Following Captain Winterbottom’s instruction that Ezeulu should be put in his place and taught to be polite to the Administration Mr Clarke refused to see him on the next day as the Head Messenger had promised. In fact he refused to see him for four days.
On the second morning as Clarke and Wade drove again towards the hospital at Nkisa they came upon a sacrifice by the roadside. They often saw roadside sacrifices and would not normally have stopped. But this one struck them by its extraordinary lavishness. Wade pulled up and they went to see. Instead of the usual white chick there were two fully grown cocks. The other objects were normal; young, yellowish palm fronds cut from the summit of the tree, a clay bowl with two lobes of kolanut inside it and a piece of white chalk. But the two white men only saw these objects later. What caught their eye immediately on reaching the sacrifice was the English florin.
‘Well I never!’ said Wade.
‘Now this is very strange, a most extravagant sacrifice. I wonder what it’s all about.’
‘Perhaps it’s for the recovery of the King’s Representative,’ said Wade lightly. Then something seemed to strike him and he spoke seriously. ‘I don’t like the look of it. I don’t mind if they use their cowries and manillas but the head of George the Fifth!’
Clarke chuckled but stopped immediately as Wade put his left hand into the bowl and picked out the piece of silver, cleaned it first with leaves and then on his woollen hose and put it into his pocket.
‘Good heavens! What do you think you are doing?’
‘I won’t have the King of England dragged into a disgusting juju,’ replied Wade, laughing.
This incident worried Clarke a great deal. He had convinced himself that he admired people like Wade and Wright who seemed to do an important job without taking themselves too seriously, who were always looking for the lighter side of things. But was this lack of feeling – for it certainly showed a monstrous lack of feeling to desecrate someone else’s sacrifice – part of the temperament of looking for the lighter side of life? If so would one not finally come down in favour of the seriousness (and its accompanying pomposity) of the Winterbottoms?
Without making any conscious decision Clarke was preparing himself to assume the burden of the Administration in the event of Winterbottom’s death. It would fall on him to defend his natives if need be from the thoughtless acts of white people like Wade.
That same morning Ezeulu sent Obika back to Umuaro to tell his family how things stood, and to arrange for his younger wife to come and cook his meals. But their clansman, John Nwodika, would not hear of it.
‘It is not necessary,’ he said. ‘My wife is the daughter of your old friend and she will not allow you to send home for another woman. I know that we cannot give you the kind of food you would eat at home. But if we have two palm kernels to chew we shall give one to you and a cup of water to swallow it with.’
Ezeulu could not refuse the offer when it was put that way. Whatever he might have against Nwodika’s son he could not offend the daughter of his friend, Egonwanne, who died three years come next harvest. So he told Obika not to send Ugoye but to arrange for large quantities of yams and other foods to be brought.
Ezeulu had good reasons for disliking the son of Nwodika. He came from the very village in Umuaro which was always poking its finger into Ezeulu’s eye; his job was said to comprise licking plates in the white man’s kitchen in Okperi which was a great degradation for a son of Umuaro. Worst of all he had brought the white man’s insolent messenger to Ezeulu’s house. But by the end of his first day in Okperi Ezeulu was beginning to soften towards the man, and to see that even a hostile clansman was a friend in a strange country. For the Okperi of Government Hill was indeed a strange country to Ezeulu. It was not the Okperi he had known as a boy and young man, the village of his mother, Nwanyieke. There must still be parts of that old Okperi left, but Ezeulu could not possibly go out in search of it at this time of his disgrace. Where would he find the eye with which to look at the old sites and old faces? It was fortunate that he felt that way for it saved him the mortification of being told he was a prisoner and could not come and go as he liked.
As he ate his meal that night he heard the voices of children welcoming the new moon. ‘Onwa atu-o-o-o! Onwa atu-o-o-o!’ went up on all sides of Government Hill. But Ezeulu’s sharp ear picked out a few voices that sang in a curious dialect. Except for the word moon he could not make out what they said. No doubt they were the children of some of these people who spoke a curious kind of Igbo – through the nose.
