Truth at Twilight

By Olubowale Johnson

Mother Nature staged the unforeseen circumstance that brought them together. As the gods would have their ways he rescued her from her recluse and she saved him from the incapacity lodged beneath his torso.
When they were settling down to live happily ever after, reality crept into them as it looked she was battered by his loved ones and he was betrayed by the one he most esteemed. At twilight truth eventually matured: the very hand that scratched his back when it itched stabbed him in the belly. Wedged in the thin line between life and death, his life of love and tragic, betrayal and trust reeled before him in a twinkle of an eye.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Mar 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491895290

Olubowale Johnson

Olubowale Johnson was born in 1982 in Nigeria. He is a native of Abeokuta. With two sisters and brothers he was brought up in Ibadan by Mr. and Mrs. Olubowale. He is a prolific writer and a poet. He presently teaches at Cedar Mathetein College at Ibadan.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

His face highly detailed extreme pain. Covered with bruises, he was wedged between life and death. He was grabbing the gash in his belly in those poor hands; thick precious crimson blood pouring from this ugly wound crept through his cold fingers. Death, as common to man as life, hovered over him—maybe for home-calling! Twitching on the ground, he was soaked in rain mixed with his own blood, maybe of rare breed, like butchered animal meant for supreme sacrifice. Trapped in the hollow space between life and death he quivered in throes, and was cold.

His head was in Mama’s palms which were on her bare laps, ancient though in nature but actually wrinkled in feature. Tears were pouring out of her eyes in astounding volume, seemed eroding her wrinkled cheeks…

Few minutes later, absolutely aware he was wasting away from her—or slipping off the hands she bore him with through his growing years as precious pearl of her soul—she gently placed his head on a large leaf and left awkwardly into the trees shrouded in gloom and terror. She returned with anesthetic-endowed herbs. She also made for the creek and brought water in a mud-marred plastic cup she had washed in the creek, however not absolutely thorough. Kneeling beside him she meshed the herbs and applied one or two of its sap into the gash in his belly. His face been contorted he fought the sharp pain from the aftereffect of the herbs as though with his life, also traded his groan for, or against, immortal relief.

So carefully she returned his head onto her laps, having torn the hem of her wrapper, soaked with water and squeezed it, and then massaged the bruises and gash with it. With the herbal effect his blood ceased from drifting life from his very soul.

He said at length, his voice fluttering as well as his blurring eyes in simultaneity, his face flushed with agony predominant in his flesh: ‘I—I amm go-go-going tto die-e.’

Mama said in consolatory tone, ‘No! No, my child.’ Letting out a globule of tear on her left lower eyelash which would later stream down her left cheek, she added, ‘I will not live to watch you slip away from me. I am supposed to leave before you.’ She switched to sob with that last sentence. This gravity was too hard to bear. Time of sowing tears has gone by raising him; only to reap the same tears again instead of joy watching this somber moment slinked by tugging on his heels.

‘I-I know, Mama. But—’ He too could not hold himself; he had to pile the moment with plaintive sob. ‘The pain is e-xcruciating,’ he slurred. ‘I-I amm a-fraid fate is taking… ing its toll on… on us. I am-am sli-slipping away fr-rom you. I am sorry—’

‘Please, please keep quiet. Keep quiet, child.’ She tried as tenderly as she could to offer that from her mild tongue. With this tongue she raised him with wise counsels, only now to hold on to him with it as though string tying onto his feet against immortal path. ‘You are only having this pain in your heart, trust me. I believe with time it will heal. Shut your heart off it and feel it is not there. The herbs in its curative property will terminate it. Just believe me, child.’

‘I-I amm trying… but I can’t. Th-that is j… ust cons… onsolatory. This is j-just fate… a pure fate.’ He couldn’t hold on any longer to his soul, a soul every man is loaned with: debt to mankind. The world around him—the world he had lived himself, enjoyed or loathed—was dissipating into dark void. His head was becoming shrouded with shadow of life well-lived, or worst.

She watched him gave the last shut of his eyelids to humble himself to death, closing up the last line on this mortal script?

Death is a relief to all turmoil and strain of life, a consolation for all struggles and losses and answers to endless questions, reunion of soul with spirit. We have walked this common path long enough. It has taken from us fortitude, leaving a remnant of hope to fight for life only to survive; after all, we only end up either in eternal bliss or damnation. The question is: does this perfectly articulate our very essence of existence?

The chain of events, sequence of reality culminated to this tragedy as the chapters of his life are unraveled on the pages of time as follows…

CHAPTER 1

The gods are good… they were benevolent, may be, to all inhabitants of Ayeku except Bade?

