn't good for them. They have to do this stuff by themselves.”

“They can't even drive yet. How are they supposed to do anything without me? They can't get to the store or the bank in the first place unless a church volunteer drives them.”

The aid worker shrugged. “Public transportation.”

“There isn't any,” Jared pointed out.

Kirk Crick put his Amabo folder back into his briefcase. “Then I'll find them an apartment some other place where there is. I'll be back next week.”

“It isn't time yet! There's still so much to do!” cried Jared's mother.

“Look, Kara,” said Kirk Crick, heading for his car. “You're the innkeeper. People stay with you
temporarily.
The good deed is helping them leave.”

On Sunday, Alake sat beside Mopsy and they shared a hymnbook. The music poured over her like cool water soothing a fever. She loved the hymns and the enthusiastic singing of the congregation. Her feet and heart shivered from the pipe organ's volume.

“The Lord be with you,” said the minister.

“And with you also,” said the people.

And had that happened? wondered Alake. Was the Lord with these people? Was he also with her?

“Open my eyes, that I may see,”
said the first hymn.

Alake prayed as she had never known a person could pray. Open my eyes! she begged God. Let me see you the way other people see, not through the veil of the bad things I've done.

“Open my heart,”
said the hymn.
“Open my mind.”

Oh, God! Open my life, that I may be part of this!

“Silently now I wait for thee,”
said the hymn.

Not that, Lord. I don't want to be silent. I want to talk.

The room seemed full of answers. If Alake just dared to stretch her fingers, she could catch hold of a word—two words— even an answer.

But people in this church did not stretch or leap or dance or cry out.

They sat quietly.