chapter 2

The high-pitched sound of the town crier metal stick rubbing the surface of the hard rusty gong woke Ibekwe up. The morning was still early and the dew was just beginning to wet the plants and grasses that laid uncovered in their compound. Another sound from the gong and he drew closer to the window where he saw the stoutly-built town crier beating the metal piece harmoniously. The town crier was announcing a wrestling contest that was to be held in the evening. 

It was almost a month now that Peter Stonefield's body was burnt in the outskirts of Umuoku and his companion, Ada, disgraced in front of the whole village before being chased away by a pack of warriors. 

Ibekwe could have sworn that he had never felt anything as genuine as the gentle Igbo words that Peter used to express God's love towards his sinful soul. A young boy damned for eternity under the torment of a cursed devil could be saved by the simple acceptance of salvation through Jesus Christ were the comforting words that Peter told Ibekwe on the first and last time he spoke to a very small group of people in Umuoku.

The mystery of the black pot that had caused the death of two wonderful people that Ibekwe was just getting to know lurched in his mind as he watched the town crier talking to his father. They were talking in low whispers. 

“Wrestling is today!” Nwaka declared as he entered Ibekwe's room.

Ibekwe moved from the window and sat on the bed. Was he supposed to be happy about the news like his father? Nwaka followed him too and sat on the bamboo bed, close to him, his face beaming with smiles. The moist air created a sense of freedom as they sat side by side together. Father and son.

“Close the window,” Nwaka said slowly.

Ibekwe got up and shut the window. Everywhere was quiet.

“There is a wrestling competition in the evening,” Nwaka said. “Your grandfather would be proud to see you win.”

“I am not going,” Ibekwe replied.

Nwaka sniggered, rubbed his hands in frictional jolts and stood up. He could not believe what he had just heard.

“You will go to the wrestling match and I will make sure you go no matter what you say.”

Nwaka left the room, muttering something obstinate to himself before leaving the room. Moments later, Ibekwe mother, Ezinne entered the room.

“Ibekwe!” Ezinne called.

“Yes mother.”

“Have you made your father angry?”

Ibekwe pulled himself together and left the room. Outside, he met his father looking at a palm-tree that had blissfully outgrown expectations.

“See how that palm-tree is growing,” Nwaka said, pointing at his new found love. “The tree is strong because I planted it all by myself. When I was your age, I made sure my hands were strong enough to plant trees and do you know what I did?”

Ibekwe nodded. He knew the next words and he let it flow from his mouth.

“You wrestled with all the strong men in Umuoku until you had beaten all,” he said.

Nwaka drew closer and patted Ibekwe on the shoulders.

“Our family has a long history of men who have greatly excelled in wrestling. Don't fail your grandfather who brought honour to himself in this village by showing them that he could make good use of his fist. Be strong and bold. You can win any of your opponent if you believe that you can,” Nwaka said.

Ibekwe was silent as his father took a corroded machete and strike the palm-tree on its bark. He watched as his father struck twice then he threw the machete away.

“This is your reward for accepting my challenge. Grab the machete and show me your strength. I want you to tear this tree apart,” Nwaka said.

Ibekwe nudged the machete into his hands. He pulled back and struck the tree. He could hear his father encouraging him to try harder from behind. He struck again and the machete fell off from his hands. He was bleeding. He wiped the blood caused by the hilt of the machete on his chest. He grabbed the machete again. As if led by a great cause, he struck the tree the third time with a huge force that tore it apart.

The elders took their positions in front of the crowd as they waited for the wrestlers to arrive. The first match of the day was between two young men who were in their mid twenties. The men came out separately, in their own war-like style. They hit their chests with rigid bare hands and danced to the wrestling drums before clutching hands together to indicate a fair game.

The first match started with a whistle and the wrestlers locked hands immediately. They held each other firmly in the shoulders, circling and moving their muscles to the fast beats coming from the drum. They pushed and pulled for a long time until the whistle was blown again, signalling a draw match.

The wrestlers went away. New palm fronds were brought to replace the old ones. The next wrestling match was among teenagers and the favourite teen wrestler was Akagi, a seventeen year old bastard who had never been thrown on the ground. He held the title of best teenage wrestler in Umuoku for three consecutive times in a row. A feat no teenage boy in Umuoku could boast about. He was unstoppable. 

