I held on to Mum. Dad continued:

‘Sit down and eat. From tomorrow, up till the time you begin school, you will go to Madame Koto’s bar. You will stay there a few minutes every day, eh.’

Inodded.Iwashedmy hands.WeatetogetherandDadkeptplyingmewithchoice bits of crayfish and chicken, while Mum carefully took out the bones from the spiky freshfish and fed me juicy morsels. The room was bright with their radiance. I felt strange. I had missed the important moment which had transformed the lights in our world.

We finished eating and I took the plates to the backyard and washed them. On my way back I passed one of the creditors that Dad had beaten up. His face was bruised, ferocious, and cowardly. When he went past he gave me a secretive knock on the head. When I got to our room my eyes were watering. Mum and Dad were sitting together on the bed. Mum looked at me and said:

‘Look, our son is cryingwith happiness.’

I smiled and the pain eased. I cleared the centre table, spread the mat, and stretched out. Dad went to his chair. The candle burned low and Mum lit another one. I watched the mystery of the flame. Mum arranged her provisions in a basin.

‘I’m going to start trading again,’ she said.

Dad smiled.

‘My wife is a serious businesswoman,’ he said.

Then he looked at me.

‘People think I will make a good boxer. A man across the street saw me when I beat up the creditors. He said he would introduce me to some trainers and managers. A good trainer. Free of charge.’

He laughed. He punched the air and rocked backwards.

‘I will be a great boxer. People say there is money in boxing.’

Hehit out at theairagain.Hebegantopunchthecandleflame,puttingitoutwith each perfect execution, and relightingit.

‘I fight fire and become fire. Anyone who fights me fights the sun.’

Helaughed again. Ikeptonwatchingthemystery oftheflame.Mummadeaweary sound. I looked and saw she wasn’t happy about Dad becoming a boxer. She was counting her small change. She said:

‘Your father used to box and wrestle in the village. They used to call him Black Tyger.Hebeat up alltheyoungmen.Oneday,beforeafight,hepunchedabighole in the wall of his father’s enemy.’

Dad laughed out loud. Mum continued.

‘Theenemy putacurseonhim.Thenpeoplewentaroundsayingthatifyourfather fought again, he would be beaten. They said he would go mad for one week. Your father stopped fighting. The villagers gave his title to someone else. But his supporters kept coming to get him to fight and win back his title as champion of the village. They all bet heavily on him. At first your father refused and then out of pride he accepted. The man, a small man, threw your father in the last round. Your father lost.’

‘But I didn’t go mad for one week. That was all village talk.’

‘But you came to the city.’

‘Yes, I came to the city.’

They both fell silent. It seemed, almost, as if they had come to hell. Mum finished counting her small change and sat on the bed. Dad sighed.

‘I haven’t seen my father in five years,’ he said.

Suddenly a rat began chewing away at something beneath the cupboard. A big fly started up, as if it had just awoken from a long sleep, and buzzed about the room. A moth rose from Dad’s boots and circled the candle flame in a descending spiral. Dad lit a cigarette and smoked meditatively. The noise of the rat increased and other rats joined in the chewing. Mum’s face twitched. Dad said:

‘Your grandfather is completely blind now. He is the head-priest of our shrine, Priest of the God of Roads. Anyone who wants a special sacrifice for their journeys, undertakings, births, funerals, whatever, goes to him. All human beings travel the same road.’

He paused. Then continued:

‘I was supposed to succeed him as priest but the elders of the village said: ‘Your son is a fighter. How can a fighter be the Priest of Roads? The god has chosen a successor outside your family. But who knows the future?” Your grandfather was very disappointed about this. He is blind now and he wears dark glasses and wanders through the village and the world without any walking stick or any help. Our old people are very powerful in spirit. They have all kinds of powers.’

His voice was very sad.

‘Weareforgettingthesepowers. Now, allthepower that peoplehaveis selfishness, money, and politics.’

The rats went on eating. The moth came too close to the candle flame, singed its wings, and fell into the wax. The smoke from its burnt wings was dense and didn’t rise high and the moth writhed in the wax and caught fire. I blew out the two flames, took the moth from the wax, and lit the candle again. Dad said:

‘The only power poor people have is their hunger.’

Mum said:

‘Those rats!’

She stretched her limbs on the bed. Dad finished with his cigarette. I got out my pillow and cover-cloth. Dad blew out the candle and I listened to the rats eating and the fly buzzing in the darkness. Dad got into bed. The springs creaked. The rats went on chewing and Dad, in the darkness, said:

‘Azaro, rats can be our friends. They can sometimes tell what is happening in the world. They are our spies. Listen to them, Azaro, and tomorrow tell me what the rats are saying.’

I listened to the rats. One of them had teeth of yellow diamonds. They didn’t seem to be saying anything and soon I heard the bed-springs creaking in their particular rhythm of other nights. The movement of the bed overcame the noise of the rats. I slept andwokeup andheardMumsighingdifferentlyandthebedshookandhumped shapes wandered about in the darkness and I slept again.

I woke suddenly and the bed still moved and soon I didn’t notice the musical creaking of the springs for I could hear beneath those sounds the shrill intensity of the rats. Just before I fell asleep again I stopped hearing the bed altogether because I suddenly realised that if I tried hard enough I could understand the language of rats. They weresaying,asthey atetheirway throughMum’ssackofgarri,thattheworldis tougher than fire or steel. I didn’t understand what they meant and I dozed off trying to get them to explain it to me. But they couldn’t understand me because, unlike us, they speak only one language.

BOOK TWO

ONE

THE WORLD IS full of riddles that only the dead can answer. When I began to go to Madame Koto’s place I understood why the spirits were curious about her. I went to her bar in the afternoons after school. She was often in the backyard.

She was often digging the earth, planting a secret, or taking one out. One day I hid and watched her and saw her plant round white stones in the earth. I did not know their significance or even if they had any.

Sometimes when I came in from school she would be in the bushes in the backyard and as soon as she heard me she would shout:

‘Sit down! Sit down and attract customers! Draw them here!’

I would sit and swot flies. The palm-wine everywhere made the flies so plentiful that sometimes when I inhaled I was sure I breathed them in as well. I would sit in the empty bar, near the earthenware pot, and would watch passers-by through the curtain strips. At first when I sat there alone no one came to drink and it seemed as if I was bringing more bad luck than good.

In the afternoons the bar was empty. One or two people who had no jobs would come in and haggle over the price of a glass of palm-wine. The moment someone came into the bar Madame Koto treated them respectfully. What she hated was people standing outside uncertain. She preferred them to go away rather than come in. She was very decided in this respect.

Women sometimes came by in the afternoons. They were mostly hawkers of sun-bleached goods. They talked about their children or their husbands or about the forthcoming elections and about the thugs and violence, the people of different parties killed in skirmishes deep in the country. The women always came with bundles on their heads. They often looked both sad and robust, or spirited and lean. Many of them werehawkers ontheirway tothemarketorjuststoppingtogetsomeshadeandsome respite from the dusty ghetto paths. They talked in high-pitched voices and congregatedroundMadameKotointhebackyardasshesat onastoolpreparingthe evening’s peppersoup.