Arrow of God (11 page)

Obika and his good friend, Ofoedu, sat with three other young men from Umuagu on the crude mat woven on the ground by exposed roots of an
ogbu
tree. In their midst stood two black pots of palm wine. Just outside their circle one empty pot lay on its side. One of the men was already drunk, but neither Obika nor Ofoedu appeared to have drunk a drop yet.

‘Is it true, Obika,’ asked one of the men, ‘that your new bride has not returned after her first visit?’

‘Yes, my friend,’ Obika replied light-heartedly. ‘My things always turn out differently from other people’s. If I drink water it sticks between my teeth.’

‘Do not heed him,’ said Ofoedu. ‘Her mother is ill and her father asked if she could stay back and look after her for a while.’

‘Aha, I knew the story I heard could not be true. How could a young bride hesitate over a handsome
ugonachomma
like Obika?’

‘Ah, my friend, come out from that,’ said the half-drunk man. ‘She may not like the size of his penis.’

‘But she has never seen it,’ said Obika.

‘You are talking to small boys of yesterday: She has not seen it!’

Soon after, the great Ikolo sounded. It called the six villages of Umuaro one by one in their ancient order: Umunneora, Umuagu, Umuezeani, Umuogwugwu, Umuisiuzo and Umuachala. As it called each village an enormous shout went up in the market place. It went through the number again but this time starting from the youngest. People began to hurry through their drinking before the arrival of the Chief Priest.

The Ikolo now beat unceasingly; sometimes it called names of important people of Umuaro, like Nwaka, Nwosisi, Igboneme and Uduezue. But most of the time it called the villages and their deities. Finally it settled down to saluting Ulu, the deity of all Umuaro.

Obiozo Ezikolo was now an old man, but his mastery of the king of all drums was still unrivalled. Many years ago when he was still a young man the six villages had decided to confer the
ozo
title on him for his great art which stirred the hearts of his kinsmen so powerfully in times of war. Now in his old age it was a marvel where he got the strength to work as he did. Even climbing on to the Ikolo was a great feat for a man half his age. Now those who were near enough surrounded the drum and looked upwards to admire the ancient drummer. A man well known to him raised his voice and saluted him. He shouted back: ‘An old woman is never old when it comes to the dance she knows.’ The crowd laughed.

The Ikolo was fashioned in the olden days from a giant iroko tree at the very spot where it was felled. The Ikolo was as old as Ulu himself at whose order the tree was cut down and its trunk hollowed out into a drum. Since those days it had lain on the same spot in the sun and in the rain. Its body was carved with men and pythons and little steps were cut on one side; without these the drummer could not climb to the top to beat it. When the Ikolo was beaten for war it was decorated with skulls won in past wars. But now it sang of peace.

A big
ogene
sounded three times from Ulu’s shrine. The Ikolo took it up and sustained an endless flow of praises to the deity. At the same time Ezeulu’s messengers began to clear the centre of the market place. Although they were each armed with a whip of palm frond they had a difficult time. The crowd was excited and it was only after a struggle that the messengers succeeded in clearing a small space in the heart of the market place, from which they worked furiously with their whips until they had forced all the people back to form a thick ring at the edges. The women with their pumpkin leaves caused the greatest diffi-culty because they all struggled to secure positions in front. The men had no need to be so near and so they formed the outside of the ring.

The
ogene
sounded again. The Ikolo began to salute the Chief Priest. The women waved their leaves from side to side across their faces, muttering prayers to Ulu, the god that kills and saves.

Ezeulu’s appearance was greeted with a loud shout that must have been heard in all the neighbouring villages. He ran forward, halted abruptly and faced the Ikolo. ‘Speak on,’ he said to it, ‘Ezeulu hears what you say.’ Then he stooped and danced three or four steps and rose again.

