for life.’
‘But those boys don’t look evil to me,’ he said, a frown on his face.
‘As I said, tradition labelled them so. They’re innocent children, merely unfortunate enough to have lost both parents at a tender age.’
‘So they’re not evil?’
‘No, they’re not evil. They’re victims of an evil tradition. It has been like that for as long as anyone can remember.’ A sigh escaped me.
He stayed silent with his hands in his lap. I could tell in his eyes that the revelations deeply saddened him, but they were truths he had to know.
Suddenly, the moth hugged the lantern, flapping its wings in a vain struggle as it was singed to death. Noah sighed. I sighed too. After he had gone to bed, I remained by the lantern for a long time, thinking.
*
The next day, I walked through the village, hoping to find someone with whom I could discuss my plight. The sun burned fiercely; the thatched roofs could be heard cracking, as if on fire. The women and young girls were plaiting each other’s hair in the shade of trees, enervated by the heat and talking in low voices. Only a handful of children could be seen playing, and they did so without passion. The men and older children who had gone to the farms, the rivers and the forests to work were not yet back. As soon as they returned, the village would be stirred awake by a frenzy of activity, and thick smoke would go up into the sky as the women prepared dinner.
Hostile faces glanced at me. I wondered if any of them might soften their hearts if I approached them, but I could not muster the courage to do so. I slowed my pace, hoping that someone would give me a kind smile, a sign to encourage me to talk to them. None did, so I trudged on.
I came to Main Street. It was not market-day, so it was empty, and the sound of silence echoed around me. The stalls looked abandoned, the entire market desolate; not even the incandescent sun could brighten my mood. I reached the stall that used to be mine. I lingered in front of it. Somehow, it looked isolated from the others, and I suspected that the new owner must have shut it down. For a while I was overcome by memories of the time, not long ago, when so many merchants came to our village to buy and sell. I shook my head. I wondered which market the merchants had moved on to.
I avoided the palace, sprawling in the distance. I could see some royal guards strolling lazily around its vicinity. The old Chief was probably in his inner chamber, resting in the company of one or more of his pretty young wives. And the horse was probably resting, too, inside the compound of the palace, waiting to take its master to pursue and acquire the next poor girl.
I took a long detour, scrutinising the houses that I passed. They were all built of red mud and had tall thatched roofs, yet each one looked so different from the others. Soon I could see my parents’ house – still as I used to know it – one of the few houses, like mine, that had a wall around it. There was no one nearby, no one visible within. I stood at a distance to see if someone would come out. No one did. I moved on after a while, a deep loneliness weighing on my heart.
*
At about noon, the same barefooted guard who had visited to summon me to the palace came to deliver a message from the Chief. This time he came without his stick. Instead, he carried a red cockerel, whose feet were bound together with a white rope. I was in the living room with Noah when he came. Unlike the last time, he greeted me politely, but I did not bother to respond.
‘What is it you want now? What is it?’ I asked petulantly. ‘Can’t you just leave us in peace?’
‘It’s in peace I come with a message from our Chief,’ he said with a bow.
‘And what message?’ I asked without interest.
‘The great Chief asked me to present this cockerel to you as an indication of his desire to make you one of his wives. By that, you will no longer be called a widow, and you will not lose custody of your son.’
For a moment I was too dumbfounded to say a word. Beside me, Noah sat quietly. I could feel his heart racing.
‘You will go back to the Chief and tell him that he has two legs of his own, or maybe the four hooves of his horse, and I will not receive such an important message from a guard.’
‘The Chief cannot deliver the message himself.’
‘And why not?’
‘Because you are a common widow!’ he cried. ‘Tradition forbids the Chief to deliver a message like this to you himself. He is doing you a favour, you see.’
‘Now go back to the Chief, and tell him that I don’t need his favour.’
The guard shook his head. ‘I cannot deliver such a message to the Chief. You’re expected to accept the Chief’s proposal and go back with me to the palace to formalise marriage arrangements.’
I clapped my hands and shook my head in disbelief. A quiet laughter escaped me. ‘Now I must ask you to leave my house,’ I said in a warning tone.
‘You’re expected to come with me to the palace,’ the guard insisted.
‘Okay, wait for me.’
The guard smiled.
I went to the backyard, Noah hot on my heels. ‘What are you going to do, Mother?’ he asked repeatedly. Getting no response from me, he began to cry.
I found a large stick, and I returned with it to the living room.
‘I demand that you leave my house now!’ I shouted at the guard.
‘No, I cannot! You have to come with me,’ he protested, taken aback.
I attacked him, jabbing him in the stomach with the stick. ‘I say leave my house!’
He ran out, stumbling as he did so. And he fled as fast as his legs would carry him, glancing over his shoulder and struggling to hold on to the red cockerel.
To my surprise, Noah stopped crying and began to laugh. I laughed too. I drew him to me and wiped his tearstained face with my palm. I tried not to show the fear that had gripped me, knowing there would be consequences for my action.
*
Not long after, a town crier could be heard sounding a gong and repeating a short announcement. ‘The great Chief requests that the whole village converge at the palace in three hours’ time for a meeting,’ he said. Other messengers went swiftly to the farms to announce it to the farmers; to the forests to notify the hunters; and to the rivers to inform the fishermen.
Just like the first time, a large crowd had already gathered by the time I arrived at the palace, and I stayed on the fringe, holding Noah by the hand.
Soon, the Chief came out to the balcony, and he took his seat on the tall stool. His guards and lesser chiefs took up position. He wasted no time getting to the point of the meeting. ‘People of our great village,’ he began, ‘not only is Ese a widow now, she has also become a thug.’ He spoke the words with venom, and he paused to survey the crowd. ‘Today, I sent one of my guards to deliver a message to her, and she attacked him with a dangerous weapon.’
A ripple went through the crowd. The Chief raised his horsetail for silence.
He continued, his voice rising with every word: ‘From this moment, I pronounce that Ese should be treated as an outcast, until I say otherwise. But the boy must not be punished for his mother’s sins; our laws forbid that. And if she fails to remarry as prescribed by law, she will lose custody of the boy.’
‘No one can take my son from me!’ I yelled from the back of the crowd. A few heads turned to look at me.
I was trembling with anger and fear. I could no longer listen to the Chief’s words. I pulled Noah after me; we left the meeting and returned home. For the rest of the day we remained indoors, isolated even from the noises of the village that filtered into our home.
*
That