Akagi stood in front of the teenage wrestlers and bellowed in mockery.

“Which goat among you can challenge the lion? Which goat can prove himself worthy of tasting my fist?”

All the teenagers were silent. Many of them were expecting an eighteen year old boy called Udo to come out and accept the challenge. He was the strongest after Akagi and the only one to come so close to beating him.

“Which goat among you can challenge the lion?” Akagi intoned again.

Ibekwe stood there, in the gathering of the teenage wrestlers. He gazed at his father who was persuading him to accept the challenge with inactive movement of lips. He took a deep breath, a lot of pressure were surmounting inside him as the taunts grew higher. Then suddenly or mistakenly, he did one stupid thing he thought he would regret. He raised his hands up.

By the time he could pull his hands down, one of the elders had already noticed it and urged him to come forward. Quietly, the teenage wrestlers made way for him to pass. Many of them laughed at him and called his match with Akagi a give-away match. A match were the victor was already known before the sound of the whistle.

The referee held Ibekwe on the elbow and dragged him to the centre of the wrestling pitch. The pressure inside him increased as he felt the weight of his foolish show of bravery. He stared at Akagi. A face with hate and gnashing teeth stared back at him.

“Who do you think you are? The son of Nwaka and grandson of Ofu. A foreigner of this land who think he can take his glory from the mouth of a king,” Akagi cursed.

Ibekwe looked away from Akagi threatening eyes and turned towards the referee who was ordering people to shift back. He wanted to tell the referee that he was not ready to wrestle but his mouth did not move.

The referee blew the whistle. Akagi moved forward and pushed Ibekwe. The force sent Ibekwe sprawling on the ground. Before any further attack could be made, the whistle was blown indicating an unfair start. Nwaka rushed towards Ibekwe and held him by his shoulders.

“I can't do this,” Ibekwe said, spitting sand out of his mouth.

“No son of Echi is a loser,” Nwaka replied.

“I am no son of Echi. I am a great-grand son of Echi and I am weak.”

“You are strong,” Nwaka assured and patted him on his back. “Good luck!”

Ibekwe watched as the referee shouted at Akagi for pushing him too hard as if he was a mere child. This angered him. He looked at his chest and his muscles which were a little bit smaller than Akagi's own. Reassuring himself that he was a contender, he stood up and shouted Akagi's name with intense dislike.

The referee returned back to his original position and the whistle was blown. Akagi charged towards Ibekwe and for the first time, he clamped the strong hands of his competitor and submerged it into his own. The intensity increased so did the cheers of the people. Akagi tried to grab Ibekwe's right foot but he did not succeed as Ibekwe spotted his advances quickly and shifted his foot backwards in a frenzy movement that brought a loud ovation in honour of his little act of defence. Among the supporters, the teenage wrestlers stood alongside the men and women cheering on the top of their voices, watching carefully and waiting for Akagi to overpower Ibekwe and end the nonsense that was in front of them. Little did they know that Ibekwe was not ready to give up so easily without throwing a worthy fight.

They turned, twisted and pushed, each feeling the other's grip on their shoulders. The crowd cheered and praised Akagi for his witty skills. Following a series of unbreakable grips, Akagi pulled his hands away from Ibekwe and the referee blew for a break. It was the second time that a wrestling match that involved Akagi lasted till a break. The first time was with Udo, about a year ago.

Ibekwe shuffled back to where his father was in the gathering.

“Echi's spirit will help you,” Nwaka reminded him.

“I hope so,” Ibekwe replied absent-mindedly.

“Akagi can be beaten and crushed by you. He is just two years older than you. He is still a boy.”

“Father, two years contains a lot of days. He has a higher advantage than me. Firstly, he is a more experienced wrestler than me. Secondly, he is the current champion. I should never have challenged him.”

“Ibekwe!” Nwaka called after a short pause.

“Father!”

“Hit him hard.”

“Where should I hit him?”

“At his kneecap. He won't survive it because I have noticed from his movements that his strength lies in his arms and not his legs. Make sure he doesn't know your plan. Good luck.”

