Arrow of God by Chinua Achebe Page B

crowd was excited and it was only after a struggle that the messengers succeeded in clearing a small space in the heart of the market place, from which they worked furiously with their whips until they had forced all the people back to form a thick ring at the edges. The women with their pumpkin leaves caused the greatest diffi-culty because they all struggled to secure positions in front. The men had no need to be so near and so they formed the outside of the ring.
    The ogene sounded again. The Ikolo began to salute the Chief Priest. The women waved their leaves from side to side across their faces, muttering prayers to Ulu, the god that kills and saves.
    Ezeulu’s appearance was greeted with a loud shout that must have been heard in all the neighbouring villages. He ran forward, halted abruptly and faced the Ikolo. ‘Speak on,’ he said to it, ‘Ezeulu hears what you say.’ Then he stooped and danced three or four steps and rose again.
    He wore smoked raffia which descended from his waist to the knee. The left half of his body – from forehead to toes – was painted with white chalk. Around his head was a leather band from which an eagle’s feather pointed backwards. On his right hand he carried Nne Ofo , the mother of all staffs of authority in Umuaro, and in his left he held a long iron staff which kept up a quivering rattle whenever he stuck its pointed end into the earth. He took a few long strides, pausing on each foot. Then he ran forward again as though he had seen a comrade in the vacant air; he stretched his arm and waved his staff to the right and to the left. And those who were near enough heard the knocking together of Ezeulu’s staff and another which no one saw. At this, many fled in terror before the priest and the unseen presences around him.
    As he approached the centre of the market place Ezeulu re-enacted the First Coming of Ulu and how each of the four Days put obstacles in his way.
    ‘At that time, when lizards were still in ones and twos, the whole people assembled and chose me to carry their new deity. I said to them:
    ‘“Who am I to carry this fire on my bare head? A man who knows that his anus is small does not swallow an udala seed.”
    ‘They said to me:
    ‘“Fear not. The man who sends a child to catch a shrew will also give him water to wash his hand.”
    ‘I said: “So be it.”
    ‘And we set to work. That day was Eke: we worked into Oye and then into Afo. As day broke on Nkwo and the sun carried its sacrifice I carried my Alusi and, with all the people behind me, set out on that journey. A man sang with the flute on my right and another replied on my left. From behind the heavy tread of all the people gave me strength. And then all of a sudden something spread itself across my face. On one side it was raining, on the other side it was dry. I looked again and saw that it was Eke.
    ‘I said to him: “Is it you Eke?”
    ‘He replied: “It is I, Eke, the One that makes a strong man bite the earth with his teeth.”
    ‘I took a hen’s egg and gave him. He took it and ate and gave way to me. We went on, past streams and forests. Then a smoking thicket crossed my path, and two men were wrestling on their heads. My followers looked once and took to their heels. I looked again and saw that it was Oye.
    ‘I said to him: “Is it you Oye across my path?”
    ‘He said: “It is I, Oye, the One that began cooking before Another and so has more broken pots.”
    ‘I took a white cock and gave him. He took it and made way for me. I went on past farmlands and wilds and then I saw that my head was too heavy for me. I looked steadily and saw that it was Afo.
    ‘I said: “Is it you Afo?”
    ‘He said: “It is I, Afo, the great river that cannot be salted.”
    ‘I replied: “I am Ezeulu, the hunchback more terrible than a leper.”
    ‘Afo shrugged and said: “Pass, your own is worse than mine.”
    ‘I passed and the sun came down and beat me and the rain came down and drenched