Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

guns and even his cannon. Tortoise looked down from the sky and saw his wife bringing things out, but it was too far to see what they were. When all seemed ready he let himself go. He fell and fell and fell until he began to fear that he would never stop falling. And then like the sound of his cannon he crashed on the compound.”
    “Did he die?” asked Ezinma.
    “No,” replied Ekwefi. “His shell broke into pieces. But there was a great medicine man in the neighborhood. Tortoise’s wife sent for him and he gathered all the bits of shell and stuck them together. That is why Tortoise’s shell is not smooth.”
    “There is no song in the story,” Ezinma pointed out.
    “No,” said Ekwefi. “I shall think of another one with a song. But it is your turn now.”
    “Once upon a time,” Ezinma began, “Tortoise and Cat went to wrestle against Yams—no, that is not the beginning. Once upon a time there was a great famine in the land of animals. Everybody was lean except Cat, who was fat and whose body shone as if oil was rubbed on it …”
    She broke off because at that very moment a loud and high-pitched voice broke the outer silence of the night. It was Chielo, the priestess of Agbala, prophesying. There was nothing new in that. Once in a while Chielo was possessed by the spirit of her god and she began to prophesy. But tonight she was addressing her prophecy and greetings to Okonkwo, and so everyone in his family listened. The folk stories stopped.
    “Agbala do-o-o-o! Agbala ekeneo-o-o-o-o,”
came the voice like a sharp knife cutting through the night.
“Okonkwo! Agbala ekene gio-o-o-o! Agbala cholu ifu ada ya Ezinmao-o-o-o!”
    At the mention of Ezinma’s name Ekwefi jerked her head sharply like an animal that had sniffed death in the air. Her heart jumped painfully within her.
    The priestess had now reached Okonkwo’s compound and was talking with him outside his hut. She was saying again and again that Agbala wanted to see his daughter, Ezinma. Okonkwo pleaded with her to come back in the morning because Ezinma was now asleep. But Chielo ignored what he was trying to say and went on shouting that Agbala wanted to see his daughter. Her voice was as clear as metal, and Okonkwo’s women and children heard from their huts all that she said. Okonkwo was still pleading that the girl had been ill of late and was asleep. Ekwefi quickly took her to their bedroom and placed her on their high bamboo bed.
    The priestess screamed. “Beware, Okonkwo!” she warned. “Beware of exchanging words with Agbala. Does a man speak when a god speaks? Beware!”
    She walked through Okonkwo’s hut into the circular compound and went straight toward Ekwefi’s hut. Okonkwo came after her.
    “Ekwefi,” she called, “Agbala greets you. Where is my daughter, Ezinma? Agbala wants to see her.”
    Ekwefi came out from her hut carrying her oil lamp in her left hand. There was a light wind blowing, so she cupped her right hand to shelter the flame. Nwoye’s mother, also carrying an oil lamp, emerged from her hut. The children stood in the darkness outside their hut watching the strange event. Okonkwo’s youngest wife also came out and joined the others.
    “Where does Agbala want to see her?” Ekwefi asked.
    “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-a!”
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