WEDLOCK OF THE SPIRITS AND OTHER STORIES

UNEASY LIES THE HEAD

UNEASY LIES THE HEAD

In this world, a lot of things go wrong and we have cause to question the purpose of our existence. Other times, we question the existence of God, that's what life does to us, we doubt the truth and sometimes believe the lie, it's the entire cycle of hope and despair which makes up the rhythm of life that makes it a lot more intriguing. I knew Mr. Harpwood, his first name was Edogo, an Ibo businessman, very successful one in those days, he had two children, he was an unassuming young man back in the days, but I tell you his childhood was tortuous, he was born to a family where he wasn't loved. His siblings were loved but for no obvious reason, he wasn't loved, it was when he came to our primary school back then and due to his extraordinary academic ingenuity, we became friends, he was always coming first in class, tried hard as we could, we couldn't topple him and even in those days and at the peak of his academic glory, he was still self effacing, he was quite comely and he was no good at sports, he was always using the school's library and the laboratory. He knew almost everything we were taught and arithmetic sums posed no threats to him.
Naturally, our teachers loved him and I wondered why such a bright child would be hated in his home, his mother beat him for no reason and sent him to do odd jobs, his father was more relaxed and showed more solidarity but it seemed he was under a spell, he was at his wife's whims and caprices, some of their neighbours called him woman wrapper, and that wasn't far from the truth, he never questioned his wife's actions and was always looking morose. Well, with time, his wife was tagged a witch.
A few years later, we were done with primary school and Edogo told me his mother insisted he shouldn't go to secondary school, despite making all distinctions in his First School Leaving Certificate Examinations and passing the Common Entrance Examinations to one of the Federal Unity Colleges, I promised him I would talk to his mother on his behalf because we both knew his father was a stooge, a figurehead.
In those days whenever I visited him, I usually helped his mother with farm work, so one of these days when I helped Edogo and his mum on the farm, I decided to broach the subject, I told her of how intelligent her son was and how he would excel in secondary school, she stuck to her guns initially but after much persuasion, she consented to letting Edogo go to secondary school and that was how we started secondary school together.

Edogo's shine continued unabated, he started topping our class from Class 1 and the late Benjamin Donning, a white man who was our principal, held him in high esteem, however towards Class 3, he had lost his verve to do the Sciences and he delved into the Arts, his aim was to study Law, by the time we got to Class 4, he had become a shadow of his past, he barely attended classes, he now smoked cigarettes and stole sardines from the school canteen, the change was melodramatic, it was unfathomable, his grades nosedived drastically and our teachers were astounded.
Edogo Harpwood who had been the cynosure of all eyes, an epitome of intelligentsia and a product of intellectual sagacity had transmogrified into an academic nuisance and a societal derelict. As his friend, I talked to him several times and even let his mother know about the recent development, to my greatest astonishment, she laughed and told me that "God never sleeps, He must punish the wicked", I didn't understand, I couldn't draw a correlation between Edogo's deplorable academic performance and wickedness.
Edogo managed to escape expulsion twice until we finished sometime in 1986, he barely made three credits in WASSCE, we were not surprised, his academic downfall had climaxed in such a poor result, he appeared unruffled, he continued smoking and when I left for UNIBEN in 1988 to study Pharmacy, I let him know that he could still make it if he willed, but deep down, I knew he was under some kind of spiritual spell.
In 1989, while he prepared for JAMB one sunny afternoon, his girlfriend Joanna was in the market, he fell into a trance and a voice told him to stand up and go to a particular shrine where he could find the solution to his problems, he obeyed the voice and he went to this shrine, the place turned out to be a kind of traditional church and not a shrine, he got converted to this new African traditional religion as against his Christian upbringing.
That same year, he got into UNIBEN to study English, by the year 1990, prophets and prophetesses in his new religion exposed him to the reasons why he was hated by his family, his mother was a witch after all and she had tried to no avail to initiate him into the world of witchcraft, these revelations alarmed Edogo and he now understood why his mother hated him so much, he graduated in 1993 and got a job in 1995, he got a job as a teacher and married Joanna, he resigned in 1999 and got a job as a lecturer, his economy became better and he delved into business, he became very successful and it seemed he was no longer the unassuming young man of yesteryears.
I met him in 2006 and he had dropped his African traditional religion, just when his mother died, I advised him to continue his religion, because desperately wicked mothers could hand over the rope of torment to their fellow initiates when it was evident that they were going to die, Edogo didn't heed my advice, by the year 2007 he was having health issues, his elder son, Ebuka was 10 years old and Chinyere his daughter was 4 years old, he sought solutions to his ill health and spent millions of naira trying to get his health but it deteriorated until sometime in 2014 when it became full blown apoplexy.
He was taken to a spiritual home in his hometown for treatment, while he was there, I visited him and encouraged him to hold on to God, he told me he had borne these pains for so long and he was tired
Edogo, you won't die, I assured him
God has forgotten me, he said in pain as he sat on the floor, his face ashen and his palms were calloused.
I remember him in those days, a handsome man, full of charm, now reduced to a tired, sickly man who looked so vulnerable.
His legs couldn't move and he urinated inadvertently on his body, he even shat where he sat, he was pitiable, yet an appalling sight to behold.
Edogo Harpwood was no longer a rich man, his businesses had almost wound up due to his chronic ailment and his wife had no decent job that provided regular income. I didn't see him for about 3 years again because I travelled abroad.