The referee blew the whistle and beckoned the two wrestlers to come back to the wrestling pitch to continue their fight. Twilight was drawing closer and the two determined wrestlers grasped again and circled. They sniffed loudly and groaned heavily as bubbles of sweat flowed through their slimy skin. They released their grasps and observed each other's movements carefully. Instinctively, Akagi charged forward like a lion. His forelimbs searched inevitably for Ibekwe's legs. Ibekwe dug his knees to the ground and Akagi withdrew immediately like a failed lion.

Akagi pounced once again on Ibekwe, throwing his full body mass on him in order to pull him down but Ibekwe stood his ground. In the end, their shoulders collided and clamped together. The wrestling drums rolled. Akagi felt the pain of his shoulders and whimpered like a frailed lion. His bones were getting weaker and Ibekwe was acting beyond expectations. He studied Ibekwe with weary eyes, nursing the pain and trying to hearken to the voices of those who were cheering him to continue. He swirled his hands as if clearing a filled space in the air and surged forward towards Ibekwe with his weak shoulders. He was determined.

Ibekwe expected the incoming attack of Akagi and accepted it in a style that pleased the audience. He knew his rival, the teenage champion was getting weaker in every grasp he made but he felt it was not the right time to execute his plan. He waited.

The two wrestlers turned around again, the liveliness in the first bout was steadily reducing. The referee stood from behind and watched as the youngsters tried to overpower each other without much success. The match was the best he had ever withessed. It was a wrestling match where the underdog had proven he was worthy to sit and dine with champions.

Ibekwe and Akagi kept on wrestling till it was night. Akagi had tried all the wrestling techniques that he knew but none of them were working for him. It seemed as if the gods had decided to act against him.

The referee blew the whistle and told them to stop and rest. It was the second time he had blown for a rest. The audience would have complained for the lengthiness of the match but the skills and strength that Ibekwe and Akagi were displaying gave them hope that a winner would eventually emerge.

“Why haven't you hit his kneecap?” Nwaka asked as Ibekwe drew closer.

Ezinne gave him a gourd of water and he drank.

“Father, I must weaken him first. Akagi is a good wrestler and will quickly notice my plan if I attempt to attack his kneecap without proper planning. He will guard his kneecap circumspectly and make it impossible for me to attack it again,” Ibekwe replied.

“You are wise my son. I just wanted to know how good you are in wrestling.”

“I may not have wrestled in my life but I know everything that a good wrestler needs to know when fighting an opponent. I know when a wrestler needs to attack, needs to defend and when he needs to win.”

“Echi's spirit would be proud of you. He will be proud that his great-grand son knows how to wrestle,” Nwaka said with wide eyes that were cladded with pride.

“Father!” Ibekwe said with a slight chortle. “Great-grand father would be happy. I am like him; strong, hopeful and determined in winning a wrestling match.”

The judge blew the whistle again and the two young wrestlers walked sluggishly towards the pitch. They were not in a haste to grapple like before. Lightly, they clamped their hands together. Ibekwe pushed Akagi and he pushed back, weakly. The wrestling drums rolled. He held Akagi's shoulders and dug his feet on the ground and pushed harder. It was followed by a slow push as a response, more weaker than the first response. Akagi was getting weaker and both of them knew it.

Ibekwe kept his hands on Akagi's shoulders. He was vibrating with joy. He released his hands from Akagi's shoulders and he nearly fell down but he restrained himself. The crowd all looked at Ibekwe. Intensity was building up. They expected Ibekwe to pounce on him when he nearly fell down but to their utmost shock, he just stood their motionlessly and waited for Akagi to fully get back at his feet before he could make any move.

Ibekwe sensed what the crowd was feeling and he lifted his hands and waved at them. His cheers put them in order throughout the wrestling match.

Akagi balanced his body and charged towards Ibekwe with the last strength his body could produce. He was pushed backwards by Ibekwe and held firmly to the ground by his two strong hands. He cursed. He groaned like a small child searching for his mother's milk without a particular clue of where it laid. As the fear of losing his honour and title dawned on him, he tried to fight back again. He tried to push Ibekwe and shrug his shoulders away from the tightening grip of the hands that seemed to dominate him but there was little strength left in him. There was little strength left in him to free himself from Ibekwe.

