FOUR

FOR MANY DAYS Dad remained sullen. We got used to the perfume. He offered no explanation. And it was only when he was told of what the landlord had said that he recovered his spirit. He said even if they killed him he wouldn’t vote for the landlord’s party. He went around the compound saying this. Some of the neighbours nodded when he made his declaration. Mum warned him that the landlord had spies in the compound.

‘Let them spy,’ Dad said, ‘but I won’t vote for that useless party.’‘I know, but don’t tell them.’‘Why not? Am I a coward?’‘No.’‘Then I must say what I believe.’‘But you heard what the landlord said.’‘Let the landlord drop dead!’‘Lower your voice.’‘Why?’‘Spies.’

‘Let the spies drop dead too!’

‘I am afraid for us.’

‘There is nothing to fear.’

‘But I am afraid.’

‘What right has the landlord to bully us, to tell us who to vote for, eh? Is he God? Even God can’t tell us who to vote for. Don’t be afraid. We may be poor, but we are not slaves.’

‘Where are we going to find another room?’

‘Our destiny will provide.’

And so it continued. Sparked off by his own defiance, Dad began to speak of himself as the only one who would not vote for the landlord’s party. All over our area party-supporters became more violent. They went around in groups terrorising everyone. We heard stories of people who were sacked from their jobs because they were on the wrong side of politics. Mum grew afraid of the market and didn’t go as regularly as she wanted. Money became short. Mum had to reduce our food.

We saw the photographer only late at night. On some nights I waited for him to knockbut hedidn’t.WhenIsawhimhebegantospeakofleavingthearea.Hewent on taking his unusual pictures and a few more appeared in the papers. Whenever he was seen people gathered around him. He had become something of a legend. For the period he stayed with us he tried to turn the corner where Dad kept his shoes into a dark-room, with no success, because Mum, paranoid of spiders’ webs, kept sweeping and cleaningand exposinglight to alldark places.

One night some men came to our compound to ask about the photographer. They claimed to be journalists. They said they’d heard he was staying with tenants in the compound. The tenants denied it, but they began to keep watch. At night we saw strange men leaning against the burnt van, staring at our house. When I told the photographer about it he became scared and we did not see him for many days.

Madame Koto appeared at our roomduringthat period. Sheappeared out of theair, startling me. Mum was in, but Dad hadn’t returned. I was so startled that before I could run she grabbed me and said:

‘You are a bad boy.’

‘Why?’

‘Runningaway fromyourelders.’

She gave me some money.

‘Why haveyoubeenrunningaway fromme,eh?WhatdidIdotoyou?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Why did you throw away my juju?’

‘Nothing.’

Mum laughed. Madame Koto let me go. She sat on the bed, beside Mum. She was as fat as ever, plump as a mighty fruit, but her face had become a little bit more frightening than I remembered. She did not have her white beads round her neck. Her face was darker; her eyes, shaded with eye-pencil, made her look mysterious. The quantity of wrappers round her increased her volume. The two women talked in low tones. I drew closer to listen. Madame Koto gave Mum a packet whose contents I never discovered. Then she turned to me and said:

‘Iwant youtocomeback.Yourmotheragrees.Sinceyoustoppedcomingthebar has been empty.’

‘I will discuss it with your father,’ Mum added.

They went on talking. I went and played at the housefront. When Madame Koto was leaving she called me.

‘I amgoingnow,’ shesaid, ‘but tomorrow I want you to comeand attract customers to the bar, you hear?’

I nodded.

‘I will prepare you special peppersoup with plenty of meat.’ Then she waddled off into the darkness.

Dad returned exhausted that night. Mum did not discuss anything with him. The photographer did not turn up. The rats went on eating.

FIVE

MADAME KOTO’S BAR had changed. She had put up a new signboard. The signboard had a painting of a large-breasted mermaid serving drinks and steaming peppersoup. There were multicoloured plastic trailings at the doorway. Swishing aside the curtain strips, I went in. The door was now blue. It was dark and cool inside. The benches were shorter. The tables had plastic coverings. As if she anticipated more trouble and more customers she had begun to install a counter at the far end of the bar, across from the backyard door. The walls were cobalt. It felt more peaceful in the bar. I went to the backyard and saw a little girl washing plates and spoons. She stared at me suspiciously.

‘Where is Madame Koto?’

She didn’t reply.‘Can’t you talk?’Still the girl didn’t say anything. I went to Madame Koto’s room and knocked. She didn’t seem to be in. So I went back into the bar and sat near the earthenware pot. Flies buzzed in the serenity of the place. The little girl came in and remained at the threshold of the door, the curtain strips covering her face. She watched me. She had a long sad face and big eyes. She had little scarifications on her cheeks. She was too sad and too passiveto bebeautiful. Shewent on staringat meand I got irritated.

‘Why areyoulookingatme,eh?’ Shestayed mute.Thenshewenttothebackyardandcarriedonwithherwashingof plates and cutlery. Throughout the afternoon no one came to drink and I did not see Madame Koto. I slept on the bench and woke up suddenly. It was quiet. There was a kerosine lamp on the table. I felt I had materialised in some underwater kingdom. I searched for the girl and could not find her. When I got back Madame Koto was in the bar with a carpenter.

‘Wherehaveyou been?’ sheasked, shoutingabovethecarpenter’s hammering. ‘I went to look for the girl.’ ‘Which girl?’ ‘Thegirlwho was washingtheplates.’ She stared at me as if I had turned into a fish, or as if I had gone mad. ‘What plates?’ ‘The plates in the backyard.’ She went out and looked and came back shouting. ‘Somethingis wrongwith you,’ shesaid. I went to the backyard and saw the plates and cutlery piled in a heap. They were all unwashed. A cauldron of peppersoup bubbled away on the firegrate near the heap. ‘Go and wash the plates,’ she bellowed, ‘before I get angry with you.’ I was reluctant, but I went. I fetched water from the well, sat on the stool, and washed theplatesandcutlery.Thefire,heatingmy faceanddryingmy eyes,mademe dizzy with its curiously fragrant woodsmoke. I listened to the carpenter hammering and the firewood crackling. I got very dizzy from breathing in the smoke and from the blast of the heat so that I started to sway and the evening began to turn. The peppersoup spilled over in green bubbles and poured over the firewood and the little girl came and lifted off the hot lid of the cauldron with her bare hands. Then she stirredthesoup withalongwoodenladlewhichhadtheshapeofahumanpalmatthe servingend.

‘Get away from here!’ I cried.

When she brought out the ladle the serving end was missing. The wooden hand had become part of the soup.

‘Look what you’ve done!’ I shouted.

She threw away what was left of the ladle and went off in a sulk. Soon she returned with a long and large bone. She stirred the soup with it and the bone dissolved.

‘If you don’t go away I will beat you,’ I threatened. She lifted the lid back on the cauldron and crouched near the grate and stared into the fire. She put out her hands, as if to warm them, and then she threw two white cowries into the flames. The firewood cried out, popping and crackling, and a thick indigo smoke filled the air and engulfed the girl and when the smoke cleared I saw her melting. First her outstretched hands melted into the air and then her shoulders and then her body. Her head remained on the ground and her bigsad eyes went on staring at me impassively till she dissolved altogether. I screamed and everything went white. I fell towards the fire. When I came round I was on the floor, my back on the ground. My shirt was soaked. Madame Koto stood above me.