He had always told them that death was his personal escape route from pain. He had borne these pains these past ten years and he hadn't seen respite, he tried to turn on his sides but couldn't, he smarted from pain, he shook his head wistfully. He looked at the rat poison at the far end of the room and he couldn't take it if not assisted, so a trick popped up in his head, his children were still young and couldn't cater for themselves, his wife was young too but his ailing body couldn't take the pains any longer. He looked at his son doing the dishes and whistling a familiar tune, he smiled to himself before calling him.
Ebuka, he called him
nnam, the ruddy young boy of 17 answered, literally flying in, he was comely to look at and he walked as if there were springs under his heel, he looked too impatient every time and had a slight stammer whenever he talked, whenever he felt insulted and couldn't express himself fluently, he resorted to fisticuffs and often times, he did pounce on others and his punches were as lethal as bashing a man's head against an iroko tree.
He stood before his almost dead father.
Ebuka my son, bring me the plate that contains the rat poison and mix it, there's a rat that disturbs me every night here, let me apply it around me, he stopped talking abruptly.
Buuuut paaa--pa, he said blinking hard and biting his lower lips.
But me no buts, his father cut in weakly but sternly, his adamance couldn't be mistaken.
He flew out and brought the plate, mixed it and sat down to look at his father, the medicines used for his father's treatment were by his side too.
Ebuka my son, promise me you'd look after your mother if I bite the dust.
I sure will but papa, you're not dying anytime soon. You'll be fine, Ebuka protested.
He smiled and waved him away but he stood rooted to the spot.
Why do you sit there staring at me like a raped apparition? His father asked, his mood suddenly taking a harsh turn.
Get my trousers, take some money and get me some cold soft drink on the other side of the road, try and be back as soon as possible, he spat on the floor and added, if my spittle dries up before you return, the lizards will lick your eyes in your sleep, he smiled and Ebuka returned the smile, he studied his son's steps until he heard the door close behind him then.....

Ebuka got the bottle of soft drink and started walking home, his father must have been smiling into space, he thought as he was wont to do when he was alone, why had he demanded rat poison? He thought to himself, he hoped his father's intentions were genuine, or could he be dead? He brushed the disturbing thought aside but it kept hitting him strongly, "papa was dead" kept ringing in his head, he broke into a run, he got to the house and almost yanked the netted door off, what he met inside left him an altered and damaged man till the end of his days, hot blood rushed to his head, he saw his father sprawled across the floor, white foam-like substance frothing from his mouth and his tongue stuck out in a struggle with death, his hands were limp when he raised them and dropped them again, his father was dead. It was only then he realized that suicide wasn't the will to kill one's physical body but the will to kill something in one's body, he let out a sharp scream as hot tears cascaded down his face, the place was filled up in a jiffy and women wailed, his mother and sister were sent for immediately.
A man who stood aloof the despairing crowd who had felt no less touched than the others said; a man who has never submitted to anything will soon submit to a burial mat, he shook his head mournfully before turning adroitly in a manner characteristic of athletes, leaning heavily on a stick, he walked home.