The first time Ezeulu heard the children’s voices his heart flew out. Although he had expected it, when it did come he was not ready. His mind had momentarily forgotten. But he recovered almost at once. Yes, his deity must now be asking: ‘Where is he?’ and soon Umuaro will have to explain.
There was great anxiety in Ezeulu’s compound throughout the first and second days of his absence. Although it was the heart of the planting season nobody went to work. Obika’s bride, Okuata, left her lonely hut and moved into her mother-in-law’s. Edogo left his own compound and sat in his father’s obi waiting for news. Neighbours and even passers-by came in and asked: ‘Have they returned yet?’ After a while the question began to make Edogo angry especially when it came from those whose main interest was gossip.
By the middle of the second day, however, Obika returned. At first no one dared ask any questions; some of the women appeared on the brink of tears. Even at such a serious and anxious moment Obika could not resist the temptation to alarm them further. He had worn a face like a muddied pond as he came up the approaches to the hut; now he slumped down on the floor as though he had run all the way from Okperi. He called for cold water which his sister brought him. When he had drunk and set the calabash down Edogo put the first question to him.
‘Where is the person with whom you went?’ he asked, skirting the dreaded finality of a name. Not even Obika could dare to joke after that. He allowed a short pause and said: ‘He was well when I left him.’
The tightening fear in the faces broke.
‘Why did the white man send for him?’
‘Where did you leave him?’
‘When is he coming home?’
‘Which one shall I answer?’ Obika tried to recover the earlier tension again but it was too late. ‘I haven’t got seven mouths. When I left him this morning the white man had not told us anything. We did not even see him because they said he was at the mouth of death.’ This piece of news caused a little stir. From the stories told of the white man it had not occurred to them that he could be sick like ordinary people. ‘Yes, he is already half dead. But he has a younger brother to whom he had given the message to give to Ezeulu. But this one was so troubled by his brother’s sickness that he forgot to see us. So Ezeulu said to me: Prepare and go home or they will think we have come to harm. That is why I returned.’
‘Who gives him food?’ asked Ugoye.
‘You remember the son of Nwodika who brought the white man’s first messenger here,’ Obika replied, though not to Ugoye but the men. ‘It turned out that his wife is the daughter of Ezeulu’s old friend in Umuagu. She has been cooking for us since yesterday and she says that as long as she is alive Ezeulu will not send home for another woman.’
‘Did I hear you well?’ asked Akuebue, who had so far said very little. ‘Did you say that the wife of a man of Umunneora is giving food to Ezeulu?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please do not tell me such a story again. Edogo, get ready now, we are going to Okperi.’
‘Ezeulu is not a small child,’ said Anosi, their neighbour. ‘He cannot be taught those with whom he may eat.’
‘Do you hear what I say, Edogo? Get ready now; I am going home to get my things.’
‘I do not want to stop you from going,’ said Obika, ‘but do not talk as if you alone have sense. Ezeulu and I did not simply open our mouths while our eyes were shut. Last night Ezeulu refused food even though Nwodika’s son tasted it fo
r us. But by this morning Ezeulu had seen enough of the man’s mind to know that he had no ill-will.’
Akuebue was not impressed by anything the others said. He knew enough about the men of Umunneora. As for those who said that Ezeulu was not a child they could not know the bitterness in his mind. Akuebue knew the man better than his children or his wives. He knew that it was not beyond him to die abroad so as to plague his enemies at home. It was possible that the hands of Nwodika’s son were clean, but one must make quite sure even at the risk of offending him. Who would swallow phlegm for fear of offending others? How much less swallow poison?
Ezeulu’s neighbour, Anosi, whose opinion had gone unheeded earlier on in the discussion and who had kept quiet since then surfaced again with an opposite view.
‘I think that Akuebue is right in what he says. Let him go with Edogo to satisfy himself that all is well. But let Ugoye also go with them, taking yams and other things; in that way the visit will not offend anyone.’
‘But what is this fear of causing offence?’ asked Akuebue impatiently. ‘I am not a small boy; I know how to cut without drawing blood. But I shall not be afraid to offend a man of Umunneora if Ezeulu’s life hangs on it.’
