Chapter 13: Chapter 13

The air around the Igwe’s courtyard was contemptuous. Everyone sat still and caged their hands between their thighs. After some miserable moments, murmurs grew out from the crowd. They began to question what it was with the town crier that he misinformed the whole community. The people in whose hands the occasion was, were not anywhere near sight. One would expect it was only right Ikebe called on the people when he was sure the ground was set. They were still fumbling with Mazi Ikebe’s name on their lips when the equestrians emerged.

The bliss aroused with the children yelling and tossing their hands to stray as they jumped. They may not understand what it was, but the sight of humans driven by large animals excited them. The bliss soon caught up with the women who started a hymn and danced offkey to what they sang. Then, with the men, through Nwokocha who the Igwe has invited to receive his first title. Though he had not undertaken any noble task, the Igwe still found it appealing to distinguish him. He has been sitting all alone in the section reserved for distinguished nobles. The occupants of the place would be the men who had returned with the horses from the spirit world. The people knew quite well, that they left ample space for these men, enough to sit two buttocks for one person. Since Nwokocha entered the scene, he had changed several positions, searching for the best. He did not want to hide when others come to fill the vacant spaces.

Everywhere Nwokocha turned to, he did the arithmetic, taking to mind what it would be like if the place was full. After plotting his map, he would move to the next when he finds the current would not be favorable for him. He has done these many times and now he is in the front row. He sat quietly as he got tired of using his buttocks to dust the rest of the spaces for the other men.

When he discerned the source of the joy, he sprang and ran to the opposite end, and to the other ends to cheer the crowd. As he went, he screamed at the top of his voice, “Che...Che...Che...” Only when he had started to imagine it was never going to happen, the gods reinstated his hopes. Had the men not returned, what would have been his fate? His only fear was the Igwe changing his mind.

The mood all around became jubilant. Even Mazi Ikebe who had arrived and receded himself to a corner has now emerged. One does not have to see his face to tell. His voice very much represented his presence. When one hears a voice talking without stopping to gasp, he knew who it was.

“I knew they were on their way,” Mazi Ikebe said, in response to the grudge he sensed the people bore against him.

“Ikebe, have you been here?” Nwokocha asked. He was seeing him for the first time in the Igwe’s court. Throughout the day, he has only heard his voice when he was carrying messages across the community.

“Yes, I have been over there,” he responded, and Nwokocha smiled. Ikebe has found his lost voice and it is resounding already. “I have been telling them they will soon arrive but they will not listen.”

“Do they think you talk because the words are sweet like palm wine?”

Ikebe nodded to Nwokocha’s remark and carried on to the other places. Everyone must now know he is present in the Igwe’s court.

The last equestrian robbed off the joy from all facets. He lost control of the horse which galloped him into the court and tipped him off like a pile of wood. Everyone felt waves of anxiety, and their hands returned to their prisons. Bringing the horse into submission took the strength of a dozen youthful men. The victim was Ndukwe. Everyone sorted his households to give sympathy even though the horse has not hoofed him. He had gotten up at once and joined hands with the dozens to stop the horse from causing worse havoc. After beating the horses to the slaughter, the men proceeded to take their positions. The presence of Nwokocha in their midst stunk Ndukwe who was still harboring the heat of a hard time, so he flared up.

“Leave this place, Nwokocha,” Ndukwe demanded. The others had seen Nwokocha, but only exchanged greetings and joined him. What do they care, when the Igwe was not going to strip off their titles to give to him?

“Ndukwe, you have not asked me here,” Nwokocha responded.

“I will make you eat your excreta if you do not leave now.”

The two fightings divided the crowd into two distinct interests. Those who thought it was unjust to receive that which one has not labored for stood with Ndukwe. And the others who did not see Nwokocha receiving the title as a thing to bother one’s soul stood on the antipode.

“Ndukwe, do your worst, I dare you,” Nwokocha thundered. He grounded, ready for whatever, now that he pulled the tiger’s tail.

An elder clansman jumped between them and attended the one threatening hell. Unlike Ndukwe who was bargaining for his second title, Olisa has lost count of how many he has. Much to their unbelief, if these merits bring good fortune, Olisa is out of the human world.

“Do not let what is nothing to bother you,” Olisa said, but his counsel did no good as Ndukwe rebuffed it outright.

“You know Nwokocha should not be here.”

“I do not know who deserves this spot or not, but I know it is not in our place to say.”

“Ichie, you lied. Who does not know only those who had undertaken a noble task receives the Igwe’s title?” Ndukwe responded with the anger boiling inside his head.

“Who told you that titles are a reward for virtuous services?”

“Ask yourself questions before you come to talk to me.”

“I see your heart is as hard as a rock.”

“Leave me to face my battle, if you are not ready to say the truth.”

“I am hungry for cocoyam, but I cannot farm,” Njoku joked. He took side with Ndukwe, but does not want to sound obvious whose side he stood. Himself was like suckling on matters of sort.

“Why not rather say, ‘his farmland does not grow cocoyam’?” Nwosu responded.

“Titles are not like the tubers of yam. It does not finish that they would have to strip from one man and give to another. Ndukwe is fighting an empty battle,” Another man topped to Nwosu’s voice.

With much vexation, Ndukwe proceeded to pull Nwokocha. Of course, it never went down as easy as he had contrived. Nwokocha was not the kind of masquerade humans push with bare hands. So, when Ndukwe thought he would shove him away, and settle the matter as simple as that. Nwokocha stood like a giant piece of rock and descended on him. Soon, someone had to pick himself up from the ground.

