Homecoming of the gods

by Frank Achebe

  Zach hadn’t seen much of jeeps though he could not say he saw a good number of them where he came from. Regardless, it held mystique for him as well. It was a symbol of abundant wealth. Mercedes 300, and Volvo Compressors were for the ‘rich’ while jeeps, sport cars with convertible roofs were for the ‘wealthy’.

  What was inside the house was by far majestic. The National colour television was larger than Sir Daía’s own. It even had more knobs than the knight’s. The drapes alone reminded Zach that he was from a very poor family. The sofas were made of leather and each step in the carpet made him want to exchange it for his bed at the shack.

  The boy led them up the stairs and into another living room on the top floor of the mansion. They halted at the door of the staircase as the boy had them excuse him. In a while, he was back and motioned them to go in.

  The family were preparing for a meal. It was about seven o’clock when they arrived. The dining table was very long and the see-through glass plates on the table, some decorated in flowery designs, added to the deliciousness of the food to the eyes. The aroma was even far more threatening to his composure. Inside him, Zach prayed very hard that he would be invited to join.

  They sat at one of the sofas, minding themselves as much as they could in case their dirty clothes soiled the sofas. Zach allowed his eyes to travel the living room. The framed photos suggested an even far more prestigious family that the knight’s. His eyes caught one laid on the floor beside the cupboard that held another colour television. It had a very plum and cheerful-looking woman in it. underneath her was written: 1944-1986. One of them had a photo of a face that was vaguely familiar.

  He jerked when a door opened and a hefty man walked out of it and onto the dining table. It was the man he had seen at the health centre. It was him. It was! He felt he had also seen him elsewhere.

  ‘Mr Zachariah, is it?’

  Zach stood and bowed. ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘You came at an opportune moment so if you do not mind to join me at table.’ Zach almost pumped his fists as if he had scored a late-minute goal in a soccer match. Almost. He held himself together, joined up with the man at the dining, and waited for him to be told to sit.

  The hunter tagged along, hiding himself behind Zach.

  They sat beside each other and waited for the man to begin. And while they waited, Zach observed the man trying as hard as he could not to stare. The man indeed hid behind his eyes a sorrow, one that his wealth and culture could not redeem him from. It was as the hunter had told him. The man had lost a good amount of weight. Zach imagined him on a very good day. His sight alone would have intimidated him out of his wits.

  His observations were interrupted by the strong smell of perfume coming from the same door as had the mayor. It lingered for a while and was followed by the most beautiful woman he had seen in a very long time. It was the same young lady he had seen at the health centre, except that now, she wasn’t dabbing away tears off her face. The face hid the same thing as her father’s except that it seemed to make her more beautiful.

  There was something like poetry in that face, something that only appeared in portraits. It was like a flash of light…, as if the owner had been taken out of a poem, a fantasy world.

  ‘How in the world did Silas get with this goddess?’

  The lady was dressed in a long white gown that she carried in one hand and a cell phone in another. She greeted them, though she was not comfortable seeing them. She sat opposite her father and placed her phone on the table beside her. Zach took notice that she did not look pregnant.

  Zach’s feet were wobbling under him. He was not sure he could chew on anything in the presence of those two creatures.

  The man looked absent-minded as he said grace over the food. ‘Call that boy, let him serve them.’

  The boy was called by the lady and he thundered in and filled the two visitors plates in an instant from the stainless steel bowels and glasswares of food on the table.

  The eating began for him and just as it did, the same door opened and Hééb walked in. He gave Zach a devilish stare, which Zach returned with a smile. The smile was as threatening as the man’s presence but seeing the mayor’s daughter staring suspiciously at him, he switched back to a professional visage.

  ‘Sir,’ he said to the mayor. ‘Wanted to know if you need anything.’

  The mayor didn’t. ‘I’ll be fine Hééb. Go home to your mother. Take a week or two off.’

  ‘But sir…’

  ‘You don’t have anything I need now!’ Tempers were rising, someone was in a bad mood trying as hard as possible not to let it show in front of strangers.

  Zach noticed that the mayor was picking his food. His daughter was staring at him with concern in her eyes. ‘Father, you are picking your food.’

  The man waved it off. ‘Don’t mind me,’ he said turning away to Zach. ‘What would that great gentleman have me do for you?’

  ‘Not exactly. I…’ Zach paused realizing the awkwardness of his mission to the present occasion. But it was its seriousness that had earned him the chance.

  There was a lot of stammering as the words came out of his mouth. ‘I came on behalf of Silas…’

  When it did, it felt like the Fat Man over Hiroshima. There was silence. Even the hunter was taken by the awkwardness of what he’d just heard. Behind the door from where he had first come from, Hééb frowned and cursed under his breath.

  The young lady seemed so much interested in what Zach had to say that she asked, breaking the silence: ‘What about him? How is he doing? What did he say? How is his mother?’ There was a flicker of light in her face.

  ‘He’s very fine. As is his mother. We thank God. Sir, I have been in town since Wednesday. The boy is truly sorry for the shame he’s brought on your family and the pain…’

  ‘Shame? Pain?’ the mayor now gave him his full attention. ‘Mr.?

