Butterfly Fish Read Free Page A

think of such matters”, Anahero replied.
    â€œShe cannot belong to you forever, it is time to start planning for tomorrow”, Onohe’s tone was filled with amusement. “She is a woman now. I too will send my eldest daughter to the ceremony; if I have good fortune on my side she may be chosen.”
    â€œI have not seen such a smile on your wife’s face for many seasons,” Onohe added, biting heartily into a kola nut. “But I do not understand you Anahero. Why do you not have more wives? People have been laughing behind your back for a long time. You would have had many children by now. It is a foolish man that does not see what is right before his eyes.”
    â€œLet them laugh, Uwamusi has served me well.”
    â€œShe did not bear you a son, and you know people talk, it is custom to have a son to carry your name”, Azemoya said smiling, exposing various gaps in his brown teeth.
    Anahero’s voice rose defensively, “I have Adesua.” He had always ached for more children and he knew his face revealed that need even when he attempted to persuade himself otherwise.
    â€œMy spirit troubles me about sending Adesua to the king’s palace.” Anahero spoke this concern lightly gauging the reactions, as his sense of foreboding for his only daughter was deeply troubling to him.
    â€œYou must consult with the oracle for guidance. It is time. She cannot continue hunting and climbing trees with village boys!” Onohe patted him reassuringly on the back with one hand while eagerly reaching for another piece of yam with the other.
    After their guests left, Anehero and Uwamusi made sacrifices. They swam in the river with painted faces. And when the godssummoned those faces underwater, their heads broke through the rippling surface in acceptance.
    Five days passed. On the sixth day an angry wind came from the north, hissing and spitting out defiant trees on arrival, whirling loudly and destroying whatever crossed its path.

Full Stops and Heartbeats
    The human heart beats over 2.5 billion times during an average lifetime. My mother’s heart stopped beating on a warm Sunday evening in July. She was fifty-six years old. The other things I remember from that day are waking up with a craving for peanut butter and falling inside Jim Morrison’s voice singing Hello I love you. I was probably watching taped reruns of Only Fools and Horses when it happened, gobbling down Wotsits that crackled in my mouth and melted on my tongue, staining it and my fingers orange.
    I had called my mother earlier that day and there was no answer. I called her again and again and she still didn’t pick up. By 11:30pm I was finally really worried. I grabbed the car keys, ran out of the house more irritated than concerned. In the car, I gunned the engine and reversed out of the yard, still wearing my white vest littered with florescent Wotsit crumbs and red checked pyjama bottoms with gaping holes at the crotch.
    I sped down the A406, noticing only a few vehicles dotted here and there as houses, trees and bus stops flew past my window. Reaching the long stretch of Romford Road, I slowed down, ignoring the groan of my engine. I snatched my mobile from the front passenger seat and dialled again: still no answer. I steered the car to a halt as the traffic light turned red. The red light began to throb, like a pulse, and I thought I should have gone round to see her earlier .
    I arrived to find the hall light was still on and laughter from the television was bleeding through the front door. The smell of cooking oil, heavy and thick, clung to the air. It was Sunday, that meant Tilapia stew for dinner.
    I swung the door open saying, “A mobile phone isn’t for decoration you know!”
    She was lying on the sofa, dressing gown pooled around her, head angled inside the crook of her arm. She could have been asleep but she was so still… statue still. A cold, clammy caterpillar of fear