“Only a few days later, Tortoise was on his way to his parched farm to see if there were any dried vegetables to be harvested. He stopped to ease himself near a bush, but because the bush was wilted it did not give good cover. He was able to see across the bush and he saw Dog, looking up and singing. Tortoise wondered if perhaps Dog’s grief had made him go mad. Why was Dog singing to the sky? Tortoise listened and heard what Dog was singing: ‘Nne, Nne, Mother, Mother.’”
“Njemanze!” my cousins chorused.
“‘Nne, Nne, I ha
ve come.’”
“Njemanze!”
“‘Nne, Nne, let down the rope. I have come.’”
“Njemanze!”
“Tortoise came out then and challenged Dog. Dog admitted that his mother had not really died, that she had gone to the sky where she lived with wealthy friends. It was because she fed him daily from the sky that he looked so well. ‘Abomination!’ Tortoise bellowed. ‘So much for eating feces! Wait until the rest of the village hears what you have done.’
“Of course, Tortoise was as cunning as always. He had no intention of telling the village. He knew that Dog would offer to take him to the sky, too. When Dog did, Tortoise pretended to think about it before accepting. But saliva had already started to run down his cheeks. Dog sang the song again and a rope descended from the sky and the two animals went up.
“Dog’s mother was not pleased that her son had brought a friend but she served them well anyway. Tortoise ate like an animal with no home training. He ate almost all of the fufu and onugbu soup and poured a full horn of palm wine down his throat when his mouth was full of food. After the meal they descended the rope. Tortoise told Dog he would tell no one as long as Dog took him to the sky every day until the rains came and the famine ended. Dog agreed—what else could he do? The more Tortoise ate in the sky, the more he wanted, until one day he decided that he would go to the sky by himself so that he would get to eat Dog’s portion as well as his. He went to the spot by the dry bush and started singing, mimicking Dog’s voice. The rope started to fall. Just then, Dog came by and saw what was happening. Furious, Dog started to sing loudly. ‘Nne, Nne, Mother, Mother.’”
“Njemanze!” my cousins chorused.
“‘Nne, Nne, it is not your son coming up.’”
“Njemanze!”
“‘Nne, Nne, cut the rope. It is not your son coming up. It is the cunning Tortoise.’”
“Njemanze!”
“Right away, Dog’s mother cut the rope and Tortoise, already halfway to the sky, came hurtling down. Tortoise fell on a pile of stones and cracked his shell. To this day, the Tortoise has a cracked shell.”
Chima chortled. “The tortoise has a cracked shell!”
“Don’t you wonder how only Dog’s mother got up to the sky in the first place?” Obiora asked in English.
“Or who the wealthy friends in the sky were,” Amaka said.
“Probably Dog’s ancestors,” Obiora said.
My cousins and Jaja laughed, and Papa-Nnukwu laughed, too, a gentle chuckle, as if he had understood the English, then leaned back and closed his eyes. I watched them and wished that I had joined in chanting the Njemanze! response.
Papa-Nnukwu had woken up before everyone else. He wanted to have breakfast sitting on the verandah, to watch the morning sun. And so Aunty Ifeoma asked Obiora to spread a mat on the verandah, and we all sat and had breakfast with Papa-Nnukwu, listening to him talk about the men who tapped palm wine in the village, how they left at dawn to climb up the palm trees because the trees gave sour wine after the sun rose. I could tell that he missed the village, that he missed seeing those palm trees the men climbed, with a raffia belt encircling them and the tree trunk.
Although we had bread and okpa and Bournvita for breakfast, Aunty Ifeoma made a little fufu to bury Papa-Nnukwu’s tablets in, soft spherical coffins that she carefully watched Papa-Nnukwu swallow. The cloud had lifted from her face.
“He will be fine,” she said, in English. “Soon he will start nagging about wanting to go back to the village.”
“He must stay for a while,” Amaka said. “Maybe he should live here, Mom. I don’t think that girl Chinyelu takes proper care of him.”
“Igasikwa! He will never agree to live here.”
“When will you take him to do the tests?”
“Tomorrow. Doctor Nduoma said I can have two tests done instead of all four. The private labs in town always want full payment, so I will have to go to the bank first. I don’t think I will finish in time to take him today, with all those lines at the bank.”
A car drove into the compound then, and even before Amaka asked, “Is that Father Amadi?” I knew it was him. I had seen the small Toyota hatchback only twice before, but I could point it out anywhere. My hands started to shake.
“He said he would stop by and see your Papa-Nnukwu,” Aunty Ifeoma said.