I am standing in front of Pa right now. He is sitting straight on the only armchair in our parlour. Ever since I saw him try to fling his brother out of it, I\u2019ve come to avoid the armchair like rat poison. Sometime last month, Uncle Chidobe had staggered back home, plopped himself on the armchair, and ordered to be served like some lord. Pa came back, looking gruff, and saw that his throne had been occupied by someone else. He hoisted his brother by the neck, but Ma grabbed Pa by the waist before he could send Uncle Chidobe flying across the parlour.<\/p>\n
Pa sweeps his eyes over me as if I\u2019m dripping suds. \u2018Can the kitchen make a man?\u2019 he asks.<\/p>\n
I stare at the stump that is his neck, the heave of his large chest. Every time I consider his build, I wonder why he didn\u2019t go for a woman his size rather than for Ma who\u2019s merely taller than me by two shoulders or three.<\/p>\n
\u2018Don\u2019t look confused, I am only asking.\u2019 Pa points his finger towards the kitchen, barely moving his head, which is quite small for his size, even with his shoulders shaped like a pair of humps. \u2018Are you planning to take over the kitchen from my wife?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018No,\u2019 I reply.<\/p>\n
\u2018Then why do you like lurking around the kitchen?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I was only helping\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Is she handicapped?\u2019 Pa snickers, cutting me short. \u2018You act at times like you\u2019re not my own flesh and blood.\u2019<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t understand why Pa has to complain about something I like doing\u2014helping Ma cook in the kitchen. Besides, I don\u2019t like seeing her looking tired each time she returns from Ekeonuwa market, where she goes every day but Sunday to sell some measly ugba. But I do not mention all this, since he seems not to be liking my efforts. Just last Saturday he asked me if I was working on becoming a woman.<\/p>\n
Pa slouches back in his seat, twisting the stubble on his jaw. When I was seven, he would hold my hand and run it against his chin and the hairs felt like bristles to my skin. But he stopped playing with me when I turned ten. I once asked him why, and he said I was too old to be \u2018monkeying\u2019 around.<\/p>\n
\u2018Do you know why I called you?\u2019<\/p>\n
I suppose it has something to do with the kitchen. Yet I say, \u2018No.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What are they doing?\u2019 he asks, pointing to the TV.<\/p>\n
Two sweaty men are tackling each other with all their might. I can see their faces clenching, muscles popping, as they try to hurl each other to the floor. A man in a white-and-black-striped shirt and black trousers squirrels endlessly behind them, darting his head this way and that, to see which man will slip and go down first. <\/p>\n
\u2018They\u2019re wrestling.\u2019 <\/p>\n
Pa cocks his head towards me. \u2018I didn\u2019t hear you.\u2019<\/p>\n
I say it again. <\/p>\n
\u2018Are you sure?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Yes.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Why are they not in the kitchen?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018They\u2019re too old…\u2019<\/p>\n
He prods me. \u2018So they\u2019re not in the kitchen?\u2019<\/p>\n
I stay my lips. Pa does not repeat his question. Instead, he puts on a grin that reminds me of my friend Izu, who once got a bee trapped in a bottle. I remember flinching each time the bee slapped around, thumping its wispy body against the glass, while Izu went on grinning as he filled the bottle with water. We both watched the bee floating dead shortly afterwards. That was the third thing I\u2019d seen him kill. The first time he cut a millipede to three bits, I could do nothing but watch and wince. The second time it was a frog, which he buried in a hole he had dug. I have tried not to get too close to Izu, but he keeps dragging me along to go hunting down animals that mean no harm to anyone. <\/p>\n
