Arrow of God

by Chinua Achebe

  Akuebue cracked his fingers and moved his head up and down. ‘So it is a sacrifice,’ he muttered to himself. ‘So Edogo was right after all, though he had seemed so foolish at the time.’ He paused a while then spoke aloud:

  ‘What happens if this boy you are sacrificing turns out to be the one chosen by Ulu when you are looked for and not found.’

  ‘Leave that to the deity. When the time comes of which you speak Ulu will not seek your advice or help. So do not keep awake at night for that.’

  ‘I don’t, why should I? My compound is full of its own troubles, so why should I carry yours home; where would I find space to put them? But I must repeat what I said before and if you don’t want to listen you can stop your ears. When you spoke against the war with Okperi you were not alone. I too was against it and so were many others. But if you send your son to join strangers in desecrating the land you will be alone. You may go and mark it on that wall to remind you that I said so.’

  ‘Who is to say when the land of Umuaro has been desecrated, you or I?’ Ezeulu’s mouth was shaped with haughty indifference. ‘As for being alone, do you not think that it should be as familiar to me now as are dead bodies to the earth? My friend, don’t make me laugh.’

  Nwafo who had come into his father’s hut when Akuebue was saying of Ezeulu that he was half-man, half-spirit did not understand the present dispute between the two men. But he had seen equally dangerous-looking scenes come to nothing before. He was therefore not in the least surprised when his father sent him to get palm oil sprinkled with ground pepper from his mother. When he returned with it Ezeulu had already brought down his round basket. This basket had a close-fitting lid and dangled from the roof directly above the log fire. Dangling with it were Ezeulu’s ceremonial raffia skirt, two calabashes and a few heads of last season’s maize specially chosen, on account of their good quality, for planting. Basket, maize and raffia skirt were all black with smoke.

  Ezeulu opened the round basket and brought out a boiled and smoked leg of goat and cut a big piece for Akuebue and a very small one for himself.

  ‘I think I shall need something to wrap this,’ said Akuebue. Ezeulu sent Nwafo to cut a piece of banana leaf which he held above the smouldering log fire till it wilted slightly and lost its brittle freshness; then he passed it to Akuebue who divided the meat into two, wrapped the bigger half in the banana leaf and put it away in his bag. Then he began to eat the other half, dipping it in the peppered palm oil.

  Ezeulu gave a little strand from his own piece to Nwafo and threw the remainder into his mouth. For a long time they ate in silence and when they began to talk again it was about less weighty things. Ezeulu broke off a toothpick from the broom lying on the floor near him and leaned back on the wall. From that position he easily commanded the approaches to his compound and the compound of his two sons. He was thus the first to notice the arrival of the Court Messenger and his escort.

  When the two strangers reached Ezeulu’s threshold the escort clapped his hands and said: ‘Are the owners of this house at home?’ There was a slight pause before Ezeulu answered: ‘Enter and you will see.’ The escort bent down at the low eaves and entered first; then the other followed. Ezeulu welcomed them and told them to sit down. The Court Messenger sat on the mud-bed but his escort remained standing. The greetings over he saluted Ezeulu and explained that he was the son of Nwodika in Umunneora.

  ‘I thought I saw your father’s face as soon as you came in,’ said Akuebue.

  ‘Very true,’ said Ezeulu. ‘Anyone setting eyes on him knows he has seen Nwodika. Your friend seems to have come from far.’

  ‘Yes, we have come from Okperi…’

  ‘Do you live in Okperi then?’ asked Ezeulu.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Akuebue. ‘Have you not heard of one of our young men who lives with the white man in Okperi?’

  Ezeulu had indeed heard but deliberately feigned ignorance.

  ‘True?’ he asked. ‘I do not hear many things nowadays. So you have come all the way from Okperi this morning and you are here already? It is good to be strong and young. How are the people of my mother’s land? You know my mother came from Okperi.’

  ‘There was nothing but happiness and laughter when we left; what has happened since I cannot say.’

  ‘And who is your companion?’

