by Inua Ellams
breath. It will end, Zeus said. I know exactly how,
and low thunders rumbled all round Mount Olympus.
Last pair of eyes arrived with a cough, a polite
request for some of Demi’s time. Yes, please! Of course,
our Half-God replied and ushered in the slim, light-
footed gentleman. Sit, Hakeem Olajuwon!
You are a legend! I cannot believe my sights!
Ha! Here! My boys will die when I tell them. You won
back-to-back championships in nineteen ninety four
and five, the first Nigerian to! Ah! You’re a don!
Hakeem ‘The Dream’ Olajuwon?! Please! Demi poured
gin and cracked two kola nuts, as is tradition,
but saw the small-talk, laughter and pleasantries thaw
as Olajuwon took a large last gulp and shunned
Demi’s offer of more. He asked harshly Parents.
Who are they?/My parents? That’s free information.
Mother’s name is Modupe. Father’s been absent.
See … I never knew him./And are they both mortal?
/Pardon?/Answer me OluDemi, this instant!
/Hakeem, you have overstayed your welcome. The hall …
/I’ve watched you play. You’re one of us. Our sage, Demi,
Òrúnmilà? My grandfather. There’s a roll call
of Half-Gods. Alonso Mourning comes from Kali,
the Hindu Goddess, destroyer of ignorance.
Iverson, greatest ball handler? Vishnu. Reggie?
Miller? Satet’s son – archery Goddess. Leprechauns
made Kevin McHale of the Celtics and Aido-
Hwedo? Rainbow-snake Goddess? Dennis Rodman’s aunt.
Clyde Drexler descends from Prometheus, that old
great Greek. Allvis Norse God of wisdom? Jason Kidd’s
great-great-grandfather. The years we played were pure gold.
All gone. We had to sign a pact after the kid.
After Jordan./What happened?/Jordan, that far-flung
son of Amun-Ra, oldest of Gods, Jordan did
what no one had dared –flew –on the court. With no song,
charm or spell to cloak his flight! Live television!
Grandfather had to wipe memories. Everyone’s.
Think of the effort it took to weave new visions
for millions of people. To plant them seamlessly.
That brought forth the Agreement: Without exception,
Half-Gods were forbidden from mortal sports and we
agreed to be phased out. We stood by it. Till you.
So Demi, who defies the Agreement? Tell me.
Who is your father?/Zeus/ZEUS?/He beat mother blue.
Pinned her down. Then … forced his … the Òrìṣà stood there.
Did nothing. Mother couldn’t tell me. How? Could you?
One night, I drank with a loose-lipped mystic who bared
the whole story. I sloshed to Mother’s home and asked.
She shrunk before me, into a gnarled root, still scared.
Her hands shook/I was once a vibrant thing. Once fast,
a runner, flashing through the trees. Always wondered
if I should have worn more. Too much flesh in that vast
forest, too much life. My fault? I must have glimmered
like a star to him. The sky turned white. He was there.
He was everywhere. Over, around and under
and inside. I prayed for death. Òrìṣà could hear,
I could feel their presence. They did nothing. At all.
Zeus left. I stood up but their gaze had turned to glares.
I was a blot on their conscience. A stain. A foul
shame. We left, came here. I tried to rebuild my soul,
but these white people, clutching their bags at the mall
when they walk past me. Poor ones calling me a cold
black bitch. I want to say No, cold African bitch
and laugh in all their faces. I have to be cold.
Sometimes I need a wall up. The few I’ve let hitch
up my skirt since, when we give in to our passions,
when I want them harder, when we lock eyes, I switch
from wading deep in theirs to asking whose actions
are these? Who is looking back? Zeus? Gleaming in them?
Smiling like he did back then? And it just worsens.
Demi, when I feel vengeful, lustful, I feel them.
His eyes. Loving every moment. The sky rumbles
for rain and he is there. Sudden bright lights. Mayhem.
He is there. Headlights, camera flash, I stumble
and he is there. Sudden movements and he is there.
Everywhere. I couldn’t keep him out. He crumbled
me down to this. I still can’t keep him out. I’m here.
My body is, my body healed, but my mind is …
I can’t control it. What he took from me is clear –
control of my most precious self. But he did this:
he gave me you.And then she kissed me. My forehead.
You see what was done? The Gods. And she could still kiss.
Still love me./Terrible thing, Demi,Hakeem said,
But the Agreement you are breaking, who backs you?
To do this on your own is madness. It’s unheard.
/ÒRÌṢÀ OR OLYMPIAN, NO GOD BACKS ME! Fool!
Hear this and ye gods if you’re listening, Fuck Zeus,
Sàngó, fuck every …/Boy, best hold your tongue, be cool.
They’re not to be trifled with. Defy them, you’ll lose.
