– Iamblinded-Iambeginningtosee-Iamdrunkonsleep -My wordsarethe words of a stranger – Wear a smile on your faces – Pour me some wine and buy me some cigarettes, my son, for your father has returned to his true home.’

There was a long silence as we swam around in the strange currents of Dad’s words.AfteralongwhileMumgavemesomemoney andIrushedouttobuy himthe ogogoro and cigarettes. The beggars followed me half-way back on my return journey. There were spaces full of green moths in the air. The lights over our lives had changed. A deeper tint of indigo had coloured the clouds. I passed through a floating island of sepia midges. When I got to our room a lizard with a lavender tail scurried in after me. I was about to chase it out when Dad said:

‘All creatures must be treated with respect from now on. If you want the lizard out command it to go and it will go. We must use our powers wisely. We must not become tyrants, you hear?’

I nodded. Then Dad got up from his chair and in a high-pitched, almost comical, voice, he said:

‘Mr. Lizard, where are you? Out! Leave this room and go somewhere else. Now!’

We watched the floor. There was no movement. Mum sighed. Dad didn’t repeat his order. He sat back down on the chair. We sat in silence. Then, after a while, the lizard came out from under the cupboard, nodded three times, and fled from the room. There was a very long silence. Dad did not acknowledge the event. He reached out his hands and I gave him the cigarettes and the bottle of ogogoro, transparent with its bubbling acrid dreams. Dad drank in peace. He smoked quietly. We watched him in silent wonderment, as if an alien had entered his body.

‘Many people reside in us,’ Dad said, as if he were reading our thoughts, ‘many past lives, many future lives. If you listen carefully the air is full of laughter. Human beings are a great mystery.’

A long time passed in. the silence that followed. Then Mum got up and laid out for Dad what food there was. He ate ravenously and when he finished he turned the plates over and looked at their undersides as if he were searching for more food.

‘There’s not much money in the house,’ Mum said. ‘You haven’t been working.’

Dad drank what seemed like a gallon of water. Then he wore his only pair of socks, which werefullof holes;heworehissmellingboots,andbegantopaceup anddown, his fearful energies swirling about him, disturbing the invisible residents of the room.

Mum turned the mattress over, dressed the bed, cleared the table, and spread out my mat.

‘My husband,’ she said, ‘we have been worried about you. For three nights we have wrestled to bring your spirit back. We have been hungry and full of fear. Get some more sleep now. In the morning resume work. Resume your struggles. Be what you are. We are happy that you are well again.’

Dad came over and embraced Mum tenderly for the first time in months. Then he lit a mosquito coil, left the door slightly ajar, took off his boots and socks, and lay down on theprotestingbed. In thedarkness I heard Mumsay:

‘You have become heavier, my husband.’

Dad didn’t say anything. His spirit was gentle through the night. The air in the room was calm. There were no turbulences. His presence protected our nightspace. There were no forms invadingour air, pressingdown on our roof, walkingthrough the objects. The air was clear and wide. In my sleep I found open spaces where I floated without fear. The sky was serene. A good breeze blew over our road, cleaning away the strange excesses in the air. It was so silent and peaceful that after some time I was a bit worried. I was not used to such a gift of quietude. The deeper it was, the deeper was my fear. I kept expecting eerie songs to break into my mind. I kept expectingto see spirit-lovers entwined in blades of sunlight. Nothing happened. The sweetness dissolved my fears. I was not afraid of Time.

And then it was another morning. The room was empty. Mum and Dad were gone. And the good breeze hadn’t lasted for ever.

A dream can be the highest point of a life.

March 1990

LONDON

About Ben Okri

Ben Okri has published 8 novels, including The Famished Road, as well as collections of poetry, short stories and essays. His work has been translated into more than 20 languages. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and has been awarded the OBE as well as numerous international prizes, including the Commonwealth Writers Prize for Africa, the Aga Khan Prize for Fiction and the Chianti Rufino-Antico Fattore. He is a Vice-President of the English Centre of International PEN and was presented with a Crystal Award by the World Economic Forum. He was born in Nigeria and lives in London.