‘True,’ agreed Anosi. ‘Very true. My father used to say that it is the fear of causing offence that makes men swallow poison. You enter the house of a bad man and he brings out a kolanut. You do not like the way he has brought it out and your mind tells you not to eat it. But you are afraid to offend your host and you swallow ukwalanta. I agree with Akuebue.’
*
Perhaps no one felt Ezeulu’s absence as keenly as Nwafo. And now his mother was going too. But this second blow was greatly softened by the thought that Edogo was going as well.
Ezeulu’s absence had given Edogo an opportunity to show his resentment against the old man’s favourite. As the first son Edogo had taken temporary possession of his father’s hut to await his return. Nwafo who rarely left the hut now began to feel his half-brother’s hostility pushing him out. Although he was only a little boy he had the mind of an adult; he could tell when someone looked at him with a good eye or with a bad. Even if Edogo had said nothing Nwafo would still have known that he was not wanted. But Edogo had told him yesterday to go to his mother’s hut and not sit around the obi gazing into the eyes of people older than himself. Nwafo went out and cried; for the first time in his life he had been told that he was not welcome in his father’s hut.
Throughout today he had kept away until Obika’s return when everyone in the compound and even neighbours had come in to hear the news. He took his accustomed position defiantly; but Edogo said nothing to him – he did not even appear to have noticed him.
Nwafo’s sister Obiageli cried for a long time after their mother and the others left for Okperi. Oduche’s promise to pick her icheku and udala did not console her. In the end Obika threatened to go and call out the fearsome masked spirit called Ichele. This produced an immediate result. Obiageli sat in one corner of the obi sniffling quietly.
As night drew near Nwafo’s mind returned to the thought which had been troubling him since yesterday. What would happen to the new moon? He knew his father had been expecting it before he went away. Would it follow him to Okperi or would it wait for his return? If it appeared in Okperi with what metal gong would Ezeulu receive it? Nwafo looked at the ogene which lay by the wall, the stick with which it was beaten showing at its mouth. The best solution was for the new moon to wait for his return tomorrow.
However as dusk came down Nwafo took his position where his father always sat. He did not wait very long before he saw the young thin moon. It looked very thin and reluctant. Nwafo reached for the ogene and made to beat it but fear stopped his hand.
*
Ezeulu was still hearing in his mind the voices of the children of Government Hill when Nwodika’s son and his wife brought him his supper. As usual Nwodika’s son took a ball of foofoo, dipped it in the soup and swallowed. Ezeulu ate with a good appetite. Although he would not eat egusi soup out of choice this one was so well prepared that one hardly knew it was egusi. The fish in it was either asa or something equally good, and it had been smoked half dry which was the beauty of that type of fish. The foofoo had a very good texture, neither too light nor too heavy; no doubt the cassava had been lightened with green bananas.
He was half-way through his meal when his son, his wife and his friend arrived. They were shown in by the Head Messenger whose duty it was to look after prisoners detained in the guardroom. At first Ezeulu feared that something bad had happened at home. But when he saw the yams they brought his mind returned again.
‘Why did you not wait till morning?’
‘We did not know whether you would be setting out for home in the morning,’ said Akuebue.
‘Home?’ Ezeulu laughed. It was the laughter of those who do not cry. ‘Who talks of home? I have not seen the white man who sent for me. They say he is in the mouth of death. Perhaps he wants a Chief Priest to be sacrificed at his funeral.’
‘The earth of Umuaro forbid!’ said Akuebue, and the others joined in.
‘Are we at Umuaro now?’ asked Ezeulu.
‘If the man is sick and he has not left a message for you then you should go home and come again when he is well,’ said Edogo, who did not think that this was the place for his father and his friend to engage in their battle of words.
‘This is not a journey I want to do twice. No, I shall sit here until I have seen the head and the tail of this matter.’
‘Do you know how long he will be sick? You may be here…’
‘If he is sick till palm fruits ripen at the tip of the frond I shall wait… How are the people at home, Ugoye?’
