‘You should go home now,’ she said.

I was silent.

‘Have some fresh air. Then go.’

I stayed outside a while. The moon was out in the sky. It was big, clear, and white. It was white, then it became silver, and I saw things moving on its face and I couldn’t stop staring because it was so beautiful and so low in the dark blue sky. I watched it for a long time and sweet voices stirred in my ears and Madame Koto came out and said:

‘What are you doing?’

She looked up, saw the moon, and said:

‘Why areyoulookingatthemoon?Haven’tyouseenamoonbefore?’

‘Not like this one.’

‘Comein, takeyour things, and go home. It’s gettinglate.’

I pulled myself away from the moon and went back into the bar with her. The bar was full of the oddest people. There was a man in the corner who said loudly that he had just come back from Hitler’s war. No one believed him.

‘Hitler died years ago,’ someone said.

‘I killed him,’ said the loud man.

‘How?’

‘I used a special juju. I blew pepper into his eyes and his moustache stood up and I killed him with this knife.’

He whisked out a knife, brandished it, and no one seemed concerned. In another corner a man kept tossing his head. Another man snorted. There was a younger man next to the drunk. He had a bright scar down his face. The drunk cursed and stopped and cursed again. The green cross-eyed spirits mingled with the clientele and one of the spirits climbed the wall like a new kind of lizard and studied Madame Koto’s fetish.

It was a very odd night. The bar saw its most unusual congregation of the weird, the drunk, the mad, the wounded, and the wonderful. Madame Koto weaved her way through them all with the greatest serenity. She seemed fully protected and entirely fearless. I think she made a lot of money that night because as I was leaving she did something rare. She smiled at me. She was happy and graceful amidst all the bustle. She gave me a piece of uncooked yam and I took the expanding paths back home to Mum.

THREE

OUR ROOM WAS crowded. Mum was back early. She looked sun-eaten and tired. Sitting disdainfully on Dad’s chair, with his feet on the table, was the landlord. Sitting on the bed, standing round the room, were the creditors and their relations. They looked angry and helpless. Everyone was silent when I came in. I went over to Mum. She put her arms round me and said:

‘You all have to be patient.’

‘How can we be patient?’ said one of the creditors. The others nodded vigorously.

‘Patience will kill us. We have to eat and trade.’

‘True.’‘But we have paid most of the money,’ Mum said. ‘But not all.’‘And not in one week,’ added the landlord.‘Patience doesn’t kill.’‘Nonsense,’ said a creditor. ‘Patience is killing my son. You think I will pay the native doctor patience?’

The landlord laughed and brought out a kola-nut from his voluminous robe. He ate it alone. I watched his lips turn reddish. Mum was silent and as the landlord munched away on his kola-nut the rats started chewing.

I looked round at the creditors as if their presence had robbed me of food. I said nothing.

‘Look at his big stomach,’ the landlord said of me, chuckling.

‘Leave my son alone.’

‘Allwewant is our money,’ oneof thecreditors said, staringat me.

‘I don’t have your money,’ I said. ‘This boy is worse than his father.’ Mum stood up suddenly.

‘If you have come to insult us leave our room,’ she said. She shut the door and the window. It became dark in the room and Mum refused to light the candle. Every now and again the landlord lit a match and looked at everyone. The rats atelouder and Mumlaunched into asongof lamentation. Thecreditors didn’t move. The landlord went on chewing.

When Mum stopped singing the silence became deeper. We remained in the silence and the gloom till there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?’

‘The photographer.’

‘What do you want?’

‘The photographs are ready.’

‘So what?’

‘Don’t you want to see them?’

Thelandlordgot up andopenedthedoor.Hestayedinthedoorway,lookingatthe pictures with the help of the photographer’s torch. Then he came into the room. The photographer trailed behind him, a camera on his shoulder.

‘They aregood,’thelandlordsaid,passingthetorchandthepicturesround.

The creditors became animated and talked about images of the celebration, how so-and-so looked drunk, how that person’s eyes were shut like a rogue’s. Then the landlord said, as the photographs came back to him:

‘Why is Madame Koto’s face like that?’

Madame Koto’s face was smudged. She looked like a washed-out monster, a cross between a misbegotten animal and a wood carving.

‘She’s a witch,’ one of the creditors said.

‘She’s not,’ I said.

‘Shut up,’ said Mum.

When I looked closer at the pictures we all seemed strange. The pictures were grained, there were dots over our faces, smudges everywhere. Dad looked as if he had a patch over one eye, Mum was blurred in both eyes, the children were like squirrels, and I resembled a rabbit. We all looked like celebrating refugees. We were cramped, and hungry, and our smiles were fixed. The room appeared to be constructed out of garbage and together we seemed a people who had never known happiness. Those of us that smiled had our faces contorted into grimaces, like people who had been defeated but who smile when a camera is trained on them.

The photographer was very pleased with the results and quoted prices for copies. One. of the creditors said he would get his copy when Dad paid up. The landlord said:

‘I look like a chief.’ ‘Thief,’ I said.

Mum knocked me on the head.

‘Your son looks like a goat,’ the landlord said. The creditors laughed. Mum said: ‘We want to sleep now. Everyone should leave.’ ‘Is that how you talk to your landlord?’

‘Okay, everyone should stay,’ Mum said. ‘Azaro, prepare your bed.’

I got up in the dark, moved the centre table, and unrolled my mat. I lay down. The creditors’ feet were all around my head. The landlord went on chewing. After a brief silence one of the creditors said:

‘All right, if I can’t get my money now, I’m going to seize something.’

He got up from the bed, lifted the centre table, and went to the door.

‘Goodnight, landlord,’ he said, and left.Mum didn’t move. Another creditor, asking the landlord to light a match for him, took Dad’s boots. The third one said: ‘Iwon’ttakeanythingbutIwillkeep comingback.’Thephotographersaid: ‘I will come tomorrow.’ The landlord said: ‘Tell your husband I want to see him.’ Then they all left. Mum got out of bed and warmed some food for Dad. When she finished she counted the money she had made that day. She put some aside for buying provisions and some towards the rent. The candle was low and as it burned towards the end its poor illumination showed up Mum’s bony face, her hardening eyes, and the veins on her neck.

‘I saw a mad boy today. They tied him to a chair and his mother was crying.’‘What happened to him?’‘How should I know?’ We were quiet.‘How is Madame Koto?’ ‘She’s fine.’‘Does she ask about me?’‘No.’‘What does she do all the time?’‘She stays in her room. Today she had a lot of strange customers. She put up a juju on the wall. A madman came into the bar and ate a lizard and pissed everywhere.’ ‘Ifit’slikethatyoumuststop goingthere.’ ‘I don’t want to.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I don’t want to.’ ‘How was school?’ ‘I don’t like school.’ ‘You must like school. If your father had gone to school we wouldn’t be suffering so much. Learn all you can learn. This is a new age. Independence is coming. Only thosewhogotoschoolcaneat goodfood.Otherwise,youwillendupcarryingloads like your father.’

We were silent again.‘You must be careful of Madame Koto.’‘Why?’‘People have been saying things about her. We don’t know where she comes from.