As the sounds of the wrestling drums increased, Ibekwe held Akagi's shoulders. It was the right time to exact his plan. He perspired, pushed Akagi's shoulders and watched as the teenage champion stagger backwards, limply. The crowd was in awe. The pressure had grown higher, more higher than usual. He looked at Akagi's kneecap. The last stronghold of his body. It was the last thing keeping the great teenage wrestler on his feet. He flexed his right hand. He exacted his plan. The crowd grew silent. Akagi fell down on his knees, begging. He was pleading with his hands clasped together. He was begging Ibekwe not to push his back towards the ground because it was a disgrace for him to be beaten in a manner like this.

The pleading increased and Ibekwe glanced at Akagi. He knew he was just a few steps away from being crowned the teenage champion. A tempting position he could not resist. He turned and stared at the proud face of his father who was persuading him to push Akagi to the ground and claim his title. He turned and looked at Akagi. He was still pleading for him to pity him and allow the match to end as a draw. He begged Ibekwe because he was too weak to stand up and wrestle. The crowd was in great awe. Ibekwe stared at the pompous, crest-fallen champion. He bent and placed his hands on Akagi's shoulders. The crowd voices died down and the drums stopped. Two swift movements were made. Akagi fell down and kissed the light brown sand on the ground. Strong men immersed from the crowd and carried Ibekwe on their shoulders. He was the new winner.

One of the elders, Ofoedu stood up and all the elders followed him from behind. They plodded towards Ibekwe and gave him a handshake. It was the most handshakes Ibekwe had ever received from the elders of Umuoku at a time. After the handshakes, the elders encouraged him to train more so that he could win more wrestling bouts in the future.

In shame, Akagi left the wrestling pitch after the elders had given Ibekwe handshakes that were meant for him. He did not wait for the judge to announce Ibekwe as the winner before he left in annoyance with a group of slimly built boys of his age trailing behind him, also in shame.

“You are very skillful like your great-grand father. I bet his spirit was with you during the fight,” Nwaka said as he cuddled Ibekwe in his arms. "You have made me and your grandfather proud.”

“Thank you for showing me the way.”

“You don't have to thank me. It is the gods you need to appreciate for granting you victory over Akagi.”

“Let us go and visit your grandparents. They will be glad to hear the news of your victory,” Ezinne said.

They left the wrestling pitch when the number of people had grown fewer and the number of praises on Ibekwe have lessened to the night growl of a weak bird roosting under the rough terrain of crumpled leaves.

Ofu old legs rocketed in platonic propulsion as he chatted with Ihuoma about their hazy past. Slowly, the wrapper tied around Ihuoma's waist flared out and she tightened it as she saw Nwaka, Ezinne and Ibekwe approaching.

Nwaka greeted his parents so did Ezinne and Ibekwe. He always liked being the first to share a good news to his old father especially when it involved the triumph of his son.

“Father, your grandson just won a wrestling match,” Nwaka said. 

Nwaka's voice was soft and cajoling. He reached towards Ofu and jerked his shoulders softly as if that would quicken the impact of his words.

“The gods be praised,” Ofu declared. “I know Ibekwe is a good wrestler even though he has avoided the sport. That is why our people say that what an old man can see sitting down, a young man cannot see even if he climbs the tallest Iroko tree. He has done well.”

Ibekwe stood close to his father and grandfather as if he was preparing for another wrestling bout. He watched as his father described the wrestling match with banality, turning around and tuggjng him on the shoulders to make reference when he had reached a certain stage in the story that required physical description.

“Ibekwe will tell you more about it. I am taking my wife home. Goodnight father and mother. May the good gods allow both of you to live and see your grandson win more wrestling bouts,” Nwaka said.

Nwaka lumbered away and Ibekwe felt he was lugging his mother along with him because she wanted to stay and wait till he was done talking to his grandparents so that they could go home together but she couldn't persist when Nwaka's firm arms were across her, pulling her to succumb to his own will.

“How was the wrestling match?” Ihuoma asked after Ibekwe's parents were only a vague figure in her eyes.

