Wife of the Gods

by Kwei Quartey

  “Away.”

  They went farther down the footpath. Two women talking to each other went by them with cassavas balanced on their heads, and Dawson and Efia wished them good morning.

  “I came out from here.” Efia showed Dawson.

  There was a break in the bushy vegetation, and Dawson recognized it as the same access he and Inspector Fiti had used. He looked back the way they had come. “I noticed a place up there that might be another path into the forest. Come with me.”

  They retraced their steps to the spot. It was true there was a split in the vegetation, but it wasn’t very pronounced.

  “Could you go from here to the plantain grove?” Dawson asked.

  Efia looked doubtful. “It looks tough. I’ve never done it.”

  “Let’s try. You lead.”

  The going was not at all easy. They had to weave and duck to get through, and the underbrush was tangled and difficult to negotiate. They arrived at the plantain grove after about eight minutes.

  They stood looking around the clearing.

  “This is the first time I’ve come back here since Gladys died,” Efia said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m all right.”

  “I want to show you something,” Dawson said.

  He led her behind the plantain trees and stopped at the juju pyramid.

  “Have you seen this before, Efia?”

  “Yes, one time.”

  “Are you afraid of it?”

  “No, but I stay away from it.”

  “What would happen if someone took all these rocks off to see what’s underneath?”

  Efia shook her head slowly and disapprovingly. “No one should do that.”

  “Do you know who built this?”

  “No. And I don’t ask.”

  He smiled at her. “Okay. Well, let’s go back the way you went after you found Gladys’s body. You say you ran?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s do that. Try to run as fast as you did. I’ll follow you.”

  Dawson had to admit Efia could tackle the forest a lot better than he could. At an all-out run he almost fell twice as he tried to keep up with her.

  They came out on the path again, and both were breathing heavily.

  “Ei, that was hard,” Dawson said, looking at his watch. Four and a half minutes.

  She smiled. “City man, that’s why.”

  They laughed.

  “I have to go back, Mr. Dawson.”

  “I’ll walk with you. Thank you, Efia. You’ve helped me a lot.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Dawson.”

  On the way back to the farm, Dawson was thinking of a scenario. What if Isaac had killed Gladys that Friday evening?

  Saturday morning, he returns to the plantain grove because he thinks he might have left an incriminating clue, or he wants to make sure he hasn’t. While there, he hears Efia approaching. He escapes through the bush to the Ketanu-Bedome footpath by a route that takes him seven or eight minutes. Meanwhile, two or three minutes pass as Efia enters the grove, discovers the body, and screams for help. She runs back to the footpath, which takes another four and a half minutes. Add that up and we get about seven minutes. Isaac Kutu is emerging from the forest at about the same time. That’s when Efia sees him and calls out to him.

  “Let me ask you something, Efia,” Dawson said, “and if you know the answer, I want you to tell me the truth.”

  “I will try.”

  “Gladys was interested in Mr. Kutu’s medicine. Do you think she was trying to steal it from him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “Gladys didn’t need Mr. Kutu. She had everything in the world—what does she need him for? No, it was Mr. Kutu who needed Gladys.”

  “Do you think he was in love with her?”

  “Once when she came to Bedome, I saw him looking at her with desire. I can’t go inside his mind to know whether he was feeling love or not. Mr. Kutu does that with a lot of women. Sometimes he has looked at me the same way.”

  “And whom else has he looked at in that way?”

  Efia hesitated.

  “I have to know,” Dawson pressed.

  She was quiet for a moment and he waited.

  “If I tell you—”

  “No one will find out you told me.”

  “He loves one woman from Ketanu.”

  “Who? Do you know the woman?”

  “Her name is Osewa Gedze.”

  Dawson stopped.

  Efia turned. “What’s wrong?”

  He was stunned. “Osewa Gedze? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am sure. You know her?”

  “How do you know Mr. Kutu loves her?”

  Efia visibly squirmed. “I’ve seen them together in the forest.”