He was subjected to sorrow, his feeling blind to the goodwill of the gods; this blanketed his heart, all his hope was terminated by his carnal conclusion. Only if the gods can lit the lamp in his heart to gain sight to their splendid intention which they have not expressed in a manner of action, then he would have jumped onto his feet and run ‘silly’—as might be viewed by Ayeku’s indigenes, even more grotesquely, sojourners—with the energy of his youth through every vein of the little community that was important to the blood that incarnate her.

Lying there on a reclining chair, made of mahogany, fixed to sooth the back, his eyes were motionless for few seconds before realizing their subjectivity to answer nature’s call.

Gazing tenaciously at the morning sky, radiant and anesthetic to the soul bruised by the gloomy night, it was as though the sun rose in the west.

Nevertheless, hustling and bustling came to life in Ayeku—she was not big enough to claim she was a big community. Anyway, she has about five to six thousands population, excluding the tourists that stream in and out of her and other folks in the neighbouring communities. Her folks almost knew one another in this typical social unit. She was like society of the same species enclosed by nature in a mutual box, locked in a common heart just for bonding of all. She was so small that she has neither a nook nor a cranny for hiding secret. She comfortably sat on a coastal region, enjoying the healing breeze of the shore of the boundless ocean. Apart from this, her wonderful sceneries were breathtaking. She hosted neither church nor mosque even though the gospel of Christ was preached by a young priest who visited the community from God-knows-where. Even though he had gained few converts, yet her people were still idolaters and fishing was a common occupation there.

The ocean, two hundreds to three hundred meters away, was giving out its handsome music, although inconsistently—or incoherently—to him, which any professional fisherman would be able to discern and properly dissect as it was believed by her fishermen: it’s the language that the fishes speak under water in a fascinating intonation conveys by gods for those that have their ears in their hearts; it tells the conditions of the aquatic realm or makes ill-prediction of what may…

There was a message for him—the fishes were distressed and it was not time for fishing. The rain which had been falling since last night till an hour ago was heavy and raised the ocean level moderately. Even Ayeku was still wet and the breeze that throbs over her was still cool and invigorating except to him. Despite this gesture of the season till about an hour ago, the clearness of the sky could not have been imagined by anyone.

The fishes were distressed and he, too! He was impotent: okobo¹! The gods are good but was it their goodwill, so to say, to fate him with manly incapability… okobo. Our elders say that the true nature of a complete man is seen in his manhood. Thus he was still a boy, although thirty-five years of age, of years of misery and mystery. In fact, he could not pass the true test of man. He was a horse in the book… ti ole taputu!

He sighed bitterly, his eyes bearing tears he had manly managed to retain behind his eyelids. The tears conveyed the heaviness of his misery. They were finally evicted through his eyelashes to his cheeks. If these tears were turned to stones and hauled at Ayeku, they would make the effect of asteroids. He was deprived of himself by this overwhelming misery, lack of manhood. His very essence was posing to slip off him in his very tears.

Looking motionlessly at the morning sky, opulent in blue and graceful, and hearing that unique song from the bank of the ocean, it was usually a perfect way to lock his misery within, but today it was different. Successful though he was in life, as though of Midas type, but in the issue of his masculinity he was a failure, an utter failure. Indeed in this solitude, though insoluble his plight was in the pool of his soul, his heart could be scaled a numerous pounds heavier than his weight, making him to lose exuberant flesh in the past few weeks. It is true that sorrow or pain aid defunct hormone in the brain which wrecks human body mechanism.

Reality or mystic! For man to reach the finality of existence where he would conclude, ‘It’s finished! I have won the race!’ He must have conquered his greatest mountain in human odyssey from cradle to grave. Bade’s greatest mountain, too difficult to mount, was this weakness that made him rare among the men of his generation, even those before him and maybe after him.

For a moment, he watched the coastline, the ocean slapping its bank passionately and unrelentingly, and the canoes dancing to the unending music of its wave, courtly and coherently on it. This is a beautiful duty fated, anyway, on nature to ever do without complaining. Its complaint might be at the detriment of mankind. Few decades ago, it expended its rage upon the people of Ayeku, wiping out half of its population. It was a decade, somehow precisely, before he was born. It was a burnt offering, slaughtering of unblemished white pigeons, libation and some other sacred contents of ritual that appealed to the goddess, Orisa Omi, and her colleagues, Orogun goddess and Ogbara goddess.

Looking at the coastline, he suppressed his inner summon for fishing. About the bay was a man standing knee-deep into the restless water about his canoe, dressing his net, ready for work. Having finished dressing the net, he looked overhead and then the region where the sea clutches on the firmament from falling into endless depth. For many seconds the man made no movement. He must be enjoying the caress by the loveliness of the young tidal wave, launches by the vast body of water, salty and blue in property, and so providing home for aquatic animals.