He wore smoked raffia which descended from his waist to the knee. The left half of his body – from forehead to toes – was painted with white chalk. Around his head was a leather band from which an eagle’s feather pointed backwards. On his right hand he carried
Nne Ofo
, the mother of all staffs of authority in Umuaro, and in his left he held a long iron staff which kept up a quivering rattle whenever he stuck its pointed end into the earth. He took a few long strides, pausing on each foot. Then he ran forward again as though he had seen a comrade in the vacant air; he stretched his arm and waved his staff to the right and to the left. And those who were near enough heard the knocking together of Ezeulu’s staff and another which no one saw. At this, many fled in terror before the priest and the unseen presences around him.

As he approached the centre of the market place Ezeulu re-enacted the First Coming of Ulu and how each of the four Days put obstacles in his way.

‘At that time, when lizards were still in ones and twos, the whole people assembled and chose me to carry their new deity. I said to them:

‘“Who am I to carry this fire on my bare head? A man who knows that his anus is small does not swallow an udala seed.”

‘They said to me:

‘“Fear not. The man who sends a child to catch a shrew will also give him water to wash his hand.”

‘I said: “So be it.”

‘And we set to work. That day was Eke: we worked into Oye and then into Afo. As day broke on Nkwo and the sun carried its sacrifice I carried my Alusi and, with all the people behind me, set out on that journey. A man sang with the flute on my right and another replied on my left. From behind the heavy tread of all the people gave me strength. And then all of a sudden something spread itself across my face. On one side it was raining, on the other side it was dry. I looked again and saw that it was Eke.

‘I said to him: “Is it you Eke?”

‘He replied: “It is I, Eke, the One that makes a strong man bite the earth with his teeth.”

‘I took a hen’s egg and gave him. He took it and ate and gave way to me. We went on, past streams and forests. Then a smoking thicket crossed my path, and two men were wrestling on their heads. My followers looked once and took to their heels. I looked again and saw that it was Oye.

‘I said to him: “Is it you Oye across my path?”

‘He said: “It is I, Oye, the One that began cooking before Another and so has more broken pots.”

‘I took a white cock and gave him. He took it and made way for me. I went on past farmlands and wilds and then I saw that my head was too heavy for me. I looked steadily and saw that it was Afo.

‘I said: “Is it you Afo?”

‘He said: “It is I, Afo, the great river that cannot be salted.”

‘I replied: “I am Ezeulu, the hunchback more terrible than a leper.”

‘Afo shrugged and said: “Pass, your own is worse than mine.”

‘I passed and the sun came down and beat me and the rain came down and drenched me. Then I met Nkwo. I looked on his left and saw an old woman, tired, dancing strange steps on the hill. I looked to the right and saw a horse and saw a ram. I slew the horse and with the ram I cleaned my matchet, and so removed that evil.’

By now Ezeulu was in the centre of the market place. He struck the metal staff into the earth and left it quivering while he danced a few more steps to the Ikolo which had not paused for breath since the priest emerged. All the women waved their pumpkin leaves in front of them.

Ezeulu looked round again at all the men and women of Umuaro, but saw no one in particular. Then he pulled the staff out of the ground, and with it in his left hand and the
Mother of Ofo
in his right he jumped forward and began to run round the market place.

All the women set up a long, excited ululation and there was renewed jostling for the front line. As the fleeing Chief Priest reached any section of the crowd the women there waved their leaves round their heads and flung them at him. It was as though thousands and thousands of giant, flying insects swarmed upon him.

Ugoye who had pushed and shoved until she got to the front murmured her prayer over and over again as the Chief Priest approached the part of the circle where she stood:

‘Great Ulu who kills and saves, I implore you to cleanse my household of all defilement. If I have spoken it with my mouth or seen it with my eyes, or if I have heard it with my ears or stepped on it with my foot or if it has come through my children or my friends or kinsfolk let it follow these leaves.’

She waved the small bunch in a circle round her head and flung it with all her power at the Chief Priest as he ran past her position.