\u2018Let me not see you in that bloody kitchen whenever there\u2019s a wrestling match on the TV. Do you understand?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I hate wrestling!\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What do you bloody know? Better learn to love it.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018But Pa \u2013\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018I\u2019ve never slapped you before, you know why? The day I\u2019ll slap you, your mother will rush you to the hospital. Either you will lose some teeth, or you won\u2019t be able to speak for a month.\u2019<\/p>\n
I glance away, sulking. Pa has never threatened me before, even when I am out playing football late with my mates.<\/p>\n
He motions for me to stand before him. \u2018Chidi, don\u2019t expect pity from anyone,\u2019 he goes on. \u2018Life will always try to crush you, so you must toughen up, or else you\u2019ll be trampled to dirt. Women are lucky enough because they\u2019re the weaker sex… do you want to be a woman?\u2019<\/p>\n
I just stare at him.<\/p>\n
\u2018Let me tell you about my boss. Mr. Anosike liked shouting at me. Maybe he thought that as a dropout I was a bloody half-man…\u2019 Pa shuts his eyes briefly. I wonder why his boss would want to insult him. Was he not frightened by what Pa\u2019s knuckles could do to one\u2019s face? Wasn\u2019t he even scared of Pa\u2019s size?<\/p>\n
\u2018One day I got fed up with his insults. Do you want to know what happened next?\u2019 Pa expects me to show excitement, but I murmur, \u2018You lost your job.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018If you don\u2019t have any bloody brain,\u2019 he says, \u2018at least have some muscles.\u2019 Raising his beefy left arm, he pumps it so hard it comes rippling with too many veins. I sometimes wonder why Pa chose to be a loading assistant at the bus terminus when he could have grown himself into a wrestler of note. Suddenly, he grits his teeth in pain. \u2018Is your mother cooking stones? How much longer does a man have to wait before he can eat in his own house? Call her!\u2019<\/p>\n
I spring towards the kitchen. He calls me back just as I reach the door.<\/p>\n
\u2018I want to see you here…\u2019 He clicks his fingers. \u2018one minute!\u2019<\/p>\n
I return in less than a minute.<\/p>\n
\u2018She\u2019s bringing your food,\u2019 I puff, my breath steaming up my nose.<\/p>\n
He huffs, \u2018Come, sit down. Let\u2019s enjoy the wrestling.\u2019<\/p>\n
I grumble quietly, unable to understand how anyone could enjoy watching his fellow men beating each other up.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/13\/2019\/03\/leave-image-1.png\")
<\/p>\n
Two nights before Pa dragged me to Izu\u2019s place an ashy thing stole into our parlour and thumped against the TV screen. I jumped in my chair while Ma gasped. The thing lay still; but when it jerked across the carpet, I saw Ma scurry out of her seat. I almost bolted from the parlour, too. But when I saw that Pa didn\u2019t look startled, I managed to stay just as calm. I couldn\u2019t laugh the way he was laughing though, even when he said, \u2018It\u2019s only a bloody bat.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Where did it come from? Where did it come from?\u2019 Ma asked, breathless. I thought she was going to bang the door on herself. Instead, she was regarding the bat\u2014her face all puckered\u2014like something to be set on fire.<\/p>\n
Pa did not care to answer her. I noticed the slight curl of his lips and wondered if Izu had flung the bat through our window at us. Although he was known to be mischievous and mean, I don\u2019t think Izu would dare do any such thing where my Pa was around because he believed Pa could crush anyone in his palm. Ma started calling the blood of Jesus and snapping her fingers at the bat which, as if provoked by the sounds, shot towards the white ceiling. But it tipped over in midflight, like it had been swatted by an unseen hand. I folded into myself as it crashed down. Ma scrambled down the passage. Despite its earlier attempts, the bat made to fly a third time, but came thumping awkwardly to the floor yet again. Pa was chuckling hard. I suddenly remembered Pa had called Uncle Chidobe a bloody bat because he\u2019d wobbled into the parlour a week ago and tripped over, like a bundle of washing.<\/p>\n
\u2018Chidi,\u2019 Ma whispered from the passage. \u2018Get the anointing oil.\u2019<\/p>\n