He watched the man climbed into his canoe and paddled it into the ocean, disregarding the ill-omen that hovered over it, unnoticed that this young tidal wave and ill-omen were nourished by the wrath of the goddess.

This surprised him. All fishermen should understand this. Perhaps, the man needed to urgently fill his pockets, or the leaking ones—to meet some needs or wants; or he could not differentiate between needs and wants, all wants are needs. Thus, he would risk his life for that. Oh! It was a few days to Ayeku market day, apparently six days or he thought it was tomorrow? Quite silly he was! He was ignorant of time. Silly, indeed ugh!

As the man sailed further into the ocean, he resumed his previous silly sorrow. Both he and the fisherman were silly, but prescribed by differently circumstances: sorrow or greed.

Finally, another tear in his second eye, imprisoned for a while, was emancipated at last, proclaiming his seemed imbecility.

‘Why? Why this pain…’ He realized it was stupid of him to have made such an inappropriate, silly statement ‘Why this pain’ to detail his pain. He had to rephrase that in a syntactic manner while his tear gland gives way to another globule that made its path down his cheek. If a globule of this tear could be viewed by microscope, it would be seen embellished with an ordinance of sorrow. Having rephrased the statement, he let out an unusual guttural voice, accompanied by a sharp sigh, delivered as quick as an asteroid dropped by raging universe upon the planet earth, holding his dysfunctional manhood in his trousers with his hands.

‘What a type of being am I?’ He stopped short, allowing insincere smile on his face, as to condition himself as a person who has been nourished by the benevolence of the gods, when he heard the creak of the house’s old front door but no slight footstep. He released his grip from his penis.

This was never done by the wind. Ordinarily, a mortal man—though he was one—would be instantly shocked: creak of door and no footstep; it was a spirit, even though he lacked slightest thought of its mission—to injure or help. He knew it was his grandmother, an old woman in her mid-eighties, stooped and inflicted with old age. Nature has squeezed out the vitality in her once distinct silken skin and eyes, once radiant of their youthfulness. She was said to have a goddess-like beauty in her youth days that stirred strives among the men of her time. It was the most competent and brilliant who won the battle over her, won her gracious heart. Their union brought about the birth of his father.

Courageous and exceptional a fisherman his grandfather was in his lifetime, fishing deep into the ocean as if he would cross the Atlantic on a fateful day, he lost his life for his immense spirit. Indeed, his bravery was an epitome, to every fisherman of Ayeku, which as a mantle was passed down from his father to him and he would have to pass it down to his son. Maybe now that he is impotent he might not have a child to pass anything to.

Possessing this invincible trait his father with his mother and he who was eight month old then, dared Ogbara River, a malevolent type which all fishermen in the neighbouring communities and Ayeku dreaded, more particularly in those days. This adventure to save his life ushered his father and mother to the world beyond and made him not only an orphan but impotent. It was just at Ogbara’s mercy that his life was kept though his manhood stolen away. Elebu people rescued him having been washed to its bank.

His father was to cross Ogbara River to Elebu village to save his life from a severe smallpox or, maybe, Shokpona². Death was quite grabbing at him. An herbal doctor at Elebu who specialized in treating children ailment would attend to him. His father should have taken another route. Aware of the danger of crossing Ogbara River, he should have taken Elebu rivulet, which was long and winding, danger-free and even helped the economy of both communities.

Sadly, his smallpox brought about the fate that meted out evil on his poor parents! They died so he might live. Whenever he remembered the story as told by his grandmother when he was mature he suffered self-pity. Although he has no choice than to put his heavy feet into his grandfather’s and father’s sandals that perfectly fit him, even though the feet have trudged the universe sore with only sorrow and pain as comforting companions, uncertain of what fate preserved ahead of him, swindling his destiny of its richness.

He couldn’t hide his feeling, although tried in rare times, from his old-age stricken grandmother because he knew that his grandmother has a style of meandering through the iron gateway of his heart to pry into every bit of feeling lurking there. She was old; she knew better. That was experience, which her eyes have not been weary of although has dropped her wrinkled eyelids. She was his grandmother, mother, cousins, friends, and in fact, everything he had. Delving into his very issue with passion Mama always provided healing words to rub his heart with. He was still a boy even in his thirties, who she has to tend, a task she had vowed her whole life upon, although the more she lived the more she was susceptible to death. Even for anything she stood by him always. Anyway she has no choice! She wished she was immortal that she might touch the very region he was weak and heal him, watch him grow old happy with beautiful and humble wife and children, then happily join her ancestors.

