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"O gini mere? What happened?" the neighbors asked, gathering around Alice.
"I am from Asaba and I got word about our hometown this morning," the man said. His accent was thicker than Alice 's, and Ola
Alice was lying on her back, rubbing her head frantically against the ground, moaning. Clumps of sand were in her hair. She jumped up and ran toward the road but Pastor Ambrose ran after her and dragged her back. She jerked away and threw herself down again, her lips pulled back, her teeth bared. "What am I doing still alive? They should come and kill me now! I said they should come and kill me!"
She was strengthened, emboldened, by the madness of grief and she fought off everyone who tried to hold her. She rolled on the ground with such force that the stones cut her skin in tiny red gashes. The neighbors said oh and shook their heads. Odenigbo came out of the room then and went over and picked Alice up and held her, and she stayed still and began to weep, her head resting on his shoulder. Ola
Finally Alice sat down on a bench, blank and stricken. From time to time, she would scream "Hei!" and stand up and place her hands on her head. Odenigbo sat by her and urged her to drink some water. He and the man from Asaba talked in low voices as if they alone were responsible for her, and afterward he came up to where Ola
"Will you pack some of her things, nkem?" he asked. "The man says he has some Asaba people in his compound and he will take her to stay with them for a while."
Ola
"No?"
"No," she said again, loudly now. "No." And she got up and went into the room. She would not pack anybody's clothes. She did not know who did pack Alice 's things, perhaps Odenigbo did, but she heard the "Ije oma, go well," from many neighbors as Alice and the man left late in the evening. Ola
"The vandals are close!" Pastor Ambrose cried, and he was first to run out of the compound, a stuffed duffel bag in his hand.
The yard erupted in activity, shouting, packing, leaving. The shelling, like burst after burst of horribly loud, vile coughing, did not stop. And the car did not start. Odenigbo tried and tried and the road was already crowded with refugees and the crashing explosions of mortars sounded as close as St. John's Road. Mama Oji was screaming at her husband. Mama Ada
Odenigbo started the engine and it whined and died. The compound was almost empty A woman on the road was dragging a stubborn goat and finally left it behind and hurried ahead. Odenigbo turned the key and again the car stalled. Ola
Odenigbo turned the key again and again. The car would not start.
"Start walking with Baby," he said. Sweat clung to his brow.
"What?"
"I'll pick you both up when the car starts."
"If we are walking, we will walk together."
Odenigbo tried to start the car again. Ola
Odenigbo came out and opened the bo
"Let's start walking," Ola
Odenigbo got in and took a deep breath and turned the key. The car started. He drove fast and, on the outskirts of Umuahia, Ola
Odenigbo did not answer, looking straight ahead.
"I asked you a question, Odenigbo."
"Mba, I didn't do anything with Alice." He glanced at her and then looked ahead at the road.
They said nothing else to each other until they arrived in Orlu, and Kainene and Harrison came out of the house. Harrison began to unpack the things in the car.
Kainene hugged Ola
"I never try to copy anyone."
"Of course. I had forgotten how original you are."
Kainene's voice was thick with the tension that surrounded them all. Ola
"We're here until we can find a place to rent," Odenigbo said, looking at Kainene.
Kainene stared back at him, raised her eyebrows, and said, " Harrison! Bring some more palm oil for Chiamaka."
Harrison came in and placed a bowl of oil before Baby. After he left, Kainene said, "He roasted a fantastic bush rat for us last week. But you would have thought it was a rack of lamb the way he went on about it."
Ola
Biafra will not betray the black man. No matter the odds, we will fight with all our might until black men everywhere can point with pride to this Republic, standing dignified and defiant, an example of African nationalism…
Richard excused himself and came back with a bottle of brandy and gestured toward Odenigbo. "An American journalist gave it to me."
Odenigbo stared at the bottle.
"It's brandy," Richard said, holding it out, as if Odenigbo did not know. They had not spoken since Odenigbo drove to his house years ago to shout at him. They had not spoken even after they shook hands today.
Odenigbo did not reach out to take the bottle.
"You can have Biafran sherry instead," Kainene said. "Possibly more suitable for your tough revolutionary liver."
Odenigbo looked at her and there was a small, sneering smile on his face, as though he was both amused and a
Ola
"Bedtime, Baby," she said.
"No," Baby said, and pretended to focus on her empty plate.
"Come right now," Ola
In the room, Odenigbo was tying his wrapper around his waist. "I was just coming to put Baby to bed," he said. Ola
"Sleep well, Baby, ka chifo" he said.
"Good night, Daddy."
Ola