Pa looked over at her. \u2018Kasarachi, you want to fry it?\u2019<\/p>\n
Disgust came to Ma\u2019s face and left it pinched. She popped her mouth open to speak, but was too stunned to make any sound. Then she spat out, \u2018What if it is a witch?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018What if it was sent by God?\u2019 Pa sounded so unmoved, like he wouldn\u2019t mind if he found the bat flapping on his head.<\/p>\n
\u2018God doesn\u2019t send witches.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018But God created bats.\u2019<\/p>\n
Ma glared at him. Meanwhile, the bat had stopped fumbling. I tried to will it to rise and vanish, but Pa told me to get the bloody mop.<\/p>\n
\u2018Sir?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Are you deaf-f-f?\u2019<\/p>\n
I felt a sharp squeeze in my lungs. I hoped the bat was dead, so Pa wouldn\u2019t have to harm it.<\/p>\n
\u2018Just kill the witch,\u2019 Ma said.<\/p>\n
The bat screeched and began thrashing again, a blind, helpless, wretched thing. Although I was perched safely in my chair, I felt helpless too\u2014as I had felt those times Izu was harming the bee, the millipede, and the frog. <\/p>\n
Pa stamped into the toilet and came back wielding the mop. He wrenched me out of my seat and thrust the mop into my hand. My hair stood on end as I realised that I would be the one to end the bat\u2019s life.<\/p>\n
\u2018Gbuo ya<\/em>.\u2019 <\/p>\n I shook my head, wishing I\u2019d got a broom instead. With it I might have swept the bat out the room.<\/p>\n \u2018Kill it!\u2019 Pa said again.<\/p>\n \u2018Chidi, don\u2019t touch it!\u2019 cried Ma.<\/p>\n They argued until the sound of something clattering on the floor jolted Ma and I noticed the mop had slid out of my grasp.<\/p>\n \u2018Pick it up.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Please let him be.\u2019<\/p>\n Pa balled his fists. \u2018You won\u2019t?\u2019<\/p>\n I wanted to nod my head but Ma said, \u2018Wait!\u2019<\/p>\n I caught a glimpse of her fading from the parlour, but I couldn\u2019t look at Pa. He was trying hard to hold himself back from punching me, I could tell. This was the first time I had defied him. Ma came back with a bottle of Goya. Uncapping it fast, she spilled some olive oil on the bat, which made it wave its paper wings madly. Ma broke out giggling in an unkind way.<\/p>\n Pa gripped me by the shoulders. \u2018Let me tell you, son. I won\u2019t always be around to teach you how to be a man. Will you pick up the mop, or not?\u2019 he spoke so lightly, but I still made out the razor in his voice.<\/p>\n I wanted to pick the bat up but was afraid it might scratch out my eyes in terror. So I reached for the mop, instead.<\/p>\n \u2018Finish it off.\u2019<\/p>\n I thought about how Izu would have finished the bat off easily.<\/p>\n \u2018Look at me, Chidi. What would you do if you were attacked by a dog?\u2019<\/p>\n Pa must have sensed that I wasn\u2019t going to reply, so he yanked the mop from my hand.<\/p>\n It happened so fast, so fast that I did not even see the mop swing upwards. I only heard the cry \u2013 short, high-pitched, pained; it knifed through my heart. I couldn\u2019t bring myself to look at the remains. The mop was back in the toilet, and Pa was looking at me from head to toe.<\/p>\n \u2018But where did it come from?\u2019 Ma asked for the umpteenth time, as if that could revive the bat.<\/p>\n Pa scoffed at her, like he didn\u2019t expect her to pose such a question. \u2018Kasarachi, how long will it take you to notice that all your <\/em>window nettings have been torn for months,\u2019 he said and shoved me out of the way.<\/p>\n While Ma is positioning the tray of food on the table, Uncle Chidobe stumbles in through the front door. The air sours at once. Swinging his arms out, he makes to embrace Ma; she shrinks away, looking befuddled. I don\u2019t know why she hasn\u2019t yet gotten used to his antics because no day has gone by without him returning home merry.<\/p>\n Uncle Chidobe\u2019s head is shaven so clean and gleaming like marble, I long to run my fingers over it. He sees me moping at his head and cracks up, but he hardly smiles well because of the scar that runs up his chin to his right lip. So each time he pulls a smile his mouth stretches the wrong way, as if to spite him.