Emmanuel pulled the sedan into the patch of dirt that was the front yard. The early-morning light did nothing to soften the hard edge of poverty.He exited the car, and the first stone, sharp and small, hit him in the cheek and drew blood. The second and third stones hit, full force, into his chest and leg. The stones hit hard, and he lost count of them as he ran behind the car to take shelter. He crouched next to Shabalala, who calmly wiped blood from a small cut in his own neck.“The girls.” Shabalala raised his voice over the torrent of sound made by the pebbles hitting the roof of the car.“What girls?” Emmanuel shouted back.Shabalala motioned to the front of the car. Emmanuel followed and risked a quick look out. Two girls, skinny as stray dogs, stood at the side of the shack, a pile of rocks in front of them. Behind them, a man with blazing red hair took off across the veldt.“Go after him,” the black policeman said, and filled his pockets with stones. “I will get the girls.”Emmanuel nodded and sprinted full speed across the dirt yard.
