Akata Witch (22 page)

“Now they start!” Mballa announced. “Miknikstic crouches low as Sayé prepares to give him the worst.”

The zipper caught a little on Sayé’s sleeve and he looked down, but even before this, Miknikstic was in motion, quickly moving to the side and lunging at Sayé. Sayé had barely ripped the sleeve off when Miknikstic threw a hard punch at his head.

“Wah!” the audience shouted.

“Look at that!” Sasha screamed, standing up.

Sunny wanted to close her eyes. But she didn’t. She knew that no matter what she did, the fight would continue.

Sayé staggered several steps and fell. Everyone in the crowd stood up and started shouting.

“Get up, o!”

“Brilliant!”

“
Chineke
!”

“Why did I bet on that man?”

“Allah will protect you! But only if you
get
up!”

“Use your ghost arm, you idiot!”

Miknikstic didn’t prance about talking trash as Muhammad Ali did in old TV footage. Nor did he spit on Sayé, gesticulate, taunt, beat his chest, or laugh, as they did in pro wrestling. Instead, Miknikstic stood over Sayé, looking down at him, waiting for him to get up or call it a match.

Sayé slowly got up. Miknikstic was ready. He must have seen what was coming next because he did everything he could to block it.

“Oh my goodness!” Sunny shouted when she saw Sayé’s right arm. It seemed to be made of a blue substance somewhere between water and mist. At first it was shaped like an arm, but as Sayé rushed at Miknikstic, it shifted and morphed.

Miknikstic held his arms up to block it, but it kept changing shape. It split in two. Miknikstic threw himself to the side. Sayé’s arm missed Miknikstic’s head by a fraction of an inch. Miknikstic tumbled and then quickly got up.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Sunny muttered. She’d just spoken to Miknikstic, and now he was out there fighting for his life. He’d been so kind to her.

Sayé landed a punch, sending Miknikstic flying and the crowd to its feet again. Sunny pressed her hands to the sides of her face. “No, no, no!”

“That was a heavy blow. Is he dead?” the commentator asked. “No. He still moves. Miknikstic is getting up. He spits out a tooth. Brushes himself off.”

Sunny shut her eyes and jammed her index fingers into her ears to block out the commentator’s gleeful descriptions. She sat like this for minutes, listening to herself breathe and the muffled sound of the crowd.

“Okay,” she finally said to herself. Her voice was loud with her ears plugged. “We’ll be going home after this, so—take it in. Even if it hurts. Miknikstic would be proud.”

Slowly, she opened her eyes. When she saw the two opponents, her vision blurred with tears. They were bleeding profusely, and neither would give up. She looked around at everyone. It was as if they’d become actual leopards, leopards who smelled blood. They were shouting and laughing and encouraging—nostrils, mouths, and eyes wide, trying to take it all in in as many ways as possible.

The only people who seemed calm were the scholars, who sat stiffly and clapped once in a while. Anatov had stopped getting up whenever Sayé or Miknikstic fell. His face was unsmiling and stern. Sunny, Sasha, Orlu, and Chichi were the only students who had stopped enjoying the spectacle. Chichi was frowning. Orlu had a stunned, blank look on his face. Sasha looked angry and glared at the commentator whenever one of the competitors fell, as if waiting for her to put a stop to it.

Miknikstic was wrestling with Sayé’s ghost arm, which kept escaping his grasp. A part of it extended away from Miknikstic. It threw a punch at Miknikstic’s chest. Miknikstic doubled over but didn’t fall. He wiped the blood from his face. Sayé took the moment to spit out a tooth.

Suddenly, Miknikstic’s face undulated.

“What the hell?” was all Sunny could say.

His face had become a wooden square mask. It looked like a robot—if a robot were made of wood. The crowd gasped in shock.

“Oh, Jesus,” Chichi said, looking away.

Sayé brought forth his spirit face, too—a gray stone face of a lion.

“And now they are down to it,” Mballa said. “The blood is flowing and the true selves emerge. Don’t turn away, people. Truly these two are noble and selfless men, o.”

They went at each other again. This time, their spirit selves took the lead. Miknikstic lumbered forward, and Sayé leaped. Miknikstic dodged Sayé, rolled around him, and grabbed his arm. He yanked. There was a loud
crack
, and Sayé’s good arm was dislocated from its socket. Sayé gave a mighty roar, rolled over Miknikstic, and drove his ghost hand right through Miknikstic’s chest.

A silence fell over the crowd. Sunny clapped her hand over her mouth.

