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That afternoon Oduche returned, looking like a fowl soaked in the rain. He greeted his father fearfully but he ignored him completely. In the inner compound the women welcomed him without enthusiasm. The little children, especially Obiageli, searched him closely as if to see whether he had altered in any way.
Although Ezeulu did not want anybody to think that he was troubled or to make him appear like an object of pity, he did not ignore the religious implications of Oduche’s act. He thought about it seriously on the night of the incident. The custom of Umuaro was well known and he did not require the priest of Idemili to instruct him. Every Umuaro child knows that if a man kills the python inadvertently he must placate Idemili by arranging a funeral for the snake almost as elaborate as a man’s funeral. But there was nothing in the custom of Umuaro for the man who puts
the snake into a box. Ezeulu was not saying that it was not an offence, but it was not serious enough for the priest of Idemili to send him an insulting message. It was the kind of offence which a man put right between himself and his personal god. And what was more the Festival of the New Pumpkin Leaves would take place in a few days. It was he, Ezeulu, who would then cleanse the six villages of this and countless other sins, before the planting season.
Not very long after Oduche’s return Ezeulu was visited by one of his in-laws from Umuogwugwu. This man, Onwuzuligbo, was one of those who came to Ezeulu one year this planting season to find out why their kinsman and husband of Ezeulu’s daughter had been beaten and carried away from their village.
‘It looks as if my death is near,’ said Ezeulu.
‘Why is that, in-law? Do I look like death?’
‘When a man sees an unfamiliar sight, then perhaps his death is coming.’
‘You are right, in-law, it is indeed a long time since I came to see you. But we have a saying that the very thing which kills mother rat prevents its little ones from opening their eyes. If all goes well we hope to come and go again as in-laws should.’
Ezeulu sent his son, Nwafo, to bring a kolanut from his mother. Meanwhile he reached for the little wooden bowl which had a lump of white clay in it.
‘Here is a piece of nzu,’ he said as he rolled the chalk towards his guest, who picked it up and drew on the floor between his legs three erect lines and a fourth lying down under them. Then he painted one of his big toes and rolled the chalk back to Ezeulu who put it away again.
After they had eaten a kolanut Onwuzuligbo cleared his throat and thanked Ezeulu, and then asked:
‘Is our wife well?’
‘Your wife? She is well. Nothing troubles her except hunger. Nwafo, go and call Akueke to salute her husband’s kinsman.’
Nwafo soon returned and said she was coming. Akueke came in almost at once. She saluted her father and shook hands with Onwuzuligbo.
‘Is your wife, Ezinma, well?’ she asked.
‘She is well today. Tomorrow is what we do not know.’
‘And her children?’
‘We have no trouble except hunger.’
‘Aaah!’ said Akueke, ‘that cannot be true. Look how well fed you are.’
When Akueke went back to the inner compound Onwuzuligbo told Ezeulu that his people had sent him to say that they would like to pay a visit to their in-law on the following morning.
‘I shall not run away from my house,’ said Ezeulu.
‘We shall not bring war to you. We are coming to whisper together like in-law and in-law.’
Ezeulu was grateful for the one happy event in a week of trouble and vexation. He sent for his head wife, Matefi and told her to get ready to cook for his in-laws tomorrow.
‘Which in-laws?’ she asked.
‘Akueke’s husband and his people.’
‘There is no cassava in my hut, and today is not a market.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’ asked Ezeulu.
‘I don’t want you to do anything. But Akueke may have some cassava if you ask her.’
‘This madness which they say you have must now begin to know its bounds. You are telling me to go and find cassava for you. What has Akueke to do with it; is she my wife? I have told you many times that you are a wicked woman. I have noticed that you will not do anything happily unless it is for yourself or your children. Don’t let me speak my mind to you today.’ He paused. ‘If you want this compound to contain the two of us, go and do what I told you. If Akueke’s mother were alive she would not draw a line between her children and yours and you know it. Go away from here before I rise to my feet.’
Although Ezeulu was very anxious for his daughter, Akueke, to return to her husband nobody expected him to say so openly. A man who admitted that his daughter was not always welcome in his home or that he found her presence irksome was in effect telling her husband to treat her as roughly as he liked. So when Akueke’s husband finally came round to announcing his intention to take his wife home, Ezeulu made a show of objecting.