He knew her appearance, somewhat, would be a relief to him, even if temporarily from heartache that is rare to mankind but him; this appearance was to abate his growling sorrow and pain. Even though these were grabbing hard on him she would make sure they didn’t remain with him when he left this place or she did. She was a shepherdess and he was her only sheep. She might lead him through a greener pasture, abutting onto placid stream quite soothing in its opulence, even in the desert heart of her grandson. Sure, she would, although incapable to erase the indentation of his useless manhood.

She must make sure he was absolutely healed, and must do that fast. The sun was setting on her now; the night of time would soon close her eyelids from mortal engagement only common to the living, although she would live on beyond this earthly reality as extraterrestrial entity to watch over him in full vigor. She wouldn’t imagine this pain of his grandson could usher a suicidal thought into him, coming with bait to end his sorrow and pain. So she would tell him sometimes: ‘cowardice sometimes is like water that retreat from quenching fire, afraid it might be heated, and dry up. However, the brave, holding his life together, walk into a dark tunnel and guided by touch of wisdom, shinning brightest at extreme darkness into victory.’

‘What bother you, my son?’ That sounded more than a question. Its undertone is left to be imagined. She was standing at the doorway, looking straight into his eyes which he had insincerely dilated with smile.

He quickly made her greeting, prostrating as customary in Yoruba culture. The best way to regard the elders is to appropriately lie flat on the ground or knees touching the ground, in regard to your sex, not forgetting verbalizing the greeting, in respect to time, seasons or circumstances. By doing so, you will receive the blessings of the elders. The blessings of elders are the blessing of the gods.

‘Good morning child,’ She walked to a reclining chair next to his and eased herself into it. She added looking up at her grandchild towering over her as she patted the chair he was sitting on before. ‘Sit down, Bade?’

He sat down with a sigh. Now he admired her gray hair in an astute manner to shift her attention from his issue. ‘It is youthful, Mama,’

. . . it was like golden hair of goddess of ages, in the affair of men. Nevertheless the goddess over Ayeku was not fair to him. And besides, the guiding spirit of his ancestors might have abandoned him to his plight.

‘Eh, thank you.’ She then sighed a meaningful concern from her sturdy nose which by any mean could be a millstone on his neck if he didn’t let out his feeling to her, or he might sink in this ugly pool of emotion.

She rose herself to a sit-up and looked in exploring manner straight into his eyes—her usual way of making him vulnerable—and he could not avoid it but to melt under its influence. Then she asked again, ‘What bother you, my son?’ although, she knew…

This inquisition, cutting into his marrow like two-edged sword, draws tears to the surface, partially blurring his eyes.

When eyes see more than enough in life, circumstances turn them bleary.

He rejoined her, ‘It’s my pain, Mama, you know. My impotence! My impotence, Mama!’ He explained, ‘As old as I am, I cannot—’ Pathetic!

‘Sh… shh!’ that was her casual way of wisely addressing his emotion: the more you explain it the more you empower it. You might want to disappoint it with smile. Try! She proceeded, ‘I know, child, I know. It is my plight as well. I… I also want to see my great grand children. I want to carry them in my arms, cradle them to my bosom and put them on my back before I depart from my sojourn on earth. I won’t have solace in death if I don’t live to see, yes have, them. Now my child, before my eyes, is my hero defeated into sorrow. He is wasting away my hope, em, our hope in his despair.’ She extended her right hand to his and made a consolatory smile, killing his sorrow with her next remark, ‘I believe so much in you. You know that, Bade. You know that, son.’ She watched his troubled countenance diminished into oblivion, helping him to regain strength in his mind though he couldn’t feel depth of masculinity required between his groins, maybe yet.

In that consolatory speech, he could see she was Bade herself, bearing the pain more than he did. She could not shed tears but smiled to ascertain herself of her invincible hope that his manhood would function and produce innumerable great grandchildren for her as if he was going to be a baby factory. She will not bid farewell to this vain earth if this hope was not put to bed. She applied her wrinkled hand to draw his head onto her bosom, may be to infiltrate his head with the impulse in her withered breasts, a gesture reviving wholesome thoughts in him. People were far away to notice this.

Bade’s head resting on her bosom, he felt a baby and Mama accommodating his sorrow-laden head upon her breasts, she felt motherly.

In the twilight when the stars were about to gather, both of them resumed the posture after he had gone to see his friends, and she was pouring hope into his heart. Then after awhile they retreated to their various beds. Having taken their meals and bade each other farewell, to lay their restless, bored body down and rest their souls which have roamed about universe that edge them in.

There in the dark room he was the same Bade; no visible change. His being, purpose and whole life was still locked between his groins. Man can only live to leave wealth for his children to inherit and save his forefather’s name—the second reason which was the basic.