One who goes against Gods does not live long and trust,
Zeus is the most vengeful …/Two years, two, then I use
his own show, the London Olympic Games, to crush
every team. With the world watching this cursed gift will
expand exponentially and there will be gusts
of drowning darkness blowing, climbing over hills,
valleys and cities towards Olympus. The earth
will part, water will walk, I will crest its waves till
Olympus falls and the reckoning of my birth
is answered. I’ll defy him utterly! Hakeem,
you are either with me or against, and your worth
to me is that answer; choose wisely. Shame. You seemed
different, but you’re just as weak. Show yourself out.
Don’t cross me, or I’ll make a nightmare of The Dream.
Among the Greeks there is a famous tale of pride,
about a child strapped with feathers and wax. It’s told
this child who got too close to the sun fell and died.
Whenever and however this story unfolds,
it’s never admired that heflewthat he proved
it was possible, knew it, that – wings – fluttered bold,
bright,broad,a graceful glide of a thing and it moved
towards the horizon before gravity pulled.
His vengeance needed greatness. Demi understood
the need to go further; become legend. It ruled
his waking life, his every dream. His conviction
burned in him … then burned him out … to a pitiful
shadow of a man, whisper of a God. A shunned
silence of graveyard-weight and a soup-thick darkness
held him. The year: two thousand and twelve. Location:
London, Olympic Stadium, changing room, a mess
of ice packs, drowned towels, frustration and regret.
Hours earlier, first quarter, despite their best
Nigeria trailed America forty-nine nets
to twenty-five. Halfway, seventy-eight points to
forty-five and nothing Demi did worked, from threats
to his team to deep-reading The Art of War to
inventing new plays on the spot. Even his shots
fell shortand slow murmurs like low tides began to
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rise in the crowd, questioning if the rain had stopped,
asking whether the Rainman’s reign had finally
dried up, for captained by Demi, Nigeria lost
by the largest margin in the whole history
of Olympic basketball. The final scores were
one hundred and fifty-six to seventy-three.
Fans were furious. If mid-game you’d scanned them … there!
Thirty-seventh row, far far right, you might have seen
Hera – Greek God Queen, in human disguise, her hair
twisted in a popular style, skin dimmed to seem
like any mortal but a tide of discontent
spreading from her lips, her influence i n f e c t i n g
the crowd. By her, someone so short he was a dent
in the earth, the unknown God of Gravity, who,
to make amends for the Icarus affair, lent
his service to any deity that asked and through
the match pulled Demi’s shots, so each fell short. The Queen
waved to dismiss him. She vanished and appeared through
the steam in the changing room, solidifying
to full Goddess form before a forlorn, naked
Demi. Demi. Why so sullen? What’s wrong? You seem …
… broken. You know who I am. Good. What clouds your head?
What is ruffling your nappy feathers? So naive.
That was a scrap of Zeus’ power, just a shred.
You’ve heard that one who goes against us does not live
long? Your days are numbered. But should you go to Zeus,
kneel before him, confess your plot, he will forgive
his son, expand your little powers … Shhh! Just choose,
and wisely, small god, think, then talk. The door will be
open for two days more. You’ve time to call a truce.
When Hera left, Demi to dodge journalists, eased
out the back-alley entrance of the stadium
and walked, hood up, through throngs of disappointed kids
asking what had happened to him. Demi sat numb
shrunken down on the bus, a fallen God among
men. He was used to press conferences but these drummed
within him, their questions pitched, rolled and rocked like strong
currents, sloshing from their mouths. He felt himself shrink,
phase in and out, grow weak as though his blood flowed wrong.
Seeking a calm stretch of water, by pure instinct,
the Half-God of Rainfall leapt blindly off the bus
by the River Thames. Its low tide slowed him to think.
All the records I’ve broken, right from the playoffs,
the most three points last season, ninety-three buckets
in a row in practice, all that … gone. I’m a curse
to my team, now powerless against Zeus. Fuck it.
Maybe he isn’t so bad. I mean … he …Demi,
waiting by traffic lights, hands deep in his pockets,
couldn’t complete the thought. It felt like blasphemy.
It repulsed him. Then a large hand clamped his shoulder
and squeezed. Back in America, Modupe reeled.
Her head snapped back. She felt that hand and fell over
by her shrine, calling for Goddess Osún to keep
Demi safe from the coming omens that smouldered
with that large hand, such danger in its calloused grip.
Beneath the traffic lights, Demi winced. Who are you?
/Elégba, Guardian of Crossroads. You’re on my strip.
/An Òrìṣà? What d’you want from me?/To show you.
To show EVERYTHING. And the city of London
blinked out of existence. The entire world blurred blue
and shrunk to the marble earth was from space, and on,
on and on they flew. Before Demi knew it our
solar system was mere memory. His mind turned
somersaults, screaming in him as they passed towers
of comet-clusters, flying till they too were specks
of dust in the distance, dodging solar powder,
cosmic sandstorms, glowing in the many-mooned wreck
of space, past constellations jewelling darkness
till they edged the galaxy and Earth was one fleck
of light. Can’t go further, Elégba said. We’re blessed
to have come this far. Easy, Demi. Now look, look.
With Zeus’ eyes, look. There, the Sloan Great Wall. Immense.