“It went well as expected.”

Ibekwe bent down. His body was flagging now and then, requesting for a desirable place to rest. He wanted to tell his grandparents that he was too tired to talk about the bout but he could not. Their faces were focused on his own, lunging to devour any words that would could out from his mouth.

Ofu got up and left. He came back with a low stool, jolting helplessly with the weight of the wood on his old hands. He was an unusual man. He had an awkward amount of energy which surpassed those of his age mates. He also had a natural flair for farming and made sure that he followed the young men of Umuoku to perform farming activities even at his old age. When the time for planting comes, he would grab his machete and go to his farm despite the pleas of Ihuoma for him to rest his aching and old bones. When the time for harvesting comes, he would also get ready to harvest his crops but this time, no one would stop him, not even his wife would dissuade him from bringing home the fruit of his labour because she knew her share was there.

“Who did you wrestle with?” Ofu asked.

“His name is Akagi. He is the best teenage wrestler,” Ibekwe replied.

“That is wonderful.”

“He is indeed a good wrestler,” Ibekwe said. His buttocks were crying in pain as it pressed the flat, hard wooden surface of the stool he sat on.

“How did you manage to win him?” Ofu asked.

“Luck was on my side.”

“There is nothing like luck. It is just our way of explaining something we think we don't deserve. Every great thing you achieve is based on your personal hard work compiled with the help of the gods. It is not luck that gave you that greatness but the motive, zeal and plan in you that remained restless until you fulfilled it. You are talented and when talents meets opportunity, we confuse the result with luck which is not true.”

“You are right grandfather. Can I stand up?” Ibekwe asked. He had bore the hard wood for several times and never complained.

“If you want to,” Nwaka replied.

Ibekwe got up and Ihuoma pulled the stool away. She felt relieved to be a part of their conversation with the little interference she made by pulling the stool away from Ibekwe. She knew how hard it was to interrupt Ofu when he is deeply engrossed in a discussion with his son or grandson.

“I will get you a bamboo chair,” Ihuoma said to Ibekwe. She got up and murmured, then turned to Ofu, “Don't steal my grandson away from me.”

Ihuoma formed a weak smile and left but never came back with the bamboo chair.

“Was Akagi tough on you?” Ofu asked as Ibekwe sat down on the empty chair that Ihuoma once occupied.

“He tried to be but the gods helped me,” Ibekwe said and smiled. “I took him as a strong opponent although I was afraid. I wrestled with him and the gods allowed me to overpower him.”

Ofu chest heaved with emotions and he rest his head on the bamboo chair. He started to whistle. He whistled one of his favourite old songs that had a melody that sounded rather too rash for Ibekwe. It also possessed a low pitch and talked about the journey of a loner named Ikezue who never returned back home. In the beginning, Ikezue was a young boy from a poor family. He dreamt of castles and mansions that were very tall and had never been seen in his own village or any part of Igbo land. One day, he met his poor mother who was a widow and told her about his dreams. His puzzled mother wept while blaming the cause of his hallucinations on her husband who had died during one of the communal wars that the village had lost. She rolled on the ground, constantly shouting that Ikezue had gone insane, that Ikezue had totally gone mad because he could no longer bear the death of his father. Ikezue tried to comfort his mother by telling her that he was not mad as she presumed and he was just a boy who dreamt of tall houses and larger buildings that were bigger than the huts they had in their village. His mother finally ran mad when he finally declared his intentions to find the tall houses and buildings.

On the day when a hen was roosting under the heat of the sun and a she-goat was bleating heavily because of the pangs of delivery, he set out on his journey, looking for the five streams he saw in his dream that would lead him to the tall houses and buildings. When he reached the first stream, he recognized it as the exact same shinning stream he saw in his dream and he smiled. He made an attempt to cross it but was abruptly stopped by a croaking frog who told him to pay a fine with his two hands which he gladly paid.

