"Where else but in his house in the hills and the caves?" replied the priestess.
"I will come with you, too," Ekwefi said firmly.
"Tufia-al" the priestess cursed, her voice cracking like the angry bark of thunder
in the dry season. "How dare you, woman, to go before the mighty Agbala of your own
accord? Beware, woman, lest he strike you in his anger. Bring me my daughter."
Ekwefi went into her hut and came out again with Ezinma.
"Come, my daughter," said the priestess. "I shall carry you on my back. A baby
on its mother's back does not know that the way is long."
Ezinma began to cry. She was used to Chielo calling her "my daughter." But it
was a different Chielo she now saw in the yellow half-light.
"Don't cry, my daughter," said the priestess, "lest Agbala be angry with you."
"Don't cry," said Ekwefi, "she will bring you back very soon. I shall give you
some fish to eat." She went into the hut again and brought down the smoke-black basket
in which she kept her dried fish and other ingredients for cooking soup. She broke a
piece in two and gave it to Ezinma, who clung to her.
"Don't be afraid," said Ekwefi, stroking her head, which was shaved in places,
leaving a regular pattern of hair. They went outside again. The priestess bent down on
one knee and Ezinma climbed on her back, her left palm closed on her fish and her eyes
gleaming with tears.
"Agbala do-o-o-o! Agbala ekeneo-o-o-o!..." Chielo began once again to chant
greetings to her god. She turned round sharply and walked through Okonkwo's hut,
bending very low at the eaves. Ezinma was crying loudly now, calling on her mother.
The two voices disappeared into the thick darkness.
A strange and sudden weakness descended on Ekwefi as she stood gazing in the
direction of the voices like a hen whose only chick has been carried away by a kite.