Still, if it was a spitting cobra, even the other villagers knew that this kind of cobra’s eyesight was poor. And if one remained very still, it couldn’t differentiate a human being from a tree. This was common Agwotown knowledge. Thus as soon as this one spit in the one man’s eyes, leaving him thrashing with pain in the dirt, everyone immediately knew to freeze.
Ozioma’s mother once told her that when she was a baby, Ozioma used to eat dirt and play with leaves and bugs. “Maybe that’s why you can speak the snakes’ language. You loved to crawl on your belly, as they do.” Maybe this was true. Whatever the reason, before she even saw this snake, not only did she know it was a spitting cobra, she also knew that it was not like the others.
Slowly, Ozioma crept forward. It was watching her from between the roots. It slowly slithered out. Its face was otherworldly, that of a sly old man who has lived long and quietly watched many wars and times of peace. Beads of water ran down its head and long, mighty body.
“Ozioma, what are you going to do?” her brother whispered.
“Quiet,” she said. Only when the monsters come do they remember my name, Ozioma thought, annoyed. Now they have fear in their eyes that I can actually see because they look at me.
Ozioma stood there in the rain five feet from the creature, staring into its eyes, her jean shorts and red shirt soaked through. The men around her stayed frozen with fear and self-preservation. Its eyes were golden and its body was jungle green, not the usual red brown of spitting cobras. It slowly rose up and opened its hood, which was a lighter green. Still holding itself up, it glided closer while remaining upright, something that was difficult for most cobras.
Ozioma wanted to tear out of there screaming. But it was too late. She was here. It would spit poison in her eyes before she could escape. She’d put herself here. To save her people, people who hated her. Her father would have done the same thing. He’d once faced armed robbers who’d tried to rob a market. He’d been the only one brave enough to shout at those stupid men who turned out to be teenagers too afraid to wield the machetes they’d threatened everyone with.
The rain beaded on the snake’s scaly head, but not one of the tree’s fruits dropped on it. When it spoke, its voice came to her as it did with every snake, a hissing sound that carried close to her ears.
Step aside. I want this tree. I like it. It is mine.
“No,” she said aloud. “This is our town tree. These are my…relatives.”
The cobra just looked at her, its face expressionless as any animal’s.
I will kill you and all the human beings around me, then. They cannot stay motionless forever.
“This is my home,” she said. “It’s all I have. They hate me and many times I hate them but I will always love them. I won’t let you harm any more of them!”
She could quietly read her favorite books. She could stand alone feeling outcast as her classmates socialized nearby. She could yearn for the love of her brothers, aunts, uncles, and cousins. She could look at herself in the mirror and wish she could smile with ease. And she could cry and cry for her deceased father. But she couldn’t bear the idea of seeing the people of her town killed by this beast.
The snake beast’s eyes bore into her and she shuddered. But she didn’t look away. It brought its face, slowly, gradually, dangerously, close to hers. Then it stared. It smelled acrid and sweet, like flowers growing in a chemical spill. It opened its mouth so she could see the fangs from which the poison shot. Ozioma was screaming inside. Her skin prickled and the rain falling on her felt like blood.
Still, Ozioma stared back.
Who are you?
“Ozioma.”
Who are they?
“My people.”
They hate you.
Ozioma flinched. “The fact remains.”
You have no respect. Even now, you look me in the eye. Even now, you SPEAK to me. I may burn the meat of your head to jelly and force you to feel every part of it.
“W…why do you want our tree?”
I take what I choose. Just as I have taken that man’s life.
Ozioma didn’t turn around to look at the man who was probably not in pain anymore. She held the snake’s stare. She had a feeling if she broke its gaze, all was lost. “But you came from the sky.”
This tree reaches high. It touches the spirit realm. I want it.
They stared. How many minutes had she been standing there looking into the soul of this beast? It was still raining warm drops. She could see the men with her peripheral vision. How long could they all hold still?
You are more like me. Step aside. Let me finish them off when they can stand it no more.
“I will fight you,” she insisted. But the longer she stared, the more Ozioma could feel her nerve slipping.
You have no poison.
“I have hands.”
It will be a quick fight, child.
“I’m not a child,” she angrily said, her resolve momentarily strengthening. “I am twelve years old and my father is dead.”
The snake inched closer, its lipless maw touching Ozioma’s face. Even in the warm rain, its flesh felt dry and cool.
If not a child, then a weak adult.
It gave her a sharp nudge and she couldn’t help herself from stumbling back, her bare feet squelching in the mud. The creature had felt solid and heavy, a million pounds of powerful muscle and sinew from the sky. All the strength she had drained from her like spilled water. She’d broken its gaze. She’d lost. She was done for. They all were. She dug the heel of her foot in the mud, preparing to flee.
The rain began to fade. Ozioma glanced up at the sky as the deluge dwindled to drizzle. The clouds suddenly broke above the tree and even the snake looked up. The men who’d been unmoving for several minutes, took the chance to quickly scramble away. Some of them hid behind the tree, others behind houses and nearby bushes. By this time, several townspeople had gathered in these places, witnessing the whole thing.
Ozioma, however, stayed where she was. Looking, as the giant snake did, up into the break in the clouds above.
Something was spiraling through the rain like a fish through coral. She had the body of a snake, a strong feminine torso and the common face of a market woman. Ozioma fell to her knees, her mouth agape as several other people gasped and pointed and called the approaching goddess’s name.
“Aida-Wedo! It’s Aida-Wedo!”
“Oh my God, Ozioma has angered the goddess!”
A rainbow broke around Aida-Wedo as the rain completely stopped. The clouds rushed away like fleeing dogs at her approach. The rainbow spilled and arched over the tree.
The goddess flew to the chain, grabbed it with one hand and shimmied down to the tree’s top. She wrapped her green-brown lower snake body around one of the thinnest branches as if it were the sturdiest. She leaned to the side to get a better look at Ozioma through the tree. Even her dark brown upper body moved with the power and control of a snake. Her large breasts jiggled like ocean waves.
“This is a fine tree,” she said in a rich voice that probably carried to all the people in the area hiding, watching, and listening. She pointed at the snake beast and it immediately returned to the tree and began to ascend. Ozioma let out a relieved breath and slowly stood up.
When the beast reached Aida-Wedo, it leaned close and spoke to the goddess. Ozioma could hear it whispering, but she was too far to understand its words. The beast paused, looking back at Ozioma.
“Ozioma Ugochukwu Mbagwu, do you know who this is?” Aida-Wedo asked.
“No,” Ozioma said.
“This is Ekemini and he is one of my people.” She laughed knowingly and the rainbow in the sky swelled, bathing everything in a marigold, tangerine, soft rose, periwinkle, and wooden green. “And my people are powerful and rather…unpredictable. Do you know that you are fortunate to be alive?”