It’s dressed end to end with galaxies, every nook
of it is full … one point four billion light years
wide … there are celestials there to whom we are spooks
on a speck.of a speck.of a speck.And we tear
at each other? Squabble for power? We hardly
exist! We’re hope. Nothing else. Yet, our deepest fear
is not our insignificance but that we’re free,
immeasurable. This is why Zeus comes against you.
Zeus, he is threatened by your possibilities.
Men have faith! In you! All you do … is shoot./I should
make peace. You think so? asked Demi. In the grand scheme
of things, Demi, it does not matter what you do.
Elégba snapped his fingers, Earth returned, sunbeams
restoring warmth to them. But the choice, how to live,
is yours. This is Portara Naxos. The sand gleams.
Such a waste of an island. Greeks are … regressive
sometimes … who am I to judge? Anyway, that huge
marble doorway? No, over there. It’s exclusive.
Entrance to Olympus, home of Greek Gods, refuge
for rare mortals. You’re both. Fight Zeus? Make peace? Good luck.
Elégba vanished.Demi wished for subterfuge,
that surprise would make this go well. Deep breath and stuck
one leg s l o w l y through, his whole torso next and there
he was, grand hall, Mount Olympus, the vast white bulk.
He sucked down the urge to run, yelled Hello? I’m here.
Hera? Zeus? Father? Column after column stretched
towards the roof, its marble weight wondrous to bear.
Spears, giant shields, monuments of heroes were perched
on marble plinths, bathed in deep shadows. Demi walked
among them, calling Hello? I don’t like to lurch
in shadows like this. Hello? Zeus, I’ve come to talk.
I’m your son! Or rather, I’m what you forced into
Mother … Hello! He slowed by one statue and balked
at how lifelike it looked. Then it moved. Demi flew
back. You’re alive … Hercules?/No. Aaahh … Move over.
He is there, half turned to stone. His pulse is … faint … Ouuuh …
You … must … run, brother. Zeus has gone mad, he glowers
with rage. He did this, took our powers. Perseus
is my name. You’re the last free Half-God. Take cover.
Run! Before it’s … It’s too late.With a hideous
crack of thunder, Zeus BOOMED into the hall, almost
returned to his full and supreme strength, tremulous
with unchecked power, he towered over them, thrust
out his arm, grabbed Demi by the neck, plucked him off
the floor. Now, I’m complete. Demi squirmed in the roast
of that grip, black neck scorched in that white fist, he coughed
as Zeus squeezed. Zeus placed a flat hand on Demi’s chest,
drew out a blue light and, absorbing it, he scoffed
and shimmered marble-white until he grew to crest
the hall’s ceiling, crushed Demi’s neck completely, cast
the lifeless thing aside and left, laughed as he went.
In the skies above Nigeria, thousands of miles
over seas and deserts, the River Go
ddess felt
Demi die. The pain was familiar. Sharp. Close. Vile.
She had felt it the day Modupe’s mother knelt
on Modupe for the womb sacrifice, felt it
when Zeus violated Modupe, and now smelt
Demi’s burned flesh. Osún wailed. She screamed and it split
the silence of the deep, the bones of Gods juddered
in them, the stars dimmed. Sàngó appeared, teeth grit,
for ten thousand rivers loud is her scream, shuddered
before her. My wife! What is wrong?/Zeus has killed him.
Demi is gone. Now, Thunder-God! Be disorder!
Be chaos! Show what you’re made of! Osún, face grim
waved her wrist and Modupe appeared, also
weighted with Demi’s death. They collapsed, wrapping limbs
around each other’s grief. Sàngó readied his low
bolt, they mounted and were gone, mourning, thundering
to Mount Olympus, storm clouds exploding below,
above and behind them as they passed, retracing
the route back across Niger, through the Acacus
stout mountains, over the Mediterranean
to the Plain of Thessaly, into Olympus.
They found Hera knelt by Demi’s side. Step away!
yelled Modupe.I wanted no fighting! This was …
Hera stuttered This was not my doing. No way
would I condone this./Step back, Osún said, and knelt
by Demi. She summoned a bathing pool to spray
and do the best she could, embalming him, heartfelt
water-pourings of purest dew, when Zeus stepped in
towering above them. Now, Sàngó! Make him melt!
Battle and crush him, smite him, ensure his feeling
is as mine, his pain as treacherous./I … cannot,
said Sàngó, I’m in his debt. It is forbidden.
It would start conflict amongst the Gods. I cannot.
/But look what he …/I’ll fight, Modupe said, her head
close to Demi’s. You’re mortal, you’ll die. You’re distraught
but think clearly, Sàngó said. I’m already dead.
He was my life. Zeus has killed me again – she stepped
around Demi – but now, this time, his blood must shed.
/I’ll pour myself into you, Osún said, I’ll help,
said Hera, if you let me/I too …a voice said
in the shadows out of which Helen of Troy stepped.
What he did to you he did to my mother … shed
her blood, took her. I will have vengeance./As will I /
I will too!/He must bleed!/Zeus must fall! They were spread
throughout the hall, hundreds of women, low and high,