When Gods Bleed

by Njedeh Anthony

  “If that is your final decision, then I will have to get what I want by other means.” Okonjo turned to leave, but looked back and said, “Has anyone told you that you look and talk in an identical manner to the King?”

  Obi turned around, leaving the man still standing on the same spot, wondering how such a person could come close to resembling his distinct looking cousin.

  As Okonjo left on a carriage pulled by servants, he thought more about the King and Obi.

  The King has only one son alive who cannot stand on his feet. He has no resemblance to the King and is weak with words. A so-called prince that cannot stand where the wind blows. The men in power all long for the King to die. I don’t blame them; even I wish the bastard would choke in his greed, but the man was born with an immortal spirit. His poor excuse for a son is the opening of power for anyone who can get access to him. Apart from him being young in the head, he also is young in the heart of a man.

  Okonjo frowned at the thought of the sardonic Obi coming out publicly in the capital.

  All the elders would claim him the lost prince. How ironic this life is—the elders pushed the King to kill the only heir at that time and now they would rather give the throne to a demon than the only son the King has. There is no way that arrogant Obi can be the son of the King, unless he is the son of Aneaton, who was positively killed by the Ogun priest. Unless, the Ogun priest did not kill the child. That can’t be possible; he suggested the death of the child. What is going through my head? Obi is the son of Nneka and she is also the sister to Aneaton. She was supposed to be the King’s wife, but he chose her sister and continued sleeping with Nneka during her marriage to the Ikaza. It is outstandingly obvious that he looks like the King. How come no one has ever spoken of it?

  Okonjo's servants had gotten to the town and were heading to his home. Their master kept looking at the people in the capital, how they crowded together talking of anything they could think of. He smiled knowing that the walls of status prevented him from having anything to talk about with these commoners, but at the same time being the subject their gossip. Disgusting sets of beings, he thought, they talk so much about me and most of them do not know what I look like. He scratched his head for a while, then his smile was rekindled. That is it. Most men have not stood in the presence of the King and looked him in the eye; that is why they can't detect the resemblance between Obi and the King. His friend Gbangba never noticed the resemblance because they grew up together.

  Now, he grinned and rubbed his chin, how can this information benefit me?

  When he arrived at his home, his servants and slaves along with his family were all waiting outside. He ignored all three wives and nine children, who were trying to get his attention, and ran into his house like a mad man. He grabbed a servant, who followed him at the same pace.

  “Where is she?”

  “In her room, sir,” the servant answered submissively.

  Okonjo went to the room to see his most prized possession. If someone did not recognize his arrival, he took it as an insult. The woman he was looking for knew that and purposely did not come out, letting everyone in his home see her power over him. Only she, Weruche, had the fullness of the earth he craved. He had begged her a thousand times to let him dispose of the thorns of his flesh, but she preferred to remain the fourth wife than the only wife. Everyone believed she put him under a spell, but he did not seem to care, and those who voiced their view were no longer under the blanket of his generosity.

  *

  The loneliness started eating into Obi’s spine. On a few occasions he went to visit his only friend, Gbangba, but these visits were rare because of the intensity of his friend’s position. One sunny morning Obi’s oldest relative, who was from his mother's lineage, came to his home with his sisters and their husbands. He welcomed them in, and his youngest sister offered kola nuts and palm wine to everyone in order of age. After the oldest relative had blessed what was being offered, eaten the kola nut, and drank the wine, they began what they came for.

  “Obiani,” his oldest relative spoke while everyone sat down and listened attentively. “Your sisters came all the way to Utagba to tell me that you are still living alone without a wife. Listen young man, if you take one broomstick, it can break with ease, but when it forms a broom it does not break.”

  The old man coughed and then continued.

  “A man cannot stand alone without women or at least a woman. Do you intend cooking for yourself forever, or sweeping the ground by yourself? As much as the chicken spreads its feathers and rises above the ground, it can't fly like an eagle. May the gods forbid such a destiny for you, my son?”

  “Papa, I really do not understand why they have to put you through all this trouble because they want to choose a bride for me.”

  “It is not they, it is we, who have chosen your bride. The girl is the daughter of an Ikaza with lost honor. Your parents before they died introduced you to her father. We have checked their background and noticed nothing of concern, except the fact that the father is an Ikaza like your father, but his case was a little different—he was embezzling the chief’s dues. Anyway, we tried other women and their dowries were too high because you are the son of an Ikaza and we all know you are not that wealthy.”

  “How am I sure that I will like this woman?”

  “Believe me, my brother, she glides with the wind and she is his first daughter,” the younger sister interjected.

  “Beauty is but a spice; the inner desire is the main dish, my dear sister,” Obi said.

  “Why don’t you meet her first?” suggested his younger sister's husband.

  The oldest relative continued as though he was never interrupted.

  “The dowry is five healthy looking cows, one bull, two he-goats, thirteen kegs of palm wine, a basin of kola nut and garden eggs, twelve fowls, and enough lace material for their whole family.”

  “I have to admit the dowry requires quite some funds but it is relatively cheap. Why don't you people tell me the truth? Ikpong’s daughter is as ugly as a monkey.”

