Years before, under the reproach of the shrieking sun and a sticky, suffocating heat that made you weary of your dry mouth, the boy Odion had stumbled upon a truth that was to become the making and the ending of him. It was a day before the Festival of Yam and the palace was humming with activities. People were carrying slaughtered meat, poultry, yams and such a dizzying assortment of ingredients he could barely count them. After slipping into the palace kitchen for a cool drink of water, bored, he kicked jagged stones as he walked round the back of the palace, eyeing its high familiar terracotta walls; daring it to become something else. His friend Ogiso was nowhere to be seen and he wondered why for the third day running he had not come upon him. Usually, they were together, rummaging through some unfamiliar room, following pretty servant girls with their eyes or play fighting.
But something had changed between them. Not just that recently they had become more competitive with each other; but they had argued. It had started off as an innocent comment, under the mango tree suckling the juicy flesh while they joked. When Odion had said that one day Benin would be his, instead of agreeing with him, a strange look passed over Ogiso’s face while he said that no, Benin would rightfully belong to him. Suddenly, there was a tension between them as Odion asked his friend to explain. Ogiso chuckled but the expression is his eyes remained serious. Instantly, Odion was on him and the two boys were pummelling each other. Wrestling their bodies to the ground and trying to fight away the shift that was already changing everything. Then it ended almost as abruptly as it had begun and the boys went their separate ways, neither of them really spoiling for a fight.
The boy Odion continued along the back of the palace as it curved like a voluptuous woman. He heard raised voices coming from a wide window overlooking the gardens. He recognised Oba Anuje’s voice and his own mother’s. He crouched low under the window. The voices became louder, fraught with tension.
“Stupid woman! You think I don’t know that Odion is not my son?” From the beginning I have known, do you know what I can have done to you?”
“Do your worst!” The voice he knew to be his mother’s responded but there was a wildness to her tone that he did not recognise. He stayed still, completely rooted to the spot.
“I no longer care, as the Gods are my witness. I found comfort when it came and I will never regret it.” Her tone was defiant and he imagined her pacing the room. “Your son will grow up and-”
“He is not my son!” Oba Anuje wailed, “You should be thankful that I have spared the lives of you and that useless child for this long. Come to me with this again and I will have both of you thrown out of Benin.” His mother laughed hysterically. Then some unforgettable words came through the window so swiftly, they stung his heart. “And who is your son Anuje? Why not officially announce to the palace, to the whole Benin kingdom that Ogiso is your son. Everybody knows you have been lying with his mother, that good-for-nothing servant woman, all this time!”
Odion heard a whap! from Oba Anuje’s hand as it crashed onto his mother’s cheek, and the sound jarred him into movement. He straightened himself up and ran. It all made sense, Oba Anuje had never been able to stand the very sight of him. The humiliation he’d suffered, the coldness, this was the reason all along. The words reverberated in his head; hot tears trickled down his face and along with them went the essence of his childhood. He had thought the blood of kings flowed through his veins but instead it flowed through Ogiso’s.
When he met the medicine man Kalu who had given him the ingredients for death, he knew his prayers were answered. It wasn’t until he came upon Oba Anuje poisoned and broken, when in that searing moment their eyes bore into one another’s, Anuje’s hands desperately reaching out to him for help, that Odion finally felt vindicated. In those last moments before he slipped away, Anuje knew what Odion had done. Never had a moment been so sweet for Odion, the song of death had served a dish of revenge and served it well. Benin was his to take; he had earned it. Now even within the grip of self-pity Oba Odion knew that far from being rewarded, he was being punished. Walking aimlessly about the palace he admitted that he deserved it. His guilt was now fully mauling his conscience. But that was the price you paid and even in death, he knew Anuje and Ogiso would haunt him for the rest of his days.
The halls were swelling with people and they lowered their voices when they spotted him, bowing respectfully as he moved past them; regardless of the depths to which he had sunk, he was still Oba after all. But his dwindling condition was so apparent, they were touching him and wiping their hands afterwards. Oba Odion summoned Sully to meet him at the gates of the palace. No questions were asked as they fell comfortably into step. They trundled on through a rough, coiling road that would take them to a place Oba Odion remembered all too clearly. It was time to see an old friend, and even the worst weather would not have stopped him.
Eventually, they came to the opening of a dense, sprawling forest with twisted, gnarling trees and pathways weaving at you from every direction. At this point Sully walked in front leading the way while the Oba directed him. Finally they came to a small hut and Oba Odion ran to it, calling out a name only for it to be carried in the wind. He rushed inside the hut but it was empty. He shouted the name more frantically. Kalu! Kalu! As if it would conjure the man before him. But there was no one and Oba Odion imploded, because Kalu the medicine man was nowhere to be seen. The keeper of secrets had gone, and all that remained was the shell of his hut letting the breeze stroke its abandoned walls, and the tall grass stretch burnished blades towards it in sympathy and remembrance.
Pendulum
The local park was tucked away behind high, Gothic black iron gates that I suspected snagged things unexpectedly; a pair of hands gripping its bars in disappointment after closing time, a letter blown by a gust of wind, one dirty, sodden trainer caught on the angular tip of a bar at the top, laces dangling down like threads. It was fairly large and unfurled maze-like, intersected by paths heading in different directions. On entering, a lengthy walkway was lined by trees that shook. To the right, at the back a pond shimmered, and the benches before it understood the language of ducks.
As I headed there, the high street hummed. Early evening meant scrums of school children dipped into buses that seem to sag beneath their weight. Shop doors whooshed open and shut, lone customers hunched over menus in poorly lit takeaway restaurants. Handles of heavy shopping bags tugged at the hands of people rushing to get home. Cars nudged each other towards the end of the day and streetlamps yawned light. A chill lodged in my bones. The gentle wind blew my coat open, exposing its red lining to bulls that leapt from behind steering wheels, ran through traffic naked, searching for their horns. I sank my hands deep into my coat pockets, lamenting on how small things could turn sinister; lumps of brown sugar in my cereal becoming dusty red stones, double breathing in my room at night, the rhythm of my breath being copied.
At the park, I cut across the middle, avoiding the long way round. Sometimes, I liked to sit by the pond gathering my thoughts, catching bits of conversation as people meandered by; intrigued by contexts I’d never fully know. Approaching the pond, I spotted a familiar, slight figure sitting on one bench, swathed in a bright, kaftan, there was smoke curling above her white hair. Mrs Harris looked very much like what she was: an old hippy drawing from a shrinking cigarette. She leaned forward, staring at whatever caught her eye in the distance, cigarette tip glowing amber. She threw pieces of bread at some ducks, turned to her left. It was too late to pretend not to have seen her and she waved me over enthusiastically. “Hello there!” She greeted.