Before he closed his eyes for sleep, he remembered something funny that made him smile, even laugh. He remembered the fisherman in the morning. The man returned to the sandy shore of Ayeku with plenty of fishes and when he was about to gather the fishes from the net—or the spoil of his raid upon the Atlantic ocean—a wild wave washed them along with the net back into the ocean. He only managed to struggle ashore with his canoe he fought the sea to recover. He cried in the pouring rain while Bade could not help himself from easing laugh through his nostrils as though not to disturb someone in the neighbourhood. There was a blustering awhile that morning after his engagement with Mama, threatening, mostly, children and women into their shelters.

He slept that night like any other man, only replenished with hope encouraged by Mama. In fact, he rested his ached back on the bed of solace.

CHAPTER 2

They were toiling all through the night. Simon and Zebedee’s sons? No. Bade, Taiwo and Olujimi. There was ill-omen hovering over those partners, who were not only partners but also bosom friends. They started this partnership as early as about late adolescence, two decades someway. They understood each other very well. Their partnership has won them a great fortune. They were just a great team as regarded by their colleagues. One couldn’t fathom how they did it. Charm? But those colleagues also used charms. Yemoja, Yeye Odo must have been very gracious to them, although seemed malevolent she was however tonight, a night which had dissolved most of its brightest stars.

Somewhat they were objects of criticism, envy and jealousy.

In spite of this common achievement there were glaring differences between them:

Olujimi was a type who took grave look at life. He has a son who in few months would advance to his first year in life. He was empathetic for Bade that he had to wait, probably gods would be gracious to him, before he married last year. He had to leave his poor friend to bear his fate himself at last. Anyway, it wasn’t his fate! Somehow, he encouraged him, stirred fluid of hope in his heart as though lubricating his life’s machinery for efficacy between his groins.

Taiwo was a jocular type of man, bearing perfunctory smile on his ridiculous face. Silly always! He has two daughters and a virago for a wife. These children had already started primary school.

They were both fertile and potent but he wasn’t; and this heaped onto his pain although he wished the best for them. Only they and Mama knew his plight. Out of all persons he had met in life, they evinced qualities that made them win his trust. Nothing can fuel trust than due care and protection from those who doesn’t only confess but show us love. Other folks could only speculate he was okobo but weren’t ascertained: all his mates are married and have children, even those married early have children’s children, but he has not! And he is prepossessing! On different occasions they have set him up with charming, or tempting, damsels to fool out fact about his state of virility from him. These damsels could make men with eyes up in their head and life beneath their torsos trip and fall into void of perdition with their luring bodies. Somehow, more than beauty, lust makes man feeble; under spell of romance have their senses swallowed up.

Nevertheless, they failed.

Some damsels, possessing their fresh maidenhead, made mockery of him, gossiping about him:

Could he be a celibate?

At all! Something must be wrong with him . . .

Probably he wants to marry his grandmother . . .

Who knows if he is meant for a goddess . . .

His prepossessing quality would not let him look at us . . .

. . . just like his father and Mama when they were youths . . .

. . . learnt that from where?

Don’t tell me you live in Ayeku . . .

His mother must have found it grace from the gods upon her silent supplications to have him . . .

Look at you. Don’t you know that his beauty means nothing? He is impotent . . .

How do you know?

Sit there and be blind to fact . . .

If that is so, I don’t pray to have him for a husband . . .

Even my father’s dog could sire young from the bitches around our compound. I will rather have it than he . . .

They must be feigning that. They would die to have him even if he has a bloated scrotum.

When the night is well spent so one could gain a bright, maybe, new day, it would be Ayeku’s market day and fish sale would be the matter of the day somehow for them. Ayeku and neighbouring communities’ economies were rich with fishing; and Ayeku was known for alluring nature-endowed features she has. Many people came as far from Ogbara to buy and taste fishes caught at the estuary nearby because it was believed to have unique delicious taste. Some believed the sea bless them with special species of fishes. That was simply a belief not subjected to science.

So, something must be a reward for their toil: they toiled all night. By now fowls three miles away were devising their internal mechanism to crow. That is their duty, to stir dawn to life, preceding day with beautiful notes. How would day break without cockcrow. The day might possess ill-omen… although their adventure upon the vast Atlantic Ocean three miles away was also of ill-omen.

Their eyes could not find rest this cold night. To think of it, how would they find rest in a canoe on the sea?

They have spent about eight hours offshore, only to experience misfortune courtesy of fate. Soon morning would emerge gracefully from pendulous sun to set our globe aglow.

