The Half-God of Rainfall

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,