  “What do you mean by together?”

  “I mean they were …”

  “Having sex.”

  “Yes.” She looked disgusted. “To do that in the forest—it’s terrible, Mr. Dawson.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Five or six days ago.”

  “Can you show me where they were?”

  “Yes, but we have to be quick or Ama will start to get worried.”

  The spot Efia took him to was a clearing with a light tree cover.

  “How did you find this place?” Dawson asked her, looking around.

  “By accident. I got lost while I was looking for a different spot to pick plantains.”

  Dawson saw a little shelter—four short poles with a roof.

  “Is that where they were, Efia? Under there?”

  “Yes.” The look on her face was as if she had just chewed a mouthful of quinine.

  Dawson now spotted a bald area on the ground with a pile of ash and partially burned wood. He knelt down beside it.

  “Were they cooking?” he asked.

  Efia was slightly amused. “No, that’s not the kind of fireplace to cook something. It’s not a good fire.” She picked up a couple of twigs and small leafy branches. “These are green. They don’t burn well, they just make a lot of white smoke.”

  “White smoke,” Dawson said with a sudden smile. “Thank you for that, Efia.”

  She was bemused. “What did I do?”

  “You did a lot—in just one sentence.”

  He got up and went poking in the bush. He found a small raffia mat folded in quarters. He opened it out and saw burn marks.

  Efia peered at it. “They must have used it to put the fire out.”

  “Eventually,” Dawson said. “After they sent the signals.”

  DAWSON COULD NOT GET through to Chikata’s mobile that afternoon, so he went looking for him. He tried the police station first and almost collided with Inspector Fiti as he walked in.

  “Didn’t Chief Superintendent Lartey tell you to go home?” Fiti said coldly.

  “No, he told me I was on suspension without pay,” Dawson replied, “so I decided to take a three-week vacation in your beautiful town and spend time with my aunt and uncle.”

  Fiti grunted and narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “And so what do you want here?”

  “I’m looking for D.S. Chikata.”

  “He went to the guesthouse. Do you need something?” He was still suspicious.

  “No, thank you.” Dawson turned to leave.

  “And by the way,” Fiti said, “Chikata agrees with me that Samuel killed Gladys Mensah, so the case is closed and everything is settled.”

  “I see,” Dawson said. “Congratulations.”

  He left Fiti and his smugness and walked to the guesthouse. The sky was setting up dark clouds near the horizon. It would probably rain by nightfall.

  He knocked on the guesthouse door.

  “Who is it?” Chikata’s voice.

  “Dawson.”

  He heard another voice, this time a woman’s, then a lot of shuffling, and Dawson knew exactly what to expect. Chikata came to the door shirtless and let out
a young woman with huge breasts and a dress so tight she could hardly breathe. She slipped past Dawson and quickly left.

  “Hard at work, I see,” he said drily to Chikata.

  “I was lonesome,” Chikata said feebly.

  Dawson waved that aside. “I want to talk to you about the case.”

  He came in and took a seat. Chikata threw on a shirt and sat down on the bed.

  “I hear you’re going along with Inspector Fiti that Samuel killed Gladys,” Dawson said.

  “You have to admit the case against the boy is—or was—strong,” Chikata replied. “He and Gladys went into the forest together and he was the last person seen with her.”

  “So Auntie Osewa’s version of the story goes,” Dawson said, “but two farmers who work at the edge of the forest told me that after his argument with Isaac, Samuel came back to their farm to work and never left their presence before dark. So how could he have waylaid Gladys on her way back to Ketanu?”

  “Then what about your aunt’s claim? You’re saying she’s lying?”

  “Painful as it is to say, yes. I think she may be trying to protect Isaac Kutu.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “Because she’s been having an affair with him—possibly for years and years.”

  “Are you serious?” Chikata asked, eyebrows up in surprise. “How do you know that? I’m sure she didn’t volunteer the information.”

  “No, she didn’t. I found out through another channel.”