Miknikstic fell to his knees, gushing blood. Sunny whimpered, tears rushing into her eyes. She wiped them away.

He whispered something to Sayé, and then fell to the ground. He was dead.

It started raining
chittim
on the field. As they fell, Sayé straightened out Miknikstic’s body. Not one
chittim
hit either of them. Sunny would never forget the metallic clacking. When the
chittim
stopped, Mballa the commentator found her voice. It cracked as she said, “Bow down to this year’s Zuma International Wrestling Cha—”

Miknikstic suddenly got up. He gazed up at the sky as brown feathered wings unfurled from his back. He crouched down and then leaped, shooting into the sky like a rocket.

“Oh, praise Allah! What a fight this was tonight!” Mballa shouted. “We have witnessed yet another fallen wrestling competitor become a guardian angel! People give our new champion, Sayé, and Saint Miknikstic a hand! Oh, this is just amazing! Amazing!
Ah-ah!
” She started clapping. The whole crowd could hear her soft sobs because she’d forgotten her voice was still amplified.

“I want to go home!” Sunny shouted, getting up. Anatov reached over his chair and grabbed her by the collar. “Let go! I hate this, I hate all of this! You people are crazy!”

Chichi stared at her feet. Sasha was furious. Orlu took Sunny’s hand. Anatov let go. Orlu pulled Sunny to him into a tight hug, and she sobbed into his chest.

“Keep her there,” Anatov said. “I have to go with the other scholars.”

Still holding on to Orlu, Sunny watched as Anatov joined the scholars walking into the arena. A woman ran in screaming. Another tall woman with long dreadlocks slowly followed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet Sankara, wife of Sayé and architect of the Leopard Town of Zerbo—and meet Kadiatou, wife of Saint Miknikstic and warrior of the Women of the Cliffs,” Mballa said. “Please give them a round of applause.”

The crowd thundered with applause as Sankara threw her arms around Sayé, wiping his bloody face with her garments. Kadiatou, Miknikstic’s wife, just stood there in the middle of the arena looking up at the sky.

“Now the scholars will help heal Sayé, so please don’t worry about our champion. He will be fine. The match is over,” Mballa said, out of breath. “I hope you enjoyed the show.” She ran her juju knife across her throat again and then just sat there.

They watched as people left, talking excitedly about the match. In the arena, the scholars had surrounded Sayé, who now lay on the ground. Sunny couldn’t see what they were doing exactly. Miknikstic’s wife stood in the middle of the arena, gazing at the sky. No one comforted or congratulated her.

Sunny pulled away from Orlu and, without a word, pushed some chairs aside. “What are you doing?” he asked.

She jumped into the arena and ran as fast as she could. She passed the group of scholars surrounding Sayé. They were humming and something was swooping about. She focused on Miknikstic’s wife. She was a lot taller up close. She wore a long dress made of the same yellow material as Miknikstic’s outfit, her long dreadlocks tied with a matching cloth. Sunny stepped up to her. She could smell the woman’s scented oil, like jasmine flowers. “Excuse me, Mrs.—”

“I am not ‘Mrs.’ anymore,” she said, her back to Sunny.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s what he’d always known he would become. He’s dreamed about it since he was a baby. But he didn’t know it would be so soon.”

Sunny began to feel as if she was imposing on the woman’s grief.

“I—I met your husband just before the match,” she ventured. “I’m a free agent and I just found out a few months ago and here I am now. I was upset because I was overwhelmed.” She paused. “He saw me and he . . . he talked to me and made me feel better. He gave me this.” She held up the yellow handkerchief. Miknikstic’s wife still didn’t turn around. “I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am to him.”

Silence. Sunny turned to leave.

“Wait,” Kadiatou said, turning to Sunny. She had a wide nose, round eyes, and two dark squiggles tattooed on each cheek. She wore a thick metal bracelet around each wrist. “Thank you,” she said. “My husband was a good person, but he picked and chose who he spoke to.” She clicked her bracelets together and they produced a large blue spark. “You have my blessing, too.” She tilted her head back to the sky.

Sunny hurried over to Orlu, who stood a few feet away.

“You met him?” he asked.

“Yeah, when I went to the bathroom.”

They walked past where Sayé still lay. He was groaning and his wife was sobbing, “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, my love! Be still.”

“He’ll be fine,” Anatov said, walking over to them.

“Now I know why my parents never brought me to watch,” Orlu said.

“This one was especially . . . eventful.”

