Chioma got up. “Let’s go find Ruff Diamond. I want to hear his take on the Three Days’ Journey incident.” She giggled.
“Mmmm, okay.” Nnamdi liked Ruff Diamond well enough, but he didn’t quite trust him because of how much Ruff Diamond loved to exaggerate and embellish everything. He’d be stung by a fly, but when he told you about it, the fly would turn into some enormous, rare blue bumblebee. Or he’d always just happened to be a block away from big things that happened. Nnamdi didn’t care for his wide mouth, but Chioma always enjoyed his nonsense regardless of how little of it was true. They found Ruff Diamond chatting with a group of boys outside a clothing shop. Ruff Diamond waved and came right over when he saw them.
“You caught me just before I have to leave again,” Ruff Diamond said.
“What do you mean? Your mother is back already?” Chioma asked. “But you were just at her house!”
“Yep. I hear my parents had a big fight, again. One day I’m there, then the next I’m here,” he said with a lopsided smile. “That’s divorce, I guess. Two big homes, two schools.”
“Oh, poor you,” Chioma said, rolling her eyes.
“Nah, I’m rich, not poor,” Ruff Diamond said, smirking.
Nnamdi bristled so hard that his armpits prickled. Ruff Diamond was so annoying. “Well, you didn’t miss much,” he muttered.
“Ha ha, you’re funny, man,” Ruff Diamond said. “But you’re right. I almost stepped directly into the trouble. We got home last night probably at the same time Three Days’ Journey was attacking,” he said as they walked into school. “We were probably a few houses away, about to reach home. My mom was driving the black Jaguar. I’ll bet Three Days’ Journey would have attacked us if he saw our car first.”
“It happened near my house,” Nnamdi said. “You live fifteen minutes away.”
“All I’m saying is that we were lucky last night,” Ruff Diamond insisted, annoyed.
“Nnamdi’s the one who’s lucky,” Chioma said. “He was out there, probably less than a block from where it happened, as it was happening!”
“Did you see anything?” Ruff Diamond asked, cocking his head.
“I think he did,” Chioma said.
“Chioma,” Nnamdi groaned.
“Well, what’d you see?” Ruff Diamond pressed.
“Nothing,” Nnamdi said. Chioma opened her mouth to say something, but when Nnamdi met her eyes, she instantly shut her mouth, frowning. Good, he thought. Glad she can be quiet sometimes. He felt a pinch of guilt; he didn’t like the look on her face. She almost looked scared.
“Well, if you did, I’ll bet you could make a lot of money telling the press,” Ruff Diamond said. “They’d pay even a kid for information, I think.”
Chioma was still looking at him.
“I didn’t see anything,” Nnamdi insisted. “It was dark. A lot of people were out last night.”
Bad Market
AFTER SCHOOL, NNAMDI and Chioma walked home along the busy street. Cars zoomed by. Banana and bread hawkers screamed their wares, their large trays balanced on their heads. Auto mechanics cooled off beneath mango trees, drinking cold water from small plastic bags. It was a breezy afternoon and Nnamdi felt so good that for a moment he forgot about the night before. Then he made eye contact with a tired-looking woman selling bread and he thought of his mother selling tapioca. He felt terrible and . . . guilty. His mother would be returning from the market about now, alone and unprotected, and here he was having a fun walk home with a friend.
And if the newspapers would pay him for information about last night, what would be so crazy about going and telling them something? He could give every naira to his mother. That would be less time she spent selling tapioca at the market.
He could always say that he saw a shadowy man attack Three Days’ Journey and save the woman. Technically, he wouldn’t be lying. He’d seen his dark hands. But then, when the paper was published, he’d get more questions from Chioma and his mother. He’d get more questions from everyone. And then, at some point, he knew he’d have to start lying. It wasn’t worth the risk.
“Let’s go see if we can find my mother,” Nnamdi said.
“At the market?” Chioma asked.
“I want to make sure she’s . . . okay,” he said.
Chioma nodded and he was glad. He didn’t want to do any more explaining.
When they got to the market, they didn’t have to look hard. There she was, walking past the booths and tables with her tray of tapioca on her head. Nnamdi felt another pinch of guilt. No one would have believed his mother could sink so low. She used to be the wife of the chief of police. People like her didn’t have to work. People like her kept many of the market women in business by buying what they sold.
Nnamdi watched from a distance as his mother walked. People stopped and stared. Even a year later, people here still hadn’t gotten used to seeing her as one of them. She must have felt it. Nnamdi certainly did. Shame. Again he thought about the money he could get from the newspapers . . . and he thought of the Chief of Chiefs, who’d caused all this.
“Mommy,” he called, waving his hand. He and Chioma ran to her.
She smiled wanly. The armpits of her yellow blouse were damp with sweat and her feet were caked with dust. She walked slowly, wincing with each step. Nnamdi cringed. His mother had terrible bunions on both feet.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Icheteka,” Chioma said.
“Good afternoon, Nnamdi, Chioma,” she said as Nnamdi quickly took her tray. “Thank you, Nnamdi.” She stretched her back and Nnamdi could hear her joints pop.
“Mommy, you can’t do this anymore. You look—”
“How was school?” his mother asked, cutting him off.
“Okay,” he mumbled. She put her arms around both of their shoulders and they started walking home together.
They’d walked past several market stalls when Nnamdi smelled something utterly rotten. It was so rancid that he swooned with dizziness and nearly dropped the tray. The air itself took on a noxious green tint, like stinky fog. The stench was thickest in the market, tumbling out from between the stalls.
“Phew! What is that?” Chioma exclaimed, pinching her nose. “Oh my God! Nasty!”
His mother grabbed Nnamdi’s arm and, when he looked at her, he knew they were thinking the same thing. She was the chief’s wife and he was the chief’s son. They both knew exactly what was happening and who had caused it. Then Nnamdi remembered the Ikenga . . . and what it could do.