Hetoo was on theverandah, sittinginachair,hisfaceturnedtowardsme,hiseyes green and half-dissolved. He was smoking a pipe. He wore a hat. When I saw him I was scared. I was about to run out and brave the lightning, when he said:

‘Don’t go, boy.’

His voice was both gentle and frightening in the rain.

‘Why not?’ I asked, trembling.

He knocked his pipe against the chair, and gave me a sinister smile. His eyes moved oddly.

‘Because’, he said, ‘if you don’t listen to me, and if you go, you will drown in a pit.

Snakes will crawl into your mouth.’

The wind sprayed my face.

‘Come here,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘I want to see with your eyes.’

I wanted to run.

‘Don’t move!’ he commanded.

I froze. My limbs were numb. I was rooted. I couldn’t move. The old man laughed. His teeth were more or less brown and his mouth was like a wound.

‘COME HERE!’ he commanded again.

I stayed still. The wind rose again and hurled a fine spray of rain at us. After a while, I felt myself moving. Something in me moved. I resisted. But the wind was stronger. The blind old man laughed as I struggled. I discovered that the wind had divided me, had separated me from myself. I felt an inner self floating towards the blind old man. Or was it that the blind old man was floating into me, invading my consciousness? I wasn’t sure.

The wind stopped. The rain fell in silence. Everythingwent dark. I tried to blink, but couldn’t. As if I had woken into a nightmare, thick green substances passed over my eyes. They settled. Gradually, my eyes cleared. When I looked out at the world again, what I saw made me scream. Everything was upside-down. The world was small. Trees were like slow-moving giants. The rain was a perpetual nightfall, and night a perpetual rain. The earth was full of craters. It kept moving as if it were a monster fretting in sleep. The spaces between things were populated with the most horrifying spirits I have ever seen. They had wounds all over them which dripped pus. When they talked green spit poured from their mouths. I screamed. My eyes caught fire. Then the smile of the boy-king appeared to me and vanished, cooling my sight. I heard shrieking witches confessing their evils. The monster that was the earth opened its gaping mouth and out sprang a big yellow animal with blazingruby eyes and long claws. It leapt into my eyes, and I fell back. A savage wind blew in my head. My eyes heated up again, and I thought they would combust. Then blackness came over me.

When I opened my eyes I found myself still standing. The rain poured on my face. Behind me the blind old man had fallen off his chair. He clawed the air with his crooked fingers. His pipe was on the ground. His hat was in the rain. And in the hat, brilliant against the brown felt, was a big white cat. It was a beautiful cat with gnomic eyes. When I moved the cat leapt. In an instant, it disappeared. The blind old man called for help. A door opened. Two women came out. They saw the old man twisting onthewet ground,hismouthopen,choking.Theysawmestandingthere.Theymade strange connections between us. They shouted. I fled out into the malevolent weather. They did not follow.

The rain hurt my skin, but I ran without stopping. As I ran, I saw a future history in advance, compacted into a moment. I saw an unfinished house crumble under the force of the rain. And then all that was left were metal rods sticking out of the watery earth. It happened so fast I was convinced I was still seeing the world through the blind old man’s eyes.

WhenIgot homeMumwasatthedoor,balingwateroutoftheroomwithaplastic bowl. All the holes were leaking like open taps. The bed was thoroughly wet, the clothes dripped. There were pots and buckets everywhere.

‘Help me empty the pans,’ Mum said as if I had been there all along. I dropped my school bag. Still wet, I began to empty the buckets and pots. I put them back in their places.

‘I’m cold,’ I said.

‘Empty the pans.’

‘I’m going to be ill.’

Shewent on balingwater out of theroom, into thepassage.

‘If you don’t fall ill I will give you a big piece of fried fish. And if you empty the pots and help me dry the room, I will tell you a story.’

‘What story?’

‘About rain and the rain god.’

I emptied the pans with greater enthusiasm. Our co-tenants looked out at us from their windows. The rain showed no sign of abating. When I finished emptying the pots I gotaragandhelpedMumdry thefloor.Nightfellovertherain.Whenthefloor was as dry as we could make it, we washed our hands. Mum went out to prepare our dinner. I stayed in, overcome by a chill. I listened to the wind. I lay on the bed and covered myself with a wet blanket. As I slept I heard the momentous growlings of the rain god. When he flashed his eyes, there was a sharp light everywhere. Sometimes it was like a dazzling bottle hurled against a black wall.

The room was warm with the smell of food. A lit candle was on the table. Giant shadows moved fast on the walls. I sat up. Dad was punching the air, ducking, bobbing and weaving, hitting out at his shadow. I watched him till he noticed me. He said:

‘Your father is goingto becomeaworld champion.’

‘Of what?’

‘I’m going to be a boxer.’

He sounded very pleased about something. He went on hittingout, grapplingwith the air, in-fighting, blocking. The rain had become gentle. Mum was looking better, her hair was neat, her face glowed a little. Dad boxed round her.

‘Your father has gone mad,’ she said.‘Why?’‘He is training to be a boxer.’We both watched him attacking the mosquitoes and the flying ants. He was sweating and his face was screwed up in absurd concentration. ‘You seehow poor weare,’ Mumsaid. ‘How arewegoingto feed aboxer, eh?’ Dad suddenly stopped, as if he had been struck in the stomach. Then he slowly collapsed to the floor and lay there, pretending to have been knocked out. Mum laughed. A light flashed past in one of my eyes, as if I had a camera in my brain. For a moment everything was still. The walls dissolved, the room vanished, and in the relative space of that time we moved to somewhere else.

‘We are now on the moon,’ I said.‘Isn’t food ready?’ Dad asked, gettingup and dustinghis trousers.Mum passed the food and we ate in silence. Dad had a tremendous appetite and he ate the poor food with clear relish. After we had finished Dad lit a cigarette while me and Mum cleared the table. Dad smoked on his chair, draggingdeeply and exhalingin longsighs. Mumsat down with her basin and began countingher money.

‘Thisrainy seasonisgoingtomakeuspoor,’shesaid.‘Soon there’ll be a break,’ Dad said.Then I remembered the story Mum promised to tell me. I asked her about it and she smiled, but went on with her calculations, using all her fingers. Suddenly Dad shivered, his shoulders trembled. He got up swiftly, put on his boots, and went out. ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Your father felt something.’ ‘What?’ ‘A message, a warning.’ ‘How?’ ‘In his body.’

I fell silent. An inexplicable dread came over me. I could hear the world breathing. Mum stopped counting her money, put the basin away, and sent me to buy a small measure of ogogoro.

Outside it was dark. The rain had stopped falling but the air was wet. Water gleamed from every surface. The passage was covered in puddles. The compound was silent, as if the rain had extinguished all the sounds. The buildings were still in a way I had never noticed before. The walls were wet through and water dripped down from therooftops.At thecompound-front Iheardwatergurglinginthegutters.Therewas no one around. The trees weaved in the dark sky and I could only hear them as leaves breathing. I shivered and crossed the street. The burnt van seemed to have reduced in size. Glass splinters on the ground were the only reminder of the photographer’s cabinet. I knocked on the ogogoro-seller’s door. It was a while before she opened.