  ‘He is the Chief Messenger of the great white man, the Destroyer of Guns.’

  Ezeulu cracked his fingers and nodded.

  ‘So this is Wintabota’s messenger? Is he a man of Okperi?’

  ‘No,’ said the escort. ‘His clan is Umuru.’

  ‘Was Wintabota well when you left? We have not seen him in these parts for a long time.’

  ‘Even so. This man here is his eye.’

  The Chief Messenger did not seem too pleased with the trend of the conversation. In his mind he was angry with this man in the bush who put on airs and pretended to be familiar with the District Officer. His escort sensed this and made desperate efforts to establish his importance.

  ‘Stranger, you are welcome,’ said Ezeulu. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘He is called Jekopu,’ said the escort. ‘As I said, nobody sees the Destroyer of Guns without his consent. There is no one in Okperi who does not know the name of Jekopu. The Destroyer of Guns asked me to accompany him on this journey because he is a stranger to these parts.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ezeulu with a meaningful glance in the direction of Akuebue. ‘That is as it should be. The white man sends a man from Umuru and the man from Umuru is shown the way by a man of Umuaro.’ He laughed. ‘What did I tell you, Akuebue? Our sages were right when they said that no matter how many spirits plotted a man’s death it would come to nothing unless his personal god took a hand in the deliberation.’

  The two men looked puzzled. Then Nwodika’s son said: ‘That is so; but we have not come on a mission of death.’

  ‘No. I did not say so. It is only a manner of speaking. We have a saying that a snake is never as long as the stick to which we liken its length. I know that Wintabota will not send a mission of death to Ezeulu. We are good friends. What I said was that a stranger could not come to Umuaro unless a son of the land showed him the way.’

  ‘That is true,’ said the escort. ‘We have come…’

  ‘My friend,’ interrupted the Chief Messenger, ‘you have already done what you were sent to do; the rest is for me. So put your tongue into its scabbard.’

  ‘Forgive me. I take my hands off.’

  Ezeulu sent Nwafo to bring kola from Matefi. By this time both Obika and Edogo had come in, news having reached them that a messenger of the white man was in their father’s hut. When the kolanut came it was shown round and broken.

  ‘Have the people you sent to the market for palm wine returned yet?’ asked Ezeulu. Obika said no.

  ‘I knew they would not. A man who means to buy palm wine does not hang about at home until all the wine in the market is sold.’ He was still leaning with his back on the wall, holding one leg a little off the ground with hands interlocked on the shin.

  The Court Messenger removed his blue fez and planted it on his knee exposing a clean-shaven head shining with sweat. The edge of the cap left a ring round the head. He cleared his throat and spoke, almost for the first time.

  ‘I salute you all.’ He brought out a very small book from his breast pocket and opened it in the manner of a white man. ‘Which one of you is called Ezeulu?’ he asked from the book and then looked up and around the hut. No one spoke; they were all too astonished. Akuebue was the first to recover.

  ‘Look round and count your teeth with your tongue,’ he said. ‘Sit down, Obika, you must expect foreigners to talk through the nose.’

  ‘You say you are a man of Umuru?’ asked Ezeulu. ‘Do you have priests and elders there?’

  ‘Do not take my question amiss. The white man has his own way of doing things. Before he does anything to you he will first ask you your name and the answer must come from your own lips.’


  ‘If you have any grain of sense in your belly,’ said Obika, ‘you will know that you are not in the house of the white man but in Umuaro in the house of the Chief Priest of Ulu.’

  ‘Hold your tongue, Obika. You heard Akuebue say just now that strangers talk through the nose. Do you know whether they have Chief Priests in his land or the land of the white man?’

  ‘Tell that young man to take care how he talks to me. If he has not heard of me he should ask those who have.’

  ‘Go and eat shit.’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ roared Ezeulu. ‘This man has come all the way from my mother’s land to my house and I forbid anyone to abuse him. Besides he is only a messenger. If we dislike his message our quarrel cannot be with him but with the man who sent him.’

