Free Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe Page B

so, on the day that Nwoye’s mother celebrated the birth of her three sons with feasting and music, Ekwefi was the only person in the happy company who went about with a cloud on her brow. Her husband’s wife took this for malevolence, as husbands’ wives were wont to. How could she know that Ekwefi’s bitterness did not flow outwards to others but inwards into her own soul; that she did not blame others for their good fortune but her own evil
chi
who denied her any?
    At last Ezinma was born, and although ailing she seemed determined to live. At first Ekwefi accepted her, as she had accepted others—with listless resignation. But when she lived on to her fourth, fifth and sixth years, love returned once more to her mother, and, with love, anxiety. She determined to nurse her child to health, and she put all her being into it. She was rewarded by occasional spells of health during which Ezinma bubbled with energy like fresh palm-wine. At such times she seemed beyond danger. But all of a sudden shewould go down again. Everybody knew she was an
ogbanje.
These sudden bouts of sickness and health were typical of her kind. But she had lived so long that perhaps she had decided to stay. Some of them did become tired of their evil rounds of birth and death, or took pity on their mothers, and stayed. Ekwefi believed deep inside her that Ezinma had come to stay. She believed because it was that faith alone that gave her own life any kind of meaning. And this faith had been strengthened when a year or so ago a medicine man had dug up Ezinma’s
iyi-uwa.
Everyone knew then that she would live because her bond with the world of
ogbanje
had been broken. Ekwefi was reassured. But such was her anxiety for her daughter that she could not rid herself completely of her fear. And although she believed that the
iyi-uwa
which had been dug up was genuine, she could not ignore the fact that some really evil children sometimes misled people into digging up a specious one.
    But Ezinma’s
iyi-uwa
had looked real enough. It was a smooth pebble wrapped in a dirty rag. The man who dug it up was the same Okagbue who was famous in all the clan for his knowledge in these matters. Ezinma had not wanted to cooperate with him at first. But that was only to be expected. No
ogbanje
would yield her secrets easily, and most of them never did because they died too young—before they could be asked questions.
    “Where did you bury your
iyi-uwa?”
Okagbue had asked Ezinma. She was nine then and was just recovering from a serious illness.
    “What is
iyi-uwa?”
she asked in return.
    “You know what it is. You buried it in the ground somewhere so that you can die and return again to torment your mother.”
    Ezinma looked at her mother, whose eyes, sad and pleading, were fixed on her.
    “Answer the question at once,” roared Okonkwo, who stood beside her. All the family were there and some of the neighbors too.
    “Leave her to me,” the medicine man told Okonkwo in a cool, confident voice. He turned again to Ezinma. “Where did you bury your
iyi-uwa?”
    “Where they bury children,” she replied, and the quiet spectators murmured to themselves.
    “Come along then and show me the spot,” said the medicine man.
    The crowd set out with Ezinma leading the way and Okagbue following closely behind her. Okonkwo came next and Ekwefi followed him. When she came to the main road, Ezinma turned left as if she was going to the stream.
    “But you said it was where they bury children?” asked the medicine man.
    “No,” said Ezinma, whose feeling of importance was manifest in her sprightly walk. She sometimes broke into a run and stopped again suddenly. The crowd followed her silently. Women and children returning from the stream with pots of water on their heads wondered what was happening until they saw Okagbue and guessed that it must be something to do with
ogbanje.
And they all knew Ekwefi and her daughter very well.
    When she got to the big udala tree