voice was feeble and not vibrant as it used to be but it was clear in a singsong tone.
“Do-oh!” he greeted back, as if responding to the greeting of someone he did not know.
It was more like a shout than a greeting. There was reluctance in his response, because he did not slow down, nor did he ask “How are you?” as he was supposed to. He did not stop to ask her any questions about her condition or offer any condolences, as if he had not heard that she had lost her husband six months earlier. The news of her husband's death had spread all over Okpara because of her mother's hysteric cry for days, and Amraibure had heard. However, walking at a fast pace and with long strides, Amraibure overtook her, not willing to walk abreast with her and strike a conversation, and went his own way to town. He even stifled a hiss at the woman who had rejected him so many years back.
Yes, she had married a man from outside Okpara and had spent the last twenty years or so away. The lure of the handsome outsider caught up with her, Amraibure thought scornfully. She should have known that the handsome outsider would lose his lustre sooner or later; more so after she had gone to his home. He wished she had married a skull or monster transformed into a handsome man, as in folktales, just to fill her fantasy and then torment her. He would have liked her to regret her marriage to somebody else. There was a resurgence of the spirit of vengeance he had kept under control for the so many years they had not seen. He had always wished that something would be missing from her life and she would be unhappy with another man. Only he would have made her happy and made her life complete.
Now she was coming back home after squandering her youth and liveliness elsewhere. He had cast a furtive glance at her even as he wanted her to see him not paying attention to her any longer. It was true that she still retained her beauty but she was no longer the young beauty of Eregbe Street and all of Okpara. Her skin no longer shone with the special complexion that she had carried as a young girl. She was no longer in her prime, he realized with a sense of glee.
The past came back to Amraibure vividly. After Kena rejected his proposal to marry him, he went through a period of sober reflection. He then came to the conclusion that he wanted to do whatever would make him a man, the sort who would appeal to Kena. It would take him extraordinary effort to be such a man, and would not be possible because that man would not be him; it was not in his nature to be what he was not. He wanted to change Kena's mind and make her accept him as her future husband by means he would practice. An impatient man, who abandoned breaking a rock if he did not make a dent with a few strikes, he changed his mind and took a different route. If he, a hunter, could not bring down the antelope, he went for a softer target that would bring him another game. At this point of his life, he felt a woman was a woman and forgot about his earlier obsession with conquering Kena, whom, he felt, had defeated him and would not allow her the last word or laugh on their relationship. He would gradually absorb the pain of rejection and move on without Kena, even as he looked forward to that unknown day in the future when he would “conquer” her.
And so as soon as Kena had married and it had become futile for him longing for another man's wife in a distant land he did not care to know about, he himself had gone on with his life, as he had to, to marry Ovwode. He had gone only three streets away from his Imodje Street in Okpara to marry her. Many people had wondered whether they were not related in one way or another, but there was no evidence of a close blood kinship. A man used to performing rituals, Amraibure listened to the advice that he should slaughter a big he-goat as a precautionary means of absolving them from whatever bad things happened to relatives who married themselves. He did not want to father handicapped children or be cursed by the gods and be childless, consequences the people attributed to incestuous marriages.
Amraibure and Kena did not meet all these years both were separately married but had not forgotten that moonlit night of their youthful experience. Nor had both of them forgotten the marriage proposal and the rejection by the next market-day. In that short instance, as the man overtook the woman on the homeward path, none of them could tell what their lives would have been like if they had married. In her reflection, Kena saw him as a tree, one who could only be bent by a non-human force as that of a strong hurricane. That was despite the force that filled his frame. Amraibure recollected the momentary stripping in the moonlight. How she was like a fruit plant he could not reach to pluck to fill his desire! She who had been an antelope that a great hunter could not shoot without transforming into a disarming beauty! But that was long ago, and whatever happened then did not matter now. The period of twenty years had separated them like a big river and they could only live safely on either side of it.
Kena's return coincided with Titi's visit, and the town was in a festive mood for the most part. Amraibure had objected to Titi's surprise visit, as others had jubilated over her courage to come back and show them what she had become: a proud and prosperous woman that nobody dared accuse again of witchcraft. While others took time off from work to show solidarity with the victimized one who had triumphed over adversities, Amraibure went ahead with his daily work to show his scorn for the celebrants of what he called the witch's return.
That very afternoon, Obie recognized Kena as she entered town and lifted the child from her back because she was carrying too much on her head. They had not known themselves well before Kena married, as they had been in different age and play groups. Obie was much younger but they had seen each other from a distance. It was during Kena's marriage years that Obie had taken to woodcarving as his profession, and he was already gaining praises for his craft. As they approached Kena's parents' house, many people looked on and shook their heads in sorrow for what had happened to her. Nobody expected she would leave her marriage home despite the death of her husband. But there she was, and nobody knew why. Surely, there must be reasons for a woman to clasp two hands over her head, after she had given up what she was carrying.
Kena's mother was, however, expecting her. As soon as she saw her from a distance, she ran to embrace her. She was happy that her daughter had gone through mourning without falling ill. Things were bad, but could always be worse, she told her.
Many children and women ran to welcome Kena home. It was not the sort of welcome people looked towards. But as a wife in Agbon, the possibility of coming home finally was always there. You came home alive or dead. Most came home dead to be buried in their parents' places, their only real homes.
Among the women who came to console Kena was Oyeghe, who was in Okpara to visit her parents. She had been not only her “daughter” on the playground but also a maid in the party that escorted Kena to her husband. Now married herself, she could understand what Kena was going through.
Amraibure was proud of the fact that he had been born in Okpara and not in a village of Agbon. Like many Okpara people, he called any other town of Agbon a village. His father, Odibo, who had died ten years ago, after he had been relieved that his only son had married and not been ruined by witches, had been a remarkable man. He had not been a priest, in the true sense of the word, of one beholden to a god or sect, but had the demeanour of a chief priest. Odibo was known as a strong man. His strength did not derive from his physical size even though he was rather tall and plump. He was strong mystically because, people believed, he had fortified himself with medicines against rivals and enemies, the two types of people feared in Agbon. His Okpara townsfolk felt nobody could do him any harm because of the mystical power he had acquired. He was not initiated into any priestly cult or sect, but he had been a great masquerade performer. He had performed duties that were traditionally assigned to priests and had earned great respect from his people, who saw him as a medium of reaching their ancestors and the Supreme God. He brought his only son, whom, many believed, he was also fortifying mystically, to watch and sometimes participate in whatever he did.
From a very early age, Amraibure entered the community shrine that only adult males were allowed into. At that young age, he saw stacks of skulls tied here and there and hanging from the rafters of the shrine house. There were fresh and old skulls; some mouldy and damp, others dry. Some were worn out, cracked or broken and others in different stages of deterioration. Some were bleached white, others brownish from age. The skulls of the sacrificed animals gave an eerie look to the shrine house.
Even