Half of a Yellow Sun

Finally, Ugwu said that Professor Ekwenugo had died. “You remember I told you about him? The one in the Science Group, the one who made great things,” he said.

“I remember,” she said. “The one with the long nail.”

“It was cut,” Ugwu said and started to cry; his tears were sparse and itchy. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he sat very still so as not to move her hand, so as to keep it where it was. There was a newness to her, or perhaps it was his perception of things that had become new. He believed now in preciousness.

“You said he cut his long nail?” she asked.

“He cut it,” Ugwu said. It was suddenly a good thing he had cut his nail; Ugwu could not bear the thought of that nail being blown up.

“I should go,” he said. “Before my master comes home.”

“I shall come and visit you tomorrow,” she said. “I know a shortcut to your place.”

Master was not back when Ugwu got home. Mama Oji was screaming, “Shame on you! Shame on you!” at her husband, and Pastor Ambrose was praying that God scatter Britain with holy-spirit dynamite, and a child was crying. Slowly, one after the other, the sounds ceased. Darkness fell. Oil lamps went off. Ugwu sat outside the room and waited until, finally, Master walked in with a small smile on his face and his eyes a glaring red.

“My good man,” he said.

“Welcome, sah. Nno.” Ugwu stood up. Master was unsteady on his feet, swaying ever so slightly to the left. Ugwu hurried forward and placed his arm around him and supported him. They had just stepped inside the room when Master doubled over with a fierce jerk and threw up. The foaming vomit splattered on the floor. Sour smells filled the room. Master sat down on the bed. Ugwu brought a rag and some water and, while he cleaned, he listened to Master’s uneven breathing.

“Don’t tell any of this to your madam,” Master said.

“Yes, sah.”

Eberechi visited often, and her smile, a brush of her hand, or her pinching his neck became exquisite joys. The afternoon he first kissed her, Baby was asleep. They were inside, sitting on the bench and playing Biafran whot and she had just said “Check up!” and placed down her last card when he leaned closer and tasted the tart dirt behind her ear. Then he kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips; under the pressure of his tongue, she opened her mouth and the gushing warmth of it overwhelmed him. His hand moved to her chest and enclosed her small breast. She pushed it away. He lowered it to her belly and kissed her mouth again before quickly slipping his hand under her skirt.

“Just let me see,” he said, before she could stop him. “Just see.”

She stood up. She did not hold him back as he raised her skirt and pulled down the cotton underwear with a small tear at the waistband and looked at the large rounded lobes of her buttocks. He pulled the underwear back up and let go of her skirt. He loved her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her.

“I am going,” she said, and straightened her blouse.

“What of your friend the army officer?”

“He is in another sector.”

“What did you do with him?”

She rubbed the back of her hand against her lips as if to wipe something off.

“Did you do anything with him?” Ugwu asked.

She walked to the door, still silent.

“You like him,” Ugwu said, feeling desperate now.

“I like you more.”

It didn’t matter that she was still seeing the officer. What mattered was the more, whom she preferred. He pulled her to him but she moved away.

“You will kill me,” she said, and laughed. “Let me go.”

“I’ll escort you halfway,” he said.

“No need. Baby will be alone.”

“I’ll be back before she wakes up.”

He wanted to hold her hand; instead, he walked so close to her that, once in a while, their bodies brushed against each other. He didn’t go far before turning back. He was a short pathway away from home when he saw two soldiers standing next to a van and holding guns.