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Authors: Octavia E. Butler
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mother brought you to me, but you wept because you could not change as I could?"
He stopped his struggles, stood gasping in her grip.
"You are my daughter's son," she said. "I would not harm you."
He was still now, so she released him. The bond between a man and his mother's kin was strong and gentle. But for the boy's own safety, she kept her body between his and the door.
"Shall I become as I was?" she asked.
"Yes," the boy whispered.
She became an old woman for him. The shape was familiar and easy to slip into. She had been an old woman for so long.
"It is you," Okoye said wonderingly.
She smiled. "You see? Why should you fear an old woman?"
To her surprise, he laughed. "You always had too many teeth to be an old woman, and strange eyes. People said the god looked out of your eyes."
"What do you think?"
He stared at her with great curiosity, walked around her to look at her. "I cannot think at all. Why are you here? How did you become this Doro's slave?"
"I am not his slave."
"I cannot see how any man would hold you in slavery. What are you?"
"His wife."
The boy stared speechless at her long breasts.
"I am not this wrinkled woman, Okoye. I allowed myself to become her when my last husband, the father of your mother, died. I thought I had had enough husbands and enough children; I am older than you can imagine. I wanted to rest. When I had rested for many years as the people's oracle, Doro found me. In his way, he is as different as I am. He wanted me to be his wife."
"But he is not merely different. He is something other than a man!"
"And I am something other than a woman."
"You are not like him!"
"No, but I have accepted him as my husband. It was what I wanted—to have a man who was as different from other men as I am from other women." If this was not entirely true, Okoye did not need to know.
"Show me . . ." Okoye paused as though not certain of what he wanted to say. "Show me what you are."
Obligingly, she let her true shape flow back to her, became the young woman whose body had ceased to age when she was about twenty years old. At twenty, she had a violent, terrible sickness during which she had heard voices, felt pain in one part of her body after another, screamed and babbled in foreign dialects. Her young husband had feared she would die. She was Anasi, his first wife, and though she was in disfavor with his family because after five years of marriage, she had produced no children, he fought hard against losing her. He sought help for her, frantically paying borrowed money to the old man who was then the oracle, making sacrifices of valuable animals. No man ever cared more for her than he did. And it seemed that the medicine worked. Her body ceased its thrashing and struggling, and her senses returned, but she found herself vastly changed. She had a control over her body that was clearly beyond anything other people could manage. She could look inside herself and control or alter what she saw there. She could finally be worthy of her husband and of her own womanhood; she could become pregnant. She bore her husband ten strong children. In the centuries that followed, she never did more for any man.
When she realized the years had ceased to mark her body, she experimented and learned to age herself as her husband aged. She learned quickly that it was not good to be too different. Great differences caused envy, suspicion, fear, charges of witchcraft. But while her first husband lived, she never entirely gave up her beauty. And sometimes when he came to her at night, she allowed her body to return to the youthful shape that came so easily, so naturally—the true shape. In that way, her husband had a young senior wife for as long as he lived. And now Okoye had a mother's mother who appeared to be younger than he was.
" Nneochie ?" the boy said doubtfully. "Mother's mother?"
"Still," Anyanwu said. "This is the way I look when I do nothing. And this is the way I look when I marry a new
He stopped his struggles, stood gasping in her grip.
"You are my daughter's son," she said. "I would not harm you."
He was still now, so she released him. The bond between a man and his mother's kin was strong and gentle. But for the boy's own safety, she kept her body between his and the door.
"Shall I become as I was?" she asked.
"Yes," the boy whispered.
She became an old woman for him. The shape was familiar and easy to slip into. She had been an old woman for so long.
"It is you," Okoye said wonderingly.
She smiled. "You see? Why should you fear an old woman?"
To her surprise, he laughed. "You always had too many teeth to be an old woman, and strange eyes. People said the god looked out of your eyes."
"What do you think?"
He stared at her with great curiosity, walked around her to look at her. "I cannot think at all. Why are you here? How did you become this Doro's slave?"
"I am not his slave."
"I cannot see how any man would hold you in slavery. What are you?"
"His wife."
The boy stared speechless at her long breasts.
"I am not this wrinkled woman, Okoye. I allowed myself to become her when my last husband, the father of your mother, died. I thought I had had enough husbands and enough children; I am older than you can imagine. I wanted to rest. When I had rested for many years as the people's oracle, Doro found me. In his way, he is as different as I am. He wanted me to be his wife."
"But he is not merely different. He is something other than a man!"
"And I am something other than a woman."
"You are not like him!"
"No, but I have accepted him as my husband. It was what I wanted—to have a man who was as different from other men as I am from other women." If this was not entirely true, Okoye did not need to know.
"Show me . . ." Okoye paused as though not certain of what he wanted to say. "Show me what you are."
Obligingly, she let her true shape flow back to her, became the young woman whose body had ceased to age when she was about twenty years old. At twenty, she had a violent, terrible sickness during which she had heard voices, felt pain in one part of her body after another, screamed and babbled in foreign dialects. Her young husband had feared she would die. She was Anasi, his first wife, and though she was in disfavor with his family because after five years of marriage, she had produced no children, he fought hard against losing her. He sought help for her, frantically paying borrowed money to the old man who was then the oracle, making sacrifices of valuable animals. No man ever cared more for her than he did. And it seemed that the medicine worked. Her body ceased its thrashing and struggling, and her senses returned, but she found herself vastly changed. She had a control over her body that was clearly beyond anything other people could manage. She could look inside herself and control or alter what she saw there. She could finally be worthy of her husband and of her own womanhood; she could become pregnant. She bore her husband ten strong children. In the centuries that followed, she never did more for any man.
When she realized the years had ceased to mark her body, she experimented and learned to age herself as her husband aged. She learned quickly that it was not good to be too different. Great differences caused envy, suspicion, fear, charges of witchcraft. But while her first husband lived, she never entirely gave up her beauty. And sometimes when he came to her at night, she allowed her body to return to the youthful shape that came so easily, so naturally—the true shape. In that way, her husband had a young senior wife for as long as he lived. And now Okoye had a mother's mother who appeared to be younger than he was.
" Nneochie ?" the boy said doubtfully. "Mother's mother?"
"Still," Anyanwu said. "This is the way I look when I do nothing. And this is the way I look when I marry a new
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