FIVE

DAD BOUGHT THEM drinks. Mum served them food. They all talked in subdued tones as if in the presence of a corpse. It was from them that I learnt of some of thethings that had been happeningduringthetimethat I had been away.

There had been a break in the rainy season. Houses had been flooded and whole families had been forced to move. Streets had become streams. Improvised graveyards had become so waterlogged that coffins had been seen floating past houses, or beached in front of the abodes of certain minor politicians. Electric cables had been brought down by the force of wind and rain and, some people added, by the forces against progress. Fishes had been found in wells. A snake had slid into a house and killed a woman. People said the snake had been sent by an enemy. I heard stories of politicians, who were members of secret societies, who tried to hold back the rain because of the grand rally which they had to keep postponing. I heard that Madame Koto had joined them. I also heard that one day she had slipped on the muddy ground, had taken a nasty fall, and had to be rushed to a powerful herbalist. That was how the talk went, from the most ordinary events to the most singular, from the man who had raved under a tremendous downpour, swearing that he saw red eagles with flowers in their mouths, to the woman who was said to have given birth to a big white egg.

They spoke of strange things and omens, of the blind old man who had woken up one night screaming that a giant lizard was pursuing him and that it had smashed his accordion. They spoke of omens in the movements of giant constellations. A star had fallen into the Atlantic. Another star had burst into being over our area. Birds of gold had been seen at night. Sweet songs had been heard by women in the dark, songs wandering down the empty street. People dreamed of statues that walked, bringing gifts to the area; they dreamed of birds and butterflies, of hybrid animals, of antelopes with jewelled necklaces, of beggars who were princesses, of a rain of gold dust, of the land suffocating with plenitude while the majority starved, of a cornucopia two decades long with darkness to follow, of miracles on hungry roads, of the wise man who would emerge from nowhere to rule and transform the future agonies of the land. They even talked of widespread rumours, confirmed on two continents, about one of ourmost important politicianswhohadbeensightedonthemoon.Listeningtothem instilled in me an absolute awe of the world. I was lightning-struck by life. When they left, my brain fairly combusted with the realities they had conjured in low voices. A brilliant aura linked Mum and Dad that night. They glowed with an almost spectral radiance. I felt exhausted and restless. I wanted to see the world again. Mum sang. Dad said:

‘Birth brings glory.’

I slept on the bed that night. Mum and Dad slept on the mat. Later I heard them moving and whispering, moving and shaking the floor, as if they were in a hurry to fill the world with glories.

SECTION TWO

BOOK SIX

ONE

BECAME STRONGER. I ventured out into the street. It dawned on me that I had been granted a greater freedom, so long as I stayed alive. When I went out toplay it seemedthatsomethinghadalteredtheworld.Bushesandstrangeplantshad grown wild everywhere. The rain had beaten holes in the ground. Streets were unpassable for mud. Trees had fallen across paths and roads. Electric cables dangled in the air. I tried to wander – my feet had begun to itch – but water blocked off my attempts. The rain too had made the world smaller. In the forest the ground was thick with mud and yellow leaves and sacrificial offerings. I wandered about in the devastation of our area. It wasn’t much fun. The rain had completely joined whole streets to the marshland. All the streets in our area were once part of a river. As always, theriver god was claimingback his terrain.

And so with nowhere to go I was forced to be content with the distractions our street offered. As I had to avoid two places along our street I found them both quite magnetic. I climbed a tree, sat on a branch like an awkward bird, and watched both houses. Children were playing outside the blind old man’s bungalow. He was not around. His chair was on the verandah, soaked with rain. His window had been broken and the room seemed empty. Madame Koto’s bar was different. The barfront was covered in water and weeds. Planks on stones led to the bar. Her signboard was askew. The curtain strips had thinned and I could just about see in. Electric cables had been connected to her roof from a pole on the street. She was the only one who had this privilege. A few cars arrived at the barfront and blasted their horns. A great number of women came out of the bar, chattering and laughing. Dancing to strains of music, they filed across the planks. Madame Koto, her stomach bigger than ever, her right foot bandaged, came out and waved to them. The cars drove the women away.

Madame Koto paused at the door, and surveyed the world. Her white beads sat proudly round her neck. Soon her eyes fixed in my direction. She stared at me for a long time. Then, to my amazement, she started coming towards me. I tried to get down from the tree, but the branch caught the back of my shorts. I resigned myself to what she would do. Rolling the fat of her body with each measured step, avoidingthe treacherous puddles andmudholeswithoutseemingtodoso,shestrodeup tome.She was massive. The sheer weight of wrappers gave her a queer grandeur. There was an impressive new exhaustion on her face. She stood beneath the tree, fixing me with a stare, and said:

‘Azaro, what are you doing?’‘Nothing.’‘Do you think you are a bird?’‘No.’‘Why wereyoustaringatmejustnow?’‘I wasn’t.’‘Come down!’‘No.’She glared at me. Then, suddenly, she said:‘Whatwereyoudoinginmy dreams?’‘Nothing.’She made an attempt to catch hold of my feet, but I withdrew them. She jumped, landedbadly,hurtherfoot,andgaveup tryingtogetmetocomedown.Shesaid: ‘If I catch you in my dreams again I will eat you up.’ Then she hobbled back to her bar. When she had disappeared behind the curtain str4s her women came out and stared at me and made abusive signs. When they got bored with watching me I got down from the tree and went home.

Dad had returned early from work. He was bare-chested and sweating. He had attached a bag full of rags to the wall and was punching it. He looked at me, sweat pouring down his face, and said:

‘My son, your father is practising.’‘For what?’‘To be world champion.’He went on hitting the bundle, making the walls tremble, each punch vibrating the foundations of the house, grunts escaping from his mouth. He went on punchingthe bundle till a neighbour banged on the door. ‘What are you trying to do, eh?’ he shouted. ‘You want to break down the wall?

Goandjointhearmy insteadofdisturbingpeople!’

Dad stopped punching the bundle and began shadow-boxing. Each especially solid punch at the air was accompanied by the names of real or imagined enemies and a string of abuses. He jumped about, ducked, jabbed, threw upper cuts, feinted, and bobbed. Foam appeared on the sweat of his chest. He grew tired. He went and had a bath. When he came back I began to serve his food. He stopped me. He served the food himself. We ate together.

When we finished I went off to wash the plates. Dad sat in his chair, smoking. He was restless when I returned. I watched him silently. He looked at me every so often and smiled. Not long afterwards the landlord turned up. He didn’t knock. He pushed his way in, left the door wide open, and addressed his complaints to the whole compound.

‘They tell me you have been breaking down the walls! If you damage anything in my housethunderwilldestroy you.Andyoubetterstartgettingready tomoveaway.I am tired of your trouble!’