‘Misgiving has caught up with us, and I think it will be silly of us to still hope for any miracle. Let us return home.’ Olujimi was to argue their silly adventure on the Atlantic Ocean while he developed cold feet.

Soon, the intense rigour revealed veins on their skins, straining their patience.

Among them, somewhat Bade summon optimism—or courage—to cure their compromise which made his friends or partners to remonstrate against their objectives: catch many fishes; feed their fortune with the milk of their hard work. He would help them to put up courage until their nets deep into the ocean, is weighed with abundance of fishes.

There could be miracle. So, Bade was sure they wouldn’t return home empty handed but was disappointed by his friends’ inclination to compromise. Therefore, he remarked with an assuring demeanour:

‘I can’t trust your virtue of courage and strength these days, Jimi, Taiwo. Don’t you know that it is in intense heat that a strong metal is tested? Through pressure real men are attested.

‘I believe Jimi, Taiwo, if only when morning glow upon us without result can we regard our toil as being in vain.’ He was probably persuading them. ‘It’s just a few hours, if precise three hours, before east give out the morning pearl; and we can still work surprise. Gods may have us grace.’

By the touch of these words, precisely devised by Bade, it could be seen that it made great effect on them, however not absolutely.

Thus Jimi revealed his opinion in his husky voice, ‘Yes, you are right. But nature is etching a path of sunrise already. It comes out earlier these days, you know that. I think—’

Taiwo interposed, seemed half-heartedly, ‘If only we can wait awhile, then surprise might emerge before sunrise.’ That was indeed to make Olujimi agree to the general opinion for patience and, or, persistence.

They have to be persistent, even though their nets, held in their bored hands, were still deep into the waters empty as Taiwo’s conclusion ushered in silence. Seconds passed on to minutes, yet there was no sign. The fishes must be aware of danger up the ocean and they would not swim up there to be victims of those men. Never, they would not. Humans are the most brute God ever made. What a mortal view!

There was seemed apparent eternal silence among them. They were rather worried or thoughtful.

A silly thought get into Taiwo’s absurd head: how he was drunk one day and slept at the edge of a gutter; and how he was dragged by his virago into the house and people were laughing at him.

He widened his cheeks with smile, unnoticed to his friends. He also thought of so many things, silly anyway. That was his style to take light of life—being silly, and his perfunctorily smile. In this manner he enjoyed the air, moderate, gliding over the cold skin of the ocean and in its natural function blows suitably at him; piercing soothingly to the innermost portion of his being, retaining smile on his face.

Olujimi in his own case, getting home to meet would-be anxious wife and son was profound in his heart. His right hand holding the net, he applied the second hand to wipe beads of perspiration clinging onto few hairs of his beard and issued a resigning sigh lost in the sound of the ocean. Matter-of-fact, he doubted they hem catching fish tonight.

To Bade, it was the thought of his heroic effort to a helpless big fish, stuck ashore with a plastic material its fins were entangled with. What a poor thing! He should have taken the fish home and cooked it but he freed it from the plastic material it was entangled with and released it into the ocean. He was a silly fisherman? Or, was that the cause of this misfortune tonight?

Maybe the big fish he released back into the sea two nights ago was the providence of the gods and he despised the gods blessing, and so the gods are tormenting him for that and his friends have to partake in the punishment. If help-giving could bring misfortune why should one give one? And who can justify the action of the gods?

If this adventure would be a failure, uncommon to them prior to this night, they would ever regret venturing into the sea. Their ached eyes fluttered through the night without rest.

It is failure that makes a man to enter into himself and reckon up his resources.³ Good! Greener thought budded in Bade’s mind to overcome their predicament. He did not waste time; he blended his thought with sound graced by the gentle whisper of the ocean:

‘I have an idea. I think we should—’

Olujimi interposed curtly, ‘I will like to relieve my stained nerve. You both can proceed with your silliness.’

As though embarrassed, Bade wouldn’t tell the idea anymore.

Maybe they needed a little more patience. Even he himself thought of compromise. How easy for man to take detour when faced with compromising circumstances!

Olujimi managed to retire his restless back uncomfortably in the canoe, almost kicking Taiwo’s feet at the other end of the canoe. Time interrupted them with absolute silence. Two of them evinced courage which might be getting cold as time goes by and the other retired from common silliness taking hold of him. He did not enjoy the repose. It ached his spine the more as he was contemptuously watching his friends toiling upon the ocean. He then whistled a folksong. Taiwo joined him in singing. Bade evinced indifference.

Taiwo declared resignedly, ‘I think we should return ashore, Bade.’ Yes, the sun was eastward bound although yet to reveal its light bound to resuscitate the whole universe and emancipate those bound by the night in the cord of affliction.