  ‘Zachariah…’

  ‘I just realized that that boy may have saved my life. Yes he has. It is my family that ought to be grateful to him. Let him know that I am sorry for how I treated him. While you are in town, feel free to visit whenever you can.’ The mayor said, stood and left.

  Zach was stunned as was the hunter and the lady. It all showed in their faces. The man almost bumped into Hééb who had been eavesdropping from the other side of the door as he made his way out of the dining section of the living room.

  The lady followed after him holding up her gown with her.

  Zach looked at the hunter who raised his eyebrows as if to say: ‘There you go again chief’.

  After them, Hééb appeared. He had some corrections to make.

  ‘Mr Zachariah, I would inform you that my boss has been making incoherent statements recently. Not incoherent per se but more like a words coming out of a delirium. Out of respect for what he is to me, I will not describe it as a state of mind demanding psychiatric attention. But I suppose my boss has been grieved beyond measure that he has begun to accept it all as his inescapable fate…’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Zach was apt to interrupt.

  ‘What I mean is that I would not take those words too serious if I were you. I cannot guarantee you that he will even recognize you the next time he sees you.’

  ‘Oh, but I am not you Mr Hééb’. Zach made the sarcasm sting with a chuckle. The hunter sniggered behind him.

  ‘Who do you even think you are to come into this town and…?’ his voice was hard and menacing but muffled under his breath. ‘You think you know anything about that boy? You think you can…’

  The mayor’s daughter walked in. She was smiling. Hééb bowed to her and left. ‘You’ve made my father’s day, Mr?’

  ‘Zachariah.’

  ‘Thanks for taking the pains. It is appreciated. Thanks again and do enjoy yourself.’

  ‘May I use the telephone?’

  ‘Oh you can use this.’ She said and gave him her cell phone. ‘For as long as you wish sir.’ She left still carrying her gown.r />
  Zach and the hunter took turns looking at the phone. ‘The world is really coming to an end. No more wires and telegraph poles. It’s like a tiny television. Phew! I will get my boy one of these when he grows up.’

  Zach had made the request in the heat of the excitement for he needed to make a call home and hear the voice of his wife and father. He had good news and was excited to tell it.

  He dialled the home number. It rang and rang and rang and he dialled and dialled but no one took the call.

  As the two of them made their way out of the mansion after haven stuffed their bellies and their pockets with pieces of meat at their disposal, there were mixed feelings with Zach about the meeting. The mayor, his daughter and Hééb and his disappointment at his call not being taken all made him feel sombre about the meeting. That aside, the puzzle was becoming clearer.

  He managed to drag his bodied weighted by a heavy belly to the shack. On his arrival, he was taken by its wretchedness in a stark contrast to the mansion where he had just had one of his best meals in a very long time. It now looked dirty for what it really was.

  The firepot was lit and Zach feel into a heavy sleep, the kind that is the cousin of death and of those who had overeaten.

  Chapter Eighteen: The Princess Of Nānti

  Zach’s sleep was without the nightmares. He had a different nightmare—rats. His pockets were filled with bits of chicken that he had saved from the mayor’s table, which had been theirs the evening before. He woke up to the noise of the rats halfway into his sleep. They seemed to be begging for some. Zach was not ready to give. He was too anxious for tomorrow to share with them. They could have been twenty of them but he was his sleep was too heavy in his eyes for him to let them keep him from it. Therefore, he zipped his coat and laid on it, with his back facing the ceiling. It seemed to solve the rat problem for he woke the next day without any incidents. Into the night, rains came and drowned the noise of their scampering. He woke to the full dawn fully relieved from his weakness.

  He had another problem: there was a need for a toilet. He needn’t ask anyone for there was none to ask. He hastened into the bush and finding a convenient place, he scratched the earth and helped himself. When he was done, he turned to the stream. He washed and ate his breakfast of squashed chicken. It was squashed but it was chicken and chicken on Monday mornings was luxury—whether squashed or not. Chicken was a Sunday thing back home. Between Monday and Saturday, it was fish all the way.

  As to water, Zach had to make do as well. He found a fissure in the stream that held sparkling water and helped himself. He had found the fissure the first day he took his bath in the stream when it was time to wash his mouth. He would bend, scoop the water into his mouth, using a finger he would rub it against his teeth, on his tongue, on the gums and on the roof of his mouth. It worked. He did not have a persistent bad breath and no one asking for a kiss. No stressing.

  He returned to the batcher house to kick in and reflect on the puzzle in which he was now caught in as a piece.

  # # #

  He arrived the shack to find someone waiting for him—the mayor’s daughter. The light in her face was purer and she wore make up. Zach was embarrassed at her sight. She was a stark contrast to the shack in the background. As if that was far from enough, she walked in after him and sat on the cement blocks gathering herself in the most lady-like manner Zach had ever seen.

  Zach kept glancing around the shack and at his coat. When they started talking, he tried not to open his mouth too wide. There were his beards and his hair, which were tattered and scratchy. He could be looking terrible. He had his own insecurities, which were accentuated in the presence of a real beauty.