Ikezue crossed the first stream joyfully with no hands and thanked the large frog for allowing him to pass without harming him. The next day of his journey, he set off with fresh hopes of reaching the tall building and bringing the news of large castles and mansions to his people. He continued walking on a lonely path till he reached the second stream and was stopped by a gliding snake which was on top of the water. The snake hissed and said it was hungry before demanding to be fed with Ikezue's two ears which he gave immediately. The snake allowed Ikezue to cross the stream and he thanked the snake and rested after he reached shore.

On the third day of his journey, Ikezue woke up early and left quickly in search of the third stream that he saw in his dream. He did not wander for too long when he sighted a colourless stream, sparkling with rainbow colours. He rushed towards the stream to cross. A big fish appeared from the stream. The fish was bigger than any fish he had ever seen in his life. The big fish asked him to submit his two legs with signs because he couldn't hear and for the first time since he embarked on his journey, he refused to give any of his body parts. He told the fish that it would be worthless and a waste of time for him to reach the castles and tall houses paralyzed but the big fish did not listen to his words. The big fish quickly pulled out his two legs and crossed him to shore. With no limbs, Ikezue rolled on the ground till he reached a shade of trees where he rested his tired body and slept.

The fourth day of his journey was a tough one for Ikezue. He managed to roll to the fourth stream which he luckily discovered in a short period of time. He attempted to cross the stream but was presented by a sea monster who demanded for his eyes. Before he could protest, the sea monster stretched its hands and plucked the two eyes from Ikezue's eye sockets and carried him across the stream. 

Being all alone in his anguish and without no limbs, ears and eyes, he rolled aimlessly on the last day to search for the last stream that would lead him to the tall buildings and castles that he saw in his dreams. Luckily, he arrived at the fifth and last stream before noon. He tried to cross over and enter the city of the castles and tall buildings when he heard the voice of a mermaid calling him from the stream. The mermaid enticed him not to bother himself. She told him that his sufferings had ended and his time for merry had already come. So strong was his excitement that when she demanded for his heart, he did not hesitate, believing that his sufferings had come to an end. He died after giving the mermaid his heart and his corpse was mysteriously returned to his village. The next day he was buried in his compound, close to his mother who had died days ago when she discovered that he had left her alone.

Ibekwe never understood the meaning of Ofu's whistling or Ikezue's story until Ofu told him that the story was created by an old man from Umuolu who believed that large buildings and castles which were bigger and taller than their small huts, existed in some parts of the world outside the boundaries of Umuolu and Igbo land.

“Let's go inside and sleep,” Ofu said after he stopped whistling.

Ibekwe carried the bamboo chairs and gazed at Ofu. He watched as his grandfather looked at the stars primitively and started counting them, peering closely at the dwarf ones as a separate entity that coincided with his world of illusion.

“You should stop counting the stars. Your hands gets weaker when you lift them towards the sky. You are hurting them,” Ibekwe said and dropped the chairs in a corner not too far away from them.

“The stars are my memories. They help in reminding me about my childhood days when my father and I sat on the verandah of our hut. Those days, I used to prepare the food we ate because my mother had died a long time ago. Staring at the stars was a beautiful thing that my father taught me. He told me some of the large stars you see over there were past warriors of Umuolu who had died while fighting for the land. You see that star over there,” Ofu pointed at a large star. “That is my father. While that one beside it,” he pointed at another thin and glowing star. “That is my mother. My father once said that if you stare at those stars for a long a period of time, you will receive a message from a dead relative.”

“Did it ever work?” Ibekwe asked.

“Not yet. But I still count the stars anyway. It helps me to think of the type of star I would become once I join our ancestors.”

“Which kind of star would you turn into?”

“That one,” Ofu said and pointed at a large star. “That is the star I would become.”

“I pray the gods grant you your wish grandfather.”

“They will grant it because you have said so.”

Ofu dragged Ibekwe into his arms and gave him a stiff hug. It was hard, rigid and pure. They laughed.

“We must go inside now. The wind is blowing really hard,” Ibekwe said.

Ibekwe followed Ofu, moving slowly from behind. The affection of his grandfather was blending with his mind than the victory of his wrestling bout. 

Ofu snuggled him into another hug. It was warm and cozy. The hug was different from the previous one. He touched the door, hands trembled and quivered like unstable palm-wine. He pressed his thumb and index finger on the door knob and pushed it aside. The fresh and unusual smell of the room shook Ibekwe. It made him feel cool and safe.

