Okonkwo asked.
“Yes,” replied Obierika. “My daughter’s suitor is coming today and I hope we will clinch the matter of the bride-price. I want you to be there.”
Just then Obierika’s son, Maduka, came into the
obi
from outside, greeted Okonkwo and turned towards the compound.
“Come and shake hands with me,” Okonkwo said to the lad. “Your wrestling the other day gave me much happiness.” The boy smiled, shook hands with Okonkwo and went into the compound.
“He will do great things,” Okonkwo said. “If I had a sonlike him I should be happy. I am worried about Nwoye. A bowl of pounded yams can throw him in a wrestling match. His two younger brothers are more promising. But I can tell you, Obierika, that my children do not resemble me. Where are the young suckers that will grow when the old banana tree dies? If Ezinma had been a boy I would have been happier. She has the right spirit.”
“You worry yourself for nothing,” said Obierika. “The children are still very young.”
“Nwoye is old enough to impregnate a woman. At his age I was already fending for myself. No, my friend, he is not too young. A chick that will grow into a cock can be spotted the very day it hatches. I have done my best to make Nwoye grow into a man, but there is too much of his mother in him.”
“Too much of his grandfather,” Obierika thought, but he did not say it. The same thought also came to Okonkwo’s mind. But he had long learned how to lay that ghost. Whenever the thought of his father’s weakness and failure troubled him he expelled it by thinking about his own strength and success. And so he did now. His mind went to his latest show of manliness.
“I cannot understand why you refused to come with us to kill that boy,” he asked Obierika.
“Because I did not want to,” Obierika replied sharply. “I had something better to do.”
“You sound as if you question the authority and the decision of the Oracle, who said he should die.”
“I do not. Why should I? But the Oracle did not ask me to carry out its decision.”
“But someone had to do it. If we were all afraid of blood, it would not be done. And what do you think the Oracle would do then?”
“You know very well, Okonkwo, that I am not afraid of blood; and if anyone tells you that I am, he is telling a lie. And let me tell you one thing, my friend. If I were you I would have stayed at home. What you have done will not please the Earth. It is the kind of action for which the goddess wipes out whole families.”
“The Earth cannot punish me for obeying her messenger,” Okonkwo said. “A child’s fingers are not scalded by a piece of hot yam which its mother puts into its palm.”
“That is true,” Obierika agreed. “But if the Oracle said that my son should be killed I would neither dispute it nor be the one to do it.”
They would have gone on arguing had Ofoedu not come in just then. It was clear from his twinkling eyes that he had important news. But it would be impolite to rush him. Obierika offered him a lobe of the kola nut he had broken with Okonkwo. Ofoedu ate slowly and talked about the locusts. When he finished his kola nut he said:
“The things that happen these days are very strange.”
“What has happened?” asked Okonkwo.
“Do you know Ogbuefi Ndulue?” Ofoedu asked.
“Ogbuefi Ndulue of Ire village,” Okonkwo and Obierika said together.
“He died this morning,” said Ofoedu.
“That is not strange. He was the oldest man in Ire,” said Obierika.
“You are right,” Ofoedu agreed. “But you ought to ask why the drum has not beaten to tell Umuofia of his death.”
“Why?” asked Obierika and Okonkwo together.
“That is the strange part of it. You know his first wife who walks with a stick?”
“Yes. She is called Ozoemena.”
“That is so,” said Ofoedu. “Ozoemena was, as you know, too old to attend Ndulue during his illness. His younger wives did that. When he died this morning, one of these
“Yes,” replied Obierika. “My daughter’s suitor is coming today and I hope we will clinch the matter of the bride-price. I want you to be there.”
Just then Obierika’s son, Maduka, came into the
obi
from outside, greeted Okonkwo and turned towards the compound.
“Come and shake hands with me,” Okonkwo said to the lad. “Your wrestling the other day gave me much happiness.” The boy smiled, shook hands with Okonkwo and went into the compound.
“He will do great things,” Okonkwo said. “If I had a sonlike him I should be happy. I am worried about Nwoye. A bowl of pounded yams can throw him in a wrestling match. His two younger brothers are more promising. But I can tell you, Obierika, that my children do not resemble me. Where are the young suckers that will grow when the old banana tree dies? If Ezinma had been a boy I would have been happier. She has the right spirit.”
“You worry yourself for nothing,” said Obierika. “The children are still very young.”
“Nwoye is old enough to impregnate a woman. At his age I was already fending for myself. No, my friend, he is not too young. A chick that will grow into a cock can be spotted the very day it hatches. I have done my best to make Nwoye grow into a man, but there is too much of his mother in him.”
“Too much of his grandfather,” Obierika thought, but he did not say it. The same thought also came to Okonkwo’s mind. But he had long learned how to lay that ghost. Whenever the thought of his father’s weakness and failure troubled him he expelled it by thinking about his own strength and success. And so he did now. His mind went to his latest show of manliness.
“I cannot understand why you refused to come with us to kill that boy,” he asked Obierika.
“Because I did not want to,” Obierika replied sharply. “I had something better to do.”
“You sound as if you question the authority and the decision of the Oracle, who said he should die.”
“I do not. Why should I? But the Oracle did not ask me to carry out its decision.”
“But someone had to do it. If we were all afraid of blood, it would not be done. And what do you think the Oracle would do then?”
“You know very well, Okonkwo, that I am not afraid of blood; and if anyone tells you that I am, he is telling a lie. And let me tell you one thing, my friend. If I were you I would have stayed at home. What you have done will not please the Earth. It is the kind of action for which the goddess wipes out whole families.”
“The Earth cannot punish me for obeying her messenger,” Okonkwo said. “A child’s fingers are not scalded by a piece of hot yam which its mother puts into its palm.”
“That is true,” Obierika agreed. “But if the Oracle said that my son should be killed I would neither dispute it nor be the one to do it.”
They would have gone on arguing had Ofoedu not come in just then. It was clear from his twinkling eyes that he had important news. But it would be impolite to rush him. Obierika offered him a lobe of the kola nut he had broken with Okonkwo. Ofoedu ate slowly and talked about the locusts. When he finished his kola nut he said:
“The things that happen these days are very strange.”
“What has happened?” asked Okonkwo.
“Do you know Ogbuefi Ndulue?” Ofoedu asked.
“Ogbuefi Ndulue of Ire village,” Okonkwo and Obierika said together.
“He died this morning,” said Ofoedu.
“That is not strange. He was the oldest man in Ire,” said Obierika.
“You are right,” Ofoedu agreed. “But you ought to ask why the drum has not beaten to tell Umuofia of his death.”
“Why?” asked Obierika and Okonkwo together.
“That is the strange part of it. You know his first wife who walks with a stick?”
“Yes. She is called Ozoemena.”
“That is so,” said Ofoedu. “Ozoemena was, as you know, too old to attend Ndulue during his illness. His younger wives did that. When he died this morning, one of these
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