‘They were well when we left them.’ Her neck looked shorter from carrying the load.
‘The children, Obika’s wife and all the others?’
‘Everybody was well.’
‘And what about the people of your household?’ he asked Akuebue.
‘They were quiet when I left them. There was no sickness only hunger.’
‘That is a small matter,’ said Nwodika’s son. ‘Hunger is better than sickness.’ As he said this he went outside and blew his nose. He came back rubbing the nose with the back of his hand.
‘Nwego, you need not wait to collect the utensils. I shall bring them home. Go and find something for these people to eat.’
His wife took Ugoye’s head-load and the two women went to prepare another meal.
There was no time to waste and as soon as the women left Akuebue spoke.
‘Obika has told us how Nwodika’s son and his wife have been taking care of you.’
‘You have seen with your eyes.’ Ezeulu’s mouth was full of fish.
‘Thank you,’ said Akuebue to John Nwodika.
‘Thank you,’ said Edogo.
‘We have done nothing that calls for thanks. What can a poor man and his wife do? We know that Ezeulu has meat and fish in his own house but while he is here we will share the palm kernel we eat with him. A woman cannot place more than the length of her leg on her husband.’
‘When Obika told us about it I said to myself that there was nothing like travelling.’
‘True,’ said Ezeulu. ‘The young he-goat said that but for his sojourn in his mother’s clan he would not have learnt to stick up his upper lip.’ He laughed to himself. ‘I should have travelled more often in my mother’s country.’
‘It has certainly taken away your heavy face of yesterday,’ said Akuebue. ‘When they told me that a man of Umunneora was looking after you I told them it was a lie. How could it be seeing the war we wage at home?’
‘That is for the people at home,’ said Nwodika’s son. ‘I do not carry it with me when I travel. Our wise men have said that a traveller to distant places should make no enemies. I stand by it.’
‘Very true,’ said Akuebue, wondering how best to lead on to the object of his coming. After a short pause he decided to split it open with
one blow of the matchet as the people of Nsugbe were said to split their coconut. ‘Our journey has two aims. We brought Ugoye to relieve Nwodika’s wife of her burden and to thank Nwodika himself and tell him that whatever his kinsmen may be doing at home he is today a brother to Ezeulu and his family.’ As he said this Akuebue was already searching arm-deep in his goatskin bag for his little razor and kolanut. The tying of the blood-knot between Edogo and John Nwodika was over in the short silence that followed. Ezeulu and Akuebue watched in silence as the two young men ate a lobe of kolanut smeared with each other’s blood.
‘How did you come to work for the white man?’ asked Akuebue when they resumed ordinary talking. Nwodika’s son cleared his throat.
‘How did I come to work for the white man? I should say that my chi planned that it should be so. I did not know anything about the white man at the time; I had not learnt his language or his custom. It will be three years next dry season. My age mates and I came from Umunneora to Okperi to learn a new dance as we had done for many years in the dry season after the harvest. To my great astonishment I found that my friend called Ekemezie in whose house I always lodged during these visits and who came and lodged with me whenever our village played host to his village, I found that he was no longer among the dancers of Okperi. I searched in vain for him among the crowd that came out to welcome us. Another friend called Ofodile took me to his house instead and it was from him I heard that Ekemezie had gone to work for the white man. I do not know how I felt when I heard that news. It was almost as if I had been told that my friend had died. I tried to find out more from Ofodile about this white man’s work but Ofodile is not the kind of person who can sit down and tell a story to the end. But the next day Ekemezie came to see me and brought me to this Gorment Heel. He called me by name and I answered. He said everything was good in its season; dancing in the season of dancing. But, he said, a man of sense does not go on hunting little bush rodents when his age mates are after big game. He told me to leave dancing and join in the race for the white man’s money. I was all eyes. Ekemezie called me Nwabueze and I said yes it was my name. He said the race for the white man’s money would not wait till tomorrow or till we were ready to join; if the rat could not run fast enough it must make way for the tortoise. He said other people from every small clan – some people we used to despise – they were all now in high favour when our own people did not even know that day had broken.’
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