A short while after, Bade glimpsed an apparition ran through the fair darkness and to his surprise, their barren nets were blessed. Instantly, Olujimi sprang onto his aching feet, excited. They rapturously hauled the blessing of the gods into the canoe. Their curses they reversed to praise to the gods. They caught so many fishes that night. They praised Bade and regarded him as a man of endowed intelligence and discernment. If not for the idea of consistency, they would have been like other fishermen who had retreated ashore because they could not catch any fish. If they had failed the day would have been disappointed. Their customers even from far, or near, communities would return with empty baskets and their money. For the past few days the sea had found it difficult to yield its fishes. It was even worst at the rivers and estuary. Some fishermen had compromised to fish at Elebu rivulet and Orogun, although they did not possess big fishes or more fishes that could be caught in the ocean. Nevertheless, they would have something to sell to their customers. This indeed predicted that Ayeku market day would experience monopoly, market forces bowing to these mere mortals who have exercised wisdom, insight, persistence, sacrifice and bravery. These altogether would bring them more fame and fortune that somewhat go hand-in-hand. Good! All these forces of life have brought them good result. They rejoiced in this goodness of the goddess of the water.

They quickly left to Ayeku and awoke its fishermen to this awareness. They too caught some fishes, but not as great number of fishes they caught over and over that night. Supernatural hand at work, uh?

The day passed only to observe gladness on their faces. After buoyant sales that day, and a few days transpired they encouraged themselves whenever they sailed into the sea again and again and heard the ill-report of their colleagues returning home.

CHAPTER 3

Market day was always twice a month: every first and last Wednesdays of every month. Ayeku flourishes with bustling and hustling of its folks and foreigners, pouring in to buy fish. If all the fishes in the Atlantic Ocean and other surrounding rivers vanished, Ayeku would probably be lost into history.

The season has been malignant to Ayeku, which was unusual. She would experience economic distress but for those mere mortal fellows. For this they have earned fame and fortune, even though with envy and jealousy from some of their colleagues. Some others walked up to them to ask them the secret behind their fortune. They thought they were using supernatural influence. They were impotent to describe, in precise words, the cause of the miracle; only that the gods were kind to them. That was all?

Their fame traveled as far as Elebu, Ogbara, Igba-Ara, Ayelana, Laponlude and some remote villages and towns.

Meanwhile other fishermen made a lot of sacrifices. They were not appealing, or fervent enough, to the goddess. Upon these eternal sacrifices their toil piled up their misfortune, disappointing absolutely… poor fellows!

Why should the gods be ill-disposed to us and well-disposed to them? Why only Bade, Olujimi and Taiwo for weeks? And when we ask them how they managed to attract the goddess’ grace, all they would say was—monotonous as a matter of fact—‘the gods are kind to us . . .’ with following monotonous smiles, maybe concealing their selfishness, although they have been known for their altruistic attribute. That was a mystery to them. Their fortune probably waxed fat, milking from this mystery. The more their penury, the more their wealth. A season of scarcity to them, while these fellows enjoyed abundance…

The gods must be partial!

Or they were not ordinary men; they were gods walking among men?

This rumour, as though a plague, spread like a wild fire in Ayeku.

Truly, Bade and his friends were altruistic. They shared their spoil with their neighbours, kings, elders, and chiefs and some less privileged people in Ayeku, even some of those envious colleagues. Their hands extending to their beneficiaries wore them apparent immortal fame, gods still lavishing fortune and favour on them.

In all Ayeku and neigbouring communities as far as six or seven miles away, they became objects of gossip; women, men, elders, children and people from all strata of life shared in the enterprise which only but profited them penury.

These fortunate friends were aware of the rumour but refused to give their ears to them.

Being frank and concise has been what they had to do, explaining their fortune to prying mates, enemies and friends alike. Having to explain themselves over and over was pathetic! When you look beyond the truth you are liable to find lies… falsehood in a clear word. Truth is always bitter. It can also be ugly, repulsive, and unacceptable and a trash only for those who love only what they love to hear.

They became fed up and retired into silence. So far, silence is the best answer to fools.

Mama was not a fool as well Papa Ladolu, or maybe the royal King Adetona of blessed Ayeku. Ade ape lori.

Bade was not nursed by royal breasts, even properly by his late mother’s, but stuffed with wisdom sufficient enough, sufficient for someone like him who was humbled into his rare predicament which he had taken for a fate. Courtesy of Mama! In fact he held her at esteem.

These friends of his threw out parties for their friends and family but Bade couldn’t do such for he only had grandmother for everything. He only bought new things for her.

Fortune or greatness is a heritage for great achievers. Only him and him alone could gods be gracious to, while his friends had to be partakers, even though denied him of his manhood.