<\/p>\n \u2018Touch it,\u2019 he says, thrusting his head right under my face. I wonder how he would react if I were to rap my knuckles on it. \u2018Touch, touch it.\u2019<\/p>\n I cast a glance at Pa, who is trying too hard to appear unruffled, even with his face drawn stiff. Whenever Uncle Chidobe is not around, you will hear him complaining to Ma about his brother crying like a woman, that he doesn\u2019t know why Uncle Chidobe can\u2019t fight his way out of his loss instead of letting himself get sunk, that his inability to brave it out puts him off. Ma often tells him to stop being hard, to show more sympathy, grief doesn\u2019t care about anyone\u2019s looks or size, and she\u2019s sure he will rise again. Pa usually shakes his head at her, as if she is blind to plain fact.<\/p>\n Uncle Chidobe swipes my hand over his head. It feels so warm, too smooth, I want to close my eyes, but he drops my hand just as suddenly as he grabbed it. \u2018You like it?\u2019 he asks me.<\/p>\n I glance down and think of how dry and crackly he looks, like twigs left out in the sun for days. I\u2019d caught him sobbing to himself a few weeks before. But Uncle Chidobe, a man who used to carry himself like a snail, quiet and unobtrusive, has not always been like this. He became miserable, drunk, even disruptive, only after he fled the north for Owerri. I remember hearing Pa speak about terrorists up north, how they were blowing up schools, churches, and motor parks; how a particular group had lined up schoolboys and sprayed bullets into their hearts in front of their blazing dormitories. Pa had been so worried at first that he couldn\u2019t get in touch with his only brother, but he stopped worrying after a while since no one\u2014not even the government\u2014could keep pace with the number of those being killed day after day. Then Uncle Chidobe appeared one drizzly night. We were in the parlour praying when he staggered in, so unexpectedly that Pa forgot his tongue. I can never forget the way Ma cried upon seeing him at our doorstep. For a whole month, Uncle Chidobe didn\u2019t step outside the veranda. He hid himself indoors from dawn to dusk. But one Saturday morning he ventured out to town and came back at night \u2013 whooping, like he had his pockets crammed with good news. And since then he does not look like he\u2019s going to quit drinking. <\/p>\n \u2018Chidobe,\u2019 Pa says, washing his hands in the bowl of water. \u2018Comport yourself.\u2019<\/p>\n Uncle Chidobe swivels round and begins to mumble, po-po-po-po pop pop champagne<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u2018O di egwu<\/em>,\u2019 Ma sighs, pouring some chilled water into the glass. She tried persuading him to church once, but he said he would only go with her if she could tell him where God was when his wife and daughter were being butchered by terrorists. Ma hasn\u2019t made any attempts to coax him since.<\/p>\n Pa slices a bit of fufu, stirs it in the ofe nsala, and drops it down his throat. He takes a gulp from his glass, then burps. \u2018Chidobe, how long will it take you to get over it?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Uzoma, don\u2019t tell me that!\u2019<\/p>\n Pa tenses up, gripping the arms of his chair, probably because his younger brother has just called him by his first name\u2014something which I\u2019ve never seen him done before. Dee<\/em> or brother, Uncle Chidobe always calls him, not Uzoma.<\/p>\n \u2018You think you\u2019re stronger than me?\u2019 Uncle Chidobe says.<\/p>\n Pa gapes at Ma, as if he cannot believe he\u2019s being put down, but she appears to be equally at a loss herself. I fear Pa will explode, because I don\u2019t think I have seen his younger brother act angry. Sometimes, when Pa has finished watching a wrestling match, you\u2019ll find him jabbing at shadows and dodging invisible blows and puffing, Knock him down, knock him over,<\/em> to himself, over and again. Whenever I run into him at such moments, I am forced to remember how my friends had pestered me with loads of questions: where does your father keep his machinegun? How many people did he kill during the war? Even my closest friend Izu wished we could swap fathers. I guess their parents must have spoken about Pa, and seeing as he is all muscle it is easy for anyone to assume that he once led a soldier\u2019s life.