Two days later, Ike’s sister, Nkiru, arrived from Onitsha. Her sad eyes and acne-ravaged face startled him. Only three years Ike’s senior, she could have passed for ten. Her hair, plaited in stylish rows, was speckled with rushes of gray. She had the surliness of one whose former beauty had been scarred and spoiled by suffering.
Nkiru had married early, just shy of twenty, and had given birth to six children but lost the last one at birth. As she herself told it in one of her rambling e-mails to Ike, she came close to dying as well.
Her life was hard. A petty trader, she owned a roadside kiosk in Fegge, one of the slums of Onitsha. Her ware included cigarettes, chewing gums, bar soaps, a variety of mints, sachets of sugar and salt, canned sardines, roasted groundnut, and shots of kai-kai, the locally brewed gin. Her kai-kai, which she got from a supplier in Asaba, the town split from Onitsha by the great river, had the reputation among her clients as the most potent in all of Fegge. When the men drank it, the gin lacerated their tongues and walloped the gut—which was exactly how the aficionados wanted it.
Nkiru’s husband was a police sergeant who invested his meager salary—and his more ample takings in bribe—in gambling, beer, and marijuana. With a husband given to such recklessness, Nkiru was saddled with fending for herself and the children. She went at the task adroitly, but the pittance from the stall could only be stretched so far. Inevitably she turned to her brother for assistance.
No week had passed since he’d given her his e-mail address when she did not send multiple e-mails detailing her woes, her hapless condition. From time to time, he sent money via Western Union but never as much as she asked for. Her tirades and pleas exhausted him, and, woeful as her marriage was, he could neither forget nor forgive the obnoxious stubbornness with which she had made the choice to enter it. He remembered their parents’ outrage on discovering that Nkiru had started dating the police officer, then a constable, the year she finished secondary school. Their mother had locked the door and dealt her a merciless flogging. Then Nkiru had been forbidden ever to see the man. The next day, they eloped. She reemerged several weeks later, obstinate as ever, to announce that she was pregnant. Their parents, devout Catholics then, could contemplate neither an abortion nor the shame of their only daughter having a child out of wedlock. Yet, to compound matters, the officer had accused her of sneaking about with other lovers, even naming names. In the end, it was only after her child, a son, was born that he came around and married her.
Nkiru’s rebelliousness had brought shame on the family and led her to a grim life. She sacrificed her university education to hitch up with Reuben the officer.
FOR THE TWO DAYS before Nkiru arrived in Utonki, Ike’s mother had hardly spoken to him. She muttered monosyllabically. When he greeted her, she whispered a low, inaudible response. When their paths crossed, she mumbled. She used Nkiru’s daughter, Alice, as a conduit to send him any messages that were unavoidable. His meals were couriered by Alice. Once, when Alice was away running an errand, his mother brought his food. She placed the plates on a table next to his bed—and then, walking backward, made a languid motion of the hand.
Ike knew that his visits to Osuakwu and Nne had cut his mother deeper than the sharpest knife. When around him, she wore a dazed look and walked in a flatfooted, plodding manner. He was worried but not sorry.
He wanted the rift mended, and he’d hoped that Nkiru would serve as an agent of reconciliation, but he was clear on one point: he would never capitulate. He would never negotiate away his right to visit Osuakwu and Nne as often as he pleased.
When the fuss of pleasantries had worn off and he had sat down with his sister to talk, Ike rushed to make a point he considered of fundamental import.
“I’m going to be blunt, Nkiru,” he began, like a pugilist issuing fair warning before unleashing a killer punch. “I’m angry with you.”
Nkiru sprang to her feet as if stung by a bee. Ever the fighter, she pounded her chest. “You, angry? What do you mean?” She placed clenched knuckles on her waist and glared down at Ike.
“Sit down,” he said, his voice calm.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” she shouted. “You’re not my husband. And I’m older than you.” She sat down, her eyes blazing.
Ike met her glare. “You knew all along that Mama had thrown herself into the deceptive hands of Pastor Uka. You knew Uka had filled her head with crap, but you said nothing. You should have warned her about the man. You should have told her that he was a scam artist trading on her fears and sorrows. Then the situation would not have got out of hand. Instead, it’s absolutely awful. Today, does Mama talk to Father’s only brother? You know the answer is—no! Does she talk to Father’s mother? No, too! To her, they’re devils in human skin. They’re wizard and witch. She has accused them of killing her husband—and of plotting to kill you and me.”
“That’s why you’re angry?” she asked, as she drew her face away and muttered under her breath.
“You should not have let these things happen,” he said, attempting a conciliatory tone. “Now it’s up to you and me to open Mama’s eyes. It’s our duty to reconcile her with Osuakwu and Nne.”
For what seemed a full minute, Nkiru glared at him. Twice she opened her lips to talk, but no words came out. Her lips twitched. She found her voice just as he started to speak further.
“These people killed our father,” she said, “and you want Mama to sit down and eat with them?” She paused and momentarily regarded him with eyes that were less angry than sad and confounded. Then she continued: “Ike, you’re old enough to know what’s right from what’s wrong. Mama has told me everything, how you brought her to shame by insulting a man of God.”
“A man of scams!” he shouted.
Her expression took on a stern aspect, but her voice remained even. “Let me tell you, Ike. When Mama’s pastor told you not to visit these evil people, you should have listened.”
Ike felt himself temporarily immobilized. “You too,” he said at last. “You too are part of this nonsense. You’re superstitious. You’re willing to believe any crap. You believe that Nne and Osuakwu conspired to kill Father.”
“You’ve gone through university, Ike,” she said, her tone drained of heat, “but some things are not taught in school. There is evil in the world. The answer, my brother, is to cover yourself with the blood of Jesus. When you went to see Osuakwu and Nne, did you not drink?”
Ike nodded his affirmation.
A look of alarm wreathed her face. “Did you eat?”
He affirmed again.
“Please, o, please,” she said, slapping her palms in an urgent, hysterical gesture. She loosened her wrapper and retied it as market women do just before they fight. “Come with me immediately,” she begged, her body shivering with anxiety. “You’ve eaten devilish food and drank satanic drink. Let’s go, my brother. Let’s go and see Pastor Uka. I know you insulted him, but I’ll fall on the ground and beg him for you. As a man of God he’ll forgive you for every insult. In fact, he’s forgiven you already—trust me. He needs to pray to release you from all bondage. Please, let us go.”
Loathing filled his chest to bursting. “You—you’re mad!” he cried. He stood and stormed off. Yanking at the door, he turned and announced, “I’m going to see Osuakwu now. Then I’ll visit Nne before coming home. Don’t bother to leave me food; I’ll return filled.”
He slammed the door after him. At first, his ears picked up a whimper. Then came the explosion of a funereal wail.