  “Which I can see you’re not about to tell me.”

  “Not right now.”

  “Then my next question is, Why would Kutu have wanted to kill Gladys?”

  “Rejection. Kutu is the kind of man who gets any woman he wants—a bit like you—but Gladys was the exception. Her only concern was how she could work with him on his herbal medicines, but he wanted much more than that from her.”

  “And for that reason he killed her?”

  “Crazed lust, jealousy? You act as though those aren’t strong motives.”

  “They are—I know they are,” Chikata said with some exasperation. “Okay. So now what?”

  “I want you to take Kutu in for questioning—not here in Ketanu, but at Ho Central. I’ll tell you exactly what to ask him when you interrogate him. I suspect he went to the scene of the crime just before Efia arrived that morning. I think he can be bluffed into confessing.”

  Chikata looked unhappy. “Ah, Dawson, I’m not at all convinced. It doesn’t sound right.”

  “Your D.I. is telling you what to do,” Dawson said evenly. “He’s not asking you.”

  “Yes, sir, D.I. Dawson, sir—but Chief Superintendent has pulled you off the case and put me in charge. He outranks you.”

  “Come on, Chikata. Stop this nonsense. Work with me. What have you got to lose? You’re not going to get in trouble over this. Lartey loves you. You’re family.”

  “All right, but if you can’t get anything out of Isaac Kutu, are you going to go back home and leave these Ketanu people alone?”

  “I didn’t say that. Now, get going.”

  ON THE WAY BACK TO Auntie Osewa’s, Dawson noticed that Elizabeth’s shop door was open. Peering inside, he was astonished to see who was there stocking shelves.

  “Elizabeth! You’re out of hospital already?”

  “Dawson, woizo! Come in.”

  Her face was still swollen, but with artfully applied makeup and one of her elaborate and colorful headdresses, she looked just fine.

  “Are you all right?” Dawson said.

  “All right enough to leave the hospital. I was going mad in there. If Dr. Biney hadn’t released me, I would have signed myself out.”

  “Don’t overdo it, though,” Dawson said. “I know you’re tough, but…”

  “Never worry, I’m fine. We have some new fabrics and dresses in, so I was just arranging them.”

  Dawson took a visual sweep, and his eye lit on something familiar. He went to the shelf and touched it.

  “This is the same as the one you put in Gladys’s casket. With the Adinkra signs.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s really beautiful. I’ll get it for Christine.”

  “Oh, wonderful.”

  Elizabeth gift-wrapped a full-size length of the fabric and put it in a bag.

  “This time I pay,” Dawson insisted.

  She smiled. “All right. Where are you off to?”

  “Home—before the rain starts.” He noticed how he had used the word home.

  “I’ll be closing up soon myself,” she said. “I heard a rumor you’ve been asked to leave Ketanu. Is it true?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re still here.”

  “I’m still here. When Gladys’s murderer is in handcuffs, I’ll leave.”

  Dawson made it back just before the rain hit, and as he sat down to eat with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, the first grumbles of thunder began. The power was out, so they ate by lantern light. The meal was as marvelously delicious as any Auntie Osewa had prepared, yet what a difference a day had made. Eating with her just didn’t feel the same. Dawson kept telling himself that he did not know for certain she had lied to the police about Samuel. Yet he could not shake the feeling.

  “Why so quiet, Darko?” she asked. “Anything wrong?”

  “Oh, no, nothing. Just a little tired today.”

  He had an impulse to ask her right now, point-blank, Did you really see Samuel walk into the forest with Gladys, or did you lie to protect Isaac Kutu?‘ With a shock, Dawson realized he was seeing his auntie in a different light, or perhaps a new darkness: lying, deception. It was a horrible feeling.

  Not yet, he told himself. It was not yet time to confront her.

  Togbe Adzima told Ama to cook his soup inside his hut because of the rain. He was well on the way to becoming drunk. He had run out of schnapps, but one of his wives had brought him some palm wine. He was hungry, so he decided to take a break to eat and then he would have some more to drink.