“Why didn’t they stop it?” Sasha asked.

“Because life doesn’t work that way,” Anatov said. “When things get bad, they don’t stop until you stop the badness—or die.” He paused. “That’s an important lesson for
all
of you. This is why I brought you here. This is why you’re staying in that hotel. Look around, listen and learn. This is
not
a holiday. In a month, you will all be facing something as ugly as what these two men faced this afternoon.”

14

The Football Cup

After Anatov left for his meeting, they were free until eleven P.M. There were things to buy, the possibility of a soccer match, and a social for the students. But they had just witnessed death. And then something beyond death. They returned to the same booth where they’d bought lunch and ordered glasses of very weak sweet palm wine. It was the only type the vendors would sell to anyone underage. The four of them sat in brooding silence and sipped their drinks.

“Let’s cheer up some,” Chichi said suddenly. “Come on. We’re in Abuja with no parents. It’s barely two o’clock!” She pinched Sunny’s thigh, and after a moment, Sunny smiled. “Okay, okay,” she said, pushing Chichi’s hand away.

“Man, this place is wild,” Sasha said, looking around. Someone stood on a box, belting out a song in Arabic. A man walked by on shiny red metal stilts, trying to make children laugh. A group of old women and men was at a table arguing as they threw down cards. “I’ll bet there’s a lot we could get into if we just look around. Where’s that art fair?”

“Somewhere that way,” Orlu said, pointing toward the man on stilts. “And we’re not going to ‘get into’ anything while we’re here.”

“Yo, you need to relax,” Sasha said, annoyed.

A boy of about nine walked up to their table. “Either of you want to join the football match?” He spoke only to Orlu and Sasha.

“Yeah,” Sasha said. “Put me on the list. Name’s Sasha.” He pointed to Sunny. “Put her on, too.”

The boy frowned. “I don’t think—”

“You don’t think
what
?” Sasha asked, leaning menacingly toward the boy.

The boy looked adequately scared. “Well . . . she’s a
girl
.”

“So?”

“What about him?” the boy said, pointing at Orlu. “He can play instead.”

“Nah, man,” Sasha said. “Put her name down. If they ask you, just say she’s a dude. My name’s girly, and I’m a guy. So same with ‘Sunny,’ you hear?
We’ll
deal with the consequences when the time comes, not you.”

“O-okay,” the boy said, writing her name on the list.

“When’s the game?” Sasha asked.

“In an hour,” he said. He reached into his satchel. “Here are your uniforms. You’ll be on the green team.”

“Woohoo!” Sunny yelped when the boy had left. “I can’t wait!”

They both went to the public restrooms to change. She was glad to get out of her dressy clothes and take off her earrings. Thankfully, she’d worn sandals; if she’d worn dress shoes, she’d have had to play barefoot. She ran out to Orlu and Chichi and kicked her leg up as if she were scoring the biggest goal ever. “Gooooooooooal!” she shouted. “I hope they let me play.”

“Sasha will scare them into it,” Chichi said confidently.

“Maybe not,” Orlu said. “The guys you’ll be playing will be older. I’ve seen the football match. They’re impromptu, but brutal.”

“What do you mean, brutal?” Sunny asked, frowning.

“Not like wrestling,” Orlu quickly said. “Brutal like a good football match.”

She relaxed some and shrugged. “I’m playing. I don’t care.”

“You sure are,” Sasha said, throwing his rolled-up clothes on the bench and sitting down.

“Well, I can’t wait,” Chichi said. “I’ve never seen you play.”

“I’ve never really played,” she said, smiling. “I mean, I’ve played with my brothers, but only after dusk. I’ve been itching to play for years. I don’t care if it’s against boys or if they stick me in defense. I want to be out there.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna be our defense,” Sasha said. “We’ve kicked the ball around some. You’ve got killer footwork and aim.
You’re
playing center forward.”

“Center forward?” she exclaimed. She laughed. “Please. They’ll never—”

“Let me handle it,” Sasha said. “You just prove me right.”

Sunny and Sasha decided to go for a warm-up jog and see if they could meet up with the other players.

“We’re going to check out some of the shops,” Chichi said. “We’ll see you on the pitch.” Orlu slapped and grasped Sunny’s hand, then did the same to Sasha. “Be cool.”

The game was in the same field as the wrestling match. Sunny didn’t like the idea of playing soccer where someone had just died. Still, when they got there, everything from the match was already cleared away; it looked as if nothing had happened. A boy was walking around the goals inspecting the bright, crisp white lines.