Later, Nwoye went to his mother's hut and told her that Ikemefuna was going
home. She immediately dropped her pestle with which she was grinding pepper, folded
her arms across her breast and sighed, "Poor child."
The next day, the men returned with a pot of wine. They were all fully dressed
as if they were going to a big clan meeting or to pay a visit to a neighbouring village.
They passed their cloths under the right arm-pit, and hung their goatskin bags and
sheathed machetes over their left shoulders. Okonkwo got ready quickly and the party
set out with Ikemefuna carrying the pot of wine. A deathly silence descended on
Okonkwo's compound. Even the very little children seemed to know. Throughout that
day Nwoye sat in his mother's hut and tears stood in his eyes.
At the beginning of their journey the men of Umuofia talked and laughed about
the locusts, about their women, and about some effeminate men who had refused to
come with them. But as they drew near to the outskirts of Umuofia silence fell upon
them too.
The sun rose slowly to the centre of the sky, and the dry, sandy footway began to
throw up the heat that lay buried in it. Some birds chirruped in the forests around. The
men trod dry leaves on the sand. All else was silent. Then from the distance came the
faint beating of the ekwe. It rose and faded with the wind--a peaceful dance from a
distant clan.
"It is an ozo dance," the men said among themselves. But no one was sure where
it was coming from. Some said Ezimili, others Abame or Aninta. They argued for a
short while and fell into silence again, and the elusive dance rose and fell with the wind.
Somewhere a man was taking one of the titles of his clan, with music and dancing and a
great feast.
The footway had now become a narrow line in the heart of the forest. The short
trees and sparse undergrowth which surrounded the men's village began to give way to
giant trees and climbers which perhaps had stood from the beginning of things,
untouched by the axe and the bush-fire. The sun breaking through their leaves and
branches threw a pattern of light and shade on the sandy footway.