The man had no upper lip. Half his face was gone, deep holes burrowed in by a childhood affliction of smallpox. Still, he wasn’t hideous. He was tall and athletic, yellow like the sun. He was the high priest of the Ntite shrine. His name was Aduche, and they knew he had a great love for Bendic. Everything he had seen and knew of the world could be sensed in the quiet power of his gait as he stepped into the entryway. He placed his hand on Paul’s cheek as he responded to their greeting. Ajie could smell the tobacco and wood smoke and something else on his clothes, and when he smiled at them, it was all gum. He looked down at Ajie for a brief moment. His gaze had a quality possessed by no one else Ajie had met in the whole world. It was something of a shared secret. It made him feel special; it seemed to be saying that he, Ajie, was useful in a way that was particularly important and that a time would come when this purpose would be made clear.
“Where is your father?” Aduche asked, as if he didn’t know the way.
A hush had fallen over the crowd in the parlor, except for Bendic’s voice, which kept rising and falling, strong, though the words were muffled to anyone standing in the stairway. Conscious of Aduche walking behind them, Ajie tried to keep pace with Paul, who was taking it slow, not skipping the steps two at a time, as he normally would. It was a stately procession, two boys marching to the altar with a high priest on their trail. It was Abraham with a dagger hidden by the girdle of his loincloth and Isaac in front of him, wondering where the sacrificial lamb was. Ajie knew if anyone had to pick between him and his brother that Paul would be preferred, Paul would be set aside for saving. But Abraham had to choose “the son whom he loved” to offer as a sacrifice. Why was he put to that kind of decision? Why and how was it possible for him to love one son more than the other? What was so terrible about Ishmael that his own father’s love for him fell short, therefore disqualifying him as the worthy sacrifice? Why was Ishmael not preferred? Would Bendic love Paul enough to kill him if it were God Almighty asking him to give his most precious son?
These were questions Ajie needed answers to. But more, he wanted to be worthy. He wanted to be the son too difficult to give up, the one so greatly loved and therefore singularly suitable for sacrifice. Matters of this nature meant a huge deal to him between the ages of eight and nine. He would lie in bed at night and toss the questions around in his mind, and at some point, just so he could give himself some kind of answer to be able to go to sleep, he would decide what Bendic would do if he were in Abraham’s shoes. But there was so much to consider before that. Where would Ma be when all this was happening? It was difficult to imagine her sitting quietly in the kitchen while Bendic wrestled with this dilemma.
This was what would happen. After listening to the Lord’s command, Bendic would reply to the Lord Almighty, Maker of every living thing — the beasts of the fields, the birds of the air, and all the creatures of the sea, everything that walks, crawls, flies, and swims—“Leave my boys alone.” That was exactly what he would say: “Leave my boys alone. If you want someone dead, by all means, here I am, and please do the killing yourself, don’t make someone else do the dirty job.” At which point Mr. Ifenwa would spring up and cheer from the crowd of witnesses, whistling at Bendic’s courage, his thumb raised high, and then shouting: “Or just make him a prisoner of conscience!”
Paul pushed the screen door open and walked into the parlor, holding the door as Ajie followed him in. Bendic looked up at them; there was a pause in his speech as he held their gaze, was there a message for him, did they want something, or had they come to sit and listen? He finished his sentence as Aduche stepped into the parlor.
“Swooooooy!” Bendic roared. “Swoy! Agbra Obigor.” Spirit of the bushes. Lord of Obigor forest. Bendic stood erect like a soldier in a parade as he called the high priest by his many praise names, then he doubled over, waist down, and greeted. Bendic gave Aduche twofold respect because he was from Bendic’s mother’s people. He owned Bendic.
“Should I rise?” Bendic kept asking after the greeting was over.
“Please,” Aduche responded, “please rise, son of my sister.”
“You are sure?” Bendic insisted as some laughter came from the crowd. The air in the room had lightened. Bendic straightened up, submitted to a hug from Aduche, and waited for the man to take a seat that had been vacated for him. “You arrived just in time. I was finishing.” Bendic beckoned to Paul, and when he came close, he whispered in his ear, “Tell your mother to bring the whiskey. She should also put an unopened bottle in a bag for when Aduche is leaving.”
Some of the faces in the room that day were not regulars in the house; some weren’t particularly close friends of Bendic, although with the way things were in Ogibah, if someone wasn’t your friend, it was very likely he was your brother. The lightness in the room did not last for long. There was something extra in the air that day. As Paul and Ajie went off to get the drink, they heard someone bang his fist on the table, and soon there was shuffling as two men were restrained from getting into a fight. Paul and Ajie hurried back with the whiskey in time to hear Nwokwe shouting.
“Let your father eat shit!” He pointed at Jonah, his red kepe nearly falling off his head. “You say I ate bribe from Company?”
Jonah advanced toward Nwokwe, shouting back, “Did I say it behind your back?”
“You say I ate bribe, can you swear? Do you have witnesses? Swear by Ntite, let’s see whether you will last three days.” Nwokwe snapped his fingers.
Some people pulled him away, asked him to be calm, to have some respect for the gathering and for Bendic, who had arrived from Port Harcourt only today, and for the elders here.
“Were you people not here when he accused me?” Nwokwe retorted. “You all saw him open his mouth to talk like someone born yesterday.”
“I say you took money from Company,” Jonah shot back. “You are exactly like your father, bowing down to paper money and coins. And as for that son of yours, ha!”
“There is no need for hot blood yet.” Bendic raised his voice from where he sat in his armchair. The chair had wooden legs that ended in an imitation of the paws of a great bush cat. Bendic had been taking in the scene calmly, and now that he raised his voice, a little quiet returned to the room again, and eyes turned toward him. “It’s a serious accusation Jonah is making.” Jonah squeezed his face and nodded from where he sat on a bench. “Nwokwe is here with us,” Bendic continued, “and can answer for himself, here in our presence. We will discuss what we can today and come back tomorrow if need be.” Nwokwe’s face was like an open sack of nails. “Let us all bear in mind,” Bendic’s voice soared in the still air of the room, “that this thing trying to rip us apart is actually coming from outside. If we don’t understand that first, then we will be wasting strength on the wrong matter.”
Heads nodded. “It’s true,” said one of the young men leaning against the wall. Seats had been arranged behind the sofa but weren’t enough.
Application Master got up and called out greetings. He called out a few times before quiet fell on the place. An old man by the corner was shrugging, and his “Let them shut up so we can get to the bottom of this” was the only sound breaking the silence.
Application Master began to speak. “Our people say rather than let the antelope escape completely, let us at least slice off his tail.” Grunts of approval from the crowd followed. It’s true. It’s true. “This meeting will continue tomorrow, but we are here already, so we might as well talk…