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A letter came to me the other day.
I said to Mosisi: “Read my letter for me.”
Mosisi said to me: “I do not know how to read.”
I went to Innocenti and asked him to read my letters.
Innocenti said to me: “I do not know how to read.”
I asked Simonu to read for me. Simonu said:
“This is what the letter has asked me to tell you:
He that has a brother must hold him to his heart,
For a kinsman cannot be bought in the market,
Neither is a brother bought with money.”
Is everyone here?
(Hele ee he ee he)
Are you all here?
(Hele ee he ee he)
The letter said
That money cannot buy a kinsman,
(Hele ee he ee he)
That he who has brothers
Has more than riches can buy.
(Hele ee he ee he)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Obi’s serious talks with his father began after the family had prayed and all but the two of them had gone to bed. The prayers had taken place in Mother’s room because she was again feeling very weak, and whenever she was unable to join the others in the parlor her husband conducted prayers in her room.
The devil and his works featured prominently in that night’s prayers. Obi had a shrewd suspicion that his affair with Clara was one of the works. But it was only a suspicion; there was nothing yet to show that his parents had actually heard of it.
Mr. Okonkwo’s easy capitulation in the afternoon on the matter of heathen singing was quite clearly a tactical move. He let the enemy gain ground in a minor skirmish while he prepared his forces for a great offensive.
He said to Obi after prayers: “I know you must be tired after the great distance you have traveled. There is something important we must talk about, but it can wait until tomorrow, till you have had time to rest.”
“We can talk now,” said Obi. “I am not too tired. We get used to driving long distances.”
“Come to my room, then,” said his father, leading the way with the ancient hurricane lamp. There was a small table in the middle of the room. Obi remembered when it was bought. Carpenter Moses had built it and offered it to the church at harvest. It was put up for auction after the Harvest Service and sold. He could not now remember how much his father had paid for it, eleven and three-pence perhaps.
“I don’t think there is kerosene in this lamp,” said his father, shaking the lamp near his ear. It sounded quite empty. He brought half a bottle of kerosene from his cupboard and poured a little into the lamp. His hands were no longer very steady and he spilt some of the kerosene. Obi did not offer to do it for him because he knew his father would never dream of letting children pour kerosene into his lamp; they would not know how to do it properly.
“How were all our people in Lagos when you left them?” he asked. He sat on his wooden bed while Obi sat on a low stool facing him, drawing lines with his finger on the dusty top of the Harvest table.
“Lagos is a very big place. You can travel the distance from here to Abame and still be in Lagos.”
