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‘Are you deaf? I asked you what you were saying.’
‘They said that was how to scare away a python.’
‘I did not ask you what anybody said. I asked what you were saying. Or do you want me to get up from here before you answer?’
‘We were saying: Python, run! There is a Christian here.’
‘And what does it mean?’
‘Akwuba told us that a python runs away as
soon as it hears that.’
Ezeulu broke into a long, loud laughter. Nwafo’s relief beamed all over his grimy face.
‘Did it run away when you said it?’
‘It ran away fiam like an ordinary snake.’
The news of Ezeulu’s refusal to call the New Yam Feast spread through Umuaro as rapidly as if it had been beaten out on the ikolo. At first people were completely stunned by it; they only began to grasp its full meaning slowly because its like had never happened before.
Two days later ten men of high title came to see him. None of the ten had taken fewer than three titles, and one of them – Ezekwesili Ezukanma – had taken the fourth and highest. Only two other men in the entire six villages had this distinction. One of them was too old to be present and the other was Nwaka of Umunneora. His absence from this delegation showed how desperate they all were to appease Ezeulu.
They came in together, giving the impression that they had already met elsewhere. Before he entered Ezeulu’s hut each of them planted his iron staff outside and transferred his red cap on to its head.
Throughout their deliberation no one came within hearing distance of the hut. Anosi who had wanted to take scraps of gossip to Ezeulu and pick up what he could on the crisis came out of his hut carrying snuff in his left hand and then saw all the red-capped alo staffs outside his neighbour’s hut. He turned away to visit another neighbour.
Ezeulu presented a lump of chalk to his visitors and each of them drew his personal emblem of upright and horizontal lines on the floor. Some painted their big toe and others marked their face. Then he brought them three kolanuts in a wooden bowl. A short formal argument began and ended. Ezeulu took one kolanut, Ezekwesili took the second and Onenyi Nnanyelugo took the third. Each of them offered a short prayer and broke his nut. Nwafo carried the bowl to them in turn and they first put in all the lobes before selecting one. Nwafo carried the bowl round and the rest took a lobe each.
After they had all chewed and swallowed their kola Ezekwesili spoke.
‘Ezeulu, the leaders of Umuaro assembled here have asked me to tell you that they are thankful for the kola you gave them. Thank you again and again and may your stock be replenished.’
The others joined in to say: ‘Thank you, may your stock be replenished.’
‘Perhaps you can guess why we have come. It is because of certain stories that have reached our ears; and we thought the best thing was to find out what is true and what is not from the only man who can tell us. The story we have heard is that there is a little disagreement about the next New Yam Festival. As I said we do not know if it is true or not, but we do know that there is fear and anxiety in Umuaro which if allowed to spread might spoil something. We cannot wait for that to happen; an adult does not sit and watch while the she-goat suffers the pain of childbirth tied to a post. Leaders of Umuaro, have I spoken according to your wish?’
‘You have delivered our message.’
‘Ezekwesili,’ called Ezeulu.
‘Eei,’ answered the man who had just spoken.
‘I welcome you. Your words have entered my ears. Egonwanne.’
‘Eei.’
‘Nnanyelugo.’
‘Eei.’
Ezeulu called each one by his salutation name.
‘I welcome you all. Your mission is a good one and I thank you. But I have not heard that there is a disagreement about the New Yam Feast. My assistants came here two days ago and said it was time to announce the day of the next festival and I told them that it was not their place to remind me.’
Ezekwesili’s head was slightly bowed and he was rubbing his hairless dome. Ofoka had taken his snuff bottle from his pure white goatskin bag and was tipping some of the stuff into his left palm. Nnanyelugo who sat nearest to him rubbed his own palms together to clean them and then presented the left to Ofoka without saying a word. Ofoka turned the snuff from his own hand into Nnanyelugo’s and tipped out some more for himself.
‘But with you,’ continued Ezeulu, ‘I need not speak in riddles. You all know what our custom is. I only call a new festival when there is only one yam left from the last. Today I have three yams and so I know that the time has not come.’
