Read Online Butterfly Fish by Irenosen Okojie - Free Book Online Page B

coloured mat trimmed with red beads lay on the ground. The high ceiling was golden and copper plaques showing old battles decorated the walls. The room had a subdued glow, as if it was waiting for a soldier from a plaque to come to life, pull the ceiling off and let it combust with light.
    â€œOba, you called for me?” Craftsman Ere said, bowing his head. Oba Odion faced him squarely, unlocking his hands from behind his upright back.
    â€œI want you to make a brass head in Ogiso’s likeness for my collection.”
    Craftsman Ere sprang back, startled. “Surely you cannot be serious Oba?”
    The Oba’s face crumpled, “Do I look like a jester? Explain yourself!”
    â€œOba, I know it is tradition to often make pieces in honour of your conquests but I think in this case you should make an exception.”
    The Oba stroked his chin as though it had suddenly grown a beard. “Why make an exception this time? Ogiso was an enemy, who showed no regret for his actions.”
    â€œOba, he was your friend, and like a brother to you before.”
    Oba Odion raised his hand abruptly. “Have you forgotten who stands before you?”
    â€œNo Oba, I feel this is not right, my concern is for you. It is asking for trouble.”
    â€œEre, I will be the judge of what or who is trouble. Never question my authority again, or you and your family will find yourselves thrown out of the palace. It is only because of the great work you’ve done that I am sparing you.”
    Craftsman Ere, being a man who knew when he was beaten, gave up and held his tongue from arguing any further.
    â€œI expect this to be a wonderful example of your skill, Ere and remember as much in Ogiso’s likeness as possible.”
    Craftsman Ere nodded and only the pulse in the side of his neck fluttered. It was his final sentence of protest.
    The next day Craftsman Ere began to work on producing the brass head. He recalled every feature of Ogiso’s. He set about sharpening his tools and choosing the best brass the palace stocked. First Ere made a wax model of Ogiso which was framed over a clay core. When he finished the model, he painstakingly applied the clay over the wax, almost tenderly, pausing now and again to admire the lines of the figure. Ere started to detail the dead warrior: the flared nose, wide forehead and tribal markings. He was so saddened by the death of this man, he barely realised he’d made a small tear of betrayal at the corner of the model’s eye.
    That night, the tear fell then evaporated into the air. The next day, the children of the kingdom began to change. Filled with an overwhelming sadness, they ran to the rivers’ edges crying quietly into the waters. They gathered around trees holding long, dark cloths, circlingthe trunks and communicating in a silent language only they understood. They clustered at the palace windows grabbing and squeezing their throats violently, feet jerking uncontrollably while they tried to be still. For four nights, the children did not sleep. They wandered the kingdom with bloodshot eyes cloaked in a heavy, melancholy silence. At night they sat in the king’s garden, crying into the soil. When their mothers found them, they removed tiny brass tears from the corners of their eyes. They held their children’s brass tears over fires, watching them melt into the lines of their palms.
    For the next stage, Ere proceeded to heat, then melt Ogiso’s model, pouring it into a mould. Later, after the clay hardened, he began to chip and cast the image. When the brass head was finished, the children became themselves again, though there was no ceremony to honour the completion, no celebration of the return of the children’s laughter, no music that ignited the switch of hips no thunderous applause. Instead it was presented on an evening when a hushed silence fell on Benin. And the clouds coughed raindrops that dampened not just the land but the