<\/p>\n \u2018Chidobe, if you keep going down this way,\u2019 Pa says quietly, \u2018you may find yourself wasted.\u2019<\/p>\n Uncle Chidobe laughs as if his throat is full of syrup. \u2018I\u2019m tired of all your pep talk, Uzoma,\u2019 he says, jabbing a finger at his chest. \u2018So don\u2019t tell me to man up again\u2014or else, I will be doing something we might both regret! Man up…,\u2019 he says as he waves his arms limply over his head, as if to steady himself, as he mimics Pa\u2019s voice, \u2018…man up, as if that would stop my pains, or stop me from seeing my wife\u2019s headless body in my sleep, or stop the screaming of my daughter in my head.\u2019<\/p>\n There comes over Pa\u2019s face a glazed look. He doesn\u2019t speak, doesn\u2019t look at anyone. He just sits there stock-still clutching a ball of fufu while Ma is massaging his shoulders and whispering, Please eat, nkem, eat up<\/em>. It takes a while before he recovers himself and puts the fufu back in the plate. He washes his hand again and pulls himself out of his chair. Without speaking a word, he heads for his room, banging the door so hard a slight tremor comes shivering through my spine. Ma appears as one who has been harassed by a child as she catches my eye. Suddenly, I think of asking her if Pa has beaten up anyone or shot at enemies, but then I realise my finding out wouldn\u2019t do me any good.<\/p>\n Ma sighs and picks up the tray and walks away. She, too, has lost her appetite. While she is in the kitchen, Uncle Chidobe is wiping his nose with his palm and muttering to himself, \u2018Telling me to get over it. Imagine. D-did he know I c-couldn\u2019t bury my wife and daughter?\u2019<\/p>\n Before I can sneak out of the parlour, he breaks down completely. Ma runs out of the kitchen, looking as though she is afraid a fight might have flared. But she stops midway in the parlour and looks at Uncle Chidobe now snivelling with his head in his hands. She glances over at me, and I realise that she cannot make up her mind whether to go over and comfort him. Then she backs away and goes into Pa\u2019s bedroom, leaving me all alone to deal with a tearful adult.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I\u2019m wincing in the veranda when Pa plods back from work. I bend over, lowering my head, hoping he does not notice my wet cheeks. Ma has just dabbed some gentian violet on my right knee, and surprisingly it\u2019s scalding like pepper. Pa is going to ask me why I am crying. I quickly dry my eyes, although my heartbeat is ringing in my ears. I wish I were somewhere else right now. But he walks by me silently. I can\u2019t tell what expression he went in with, but I hope he\u2019s too worn out to ask me questions. I watch the sun losing colour and start wishing I could hurt Izu back.<\/p>\n I am about to limp into the parlour when I bump into Pa. I catch myself and see him looming over me like he\u2019s about to crash all over the place. Thick veins roping together in his neck, he points to my purple knee. I have the urge to lie, but he glares at me as if he\u2019s read my mind.<\/p>\n \u2018Who did this to you?\u2019 he asks. <\/p>\n \u2018You just got back,\u2019 Ma interrupts him, but he barely glances at her.<\/p>\n My chest is packing into itself. I\u2019m afraid of how Pa will react once he finds out Izu is to blame for my injury. That braggart\u2019s son won\u2019t ever come to much good, Pa once said. I do not know why he dislikes Mr. Okose (maybe because his face is mottled from bleaching creams), who is considered lucky by everyone else just because he drives the works commissioner around and has been able to buy a Nissan for himself.<\/p>\n \u2018He didn\u2019t know,\u2019 I mention. But Izu had pushed me down on purpose while I was trying to fight him off from snapping the wing of a sparrow. <\/p>\n \u2018Who didn\u2019t know?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2026Izu…\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018That rascal?\u2019<\/p>\n Pa shoves me forward. Ma quickly positions herself between both of us.<\/p>\n \u2018Nkem,\u2019 she says, \u2018please come in and eat.