Ezinma led the way back to the road, looked left and right and turned right. And
so they arrived home again.
"Where did you bury your iyi-uwa?" asked Okagbue when Ezinma finally
stopped outside her father's obi. Okagbue's voice was unchanged. It was quiet and
confident.
"It is near that orange tree," Ezinma said.
"And why did you not say so, you wicked daughter of Akalogoli?" Okonkwo
swore furiously. The medicine man ignored him.
"Come and show me the exact spot," he said quietly to Ezinma.
"It is here," she said when they got to the tree.
"Point at the spot with your finger," said Okagbue.
"It is here," said Ezinma touching the ground with her finger. Okonkwo stood
by, rumbling like thunder in the rainy season.
"Bring me a hoe," said Okagbue.
'When Ekwefi brought the hoe, he had already put aside his goatskin bag and his
big cloth and was in his underwear, a long and thin strip of cloth wound round the waist
like a belt and then passed between the legs to be fastened to the belt behind. He
immediately set to work digging a pit where Ezinma had indicated. The neighbours sat
around watching the pit becoming deeper and deeper. The dark top soil soon gave way
to the bright red earth with which women scrubbed the floors and walls of huts.
Okagbue worked tirelessly and in silence, his back shining with perspiration. Okonkwo
stood by the pit. He asked Okagbue to come up and rest while he took a hand. But
Okagbue said he was not tired yet.
Ekwefi went into her hut to cook yams. Her husband had brought out more yams
than usual because the medicine man had to be fed. Ezinma went with her and helped in
preparing the vegetables.