‘What’s wrongwith you, eh?’

‘I saw the girl again.’

‘What girl?’

‘Theonewho was washingtheplates.’

‘Get up!’

I got up. I felt very strange, as if I too were dissolving. I sat on the stool. There was only the froth of soup which had spilled over where the girl’s head had been.

‘Where did you see her?’

‘There,’ I said, pointingto thefroth.

‘There’s nothing there.’

‘She was here!’ I insisted.

‘Go inside. Don’t bother to wash the plates. Go and drink some water.’

I went in and drank some water and sat on a bench. The carpenter’s hammering gave me a terrible headache. Each time he lifted the hammer in the air I felt it was comingdownonmy head.Iwenttothebarfrontandsatonthesand.Iwatchedpeople go past. No one came into the bar. No one even looked at it. Darkness drifted slowly over the forest. The air became cooler. Birds circled the trees. Insects thronged the evening. No one noticed the bar because it was more noticeable. I felt on the edge of reality. Madame Koto’s bar seemed like a strange fairyland in the real world, a fairyland that no one could see.

I began to throw stones at her signboard. And then I threw stones at the blue door and the multicoloured plastic strips of curtain. Madame Koto came out and said:

‘Who is throwing stones?’

‘It’s the girl,’ I replied.

‘Where is she?’

‘She ran away.’

Madame Koto gave me a wicked stare, fingered her white beads, and went back to her washing. I stayed at the front and watched the darkness flow from the forest and gradually engulf the rest of the world. In the distance an owl hooted. A bird piped continuously. The darkness awakened the sounds of the forest. As I sat at the barfront, the sand hot beneath me, I saw a man going past with a little girl. The man saw me, looked at the signboard, and came towards the bar. With him was the same little girl who had melted away. I ran into the bar and hid behind the earthenware pot. The carpenter had almost finished his day’s work and was hammering the last few nails into the wood of the counter.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ he asked, flashing an irritated glare at me. ‘They are coming.’

‘Who?’

The man parted the plastic curtain strips and crossed the threshold. ‘Any palm-wine?’ he asked.

‘Sit down. The madame is coming,’ said the carpenter.

The man sat. The girl was beside him. I hadn’t noticed her come in. ‘This place is dark,’ said the man. ‘Bring a lantern.’

‘Take them a lantern,’ ordered the carpenter.

I took the lantern from another table and put it on theirs. The girl blew it out. The place went dark. Fireflies punctuated the gloom.

‘What’s wrongwith your head?’ asked theman.‘It’s that foolish girl,’ I cried. ‘She did it.’‘What girl?’‘The one next to you.’Thecarpenter, raisinghis voice, said:‘I will knock your head with this hammer! Can’t you see I am doing something?

Go and bring matches!’ I fumbled my way out of the bar. Madame Koto was lifting the cauldron off the grate. Shehad tablecloths protectingher hands.

‘That girl is here again with a man. He wants palm-wine and matches.’

She gave me a box of matches and said she would be bringing in the palm-wine. I went inside and lit the lantern and the girl blew it out again. Her eyes shone in the dark. They glittered like the green eyes of a cat.

‘You are wicked,’ I said to her.

‘Me?’ said the man. ‘I come here to drink and a small goat like you abuses me? Who is your father?’

‘Not you,’ I said. ‘It’s that girl. Your child. She’s wicked.’

I lit the match again and the man knocked me on the head. I dropped the match. It burnt on the table. The man hit me again and the girl smiled, her eyes sad, her mouth curiously tight. The match burnt out. I backed away into the dark.

‘Come and light this thing!’ the man said.

I heard the carpenter stumbling his way over wood and metal tools. He brought the smell of glue with him as he came towards us. He kicked a bench in the darkness and cursed.

‘When I catch you,’ hesaid, without beingableto seeme, ‘I willcrack your head!’

I ran outside and stayed near the path that had become a street. The carpenter appeared, saw me, bent down, took off his slippers, and sprinted after me. I fled towards the forest. He gave up and went back, cursing me. I stayed out till I saw the man leaving with the little girl. They went down the street in the direction of our compound.

The carpenter had finished his day’s work. He sat at a bench, near the earthenware pot, and drank palm-wine. There were lanterns on every table.

‘You are lucky you’re not my son,’ he said, sullenly.

I stayed at thedoor, watchinghim.

‘You have just driven away the only customer that has come here today. Madame Koto is angry with you. The man refused to drink in the dark and left, you wicked child.’

I watched him.

‘Either you come in or stay out. But don’t look at me as if you are a lizard.’

I stayed out. There were stars in the sky. The moon was fading. Some of the stars moved as I watched them and I was so engrossed I didn’t hear the carpenter creep up to me. He caught my neck and dragged me into the bar. Madame Koto came in with two bowls of peppersoup.

‘Leave that wicked boy alone!’ she told the carpenter. Then to me she said: ‘I was going to give you plenty of meat but you will only get half because you drove away my customer.’

‘Let mefloghim,’ thecarpenter offered.

‘Go and flogyour own children,’ MadameKoto replied.

The carpenter let me go. I made an ugly face at him. He went on drinking. Madame Koto gave us our respective bowls of peppersoup. I retired to a corner and sat on the floor with my back to the wall and drank the soup from a position where I could keep an eye on the carpenter. But the spoon Madame Koto had given me was too bigfor my mouth and I went out to get a smaller one. When I got back I found that most of my meathadgone.Thecarpenterwaslickinghisfingerswithgreatchildlikerelish.

‘Who stole my meat?’ I asked.

‘Thelittlegirl,’ replied thecarpenter, with mischief and wickedness glintingin his eyes.

‘What girl?’

‘The girl.’

I stared at himalongtime, tryingto decidewhat to do. Then I went out and complained about the theft and Madame Koto gave me some more meat. I ate without takingmy eyesoffthecarpenter.Hekeptwinkingatme.WhenIfinishedIwentand washedmy bowlandspoon.AndwhenIcamebackinIsawamansittingatatable near the door. He turned his head towards me. At that moment I recognised him.

‘Dad!’ I cried, and ran over.

He put his arm round my shoulder I embraced him. Then I ran out to tell Madame

Koto that my father was around. She brought in some palm-wine and peppersoup. ‘Thissonofyours’,shesaid,puttingthemdown,‘droveaway my only customer.’ ‘He’s abad boy,’ Dad replied, with somethinglikefondness. Hewas about to pay for the drink, but Madame Koto said:‘Keep your money. This is to welcome you.’‘I seeyou areimprovingtheplace.’‘I’m doing my best.’‘Plenty of customers, eh?’‘They will come.’Madame Koto fetched herself some peppersoup and wine and sat near the counter.

Everyonedrank and atein silence. Then thecarpenter, swayingon thebench, waving away flies, turned to Dad and said: ‘So which party do you support?’ We all looked up at him. Dad made his reply. ‘The Party of the Poor.’ ‘They areascorruptaseveryoneelse,’saidthecarpenter,banginghishandonthe table. ‘Still, I support them. At least they don’t spit on us.’

‘They are all corrupt. In my home-town they killed a man because he wouldn’t supportthem.They tooaretryingtorigtheelections.They havethugswhobeatup people in the markets. They take bribes and they help only themselves.’

‘But still I support them,’ Dad said, stubbornly.‘Why? What have they done for you?’‘Nothing.’‘So why?’‘Because at least they think of the ordinary hard-working man.’‘They think of them, that’s all they do.’‘Notalkingpoliticsinmy bar,’saidMadameKotofirmly.