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Food can wait,\u2019 Pa tells her. \u2018Let me speak to that bloody braggart. It\u2019s time I taught Chidi to stand up for himself. We can\u2019t have our only child behaving like\u2026\u2019 He frowns, maybe because he cannot find the right words to describe me.<\/p>\n \u2018He is wounded, can\u2019t you see.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You call this a wound? This scratch?\u2019 Pa clasps his callused hand around my knee with such force I almost slip but because his grip is firm I only stagger. I grind my teeth to stop myself from howling in pain.<\/p>\n \u2018You\u2019ll hurt him some more!\u2019 Ma cries, slapping him on the wrist.<\/p>\n \u2018He\u2019s my son, I can hurt him any way I like,\u2019 Pa says, and lets go of my knee. \u2018But any bloody rascal can\u2019t hurt my child.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018E ji m chukwu rio gi<\/em>, I don\u2019t want any fight.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I don\u2019t like the way you talk at times, Kasarachi. I\u2019m now a fighter, eh? Is it when they\u2019ve damaged his leg and we are left with a cripple, you will have me act?\u2019<\/p>\n Ma gives him an angry stare in response and stomps away. I wish I hadn\u2019t scraped my knee.<\/p>\n \u2018Is this where that rascal lives?\u2019 Pa asks me, when we get to the rusted gate of a two-storey building, with walls so wrinkled and wan, like tortoise shell. Izu\u2019s house happens to be on the street behind ours.<\/p>\n Something grips me by the heart because I can\u2019t make out why Pa is acting as though he doesn\u2019t know where Izu\u2019s parents live. Everyone knows that Mr. Okose occupies the first flat on the ground floor facing the gate. Pa might have been practising ahead of this moment, I realise, as he pounds the door with his fist. All those times I had seen him shadowboxing.<\/p>\n \u2018Onye<\/em>?\u2019 a man hollers from inside, like he wouldn\u2019t mind slamming the door in anyone\u2019s face.<\/p>\n Pa snorts and bangs harder. The bulb in the veranda comes on, a garish white. I pray that Izu\u2019s parents will behave themselves so Pa doesn\u2019t get provoked and pick their son off his feet and toss him against their door. I wouldn\u2019t feel proud if he beat up someone\u2019s father. I already feel embarrassed when I\u2019m pointed at in the neighbourhood as the boy whose father is that tall muscular ex-soldier.<\/em><\/p>\n The door flies open. And Mr. Okose stamps out in chinos shorts and a white singlet. I imagine him boiling over, but his filmy face grows soft the instant he recognises Pa. His wife appears behind him, fluttering almost like a fat owl in daylight. I think the Okoses have probably never dreamt that they\u2019ll find him towering in their doorway. I\u2019ve noticed the same look on some neighbours\u2019 faces any time they run into Pa. It has to do with his rugged boxer\u2019s looks, the fact that he isn\u2019t friends with anyone and rarely attends any events organised in our street.<\/p>\n \u2018Good evening, Mr. Uzoma \u2013?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Is your boy in?\u2019 Pa cuts him off, shunning pleasantries.<\/p>\n \u2018Hope there\u2019s no problem, my good neighbour?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Your boy wants to damage my son\u2019s leg.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Eewo<\/em>,\u2019 cries Mrs. Okose. Jostling her husband aside, she squats in front of me and, rubbing my head as if I am a baby, she speaks in a rushed sing-song voice, \u2018Ndo<\/em>, ndo<\/em>.\u2019<\/p>\n It seems Mr. Okose\u2019s face will tear easily from one sweep of Pa\u2019s knuckles. Watching it twitch as he speaks, I wonder why he has it bleached. Now he is expressing himself a little too fast so his eyes go scuttling this way and that as if to keep up with his words.<\/p>\n \u2018Where\u2019s that problem child?\u2019 Mrs. Okose stops rubbing my head. \u2018Izu!\u2019<\/p>\n Izu skips out, only to halt abruptly like he\u2019s just seen a three-eyed dog. I catch Pa narrowing his eyes at him. I remember the bat he had killed two nights before and feel a chill licking me over. I don\u2019t think I will like to defy him a second time if he prods me to strike Izu in front of his parents. Meanwhile, Izu looks like he will shrink into himself as his father grabs him by the ear, swinging him round like a puppet. Stuttering as he speaks, he jams his knuckles hard on Izu\u2019s head.