The battle should stop then, but for the crowd who glued their attention, Ndukwe would not concede. If he makes the mistake of conceding this fight, he knows the community people too well, and trusts what they can do. Nobody wished that the people associate him with his act of cowardice. So, when he picked himself, he jumped on Nwokocha. The face-off was strife as each man devised tactics to throw the other to the ground.

The crowd watched with delight and cheered their party when they sensed victory. Some who were at a distance imbued the cause and engaged in an argument over the topic of contention.

Mazi Ikebe’s voice grew as he jostled his way through the crowd. As he went, he called on the community to come and see what the two shameless are doing to their images. His act eased the tension from everyone as it carried with it a good deal of amusement.

“We do not have eyes, let him tell us the colors of the town. Is it horror or calm? Let him tell us if we should stay or run?” Someone responded to Mazi Ikebe’s summon.

“One who woke up in the midday is calling for breakfast. Our morning has not come, let him eat. Or what do you think we should tell him?”

“Where has he been all this while?”

“Where else, if not hiding his face. Did you not know he misinformed the community? Have you seen the priest who is to perform the rites?”

“Mazi Ikebe could carry on,” someone joked, and the people around laughed.

Mazi Ikebe went as close to the two fightings and took turns to gaze them in their faces. He clapped his hands as the women did when they listened to gossip.

“Did you think you can ruin this day?” he queried. None appeared to have noticed him, not to talk of giving heed. Instead, they concentrated with all their senses alive to their fight. “Aha! The voice of a drunk means nothing.”

No one expected what Mazi Ikebe did next, but still, he received cheers from the crowd. He counted three wide steps backward and set out with a race. The next thing everyone saw was him on top of the anchor of the fighting men. They had locked their arms in a firm grip, with each struggling to pull the other over. Ikebe’s weight overpowered the strength of their arms, and they lost stamina.

Cheers of delight filled everywhere. Everyone hailed Ikebe for the heroic thing he has done. Even those who had buried his name with grudge deep in their heart began to feel lighter about him. He got up before the fighters could finish pulling themselves together. He started scolding them, should there be another round.

“Tell me which of you invited himself to this occasion,” he queried, pointing to them one after the other. “None of you eh?”

“Did the person who asked you here say you were coming for a wrestling match?”

“If you all know why we are here, then why did the both of you took to fighting?”

Mazi Ikebe thought the men were heeding his counsel until Ndukwe got up and mount Nwokocha. He pinned Nwokocha’s neck with all his vigor. At this instance, more men joined hands because Ndukwe was about to commit an abomination. About now, the priest entered and made for the center from where the commotion aroused.

“Had someone gone to report the fighters to the diviner?” The people wondered. The priest emerged as if on purpose to quench the fire and not for the funeral rituals.

Everyone standing on the road gave way. Even the cheering from the crowd died. There was absolute quietness, except for Ndukwe who refused to let go of his nemesis. Although, as the priest’s incantations reached his ears, he let go, and began to explain. Nwokocha managed to get up with the last pint of strength he had left in him.

“Only the Ofor knows who is upright,” the priest said, unwilling to give judgment. His stance dismayed Ndukwe who tried to prove that Nwokocha stood on the wrong side. The diviner to him sounded much like Ichie Olisa.

“The affair of the spirit is not for little hearts. Let everyone beware of Amadioha, the god of thunder,” the priest warned. Ndukwe faulted his response, instead of him asking the culprit out, he is placing a curse on the people’s heads. This vexed him that he was unable to bring his actions under control.

“I will leave this gathering. I cannot dine with the people of dark minds. A people who cannot speak what is truth,” Ndukwe poured out to all and sundry. Then, he stormed out with heavy steps which culminated from his vexation.

“You are as wise as a fool, Ndukwe. Ha-ha!” The priest said in a systematic tone which made one feel it was the spirits talking through him.

As soon as Ndukwe went off the people’s sight, the commotion died. His going away returned the stillness which the fight robbed from the people. If a new guest entered now, he would not have a slight suspicion something had gone on some while ago.

It was as if the Igwe had been waiting for the diviner to bring the commotion to check. The priest made for the Igwe’s inn but met him on the way. He swerved and the Igwe and the community followed. The party led to the slaughter to fetch the blood of the slain stallions.

Noblemen carried the calabash full of gore and trailed the footprints of the diviner. He sprinkled all around the courtyard, and then the Igwe, his chieftains, and the community. The people helped lift children to receive communal blessings.

He used the remaining blood to anoint the grave of the late Igwe. After which, the people went back to their positions. Those women whom the Igwe’s wife had handpicked proceeded to the kitchen. Not every woman qualified to touch that which the Igwe eat. In there, the lifeless bodies of meats lying everywhere struck them with confusion. There is going to be plenty to eat, more than enough for only the community people to see to the end of it. Thanks to the strangers who heard about the funeral and have come to help them wipe their tears.

The noblemen followed the diviner with each stallion's head. Nwokocha filled Ndukwe’s space. The diviner took turns collecting and staking on the poles. Anywhere he staked the head is where it remained. Nobody dares to go to touch them. He staked the last two on the entrance to the courtyard. The only thing left was the hides which they would season and tack on the walls of the Igwe’s inn. The hides took a considerate time to respond to pressure, so the priest may have to return much later to finish.