“I no love you, I dey love your weed.”

He tried to keep a straight face, but at the very moment Daramani snorted, Dawson burst out laughing. He released Daramani from his grip.

“I go find dat person wey you dey steal dis watch and give am back,” Dawson said, patting his pocket.

Daramani, chastened, was rubbing his neck. “Okay, my brodda. Sorry. I swear, never again. Ei, you break my neck, Dawson.”

“Next time I go take your head with it.”

Daramani began to giggle again.

7

DAWSON HEARD CONVERSATION COMING from the kitchen, and he knew Christine and Hosiah were already home. He was much less excited about the third voice-that of Gifty, his mother-in-law. Squashing his inner groan and making yet another failed attempt to persuade himself that she was really not so bad, he called out, “Hello!”

“Hi, Dark,” Christine said in reply.

Hosiah came running out of the kitchen. “Daddy, Daddy!”

He stopped where he was, and Dawson smiled as the boy prepared to perform the customary welcoming exercise.

“Okay,” Dawson said. “Ready?”

The boy leaned forward in the on-your-mark position, one leg forward and the other back. “Yah, Daddy, I’m ready.”

“Set… go!”

Hosiah exploded into a run, his little feet pounding the floor with miniaturized power. Close to Dawson, he launched himself as high and far as he could into his father’s waiting arms.

“Oh, that was a good one!” Dawson said.

“Yes!” Hosiah said, laughing. “I jumped higher than yesterday, didn’t I, Daddy?”

“You certainly did. Getting better and better at it.”

But in fact Hosiah was breathing more heavily than a boy of his age should for such a short burst of energy. Dawson kissed his son’s perfectly round head. He had bright, shining eyes and a smile that could soften even the hardest heart.

In the kitchen, Christine and Gifty were at the table sharing a beer. Dawson put Hosiah down.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, kissing Christine on the cheek. He smiled the best he could at Gifty. “Hello, Mama.”

He kissed her with barely a touch of the lips.

“Hosiah had a nice day at Granny’s, didn’t you, Hosiah?” Gifty said without so much as returning the greeting.

“Yes, Granny.”

“Where did Granny take you?”

“To the new zoo!” Hosiah said.

Dawson’s jaw tensed, a tic matching the stab of irritation. He had planned to take his son to the brand-new and improved zoo this weekend, and Gifty knew that. She simply had to be one up on him.

“Really?” Dawson said. “And what did you see at the zoo?”

“Chimpanzees and monkeys and birds. And there was a leopard and a turtle this big.” He spread his arms wide.

“Tortoise, Hosiah,” Gifty corrected him in a tone that irked Dawson from his spine to his toes. He glanced at his wife, who was thirty-two, and at his mother-in-law, who was sixty, and wondered how they could look so alike yet be so dissimilar in character. Christine had inherited her mother’s rich, dark skin, smooth and flawless as the petals of a black orchid. Her forehead was high, as were her lovely cheekbones, her nose straight yet flared, and her lips were rich. She never wore makeup except for the odd social gathering, and she had never relaxed her hair the way many Ghanaian women did to make it “straight.”

Hosiah went back to playing on the floor with a model fire engine while Dawson looked in the fridge for something to drink.

“No more Malta?” he said, poking around.

Malta Guinness, Dawson’s favorite drink, was nonalcoholic and made with malt, hops, barley, and too much sugar.

“Oh, Malta,” Christine said. “I knew there was something I forgot. Sorry, Dark. I’ll get some tomorrow.”

“No worries.”

He settled for a ginger ale as a distant second choice and sat down to drink noisily from the bottle. He knew that got on Gifty’s nerves, so he did it deliberately and with gusto. She sent him one of her sharp looks, which he ignored.

“How was work?” Christine asked him.

He didn’t want to talk about Ketanu with Gifty present, so he simply shrugged and gave the standard male answer, “Same ol’ thing.”

“Time for your bath, Hosiah,” Christine said, clapping her hands briskly. “Go and get your clothes off and call Mama when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Can I have a bubble bath with plenty bubbles?”

“Yes, but we won’t spend too long, all right?”

“Okay.”

Hosiah scampered out of the kitchen.

“Did he get tired walking around the zoo?” Dawson asked Gifty.

“He-”

“Because if I’d been there, I’d’ve carried him on my shoulders when he got out of breath.”

“He was fine,” Gifty said with a tense smile. “You know I wouldn’t do anything to harm him.”

“Not what I’m saying,” Darko returned. “I’m saying as his condition gets worse, we have to be careful.”

“I realize that. Darko, I care about Hosiah as much as you.”

“Of course, Mama,” Christine came in just before Dawson could. “No one denies that.”

“Thank you, love,” Gifty said, looking satisfied. “So now, here is my question: How are the savings going for the operation?”

Darko shook his head. “It’s a lot of money.”

“And meanwhile he’s getting worse,” Gifty said pointedly.

“We realize that,” Dawson said icily.

“I just want to know what you’re doing,” she said without flinching, “besides sitting around waiting. Waiting never gets you very far, you know?”

Dawson gritted his teeth and tapped his bottle on the table a couple of times. He looked at Christine for inspiration, anything to stop him from wringing her mother’s neck.

“Mama-” Christine started.

“I’m not trying to cause trouble,” Gifty said quickly. “I sincerely want to help, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I have a suggestion I’d like the two of you to seriously consider.”

Dawson looked at her sideways, skeptical and suspicious.

“What’s that, Mama?” Christine said.

“I think we should take Hosiah to my healer.”

“What healer?” Dawson said sharply.

“Augustus Ayitey He’s a famous traditional practitioner. He even works with the doctors at Korle-Bu. He gives me medicine for my arthritis, and he’s healed many people with heart problems.”

“Hosiah needs surgery,” Dawson said curtly.

“But just listen to what I’m saying, Darko,” Gifty said. “Hear me out, for once. Maybe Hosiah won’t need surgery after he sees Mr. Ayitey.”

“How would he know what Hosiah needs or doesn’t need?”

Christine was looking back and forth between her husband and her mother.

“Look,” Dawson said, “traditional healers might have some good herbal medicines for problems like your arthritis, but this is an actual physical hole in Hosiah’s heart.”

Gifty recoiled. “Such a horrible way to put it. Hole in his heart. Awful.”

“What do you want me to say? That’s what it’s called-at least in layman’s language.”

Gifty turned her palms upward and gesticulated. “We are trapped. National Health will not pay for this. None of us is rich. We just don’t have the money, plain and simple. And this dreamy idea that someday you’re going to save up to that level-why, Darko, by the time that day comes around, if ever, Hosiah may be in terrible shape. Don’t you see what I’m saying? My goodness, you barely have any choice but to try an alternative. You owe it to Hosiah. I know you love him. Now act on it.”

Dawson closed his eyes, his jaw clasping and unclasping as he rubbed his left palm hard with his right thumb. He hated this. He hated the bind they were in, hated his mother-in-law pointing it out so eloquently, hated her intrusion…

“Mama, I’m ready!” Hosiah yelled from the bedroom.

“I’m coming, Hosiah.” Christine got up, and so abruptly did her mother.