“Is that all you want to say?” Kena asked.
“I will do my best for you and the family we will raise,” he told her.
“I don't know what to say, but I will give you my reply next market day,” she said.
It was on that note that they parted. It was late in the afternoon and the market was gradually losing its crowd of traders and buyers who were on their way out with wares they had bought or left unsold.
Amraibure got neither yes nor no. Kena's instantaneous laughter continued to ring in his head as he went home and for days to come lived with the ringing headache of the young woman's obsequious laughter.
Kena knew that Amraibure was a strong young man, a promising one for that matter, who might live to be great in Okpara and in all Agbon, and it would not be a bad idea being his wife. He danced well, he followed old people to do things, and was respected for the way he carried himself at least before them. The child who respected elders would himself grow to earn respect, she thought. It was with the eyes one could tell the ram that would stand out of a pack, she also believed.
But while it would not be a bad idea to be Amraibure's wife, Kena was not sure she would like to be that woman. Her feelings towards him were not warm enough for somebody she would like to marry and live with for the rest of her life. She could not imagine her conceiving and having a baby or children for him. She could not even imagine their sleeping together as husband and wife and making love. She could not imagine them living in one home. However, she was unsure and would tell her mother at a suitable time.
After two days of delaying and acts of coyness that betrayed her as holding back something important that she wanted to say, she felt she had to break the news of Amraibure's marriage proposal to her mother. It was at night, before she would leave her mother for her bed. She sat beside her mother on the bed.
“Mama, I have something to tell you,” Kena told her mother.
“What did you hear that you want to tell me about?” her mother asked.
“It is not what I heard, but what somebody told me,” she answered.
“What is so special in what somebody told you that you have to tell it to me?” her mother asked.
“You won't believe this but it happened,” Kena said.
“Has somebody asked you to marry him? Who is the lucky man who wants to marry my beautiful daughter?” she asked in a tender manner, stretching her hand to hold her daughter's right hand.
Kena was confused for a moment and could not answer immediately.
“Go ahead and tell me what happened,” her mother ordered in a rather jovial manner.
“Amraibure says he likes me and will like to marry me,” she said.
“No!” her mother said emphatically.
“Why, Mama?”
“Amraibure cannot become your husband,” her mother replied.
This was one of those things for which she said “No!” before reasons of her refusal came to her mind, Kena's mother reflected.
“Amraibure, the shrine boy?” she asked.
“That was when he was small,” Kena said, and felt surprised that she was defending Amraibure.
“But the spirits of past victims do not leave the living alone,” her mother told her.
Kena was quiet. She did not know what to say but would listen to her mother.
“Amraibure has been the priest's help, and those who perform sacrifices are haunted by what they sacrifice. One may think that the chickens, goats, cows, and bulls are dead and have no power, but that is not true. They have spirits, as human beings, and they trouble who slaughter them,” Kena's mother explained to her.
Everybody associated Amraibure with sacrifices and eating the offal of sacrificed animals. Not being a priest, he might not have the immunity against what he had sacrificed over the years. Even those sacrificed to could trouble the carriers of sacrifice when not satisfied with the offerings. Ancestors and gods became more demanding, the more they were served, Kena's mother wondered quietly. However, she felt she must speak out her mind to her daughter.
“Someday the gods would ask for the carrier of sacrifice, if they were not pleased with what they were offered. A dancer can always change steps, as things can turn on their heads,” she now reflected aloud to Kena's hearing.
“The pursuer can become the pursued! The one sacrificing can become the sacrifice! It is like what happens in our waters. The crocodile is often not interested in the worm bait; it is interested in the fisherman himself!” she again told her daughter.
These were reasons Kena could not clearly understand.
Only the day after her conversation with her mother about Amraibure, the young woman dreamed of the young man, who had proposed marriage to her; he was like an incubus pressing her hard. She woke with a shout that also awakened her mother sleeping nearby. There was something cumbersome about Amraibure that Kena started to hate. Within a few days, she had lost the very little interest she had had in Amraibure.
The following market-day, she wound her way to the same spot where they had met the previous one. Amraibure was already there, pricing articles that he would not buy but a strategy to while away time before she arrived. As soon as he saw her, he moved to some space where they could talk and not be disturbed by loud haggling.
“I didn't want to tell you the other time, but I am already given out to somebody else. Don't ask me any questions about it, but I can't marry you.”
“Did you tell your mother?” Amraibure asked.
“It doesn't matter if I told her or not. I won't marry you. She will not give her consent to our marriage anyway. She knows better than me,” she said.
Amraibure stood still, unable to say anything. Kena had again defeated him. What could he do to win her love? He asked himself.
“My mother is waiting for me. I can't stay here with you any longer. Try some other girls around,” she said, leaving Amraibure.
She had concluded instinctively that her fate and Amraibure's were different and she had better go her own way.
Twenty years later Amraibure was returning from checking his cone nets in the stream in the late afternoon and saw a wearied Kena. She was no doubt exhausted by the long journey and by the big baby on her back. Her face had creased from fatigue and deep thought about her plight. The usually vivacious personality had been shed for a sombre look. He had recognized her profile from afar before he drew closer to her. She had not changed much despite the years. She might be walking slowly but her gait was unmistakably hers and he would know her shadow from her walk among a hundred people. Her physical profile had obsessed him; or, rather, the rejection of long ago had made him think so much about her. She was impressed in his consciousness because he had not fully forgotten how she had shamed him. He still hoped a time would come when he would avenge what he considered to be defeat by a woman. Amraibure would never consider himself a full man in the presence of Kena or as long as she lived. And that he also related to his personal success. How could he be successful until Kena came back to beg him to be his second wife? Of course, it would then be his turn to ask her to leave him alone because he was a happily married man and did not want her.
Though downcast, Kena looked up to see who was passing her on the road. She also easily recognized Amraibure, who had not lost a bit of his energetic strides. He had grown more robust and taller but he remained the same person she knew. There was a moment of silence, as if each was gauging the situation and thinking who should greet the other first. It was such a brief period that there was not much time to delay reflection.
“Do-oooh!” she greeted him.