  Everyone had gone inside in anticipation of the downpour, except Efia, who was trying to secure a tarpaulin to four wooden posts for the goats and chickens to take shelter underneath. The sky was black and angry. The first round of lightning flittered softly and was followed by a rolling, guttural rumble, like a giant cart being pushed across the heavens. The next was a bright, quick flash that showed everything in sharp relief, and the thunder that came after it was a deafening crack. Adzima watched the deluge of water outside the door and hoped it wouldn’t rise above the first step into the house. That would mean a flood.

  He turned to look at Ama as she spooned his soup into a bowl. He slurped it noisily and chewed loudly on the goat meat and vegetables. He chose a morsel from the soup and held it out to Ama.

  “Here. Eat.”

  She seemed surprised that he was offering it. He seldom did. She ate it hungrily, and he watched her. She sat against the wall with her legs extended and crossed while she watched the storm.

  Efia came in soaking wet.

  “What are you doing in here?” Adzima yelled. “Get out.”

  “Sorry,” she said and went back into the rain.

  “Stupid,” he muttered.

  “Should I go, Togbe?” Ama said uncertainly.

  “Did I tell you to? Stay there.”

  When he was done, she held the bowl out in the rain to wash it, and then she put it back in the corner with the rest. She made a move toward the door, but he told her to come back and sit down. He stared at her smooth black skin, the way it glowed in the light of the kerosene lantern. He turned the lantern off to save fuel, and it now was almost completely black inside the hut.

  “Come here,” he told Ama.

  He drew her to him and felt for her breasts. They were lovely. He had been watching them grow over the last several months. But Ama was tense and stiff. He pulled at her wraparound skirt, groping for her flesh. She tried to get away, but he held her fast, and once she began to struggle, the
fight was on.

  Efia felt uneasy about leaving Ama with Togbe. The other wives were busy trying to catch leaks in the roof while the children played around, but Efia stood at the doorway waiting anxiously for Ama. Togbe’s lantern had gone out, which worried Efia even more. She sighed, took a few steps toward Togbe’s hut, and turned back again. What should she do? Should she check on Ama?

  She decided she would. She was already soaked, so what difference did it make? She stepped out, trying to avoid the deepest parts of the water and holding up her skirt so she wouldn’t trip over it.

  Suddenly, before she could get to Togbe’s hut, Ama came running out. Her mouth was open in a silent scream against the storm. Her top was torn. Her skirt was tangled and pushed up and some of her thigh was exposed. Efia knew immediately what had happened, and it stabbed her in the heart and seared clear to her back in between the shoulder blades.

  She caught Ama in her arms. The girl was shrieking. Efia held her tight and cradled her head. Ama wanted to collapse, but Efia wouldn’t let her fall. They stood in the rain until Ama was still, and then Efia took her to the wives’ hut.

  Nunana came to them. Efia looked at her in a special way, a way that said, The worst thing possible has happened, and Nunana nodded. She understood.

  “Sit down with her and hold her,” she told Efia.

  Nunana turned around and ordered the other wives and all the children out.

  “In the rain?” they said, incredulous. She must be crazy.

  “Get out, now!” Nunana yelled furiously. “Go to the other hut. You can come back later.”

  They left hastily, crying children and all.

  Efia was sitting on the floor holding Ama tightly, gently rocking her. Nunana knelt down and put her arms around both of them as they began to cry.

  After a while, Efia stopped, and then so did Ama.

  “Ama,” Nunana said, “did he make you bleed?” She spoke above the noise of the storm, but her voice still sounded gentle.

  Ama nodded.

  “We’ll wash it with rainwater,” Nunana said. “Did he go inside you?”

  “I don’t know. I … I’m not sure. I think so.”

  “I have to touch you, Ama,” Nunana said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  The girl cringed, but she let Nunana check her by lantern light while Efia held her tight and talked soothingly into her ear.