  ‘Very true,’ said Akuebue.

  ‘There are no words left,’ said the escort.

  ‘You asked me a question,’ continued Ezeulu turning again to the messenger. ‘I shall now answer you. I am that Ezeulu you spoke of. Are you satisfied?’

  ‘Thank you. We are all men here but when we open our mouths we know the men from the boys. We have spoken many words already; some were words of profit, some were not; some were words of sanity and some words of drunkenness. It is now time to say why I have come, for a toad does not run in the daytime unless something is after it. I have not come all the way from Okperi to stretch my legs. Your own kinsman here has told you how Kaputin Winta-bor-tom has put me in charge of many of his affairs. He is the chief of all the white men in these parts. I have known him for more than ten years and I have yet to see another white man who does not tremble before him. When he sent me here he did not tell me he had a friend in Umuaro.’ He smiled in derision. ‘But if what you say is true we shall know tomorrow when I take you to see him.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asked Akuebue in alarm.

  The Court Messenger continued to smile menacingly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Your friend Wintabota’ (he mouthed the name in the ignorant fashion of his hearers) ‘has ordered you to appear before him tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Edogo.

  ‘Where else but in his office in Okperi.’

  ‘The fellow is mad,’ said Obika.

  ‘No, my friend. If anyone is mad it’s you. Anyhow, Ezeulu must prepare at once. Fortunately the new road makes even a cripple hungry for a walk. We set out this morning at the first cock-crow and before we knew where we were we had got here.’

  ‘I said the fellow is mad. Who…’

  ‘He is not mad,’ said Ezeulu. ‘He is a messenger and he must give the message as it was given to him. Let him finish.’

  ‘I have finished,’ said the other. ‘But I ask whoever owns this young man to advise him for his own good.’

  ‘You are sure you have given all the message?’

  ‘Yes, the white man is not like black men. He does not waste his words.’

  ‘I salute you,’ said Ezeulu, ‘and I welcome you again: Nno!’

  ‘There is one small thing I forgot,’ said the Court Messenger. ‘There are many people waiting to see the white man and you may have to wait in Okperi for three or four days before your turn comes. But I know that a man like you would not want to spend many days outside his village. If you do me well I shall arrange for you to see him tomorrow. Everything is in my hands; if I say that the white man will see this person, he will see him. Your kinsman will tell you what I eat.’ He smiled and put his fez back on the head.

  ‘That is a small matter,’ said Ezeulu. ‘It will not cause a quarrel. I do not think that what you will put into that small belly of yours will be beyond me. If it is, my kinsmen are there to help.’ He paused and seemed to enjoy the messenger’s anger at the mention of his small size. ‘You must first return, however, and tell your white man that Ezeulu does not leave his hut. If he wants to see me he must come here. Nwodika’s son who showed you the way can also show him.’

  ‘Do you know what you are saying, my friend?’ asked the messenger in utter disbelief.

  ‘Are you a messenger or not?’ asked Ezeulu. ‘Go home and give my message to your master.’

  ‘Let us not quarrel about this,’ said Akuebue stepping in quickly to save the situation which his spirit told him was fraught with peril. ‘If the white man’s messenger gives us some time we shall whisper together.’

  ‘What are you whispering for?’ asked Ezeulu indignantly. ‘I have given my message.’

  ‘Just give us some time,’ said Akuebue to the messenger who complied and went outside. ‘You may go out with him,’ he told the escort.

  Ezeulu took no part in the consultation that followed. When the Court Messenger and his companion returned to the hut it was Akuebue who told them that because of the respect he had for the white man Ezeulu had agreed to send his son, Edogo, to bring back whatever message there was for his father. ‘In Umuaro it is not our custom to refuse a call, although we may refuse to do what the caller asks. Ezeulu does not want to refuse the white man’s call and so he is sending his son.’

  ‘Is that your answer?’ asked the Court Messenger.

  ‘It is,’ replied Akuebue.

  ‘I will not take it.’

