‘Yes?’

Her serious face, with long scarifications, frightened me. I asked for the measure. She took my bottle and went back into the room, leaving me in the wet passage. I could hear the family talking within. After a while the woman came out, her face still grim. She had a dollop of eba in one hand. In the room behind her I could see her five children and her husband, seated in a circle on the floor, eating from the same bowls. She gave me the bottle and my change. I left the compound, which stank of dried fish andurine,andwent tothefront.IwasthinkingaboutthephotographerwhenIsawa man go behind the burnt van. I thought it was Dad. When I got there I encountered a perfect stranger urinating on the door of the van. His urine steamed.

‘What areyou lookingat?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Get away from here, you badly trained child.’

‘I am not badly trained.’

‘Shut up,’

‘No.’

‘What?’ he shouted. Then he cursed.

‘You made me piss on myself.’ I laughed and backed away.

‘Who is your father, eh?’ he asked angrily.

I turned and started to leave when I heard him curse again. When I looked I saw that he was coming after me, urinating. I broke into a run.

‘God punish you, useless child!’ he cried.

‘God punish you too,’ I said.

He pursued me. I ran. The ogogoro spilled. I went and hid in a bush and crawled roundtillIgot tothebackyardofahouse.Icouldstillhearthemanshoutingabuses at the new generation of children. His drunken voice faded into the darkness, occasionally emerging louder.

‘Stupidchildren,’hesaid.‘Lookingatmy prick.Asifhisfatherdoesn’thaveone.’

When his voice had gone far enough I crept out of my hiding-place. The wind rose again and whistled in my ears. A cat shrieked and leapt out from the darkness near me. I jumped in fright. Blood pounded in the side of my face. Then I heard gentle voices calling me in the dark. I went towards the street. The voices moved. They began calling me from the bushes nearest the front window of a bungalow. When I heard the voices I was afraid. The wind dropped. When I answered the voices they changed and began singing my name in twisted melodies. I challenged the voices to come out, to show their faces. I was of the opinion that they were not spirits but children mocking me in the darkness. I got angry and threw bits of wood and balls of wet paper at them. But to my surprise they threw stones at me. One of them got meon the shoulder. So I put down the ogogoro bottle and threw stones back at them, swearing and cursing. I got so involved with throwing stones, angry at not hitting them, at not hearing them cry out, that I didn’t notice when the voices stopped. The next thing I heard was the breaking of glass. I had shattered a window. A light came on in the room. I heard a key turn in a lock. The curtain parted and the blind old man, holding a lantern, face pressed against the broken window, looked out at me with malignant concentration. His eyes became flames. He shouted for help. It was only when I realised that it was the house where the blind old man lived that I picked up the bottle and ran home.

‘Where have you been?’ Mum asked, when I came in.

‘Nowhere.’

‘You have sand on you. Sand and mud. You have poured ogogoro on yourself. You stink of it. What have you been doing?’

‘Nothing.’

She got up and came over to me, menacingly. Her face changed.

‘You have been drinking the ogogoro, eh?’

‘No, no,’ I said, helplessly.

She reached out, swifter than the wind, and caught me. She hit me on the head. She lifted up her foot, took off a slipper, and lashed me on the back.

‘You arestillachild and yet you aredrinkingogogoro, eh?’

‘No.’

‘Stealing ogogoro, eh?’

‘No!’‘Hiding in the bush and drinking, eh?’ she shouted.Each statement was accompanied by the cracking of the slipper on my back. I tore away and ran to the door, opened it, and saw Dad standing there, like a stranger. He didn’t move. Mum put down the slipper and sat on the bed. Dad came in, shut the door, and said:

‘An evil wind is blowing in my head.’He didn’t sit on his chair, but stood at the window. Then he said:‘How long will a man have to struggle?’There was a moment’s silence. My back was singing with the lashes. I wanted to cry out, but Dad’s mood made it impossible. ‘There is some ogogoro on the table,’ said Mum. With vacant eyes, like someone who had woken up from a deep sleep into a strange land, Dad picked up the bottle and went to the door. Mum covered her head with a headtie. Dad made profuse libations, using up half the drink. He prayed to his ancestors to save us from poverty, from hunger, from trouble. He asked for guidance and signs of what to do. Then he poured ogogoro for us all and downed his in one. He shut his eyes. ‘Something strange is going to happen,’ he said wearily, ‘and I don’t know what it is.’ Dad stayed still, his eyes shut. Now and again he tossed his head backwards. ‘An evil wind keeps a man poor,’ he said. Me and Mum watched him intently. He stayed silent for a very long time. Mum began clearing the room. The place stank of ogogoro and rain. I prepared my mat, and lay down, when crude knocks sounded on the door. I thought of the photographer. I opened the door and saw a man, a woman, and the blind old man.

‘That’s him!’ one of them said.Instantly Itriedtoshutthedoor,butthemanwedgeditwithabigfoot,andpushed his way in. ‘Who is it?’ asked Dad. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, running to hide behind him. The three apparitions came into the room. A terrified look appeared on Mum’s face. The old man – blind, chewing his mouth-waved his cane in the air. The other man held on to the old man’s arm. The woman stood in the middle of the room, hands aggressively on hips. The blind old man, cocking his head, moved his face in one direction and then another. Green liquid leaked out of his eyes. He waved the cane again and knocked the candle over. Mum picked it up and stuck it back on the saucer on the table. The blind old man’s cane hit her on the bottom and Mum straightened and the cane fell from the blind man’s hand. The woman picked it up and put it back inhisgraspingfingers.Thenshesaid,inanangry voice:

‘Your son broke our window.’

‘I didn’t,’ I said.

‘Shut up,’ said Dad.

‘He broke the old man’s window with stones.’ ‘You should discipline your son,’ the man said. ‘Flog him,’ added the woman.

Then the blind man, moving forward, stumbling, arms stretched, confused by the unfamiliar room, working his mouth, said:

‘Whereis theboy?Bringhimhere.’ I went and hid beneath thebed.

‘We want you to pay for the window,’ the woman said.

‘Glass is expensive.’

‘Bring him here, let me hold him,’ came the blind old man in a cracked, unnatural voice.

‘How do you know it was my son who broke the window?’ asked Dad.

‘The old man saw him,’ said the woman, changing her stance. There was silence.

‘The blind old man?’ asked Dad, a little incredulously.

‘Yes.’

Another silence.

‘How did he see?’

‘Hesaw your son stoningthewindow.’

‘How?’

‘What kind of question is dat?’ ‘I said how?’

‘The old man can see when he wants to.’ I looked out furtively from behind the bed. The blind old man was now completely still, his hands frozen in theair, his head cocked, his eyes movingstrangely. Then, to my utmost horror, the old man pointed his cane in my direction. Everyone turned towards me. The blind old man, caught in a sinister fever, began stammering. Weird noises issued from his mouth. Then, suddenly, he broke free from the man who was actingas his eyes. Hecameforward, pushed past Mum’s knees, and tripped against thetable, fellingthecandle, plungingtheroominto darkness. Hecrashed on thebed and fought his way up. Dad lit a match. The old man, arms flailing, a terrible, guttural, ancient howlpouringfromhim, charged towards Dad likeamad animal. For some reason Dad was scared, and he fell off the chair. With uncanny resolution, the old man moved towards me, eyes wideopen, green tears streamingdown his face. Then he stopped. Dad lit the candle. With another howl, the old man pounced at me. I ducked. He fell behind the bed. The woman and the man rushed to pick him up. When he was standingagain, hemadeanother demented cry, threw their arms off him, likean enraged beast, and stalked me again. Mum screamed. The blind old man tracked me round theroom. I kept runningin circles, round thecentretable. I was completely horrified at the thought of being clutched by the old man. Then suddenly he was silent. He became very still. He was like someone serenely fighting to get out of a dream. The room changed. The lights became tinged with red. Then to my amazement I saw that the old man had two heads. One had good eyes and a gruesome smile of power. The other remained normal.