The six messengers followed closely behind the priest and, at intervals, one of them bent down quickly and picked up at random one bunch of leaves and continued running. The Ikolo drum worked itself into a frenzy during the Chief Priest’s flight especially its final stages when he, having completed the full circle of the market place, ran on with increasing speed into the sanctuary of his shrine, his messengers at his heels. As soon as they disappeared the Ikolo broke off its beating abruptly with one last KOME. The mounting tension which had gripped the entire market place and seemed to send its breath going up, up and up exploded with this last beat of the drum and released a vast and deep breathing down. But the moment of relief was very short-lived. The crowd seemed to rouse itself quickly to the knowledge that their Chief Priest was safe in his shrine, triumphant over the sins of Umuaro which he was now burying deep into the earth with the six bunches of leaves.

As if someone had given them a sign, all the women of Umunneora broke out from the circle and began to run round the market place, stamping their feet heavily. At the beginning it was haphazard but soon everyone was stamping together in unison and a vast cloud of dust rose from their feet. Only those whose feet were weighed down by age or by ivory were out of step. When they had gone round they rejoined the standing crowd. Then the women of Umuagu burst through from every part of the huge circle to begin their own run. The others waited and clapped for them; no one ran out of turn. By the time the women of the sixth village ran their race the pumpkin leaves that had lain so thickly all around were smashed and trodden into the dust.

As soon as the running was over the crowd began to break up once more into little groups of friends and relations. Akueke sought out her elder sister, Adeze, whom she had last seen running with the other women of Umuezeani. She did not search very far because Adeze stood out in any crowd. She was tall and bronze-skinned; if she had been a man she would have resembled her father even more than Obika.

‘I thought perhaps you had gone home,’ said Adeze. ‘I saw Matefi just now but she had not seen you at all.’

‘How could she see me? I’m not big enough for her to see.’

‘Are you two quarrelling again? I thought I saw it on her face. What have you done to her this time?’

‘My sister, leave Matefi and her trouble aside and let us talk about better things.’

At that point Ugoye joined them.

‘I have been looking for you two all over the market place,’ she said. She embraced Adeze whom she called
Mother of my Husband
.

‘How are the children?’ asked Adeze. ‘Is it true you have been teaching them to eat python?’

‘You think it is something for making people laugh?’ Ugoye sounded very hurt. ‘No wonder you are the only person in Umuaro who did not care to come and ask what was happening.’

‘Was anything happening? Nobody told me. Was it a fire or did someone die?’

‘Do not mind Adeze, Ugoye,’ said her sister, ‘she is worse than her father.’

‘Did you expect what the leopard sired to be different from the leopard?’

No one replied.

‘Do not be angry with me, Ugoye. I heard everything. But our enemies and those jealous of us were waiting to see us running up and down in confusion. It is not Adeze will give them that satisfaction. That mad woman, Akueni Nwosisi, whose family has committed every abomination in Umuaro, came running to me to show her pity. I asked her whether someone who put a python in a box was not to be preferred to her kinsman caught behind the house copulating with a she-goat.’

Ugoye and Akueke laughed. They could clearly visualize their aggressive sister putting this question.

‘You are coming with us?’ asked Akueke.

‘Yes, I must see the children. And perhaps I shall exact a fine or two from Ugoye and Matefi; I fear they look after my father half-heartedly.’

‘Please, husband, I implore you,’ cried Ugoye in mock fear. ‘I do my best. It is your father who ill-treats me. And when you talk to him,’ she added seriously, ‘ask him why at his age he must run like an antelope. Last year he could not get up for days after the ceremony.’

‘Don’t you know,’ asked Akueke looking furtively back to see if a man was near; there was no one; even so she lowered her voice, ‘don’t you know that in his younger days he used to run as Ogbazulobodo? As Obika does now.’

‘It is you people, especially the two of you, who lead him astray. He likes to think that he is stronger than any young man of today and you people encourage him. If he were my father I would let him know the truth.’

‘Is he not your husband?’ asked Adeze. ‘If he dies tomorrow are you not the one to sit in ashes in the cooking-place for seven markets? Is it you or me will wear sackcloth for one year?’

‘What am I telling you?’ asked Akueke, changing the subject. ‘My husband and his people came the other day.’

‘What did they come for?’

‘What else would they come for?’