Sitting down at the far end of the room, near the muddy wall that had little cracked holes that had not been repaired for a long time, Ofu heard a noise, got up and tried to hit a rat that was running away with a stick he had found lying on the wall. The rat escaped.

“Your father doesn't take good care of me,” Ofu said. He was stuttering and breathing heavily, still clinging to the stick.

“Why do you feel so?” Ibekwe asked.

“Ibekwe!” Ofu called in his usual hushed tone that created a sense of emptiness between both of them. A sense of emptiness that erased the closeness they were feeling. “Your father pays too much attention to his wife. I mean your mother.”

“But it is his duty to pay more attention to his wife than to anybody.”

“Even his father,” Ofu said. He dropped the stick and sat down with his legs tucked up, under him in a subdued form.

“Don't you like talking with grandmother than with my father?” Ibekwe asked.

“Your grandmother is quite different. She is remarkable and she likes laughing a lot. Your father is like her. He also likes laughing.”

“It means there is no difference between both of them. They like laughing,” Ibekwe said, wondering what was wrong with laughing.

“There is a big difference. Your grandmother can laugh but your father has to be serious. He shouldn't laugh too much when he is around me.”

“But grandfather, my father doesn't laugh too much when he is around you.”

Ofu shook his head. Ibekwe was getting difficult for him to convince.

“Your father is always smiling and he is too cheerful. He ought to be strong like me,” Ofu lifted his hands and stiffened his muscles. “Your mother is the cause of his weakness. He spends too much time with her.”

“So you are saying that father is weak.”

“He only became weak when he married your mother.”

Ibekwe watched as Ofu walked towards the window in a weak gait. His wrinkled face was crumpled into a dark shadow that tapered to a slow, dying man. A man who was aware of something that Ibekwe did not know.

“Your father would become like that when he dies,” Ofu said, pointing at a weak glowing star.

“He won't be a weak star.”

“He is weak and only weak men turn into weak stars when they die. If your father wasn't weak, he wouldn't be excited to tell me about your triumph over Akagi. That is a woman thing to do. Tell stories!”

“Now I get what you are trying to say.” Ibekwe eyes widened. “You are angry because he was too eager to talk about my wrestling bout while I wasn't.”

Ofu nodded and grimmed.

“You are very sharp. I hope you don't end up like your father when you get married,” Ofu said.

“I won't. I will please you spirit by being a strong man.”

Ibekwe drew closer to Ofu and touched him on the shoulders. A clean smile appeared on Ofu's face. A smile that Ibekwe did not see, hidden in the dark.

“You have to sleep now. It is good for your health,” Ibekwe adviced.

He held Ofu by his hands and they walked to his room. The room Ofu shared with Ihuoma. Ibekwe allowed his eyes to study, once again, the grey hair that illuminated the bald head of his grandfather.

“I will leave you now,” Ibekwe said as he helped Ofu to lie down on the bamboo bed beside Ihuoma.

He watched as Ofu still held on to the clean smile on his face then he averted his gaze. When he turned back again, he watched as Ofu clambered near Ihuoma but did not touch her. He watched as he remained solitary, clustered his eyes and make a loud yawn.

“Goodnight grandfather,” Ibekwe said.

“Ibekwe!” Ofu called.

“Yes grandfather.”

“Come and sit down close to me.”

Ibekwe stared at Ofu. His grandfather's eyes were bothered. They were bothered about something that was deeply rooted into something that he had silently bore alone for a long time.

“You need to sleep,” Ibekwe said as he sat down on the bed.

“Sleep is good when you eyes are willing to close.”

Ofu paused and looked at Ihuoma then at Ibekwe. He coughed slightly and sat down.

“Grandfather, I will leave you so that you can rest.”

“I have something important to tell you,” Ofu replied.

Ibekwe touched Ofu. His body was vibrating, not exciting and full of life and ecstasy. It was stone cold.

“Tomorrow when you are strong, you can tell me what is bothering you,” Ibekwe said adamantly.

Ibekwe gazed at Ofu in silence. His pupils were dilated, increasing suddenly like never before as if he was seeing his future with two human eyes.

