Arrow of God (The African Trilogy 3)

‘This is not a journey I want to do twice. No, I shall sit here until I have seen the head and the tail of this matter.’

‘Do you know how long he will be sick? You may be here…’

‘If he is sick till palm fruits ripen at the tip of the frond I shall wait… How are the people at home, Ugoye?’

‘They were well when we left them.’ Her neck looked shorter from carrying the load.

‘The children, Obika’s wife and all the others?’

‘Everybody was well.’

‘And what about the people of your household?’ he asked Akuebue.

‘They were quiet when I left them. There was no sickness only hunger.’

‘That is a small matter,’ said Nwodika’s son. ‘Hunger is better than sickness.’ As he said this he went outside and blew his nose. He came back rubbing the nose with the back of his hand.

‘Nwego, you need not wait to collect the utensils. I shall bring them home. Go and find something for these people to eat.’

His wife took Ugoye’s head-load and the two women went to prepare another meal.

There was no time to waste and as soon as the women left Akuebue spoke.

‘Obika has told us how Nwodika’s son and his wife have been taking care of you.’

‘You have seen with your eyes.’ Ezeulu’s mouth was full of fish.

‘Thank you,’ said Akuebue to John Nwodika.

‘Thank you,’ said Edogo.

‘We have done nothing that calls for thanks. What can a poor man and his wife do? We know that Ezeulu has meat and fish in his own house but while he is here we will share the palm kernel we eat with him. A woman cannot place more than the length of her leg on her husband.’

‘When Obika told us about it I said to myself that there was nothing like travelling.’

‘True,’ said Ezeulu. ‘The young he-goat said that but for his sojourn in his mother’s clan he would not have learnt to stick up his upper lip.’ He laughed to himself. ‘I should have travelled more often in my mother’s country.’

‘It has certainly taken away your heavy face of yesterday,’ said Akuebue. ‘When they told me that a man of Umunneora was looking after you I told them it was a lie. How could it be seeing the war we wage at home?’

‘That is for the people at home,’ said Nwodika’s son. ‘I do not carry it with me when I travel. Our wise men have said that a traveller to distant places should make no enemies. I stand by it.’

‘Very true,’ said Akuebue, wondering how best to lead on to the object of his coming. After a short pause he decided to split it open with

one blow of the matchet as the people of Nsugbe were said to split their coconut. ‘Our journey has two aims. We brought Ugoye to relieve Nwodika’s wife of her burden and to thank Nwodika himself and tell him that whatever his kinsmen may be doing at home he is today a brother to Ezeulu and his family.’ As he said this Akuebue was already searching arm-deep in his goatskin bag for his little razor and kolanut. The tying of the blood-knot between Edogo and John Nwodika was over in the short silence that followed. Ezeulu and Akuebue watched in silence as the two young men ate a lobe of kolanut smeared with each other’s blood.

‘How did you come to work for the white man?’ asked Akuebue when they resumed ordinary talking. Nwodika’s son cleared his throat.

‘How did I come to work for the white man? I should say that my chi planned that it should be so. I did not know anything about the white man at the time; I had not learnt his language or his custom. It will be three years next dry season. My age mates and I came from Umunneora to Okperi to learn a new dance as we had done for many years in the dry season after the harvest. To my great astonishment I found that my friend called Ekemezie in whose house I always lodged during these visits and who came and lodged with me whenever our village played host to his village, I found that he was no longer among the dancers of Okperi. I searched in vain for him among the crowd that came out to welcome us. Another friend called Ofodile took me to his house instead and it was from him I heard that Ekemezie had gone to work for the white man. I do not know how I felt when I heard that news. It was almost as if I had been told that my friend had died. I tried to find out more from Ofodile about this white man’s work but Ofodile is not the kind of person who can sit down and tell a story to the end. But the next day Ekemezie came to see me and brought me to this Gorment Heel. He called me by name and I answered. He said everything was good in its season; dancing in the season of dancing. But, he said, a man of sense does not go on hunting little bush rodents when his age mates are after big game. He told me to leave dancing and join in the race for the white man’s money. I was all eyes. Ekemezie called me Nwabueze and I said yes it was my name. He said the race for the white man’s money would not wait till tomorrow or till we were ready to join; if the rat could not run fast enough it must make way for the tortoise. He said other people from every small clan – some people we used to despise – they were all now in high favour when our own people did not even know that day had broken.’

The three men listened in silence. In his mind Akuebue was flicking his fingers and saying: I now understand why Ezeulu has taken such a sudden liking for him. Their thoughts are brothers. But Ezeulu was actually hearing Nwodika’s opinion of the white man for the first time and glowing with justification. Only he concealed his satisfaction, for once he had taken a stand on any matter he did not want to appear eager for others’ support; it was not his concern but theirs.

‘So my brothers,’ continued Nwodika’s son, ‘that was how your brother came to work for the white man. At first he put me to weed his compound, but after one year he called me and said that my handiwork was good and took me to work inside his house. He asked me my name and I told him my name was Nwabueze; but he could not call it so he said he would call me Johnu.’ This brought a smile to his face, but it was short-lived. ‘I know that some people at home have been spreading the story that I cook for the white man. Your brother does not see even the smoke from his fire; I just put things in order in his house. You know the white man is not like us; if he puts this plate here he will be angry if you have it there. So I go round every day and see that everything is in its right place. But I can tell you that I do not aim to die a servant. My eye is on starting a small trade in tobacco as soon as I have collected a little money. People from other places are gathering much wealth in this trade and in the trade for cloth. People from Elumelu, Aninta, Umuofia, Mbaino, they control the great new market. They decide what goes on in it. Is there one Umuaro man among the wealthy people here? Not one. Sometimes I feel shame when others ask me where I come from. We have no share in the market; we have no share in the white man’s office; we have no share anywhere. That was why I rejoiced when the white man called me the other day and told me that there was a wise man in my village and that his name was Ezeulu. I told him yes. He asked if he was still alive and I said yes. He said: Go with the Head Messenger and tell him that I have a few questions I want to ask him about the custom of his people because I know he is a wise man. I said to myself: This is our chance to bring our clan in front of the white man. I did not know that it would turn out like this.’ He bent his head forward and looked at the ground in sorrow.

‘It is not your fault,’ said Akuebue. ‘Things are always like that. Our eye sees something; we take a stone and aim at it. But the stone rarely succeeds like the eye in hitting the mark.’

‘I blame myself,’ said Nwodika’s son sadly.

‘You are a suspicious one,’ said Ezeulu. The others had gone to pass the night at the place of Nwodika’s son leaving Akuebue and Ezeulu in the small guardroom.