<\/p>\n Izu begins fumbling about and rubbing his sore head with both hands. Deep spastic sounds burst out of his throat, as though he wants to cough up all his insides. I avoid his eyes as his father vows that he will be using a belt on him later on. I shouldn\u2019t be here watching him cry. Izu has never struck me as the crying kind, maybe because he usually looks tough, mean, unfeeling. A few minutes earlier, on our way to his place, I imagined I was going to punch him in the face had Pa asked me to. I was so cross with Izu for having hurt me. But I\u2019m not sure I\u2019d want to get even any more.<\/p>\n \u2018We\u2019re sorry for all the trouble…\u2019 Mr. Okose says, \u2018but why not come into the parlour, let us apologise properly over some beers?\u2019 <\/p>\n \u2018I can prepare some ugba in a few seconds,\u2019 his wife chips in.<\/p>\n Pa says, \u2018It\u2019s late, but thanks.\u2019<\/p>\n The couple share glances, then Mrs. Okose brushes her son aside and darts into their parlour. Her husband becomes nice and sweet; even his washed-out face takes on a shine, like he\u2019s tipsy, cajoling Pa to visit their humble home\u2014anytime, anytime, he is saying this particular word with emphasis\u2014when his wife returns, her face slick with sweat, with a wide-bottomed green bottle of wine, which looks delicate and costly. She is about handing it over to Pa when her husband tells her to wait. Confusion flickers on her face as her husband snatches the bottle from her, as though he fears she might drop it.<\/p>\n Holding the bottle with both hands, he lifts it towards Pa. \u2018My good neighbour, for you. Our door is open, anytime, anytime.\u2019 <\/p>\n Pa frowns at him. \u2018That is not necessary, Mr…\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Clement, call me Clement.\u2019<\/p>\n Pa starts shaking his head slow and perfunctory.<\/p>\n Mrs. Okose also entreats him. It seems she may be going down on her knees as Pa holds her eyes a minute longer, like there\u2019s something he finds unflattering about her, something oily about her round face. Then he turns to her husband. He takes the bottle carefully but stiffly by the neck. Taps me on the shoulder, hands it over to me. Without saying thank-you or goodbye, he strides out the gate. Mr. Okose calls after him, reminding him to extend his warmest greetings to Ma, but Pa does not bother to reply or glance back.<\/p>\n I hurry after him, proud that he didn\u2019t beat up our neighbours. He had carried himself so well, though he acted firm and distant the whole time. I wonder if that\u2019s what Pa means when he says I have to be a man. Something\u2014probably a bat\u2014shrieks overhead and Pa begins to hum a tune, reminding me of Ma whenever she is in the kitchen. Up in the cobalt sky, the moon bares its fullness, like yolk\u2014too yellow and unreal. I think of Izu and hope we could still be friends.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" After<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI’m pregnant.\u201d
\nThere is silence on the line.
\n\u201cHello?\u201d
\n\u201cYeah.\u201d His voice finally comes, sounding thick.
\n\u201cDid you hear what I said?\u201d
\n\u201cYeah.\u201d
\n\u201cOkay.\u201d I wrap my fingers around a strand of hair and pull\u2014a long-standing habit of mine, at once compulsive and pacifying.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":3632,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2158","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2158","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2158"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2158\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3932,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2158\/revisions\/3932"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3632"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2158"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2158"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue24\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2158"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}