  “Even if she cannot capture your fancy, the major thing is that you have a woman to look after your house and bear your children,’’ said his oldest sister. “Maybe you do not realize it, but you are the only accepted son of our father. We intend to let his legacy flow forever.”

  “The introduction is in four days, so look for the sweetest palm wine you can find today. By tomorrow morning we shall all leave.”

  *

  In three days they got to Ikpong’s home in the Ozuoba province. As any Ikaza, his house was secluded from the main town, but he seemed to keep a level of affluence. His home was built to a man's exceptional taste. Although he bore the title of Ikaza, all his sons were Omees in the same province and he had constant dealings with Chief Atani, who treated him like a doormat.

  Immediately they arrived, they directed them to Ikpong who was surrounded by slaves. They all bowed as a mark of respect except for Obi’s oldest relative, who was the oldest person in the room.

  “Great Ikpong, in your days no man could look into your eyes in battle and live,” the oldest relative said.

  “I understand the procedures that this introduction requires, but could we leave the flattering behind and move on.” Ikpong replied.

  “I, too, always liked to kill the fowl by cutting its neck instead of playing with it,” the oldest man grunted. “We have come for the hand of your daughter in marriage. We intend to build a dynasty of sons from her.”

  The oldest relative glanced at Obi giving him a signal to proceed. Obi’s head was still low, and he stretched out his hands with the keg of palm wine and calabash of kola nut.

  “Good friend of my father, I come to your glorious presence to humbly ask for your daughter in wedlock.”

  “Your father was a good friend to me and he had a spirit I will respect till my grave. Please sit,” Ikpong replied, taking the gifts as if they were dirt.

  Everyone sat on the raffia mats.
Hanging on the walls were elephant tusks and feline skins.

  “Did your father tell you people what the price of the dowry was?”

  “Yes, he did,” the oldest relative replied confidently.

  “Well, the price has doubled.”

  “Why?” Obi's youngest sister screamed.

  “Has anyone not told you that when men talk women listen?” Ikpong said.

  “Forgive her,” the oldest relative said, “the youth in her blood overcomes her. I think the women can wait for us outside while we conclude.”

  The women hesitated and then left angrily.

  “Let’s face it, the only reason I wanted my daughter to marry into your family was because of Ifeanyi. In spite of the fact that he was an Ikaza, he still commanded respect. But now he is dead and you are not even an Omee. I watched you grow and I was proud of what I saw, but you will end up putting our name in a deeper hole than it already is. You are the son of an Ikaza and it haunts you wherever you go. If my daughter married a man with respect, no one will ever remember that her father was an Ikaza.”

  “If it is double the dowry you want, then I will provide it for you,” Obi replied, not wanting to leave with a wounded pride.

  “I don't think he means what he is saying,” the oldest relative interrupted.

  “I mean exactly what I say.”

  “So that is settled,” Ikpong said before turning and clapping his hands. “Tell Amina to come here.”

  Facing them again he said, “I wish I could bring Amina's mother here, but I do not want to disgrace your humble presence by calling my concubine to your view.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that your first daughter, is the daughter of a concubine?” the oldest relative yelled.

  “Of course not. The general of our province came for her hand two sunsets ago, and who am I to resist such a man of prestige.” Ikpong said proudly.

  “But you had already agreed to give the girl to Obi. Why would you choose to give her to his own brother?” the older sister's husband snarled.

  “That is the stupidest question any man has ever asked me. Odagwe is general now and very soon he will be chief. Apart from that, he possesses two qualities that I like—he is rich and he has power.”

  They all stood looking at Ikpong, the words trapped in their mouths.

  “I really do not see what the problem is here. Before I accepted the dowry from your brother, I told him you had already asked for her hand in marriage and he said that had nothing to do with him.”

  “You men should forget about my first daughter. See the beauty in Amina. Her mother was given to me by an Arabian who sought my help in the possession of slaves. At first I chose to refuse him because she was his concubine, but then sight of the woman was irresistible. If you get to know her, you will forget she is not one of us.”

  “Am I to understand that you want Obi to marry these people? Maybe you are not aware that strength of the people of Utagba lies in our darkened roots,’’ the oldest relative fumed, looking at the half-Arabian girl. “The annoying thing is, you brought this poor excuse for a woman to our presence because you have put us all on the same level. In fact, how dare you bring the daughter of a concubine to be our bride? It’s been awhile, but I smell blood.”

  “The dowry of any commoner’s daughter is less than a quarter of your dowry,” Obi’s in-law blurted.

  “I admit you are slick negotiators. We will use the former dowry we agreed on.”

  “You openly insult us. You bring this child of a concubine and you expect us to pay a dowry for her,” the oldest relative said, shaking with anger.

  Amina stood without making a sound, her head down and tears falling from her cheeks as she listened to her devaluation as a human being.

  When the tears touched the floor, it was as though they awakened Obi’s spirit. He looked at the beauty she held and refused to give her away.

  “Wise old man, you are quick to lose your temper. How can I even imagine giving such a wench to a son of Utagba? Actually, I wanted her to prepare the road for my other daughter, the first daughter from her mother. She is truly a rare human being and her dowry will remain the same with what I agreed with Obi's father.”