Joy blended with dint of pain was inherent in him. A paradox. In fact in the store of life there are many shelves that convey varieties of emotions, and at one time or the other man buy whatever circumstance demands. Anyway, Bade had blessing, joy and small quantity of pain. This is a perfect blend of life that makes mortal existence interesting.

CHAPTER 4

Boredom! An unpleasant existence.

While the sun was toiling over the horizon across the Atlantic, he was toiling over his predicament, wrestling with his fate among the coconut palms. It was an ominous silence, however the gentle howling wind from the sea made them, dancing in their company, sway their fronds, as though a Mexican wave effect. Bade understood gesture of nature but he did not feel its effect on his skin, especially between his groins where his predicament lodged.

At this time of struggle between day and night, grief was not unusually profound upon him, elaborated on his countenance. Apparently, he was a victim of his own world in a word that explains the common plight that abounds to all mankind.

Walking among these coconut palms, a specimen of stoicism he was, upon the sandy beach flanked with charming characteristics that draws foreign visitors for regular relaxation. The coconut palms were shedding burden of coconuts and fronds nature placed on their tops; scarce were some that have incurred seemingly eternal stoop because of the stress and strain from their monotonous shedding of their fronds and coconuts—if at all that was the case.

Into the sandy shore—the sand was coarse anyway—of Ayeku his feet sank few inches with each lifting of them by his cursed hipbone, by the exertion of his built body that stood upon these life-wandering feet, cognizant of the futility of the region between his swarthy groins. Fate had robbed strength from his loins. Alien in this world of coconut palms, his gray eyes were moistened with their concealed waters of emotion burdened with his mind’s heaviness. When he was about to be deported into the noisy world of his folks, he found a solitary place at a coconut palm estranged from others few meters away, laden with ripe coconuts.

In his solitary place he found out the coconut palm shared a common state with him. He rested his behind under its shade. Somewhat it was a sultry day in either between the first or second month of the year. In a matter of time his manly tears, impotent as well, having been exposed into this futile world, in one or two beads were deposited on his lower eyelashes. Quite laborious was for the tears, as they glistened, to terminate few inches away from his eyelids over his strained cheeks. He had to relieve those tears from his eyes; after all, no one was watching. It would be infantile of him if someone were watching. No, no one would be watching. This was the remotest place on the earth to be noticed.

His heart was so heavy and he was seemed to be sinking into the coarse sand of the beach. He could not bear his heart anymore. He could not restrain those tears been deposited upon his eyelids, profusely. He allowed them to stream down his cheeks. His very world was gliding down with these globules. Oh! Probably he did not realize that if he could bear his heart bearing the universe remain infinitesimal. He must not dare suicidal action!

Now he realized Mama would be worry about him. He had left the house a couple of hours ago to no-destination. This time he realized his folks must not see him in that state with those tears on his face and sad countenance. He dabbed the tears’ streaks from the tail with a piece of cloth he once bound round his hand and prayed he might have beautiful thought to re-articulate his face good. He managed to transform his sorrow-laden face to a feigned cheerfulness. Nevertheless as he mixed with his folks on his way home, along the beach, he was still unconscious of Ayeku.

Despite all intelligence played to conceal his predicament, a sinewy old man walking with cane, not absolutely stooped with age, noticed him when he was previously under the coconut palm. It amazed him what might rob such a man of this sort of immense volume of tears which had bathed his fine face. The old man was having a leisure walk about the beach. He had idly seen how sorrow had dragged him about the coconut palms in where looked like the most secluded place in the world.

The old man was of known respectable flesh and blood and had a son in the city, grandchildren and twin daughters, maidens, who his deceased wife had in her late forties before he became a widower. He has round eyes of which age has shrunk their eyelids a bit, subjecting him to bear contact lenses sent to him by his son. He has a light complexion skin. His hair, dark and well cut had refused to be gray. He must be doing some magic to it. His beard was properly shaven but his moustache took a form of a fish tail. He walked with calculated steps and has an instinct of perceiving reasons behind every covertly or overtly emotion, which might not be able to work on Bade.

There was something unique about this old man. He speaks the truth always, so was trusted by his folks, even though not wholly by some. Truth, though to most people stinks, he had as intimate companion. He was quite of well-bred mind! Nevertheless, some of Ayeku elders hated him. To believing in the undiluted truth, average man is indisposed. If only one made of clay would truth…

Bade was of flesh and blood as he was, possessing the crimson fluid that he too has, traced to a common stock, Ayeku pioneers.

His pain flows in his vein and his plight in his artery. So he must help to subside, or even exterminate the plight: an enterprise that has profited him fame. This occasion demanded