He began to scare us. In the evenings, when I knew he was coming back from drinking, I would take to wandering the streets. But in the late afternoons, when he trained outside, I was always in thecrowd watchinghimimproviseand conjurenew movementsintobeing.Peoplebegan,however,tocommentonmy swellingstomach. While keenly watching him exercise, two men said:

‘His son starves.’

‘His wife is lean.’

‘Have you noticed that as he gets stronger..’

‘His son gets thinner.’‘While his power increases..’‘His wife’s presence decreases.’‘While he learns new tricks..’

‘His son’s legs become like sticks.’ The pair of them laughed. A deeper voice in the crowd said: ‘He eats up all their food.’ A woman said: ‘Something has entered his head.’ The pair of wits began again: ‘Big man..’ ‘With no shame.’ ‘Big muscles..’ ‘With no brain.’ They laugheddrunkenly.Hearingallthisdidn’tmakemetoohappy andaftersome timeItemporarily stoppedwatchingDadtrain.Iplayedaloneinthestreetwhile peoplewatched himperformhis new feats. Hehad now taken to breakingplanks with his fists, smashingbottles on his head, liftingseveralpeopleon his arms, and bending metal rods round his elbows.

I was sitting alone, away from the crowd, watching the street, when a sharp flash of blue cracked me between the eyes. I heard the blind old man cry. out. I didn’t understand. A dog barked. The sky was clear. I watched the street and then suddenly I saw the metal rim of a bicycle wheel rolling along by itself. I froze. The metal rim, rolling along, dispersed flashes of lights with each revolution. I waited. I looked around. The street was empty, but the metal rim rolled towards the burnt van. I heard a noise. I blinked. And when I looked again I saw a shadow, and then the shadow became a boy. He wore white shorts and a blue shirt and he was driving the hoop along, round and round the burnt van. Where had he come from? I was amazed. He seemed to have appeared from nowhere. I was furious. And then, just as suddenly, he disappeared. I got up and went to the van. The metal hoop was on the ground. I looked round the van and saw nothing. I was about to leave when a shadow blocking out the sun from my face made me turn round. Standing on the top of the van, like a child-conqueror surveying his newly won lands, was the boy who had been burnt out of reality during the blistering afternoons of the harmattan and who had now materialisedinthebreakoftherainy season.HewaswatchingDadpractisefromhis height.

‘Are you the boy who vanished?’ I asked.

‘No.’

‘Did you turn into your own shadow?’

‘No.’

He answered my questions, barely giving me a glance.

‘Come down!’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘You are not allowed to play on the van.’

‘Why not?’ Disconcerted by his serenity, I clambered up the van and tried to push him down. We began to fight. I hit him in the face and he hit me back. I hit him again and he grabbed me round the waist and we wrestled. He tripped me, I fell, and he fell on me, knocking the wind out of my chest. Soon we were on solid ground. I kicked him, he caught my foot, and threw me down. I jumped back up and lashed out in all directions, with the sort of blind ferocity that Dad sometimes had, and one of my punches made contact. His nose sprouted blood. He was untroubled by the bleeding and he unleashed a volley of blows on me, cracking the side of my face, and we wrestled again, and fell, and we got up, and hit one another blindly and soon several adult handstoreusaway fromoneanother.Liketwowildfightingcocksseparatedin a bloody battle, we kicked and raged in the air, cursing and swearing.

On another day, when Dad was training, I saw the boy standing on the top of the van again. I went over.

‘Come down from there!’ I said.

‘No.’

I clambered up again. He didn’t move.

‘My father’,hesaid,‘hasgivenmesomethingspecial.’

‘For what?’

‘If you touch me…’

‘Yes…’

‘And I hit you…’

‘Yes..’

‘You will fall down seven times and then die.’

‘Who is your father?’ I asked him.

‘My father is a great cobbler and carpenter,’ he replied.

‘My father’, I said, ‘is Black Tyger.’

And then I hit himin theface. Hehit meback. Nothinghappened. I began to laugh.

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘Becauseof thestupid thingyour father gaveyou.’

He didn’t say anything. After a while he got down from the van and went and played nearer the crowd watching Dad. I stayed on the van for some time. It wasn’t much fun and I gotboredandInoticedthatpeoplewerestaringatme.Igotdownand went to look for the boy. At first he didn’t want to talk to me. Then I told him again that the man shadow-boxing was my father. His face lit up in transferred admiration.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Ade. What’s yours?’

I told him. We shook hands. His father was a cobbler and carpenter and a fierce supporter of the political party on the side of the poor. He was also something of a medicine man and counted many feared thugs as family friends. I was somewhat impressed.

He took me to their house. They lived in our area, in one small room. Their family was large; his father had two wives and ten children. I don’t know how they all managed in that room. His mother was buck-toothed and small and ferocious. She was the eldest wife. His father had great scarifications, noble and impressive like the statues of ancient warriors; he was tall and his spirit was rather terrifying. His teeth were kola-nut-stained and his eyes bloodshot, and he beat his children a lot, in the name of the sternest and most corrective discipline. His voice had a chilling, piercing quality. I didn’t like him much.

Ade took me to his father’s workshop and showed me the tools of his trade – his hammers and tongs, his chisels and boxes of heavy nails, his long work-bench and tables crowded with a mountainous tumble of shoes and handbags, the place smelling of glue and rusted nails and old metal and raw earth and ancient wine spilled on fresh-planed wood. The shadows gave off the aroma of cobwebs and the intense sleep of cockchafers, of fetishes twisting on rafters. The ceiling was dark with a fastness of ancient cobwebs, and lengths of leather hung from the ceiling. The workshop was an exciting place and it seemed I had found an entirely new universe in which to explore and play. We tried on the different shoes, with their incredible variety of sizes and shapes. We hid behind the cabinet. We banged nails into fresh-planed wood. We glued bits of abandoned leather together, trying to create new shoes instantly. We were totally absorbed in our play when his father came in suddenly. He saw us playing, saw the laughter on our faces, and brought out the long whip he kept on a nail behind the door. He thrashed us on the backs and we ran out screaming. I decided not to go there again.

I tried to get Ade to wander the streets with me, but he never went far. He was scared of his parents. If they called him and he didn’t answer he got whipped for it later. I told him to run away from home and to come and stay with us, but he was afraid. He said his father would thrash him and put pepper on the wounds. He showed me his back and I saw the old whip marks along with numerous razor incisions for the herbal treatments he received. I felt sad for him. And because of him I didn’t go wandering for a while. I tried to take him to Madame Koto’s place, but he wouldn’t go there either. His father had told him that she was a witch who supported their political enemies.

Wewereplayingintheforestoneday whenwecameuponMadameKoto.Shelay on the earth, at the root of the legendary iroko tree, her white beads like a jewelled snake in her hand. When sheheard us comingshejumpedup anddustedherself.Shelooked very embarrassed.

‘Who’s your friend?’ she asked, blinking.

‘Ade,’ I said.

She gave him a curious intense scrutiny. Ade said he was going home. He wandered off and waited ashortdistanceaway,watchingusfurtively.MadameKototurnedher disquieting gaze on me. She studied my stomach. The merest hint of compassion crossed her face.