‘So this is Wintabota’s messenger? Is he a man of Okperi?’
‘No,’ said the escort. ‘His clan is Umuru.’
‘Was Wintabota well when you left? We have not seen him in these parts for a long time.’
‘Even so. This man here is his eye.’
The Chief Messenger did not seem too pleased with the trend of the conversation. In his mind he was angry with this man in the bush who put on airs and pretended to be familiar with the District Officer. His escort sensed this and made desperate efforts to establish his importance.
‘Stranger, you are welcome,’ said Ezeulu. ‘What is your name?’
‘He is called Jekopu,’ said the escort. ‘As I said, nobody sees the Destroyer of Guns without his consent. There is no one in Okperi who does not know the name of Jekopu. The Destroyer of Guns asked me to accompany him on this journey because he is a stranger to these parts.’
‘Yes,’ said Ezeulu with a meaningful glance in the direction of Akuebue. ‘That is as it should be. The white man sends a man from Umuru and the man from Umuru is shown the way by a man of Umuaro.’ He laughed. ‘What did I tell you, Akuebue? Our sages were right when they said that no matter how many spirits plotted a man’s death it would come to nothing unless his personal god took a hand in the deliberation.’
The two men looked puzzled. Then Nwodika’s son said: ‘That is so; but we have not come on a mission of death.’
‘No. I did not say so. It is only a manner of speaking. We have a saying that a snake is never as long as the stick to which we liken its length. I know that Wintabota will not send a mission of death to Ezeulu. We are good friends. What I said was that a stranger could not come to Umuaro unless a son of the land showed him the way.’
‘That is true,’ said the escort. ‘We have come…’
‘My friend,’ interrupted the Chief Messenger, ‘you have already done what you were sent to do; the rest is for me. So put your tongue into its scabbard.’
‘Forgive me. I take my hands off.’
Ezeulu sent Nwafo to bring kola from Matefi. By this time both Obika and Edogo had come in, news having reached them that a messenger of the white man was in their father’s hut. When the kolanut came it was shown round and broken.
‘Have the people you sent to the market for palm wine returned yet?’ asked Ezeulu. Obika said no.
‘I knew they would not. A man who means to buy palm wine does not hang about at home until all the wine in the market is sold.’ He was still leaning with his back on the wall, holding one leg a little off the ground with hands interlocked on the shin.
The Court Messenger removed his blue fez and planted it on his knee exposing a clean-shaven head shining with sweat. The edge of the cap left a ring round the head. He cleared his throat and spoke, almost for the first time.
‘I salute you all.’ He brought out a very small book from his breast pocket and opened it in the manner of a white man. ‘Which one of you is called Ezeulu?’ he asked from the book and then looked up and around the hut. No one spoke; they were all too astonished. Akuebue was the first to recover.
‘Look round and count your teeth with your tongue,’ he said. ‘Sit down, Obika, you must expect foreigners to talk through the nose.’
‘You say you are a man of Umuru?’ asked Ezeulu. ‘Do you have priests and elders there?’
‘Do not take my question amiss. The white man has his own way of doing things. Before he does anything to you he will first ask you your name and the answer must come from your own lips.’
‘If you have any grain of sense in your belly,’ said Obika, ‘you will know that you are not in the house of the white man but in Umuaro in the house of the Chief Priest of Ulu.’
‘Hold your tongue, Obika. You heard Akuebue say just now that strangers talk through the nose. Do you know whether they have Chief Priests in his land or the land of the white man?’
‘Tell that young man to take care how he talks to me. If he has not heard of me he should ask those who have.’
‘Go and eat shit.’
‘Shut your mouth!’ roared Ezeulu. ‘This man has come all the way from my mother’s land to my house and I forbid anyone to abuse him. Besides he is only a messenger. If we dislike his message our quarrel cannot be with him but with the man who sent him.’
‘Very true,’ said Akuebue.
‘There are no words left,’ said the escort.
‘You asked me a question,’ continued Ezeulu turning again to the messenger. ‘I shall now answer you. I am that Ezeulu you spoke of. Are you satisfied?’
‘Thank you. We are all men here but when we open our mouths we know the men from the boys. We have spoken many words already; some were words of profit, some were not; some were words of sanity and some words of drunkenness. It is now time to say why I have come, for a toad does not run in the daytime unless something is after it. I have not come all the way from Okperi to stretch my legs. Your own kinsman here has told you how Kaputin Winta-bor-tom has put me in charge of many of his affairs. He is the chief of all the white men in these parts. I have known him for more than ten years and I have yet to see another white man who does not tremble before him. When he sent me here he did not tell me he had a friend in Umuaro.’ He smiled in derision. ‘But if what you say is true we shall know tomorrow when I take you to see him.’