  ‘Then you can go into that bush there and eat shit,’ said Obika. ‘Do you see where my finger is pointing? That bush.’

  ‘Nobody will eat shit,’ said Akuebue, and turning to the messenger he added: ‘I have never heard of a messenger choosing the message he will carry. Go and tell the white man what Ezeulu says. Or are you the white man yourself?’

  Ezeulu had turned a little away from the others and begun again to pick his teeth with the broomstick.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As soon as the messenger and his escort left Ezeulu’s hut to return to Okperi the Chief Priest sent word to the old man who beat the giant ikolo to summon the elders and ndichie to an urgent meeting at sunset. Soon after the ikolo began to speak to the six villages. Everywhere elders and men of title heard the signal and got ready for the meeting. Perhaps it was the threat of war. But no one spoke of war any more in these days of the white man. More likely the deity of Umuaro had revealed through divination a grievance that must be speedily removed, or else… But whatever it was – a call to prepare for battle or to perform a communal sacrifice – it was urgent. For the ikolo was not beaten out of season except in a great emergency – when as the saying was an animal more powerful than nté was caught by nté’s trap.

  The meeting began as fowls went to roost and continued into the night. Had it been a day meeting children who had brought their father’s stools would have been playing on the outskirts of the market place, waiting for the end of the meeting to carry the stools home again. But no father took his child to a night meeting. Those who lived near the market place carried their stools themselves; the others carried goatskins rolled up under the arm.

  Ezeulu and Akuebue were the first to arrive. But they had hardly sat down before other elders and men of title from all the villages of Umuaro began to come into the Nkwo. At first each man as he came in saluted all those who were there before him but as the crowd increased he only greeted those nearest to him, shaking hands with only three or four.

  The meeting took place under the timeless ogbu tree on whose mesh of exposed roots generations of Umuaro elders had sat to take weighty decisions. Before long most of the people expected at the meeting had come and the stream of new arrivals became a mere trickle. Ezeulu held a quick consultation with those sitting nearest to him and they all agreed that the time had come to tell Umuaro why they had been called together. The Chief Priest rose to his feet, adjusted his toga and gave the salutation which was at the same time a call to Umuaro to speak with one voice.

  ‘Umuaro kwenu!’

  ‘Hem!!’

  ‘Kwenu!’

  ‘Hem!!’

  ‘Kwezuenu!’

  ‘Hem!!’

  ‘I thank you all for leaving your different tasks at home to answer my call. Sometime
s a man may call and no one answers him. Such a man is like one dreaming a bad dream. I thank you that you have not let me call in vain like one struggling in a bad dream.’ Somewhere near him someone was talking into his talk. He looked round and saw that it was Nwaka of Umunneora. Ezeulu stopped talking for a while, and then addressed the man.

  ‘Ogbuefi Nwaka, I salute you,’ he said.

  Nwaka cleared his throat and stopped whatever it was he had been saying to those near him. Ezeulu continued.

  ‘I was thanking you for what you have done. Our people say that if you thank a man for what he has done he will have strength to do more. But there is one great omission here for which I beg forgiveness. A man does not summon Umuaro and not set before them even a pot of palm wine. But I was taken by surprise and as you know the unexpected beats even the man of valour…’ Then he told them the story of the Court Messenger’s visit to him. ‘My kinsmen,’ he said in conclusion, ‘that was what I woke up this morning and found. Ogbuefi Akuebue was there and saw it with me. I thought about it for a long time and decided that Umuaro should join with me in seeing and hearing what I have seen and heard; for when a man sees a snake all by himself he may wonder whether it is an ordinary snake or the untouchable python. So I said to myself: Tomorrow I shall summon Umuaro and tell them. Then one mind said to me: Do you know what may happen in the night or at dawn? That is why, although I have no palm wine to place before you I still thought I should call you together. If we have life there will be time enough for palm wine. Unless the penis dies young it will surely eat bearded meat. When hunting day comes we shall hunt in the backyard of the grass-cutter. I salute you all.’