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goat and responded as if she’d read her son’s mind.

      Uridiya walked away from the hearth, cleaning her sweaty forehead with the back of her palm. She asked Jamike to add firewood to the decreasing flame burning outside the periphery of the big pot. Jamike added firewood and pushed back wood burning away from the pot. He went down on his knees and lowered his head toward the smoldering firewood to blow air into the fire. After drawing in air and blowing rhythmically for some seconds, the dry firewood logs ignited and flames rushed from under the pot, causing Jamike to move his face away quickly and rose. A woman whom Uridiya asked for help arrived late because her child was still breast-feeding. She apologized. On seeing Jamike she asked why he was not in school.

      “I was sent back.” She inquired no further.

      After a short while, Uridiya behaved as if she was just hearing what Jamike said for the first time.

      “Jamike, what is the reason you said they sent you away from school today?”

      “It is because of the money.”

      “Which money is it, now? Did you say you told Uridiya about it?”

      “If you bring an oath I will swear I told you. Maybe you forgot.”

      “You will swear no oath, my son,” the visitor chimed in.

      “This time, Jamike, you are going to swear that oath for me, because you always claim to tell me these things.” Uridiya did not mean it.

      “Bring the oath. I will swear it.”

      “You see, this is the reason why people do not go to this thing you call school.” She stirred the pot filled with palm nuts while standing, with steam enveloping her. She pulled her face, sneezed, and continued, “Everyday there is one kind of money or the other to pay. Do these teachers ever spend the money given to them before they ask for more?”

      “Mama, you talk as if I am the only student asked to bring money.” Jamike was irritated.

      “No, my son, you are not the only one. That is the way those teachers are,” Uridiya’s helper added.

      “Well, I cannot get money by magic or through the movement of my bowel. The palm oil I am making is for sale.”

      “I am still waiting for the oath.”

      “You are not swearing any oath for Uridiya.”

      “Jamike, find something to do. Two of us can handle the palm nuts; do not stay idle. No living person stays idle. See if the goat has something to eat. Do we have drinking water in that pot? Do we have enough firewood? You can visit the farm near the market square and see what mischief has been done to the yam stems. Jamike, I tell you this all the time, and I will not tire of saying it. You are the husband I have today. You are not a child anymore. Remember what the elders say, that no matter how young a male child is when his father dies, he starts from that point to stay awake at night. It is a true statement, and I hope you understand it.”

      “So when others are asleep I would be awake. What would I be doing?”

      “When the time comes, son, you will understand the meaning of what I am saying. I will not be the one to remind you to stay awake at night while children whose fathers are living would be sleeping. An orphan learns these facts fast. You are an orphan on your father’s side. Do not forget it. That’s what I am talking about.”

      Some days, like Saturdays or during the holidays when Jamike was not at school, he would busy himself constructing mousetraps for sale. He hunted lizards, rabbits, or squirrels with some of the adults in the kindred. He usually held their hunting bag for them. At the end of the day, they gave him a share of their kill. On one occasion when he hunted by himself, Jamike gave a squirrel a long chase, the animal dribbling him around. He tripped twice before the animal hopped onto the nearest tree and sat on a very high branch. From there, the squirrel viewed Jamike with disdain. Anger and desperation filled Jamike as he stood arms akimbo, looking at the prey that got away. Said he,

      “Since you are a runner, why did you not continue with me on the ground? If you are not a coward, why do you sit where I cannot reach you?” Jamike shook his fist at the animal.

      He broke a cassava stem, held it at one end, and with all his might threw it at the squirrel. The stick went in a different direction from where the animal was comfortably perching, twitching its whiskers. By the time he broke another cassava stem and readied to hurl it, the squirrel saw Jamike’s movement and was nowhere to be found.

      “Thank your god, you escaped today,” he said. “Your luck cannot continue forever. Try coming my way tomorrow and find out if your head will not cook in a pot. Idiot!”

      Jamike moved deliberately in the bush in search of a quarry, attentive to every noise or movement on the ground or on the trees. He used his machete to cut impediments on his path. Suddenly he stopped. His foot stepped on a hard object. He cleared the ground with the tip of his machete. It was a big snail and would make good meat.

       Three

      Years of widowhood and harsh living took their toll on Uridiya’s body. The furrowed forehead, the gray hair, and slightly drawn cheeks bespoke this as she continued to survive the machinations of relatives who constantly wronged her when Jamike was growing up. Jamike proved brilliant in primary school. Many times he would come home and inform his mother he came first in class at the end of the school term. If Uridiya asked for the “piece of paper” the teacher gave him to prove what he told her, Jamike would explain that his report card was withheld because of fees he did not pay. Each time this was the case, Uridiya would curse the death that took Nnorom away, depriving him of the joy of seeing his only child grow up and excel in school.

      “They can hold your report card for as long as they want. If they want, they can chew and swallow it too. But one day it will be given to you. Anyone who seizes a child’s possession and holds it high beyond the child’s reach will bring the item down when his or her hand starts hurting. Uridiya didn’t say this, it is a proverb I heard from the elders.”

      On occasions when Jamike announced that he passed his examinations, Uridiya would come out in the middle of the compound to rejoice, calling her ancestors to join her. She would bend low at her waist and take successive dance steps in different directions and at the end of each routine, raise her leg and slap her loincloth. Then she would raise both open hands toward the sky, with or without Jamike’s report card, saying:

      “If only Nnorom were alive this day! Alive to see his little seed of yesterday make him happy! Death, did you do this to me?” Uridiya would slap her open palm on her chest. “Did you say that a man who suffered would not see the fruit of his labor? No, death, do not rejoice, you are not victorious. I say you have not won. For as long as Jamike is alive, Nnorom is alive. Shame on you and the devil.”

      Other women in the compound hearing her loud voice would come out to rejoice with her. Some would give her high five. Uridiya did not think they were all happy for her, but she couldn’t care less.

      “My God, if Nnorom lived, maybe I would have given him another child,” she continued; “It is not a law that he would have only one child because he was an only child himself. But I swore I would not bring forth a child with another man. Shame to all those who promised heaven and earth to give Uridiya another child.” The women laughed and thought the menopausal Uridiya should be thankful to God for the miracle of Jamike rather than talk nonsense.

      “Chineke, what did I do to deserve this? But I know it will be all right, that you will wipe my tears away through the son you have placed in my hands to look after. He does not belong to me. He is yours. I am only a caretaker. My Lord, the power is in your hands, not in mine.”

      Jamike could not have finished primary school were it not for the village headmaster, Mr. Ahamba, who took over the payment of his fees. The headmaster was a middle-aged man from the distant town of Emekukwu where the missionaries first settled in that part of Eastern Nigeria. He was portly, and his head was beginning to bald. His people had been long in contact

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