  But the lady did not share in his embarrassment. She had other things on her mind. More pertinent things.

  ‘We could take a walk,’ Zach suggested. ‘Actually, I am homing here for the mean time….’

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed.’ She said. ‘Forget it. You see, Mr Zachariah, we have never always be rich. People seem to forget that too quickly. The stories have been drowned in fairy tales. You see, Mr Zachariah, my world has its own demons. When I say that to people, they accuse me of being ungrateful. Sometimes I want to get away.’

  She paused, sighed as her talk took a beat. ‘He was a good man. It was our first time. It was intense, I thought I would die. You could see that he wanted to give all of himself. I think of it as my way of paying him back.’

  Zach tried not to meet her eyes. But it was written all over her. That boy had made a great impression on her.

  ‘My father is consoled by the child. He now talks about it in a positive way…. How is he?’

  ‘Oh,’ Zach had been distracted by a thought. ‘He is fine. But he is in grief.’

  ‘His mother, how is she? He used to tell me of her. She has suffered and he wanted to bring her some comfort. She was the only one he had.’

  ‘She is fine as well. However, she seems to be in greater grief than Silas. She blames herself for it all.’

  The lady’s face dropped.

  Zach wanted to know more about the boy and how he had got to her. ‘Tell me about him.’

  ‘Silas is one of those few men who could feel other people’s pain as deeply as they and in my own case, far more deeply.’

  ‘Your own case?’

  ‘He came to town just when my brother had just died. It was even worse considering the circumstances surrounding his death. You know as it goes with those whose humanity are threatened by the prosperity of the rich. It was more than news to them, they loved it. Some people believed that God was judging our family. Words were thrown around town. There were those that gave heartfelt sympathy though. But Silas was determined to bring real comfort to my family. You know that instinct that wants to save people. He had a hard time with that monster called Hééb. But he preserved and prevailed. I remembered the Sunday evening he came up to my father and offered to pray with him. My father was moved. He is not a man that shows his emotions. He thinks it womanly to do so. He was more than moved, he was transformed by that gesture. He made him a part of the family. That was how we got with each other.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your brother. How did he die?’

  There was a long moment of silence that passed between them. Zach began to think that he had asked the wrong question. Just as he was about to take it back, the answer came.

  ‘You have heard things, I believe.’

  ‘Yes I have.’

  ‘My brother knew a fate awaited him. He kept having obscure visions. He would be heard talking to himself. They had to bring him home from the university because his roommates were sure he was mad. He would wake up at night screaming ‘shut up!’ and other things. They were certain he was mental. But my brother knew that he was not mad. He was at war with someone. They took him to psychiatrists in the United Kingdom. They were sure he was quite normal and that his visions were hallucinations that would pass with age. Some said he had an artist’s imagination. Told him to relieve his active imagination with painting or writing. They gave him drugs and medication and brought him back home. When he came back, the hallucinations returned. In time, everybody agreed that he was mad. My brother was certain that he was not mad but the more he protested, the more they took him for mad. I believe he was not mad. He kept speaking of powers that were trying to control him.

  ‘He was at war with fate, he had told me. I was the only one who listened. He wanted to live. At least, he believed he could make his own way in life.’

  ‘At war with whom?’

  ‘He couldn’t say. He did not even know. It was vague. It played out like a drama. It was his fate, one he had not chosen for himself. He was refusing it. He wanted to take his own path. It was worsened by the fact that my brother was very strong-willed. He did not believe in God. He did not believe in fate, or that one’s path should be chosen by another. He was offended by the idea that one’s fate should be decided by another person, even if that person be god. The experience
strengthened this belief of his. It even radicalized it. He was a kid, my father would say. One day he would grow and learn that there was another co-ordinate in life other than the x-y-z, one that is inescapable. It was a favourite expression of my dad’s at the time. But as he grew, so did this conviction grow.’

  ‘Do you believe in fate?’

  ‘How do you explain the life I have and the one the boy (Pûjó) has? What makes me better than he?’

  There was silence as the girl surveyed the shack one more time.

  ‘But my brother would take his belief to a conclusion. He’d rather take it back.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Tears began to drip from the girl’s eyes. She seemed to be holding a flood of them back. ‘He took his own life.’

  Things were becoming clearer to Zach but he was not sure how grief much he wanted to extract from this beautiful lady in a bid to piece them all together. But she was ready and eager to tell her story.

  ‘One evening after an argument with my father, he called me to his room.’ She was crying now. ‘He rambled for a while and told me to take care of my father and his twin brother. He said I should not let anybody know. I pressed to know what he was demanding of me. But he kept saying that I would know when it all happened. I thought he was in a delirium as he always was. He was not one to give up on a fight. He never did. When we were kids living with parents who were trying to make something of their lives, he would get in and out of fights with fellow school kids and neighbours. He would not play the victim to anyone. He would put it to you and fight it out. He had too much passion for life about him. He kept saying that he loved life.’