  “That is generous of you, Ikpong, but we are no longer interested. We shall take our leave,” Obi said.

  All four men got up and started leaving. Ikpong followed the men and tried begging, but he did not know the words to use. As the men stepped outside and started arranging their departure, Obi looked back into the house and saw Amina standing in the same place. As though his glance touched her, she raised her head and looked back into his eyes. That was all it took. In a month’s time, the marriage ceremony between Obi and Amina had begun.

  The marriage was a day of bliss, but nothing too flamboyant. Most of the crowd came to dance, eat, and say goodbye to the girl they once knew because she belonged to another man. Obi’s sisters, brothers-in-law, relatives and representatives of Utagba were present, but they all objected to him getting married to the daughter of a concubine.

  Although the elders never showed themselves in the burial of an Ikaza, it didn't prevent them from being present at an Ikaza's daughter's marriage. Also, her suitor paid an outrageously high dowry for her hand, which made everyone curious to see the Arabian’s daughter. Obi could have paid a lesser dowry, but he chose to pay double the amount to let the world know she was worth the fortunes of a man's land.

  The ceremony involved throwing alcohol on the ground by the elders and blessing the ground where the union was taking place. Then the father of the bride stated, in the presence of everyone, the way he required the groom to take care of his daughter. Afterward, the groom was blindfolded and a stream of coquettes led by his mother-in-law came in claiming to be his bride, but he rejected their advances with a smile. If Obi had accepted any of their advances, then he would have lost his bride even though her father had already taken the dowry.

  At the end of the occasion, Amina followed her husband and waved goodbye to her mother. As much as the mother was sad that her daughter was leaving, she was happy for her, too. Amina had never seen her mother smile and walk with so much pride. The day was the best in her life because it helped her mother realize she was special.

  Chapter 4

  King Nwosa's palace was crowded with men of all kinds, of different races and places, waiting to see him. As the King’s mother passed everyone, with Okonjo and her servant behind her, all of them bowed. All the foreigners had quickly learned the customs, a necessary knowledge for those seeking certain possessions. Also, it was no secret that Gbangba cut the head off a white man who approached him with disrespect. Since then, everybody was positive the whites could live and die like anyone else.

  As the mother got to the chambers of the King, the Omees tried to stop her from passing through the doors, begging her to let them announce her presence, but she ignored everyone around her until she got to her son.

  He was talking with the envoy of the Didasu Kingdom and the Ishu priest, who succeeded the Ogun priest, who died of old age. He saw his mother and totally ignored her entry and discharged the Didasu envoy. The envoy bowed to the King and then the King-Mother before leaving. The King stared at the Omees who let his mother pass through as they lay flat on the ground, begging for mercy for being lax in their duties. He waved his hands, and they thanked him and went out the door.

  The King’s chamber had cushioned seats from animal skins. Tree trunks elevated his throne and the stairway leading up the throne was made of skeletons. Crafts hung on the walls and the entire floor had the softness of animal fur. His mother began to sit but he told her, while staring lustfully at her servant, “I did not offer you a seat.”

  She got up, snapped her fingers, and pointed to the ground. Her servant went down on her hands and knees and she sat on her.

  “Mother, I really do not think where you are sitting is comfortable. You may now take a seat,” the King growled.

  “I am comfortable where
I am,” the King-Mother replied.

  “I was actually referring to the welfare of that sweet little girl you are sitting on. If you crave to sit on someone's back, let me get an Omee that you can torture.”

  “Save your manly needs for another day, we have come here on a matter of great importance.”

  The King-Mother directed Okonjo to sit as she spoke, but he knew better and claimed satisfaction in his standing posture.

  “You better have something worth talking about or else—”

  “Or else what? I carried you for nine months in my belly and till today you have not brought pride to my weak heart. What I have to say to you is for your ears only.”

  “Mother, save the melodramatic statements. You are aware that the Ishu priest is the Headman to the Oracle and he is the High Chief.”

  “I know he is a High Chief. I know there are only three men in the kingdom that can be High Chief. I know they are the Head-Of-Government, Okpalaukwu and the Headman to the Oracle. But as I said before, what I have to say is for your ears only.”

  At that point the King wondered where was the Okpalaukwu, the oldest chief in the kingdom. “I trust his loyalty over that of your spoiled sister’s child, Okonjo,” the King retorted pointing at her nephew.

  “Okonjo is the reason I am here. The servant with me is deaf and dumb, so you can forget about her. It has come to my knowledge that you were supposed to marry Aneaton's sister.”

  “Yes, so please do not tell me that is why you came.”

  “Were you sleeping with her?”

  “Mother, maybe you are not aware of the seriousness of the position I carry.”

  “Were you sleeping with her?”

  “No, no, no. I was supposed to marry her then I saw her sister. Since I married Aneaton, I have not laid eyes on her. Why are you asking me these questions?”

  As Okonjo stood there during the mother's interrogation, he feared he was going to lose his head at the hands of his King for spreading unfounded information.