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‘I stand for a man dying when his chi says so.’
‘But this man is not a poisoner although he comes from Umunneora.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Akuebue, shaking his head. ‘Every lizard lies on its belly, so we cannot tell which has a bellyache.’
‘No. But I tell you Nwodika’s son has a straight mind towards me. I can smell a poisoner as clearly as I can a leper.’
Akuebue still shook his head. Ezeulu could just make out the movement in the weak light of the palm-oil lamp.
‘Did you not watch him when you brought up the question of the blood-tie?’ Ezeulu continued. ‘If he had had an evil thought you would have seen it in the middle of his forehead. No, the man is not dangerous. Rather he acts like a man of olden times, when people liked themselves. Today there are too many wise people; and it is not good wisdom they have but the kind that blackens the nose.’
‘How does a man get any sleep with all these mosquitoes?’ asked Akuebue, waving his fly-whisk wildly around.
‘You have not seen them yet; wait till we have blown this lamp out. I was meaning to ask Nwodika’s son to get me a bunch of arigbe leaves to try and smoke them out. But your coming took everything off my mind. Last night they almost carved us up.’ He too waved his horse-tail. ‘Did you say your people were all well?’ he asked, trying to shift the conversation from himself.
‘They were all quiet,’ replied Akuebue, yawning with head thrown backwards.
‘What was Udenkwo’s story? You know you did not have the chance to tell me all of it.’
‘That is so,’ said Akuebue with revived interest. ‘If I told you I was happy with Udenkwo I would be deceiving myself. She is my daughter but I can tell you she takes entirely after her mother. I have told her many times that a woman who carries her head on a rigid neck as if she is carrying a pot of water will never live for long with any husband. I have not heard my in-law’s story but from what Udenkwo told me I can say that the cause of the quarrel was very small. My in-law was told to bring a cock for sacrifice. When he got home he pointed at one cock and told the children to catch it and tie it up for him. It turned out to be Udenkwo’s cock and she started a quarrel. This is what she told me. I asked her did she want her husband to go to the market for a cock when his wives kept fowls. She said: Why should it always be my cock; what about the other wife, or did the spirits say they only ate Udenkwo’s chicken? I said to her: How many times has he taken your cock and how is a man to know which cock belongs to who? She did not answer. All that she knew was that whenever my in-law wanted a cock for a sacrifice he remembered her.’
‘That was all?’
‘That was all.’
Ezeulu smiled. ‘One would think our in-law made a sacrifice every market.’
‘Exactly what I told her. But as I said Udenkwo is like her mother. Her real anger was that my in-law did not put his forehead on the ground to beg her.’
Ezeulu did not speak immediately. He seemed to be reconsidering the matter.
‘Every man has his own way of ruling his household,’ he said at last. ‘What I do myself if I need something like that is to call one of my wives and say to her: I need such and such a thing for a sacrifice, go and get it for me. I know I can take it but I ask her to go and bring it herself. I never forget what my father told his friend when I was a boy. He said: In our custom a man is not expected to go down on his knees and knock his forehead on the ground to his wife to ask her forgiveness or beg a favour. But, a wise man knows that between him and his wife there may arise the need for him to say to her in secret: “I beg you.” When such a thing happens nobody else must know it, and that woman if she has any sense will never boast about it or even open her mouth and speak of it. If she does it the earth on which the man brought himself low will destroy her entirely. That was what my father told his friend who held that a man was never wrong in his own house. I have never forgotten those words of my father’s. My wife’s cock belongs to me because the owner of a person is also owner of whatever that person has. But there are more ways than one of killing a dog.’
‘That is true,’ Akuebue admitted. ‘But such words should be kept for the ears of my in-law. As for my daughter I do not want her to go on thinking that whenever her husband says yah! to her she must tie her little baby on her back, take the older one by the hand and return to me. My mother did not behave like that. Udenkwo learnt it from her mother, my wife, and she is going to pass it on to her children, for when mother-cow is cropping giant grass her calves watch her mouth.’
It was on his fourth day in Okperi that Ezeulu received a sudden summons to see Mr Clarke. He followed the messenger who brought the order to the corridor of the white man’s office. There were many other people there, some of them sitting on a long bench and the rest on the cement floor. The messenger left Ezeulu in the corridor and went into an adjoining room where many people worked at various tables for the white man. Ezeulu saw the messenger through a window as he talked to a man who seemed to be the leader of all these workers. The messenger pointed in his direction and the other man followed with his eye and saw Ezeulu. But he only nodded and continued to write in his big book. When he finished what he was writing he opened a connecting door and disappeared into another room. He did not stay long there; when he came out again he beckoned at Ezeulu, and showed him into the white man’s presence. He too was writing,
but with his left hand. The first thought that came to Ezeulu on seeing him was to wonder whether any black man could ever achieve the same mastery over book as to write it with the left hand.
‘Your name is Ezeulu?’ asked the interpreter after the white man had spoken.
This repeated insult was nearly too much for Ezeulu but he managed to keep calm.
‘Did you not hear me? The white man wants to know if your name is Ezeulu.’
‘Tell the white man to go and ask his father and his mother their names.’
There followed an exchange between the white man and his interpreter. The white man frowned his face and then smiled and explained something to the interpreter who then told Ezeulu that there was no insult in the question. ‘It is the way the white man does his own things.’ The white man watched Ezeulu with something like amusement on his face. When the interpreter finished he tightened up his face and began again. He rebuked Ezeulu for showing disrespect for the orders of the government and warned him that if he showed such disrespect again he would be very severely punished.
‘Tell him,’ said Ezeulu, ‘that I am still waiting to hear his message.’ But this was not interpreted. The white man waved his hand angrily and raised his voice. Ezeulu did not need to be told that the white man said he did not want to be interrupted again. After that he calmed down and spoke about the benefits of the British Administration. Clarke had not wanted to deliver this lecture which he would have called complacent if somebody else had spoken it. But he could not help himself. Confronted with the proud inattention of this fetish priest whom they were about to do a great favour by elevating him above his fellows and who, instead of gratitude, returned scorn, Clarke did not know what else to say. The more he spoke the more he became angry.
In the end thanks to his considerable self-discipline and the breathing space afforded by talking through an interpreter Clarke was able to rally and rescue himself. Then he made the proposal to Ezeulu.
The expression on the priest’s face did not change when the news was broken to him. He remained silent. Clarke knew it would take a little time for the proposal to strike him with its full weight.
‘Well, are you accepting the offer or not?’ Clarke glowed with the I-know-this-will-knock-you-over feeling of a benefactor.
‘Tell the white man that Ezeulu will not be anybody’s chief, except Ulu.’