“I must free my heart from the wickedness if harbours,” Ofu yelled.

“All right. I will listen to you since you insist.”

“Ibekwe I did a very bad thing when I was around your age.”

Ofu paused. He was not getting the right words to express himself and Ibekwe noticed it from the short, silent cracks that he made.

“What bad thing did you do?” Ibekwe asked.

Ofu straightened up and clasped his hands together. They mixed swiftly and neatly. He felt glad for the burden he was about to share.

“I nearly killed someone some years ago,” Ofu said.

“Who did you try to kill?” Ibekwe asked.

“I tried to kill my brother, Abuo. I have been having bad dreams lately.”

Ibekwe stared at Ofu's old and wrinkled face. It seemed bloated but it was normal. It was stable and bore a terrible tale about a failed homicide he never knew about until now.

“Where you the only one who plotted to kill your brother?”

“It was me and my brother, Ato who plotted to kill him.”

“Why would you think of doing such a terrible thing grandfather?”

“I don't know what was going on in my head. I think it was our mother's land in this village but I can't really remember. I have been having strange dreams of me dying. I have a feeling that someone is trying to kill me.”

“Who would want to kill an old man like you?” Ibekwe asked.

“That is what am going to find out tomorrow when I meet the chief priest. Thank you for listening to my confessions, I must sleep now.”

Ibekwe backed out as soon as he heard the sound of Ofu's chest limping up and down as it went on its brief journey. He searched through the darkness for the opposite room in the hut where his father used to sleep when he was young. The room had remained untouched for several years. He thought of going back to the first room that he was planning on sleeping in but he changed his mind.

Inside the room, he sat down on the dust-laden bed. It was filled with dusts that reminded him of the hazy harmattan that swept around the village in no particular direction, tossing and pulling dried leaves and arboreal animals from their permanent habitat.

That cool night when he rested his head on the bamboo bed that had only being used by his father, he did not imagine his parents sleeping together in the darkness without him by their side nor did he imagine the meaning of the ancient stories that his mother told him instead he imagined his grandfather and his grandfather's brother, Ato, holding a machete in their hands and threatening Abuo with their hands united at his throat.

The proxy voice of a man instructing a woman to touch Ibekwe, drained him out of his sleep. He stared at the two people in front of him and quickly identified them as his parents.

“Mother! Father! What are you doing here?” He asked.

Ezinne was silent. She wailed and shrieked before she finally found comfort in the arms of Nwaka.

“Father! What is wrong?” 

Ibekwe fought against his weakness and stood up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Ibekwe!” Nwaka called, turning and bending his eyes to look at Ezinne who was hugging him tightly and crying. “The evil spirits have struck.”

“What happened father? Where is grandfather and grandmother?”

Nwaka lifted his eyes and grappled the resistance that was growing within him.

“Ibekwe, you have to be a man.” 

“Why are you saying all these things?”

Nwaka lifted his eyes once again, more higher than he had did the first time. He released Ezinne from his arms.

“Your grandparents are dead.”

Ofoedu came in the evening to Ofu's hut. He whispered some prayers in quick succession and parted a kola nut into two equal halves. He chewed slowly, in scattered crunches and spat on the ground. Pressing his lips together, he stared at the kola nuts he had spat on the ground before turning to look at the lifeless bodies of Ofu and Ihuoma that were wrapped with thick cloths.

“Ofu! You were a wise man. Your name means one but you have refused to die alone. You are a man who choose to die along with his wife. A foreigner who did wonders in a foreign land. May the gods find those who killed you and your wife and take vengeance on them. May your ancestors accept you and Ihuoma's spirits.”

The corpses were lifted in the air. They swung freely and jerked in the shoulders of the men assigned to carry their bodies to the village shrine. Ofoedu said a prayer and the hefty carriers responded in agreement. Palm-wine was poured and a man was sent to announce to the village town crier to prepare the drums for death songs.

After the hefty men left, followed by Ofoedu who kept on muttering some prayers to himself, Ibekwe held his mother's arms. Ezinne tears had stopped. He lifted her arms and curled up to her, brooding silently until his sorrowful father instructed him to go home.