ON THE WAY BACK TO Auntie Osewa’s, Dawson noticed that Elizabeth’s shop door was open. Peering inside, he was astonished to see who was there stocking shelves.
“Elizabeth! You’re out of hospital already?”
“Dawson, woizo! Come in.”
Her face was still swollen, but with artfully applied makeup and one of her elaborate and colorful headdresses, she looked just fine.
“Are you all right?” Dawson said.
“All right enough to leave the hospital. I was going mad in there. If Dr. Biney hadn’t released me, I would have signed myself out.”
“Don’t overdo it, though,” Dawson said. “I know you’re tough, but…”
“Never worry, I’m fine. We have some new fabrics and dresses in, so I was just arranging them.”
Dawson took a visual sweep, and his eye lit on something familiar. He went to the shelf and touched it.
“This is the same as the one you put in Gladys’s casket. With the Adinkra signs.”
“Yes.”
“It’s really beautiful. I’ll get it for Christine.”
“Oh, wonderful.”
Elizabeth gift-wrapped a full-size length of the fabric and put it in a bag.
“This time I pay,” Dawson insisted.
She smiled. “All right. Where are you off to?”
“Home-before the rain starts.” He noticed how he had used the word home.
“I’ll be closing up soon myself,” she said. “I heard a rumor you’ve been asked to leave Ketanu. Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re still here.”
“I’m still here. When Gladys’s murderer is in handcuffs, I’ll leave.”
Dawson made it back just before the rain hit, and as he sat down to eat with his aunt, uncle, and cousin, the first grumbles of thunder began. The power was out, so they ate by lantern light. The meal was as marvelously delicious as any Auntie Osewa had prepared, yet what a difference a day had made. Eating with her just didn’t feel the same. Dawson kept telling himself that he did not know for certain she had lied to the police about Samuel. Yet he could not shake the feeling.
“Why so quiet, Darko?” she asked. “Anything wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing. Just a little tired today.”
He had an impulse to ask her right now, point-blank, Did you really see Samuel walk into the forest with Gladys, or did you lie to protect Isaac Kutu?‘ With a shock, Dawson realized he was seeing his auntie in a different light, or perhaps a new darkness: lying, deception. It was a horrible feeling.
Not yet, he told himself. It was not yet time to confront her.
Togbe Adzima told Ama to cook his soup inside his hut because of the rain. He was well on the way to becoming drunk. He had run out of schnapps, but one of his wives had brought him some palm wine. He was hungry, so he decided to take a break to eat and then he would have some more to drink.
Everyone had gone inside in anticipation of the downpour, except Efia, who was trying to secure a tarpaulin to four wooden posts for the goats and chickens to take shelter underneath. The sky was black and angry. The first round of lightning flittered softly and was followed by a rolling, guttural rumble, like a giant cart being pushed across the heavens. The next was a bright, quick flash that showed everything in sharp relief, and the thunder that came after it was a deafening crack. Adzima watched the deluge of water outside the door and hoped it wouldn’t rise above the first step into the house. That would mean a flood.
He turned to look at Ama as she spooned his soup into a bowl. He slurped it noisily and chewed loudly on the goat meat and vegetables. He chose a morsel from the soup and held it out to Ama.
“Here. Eat.”
She seemed surprised that he was offering it. He seldom did. She ate it hungrily, and he watched her. She sat against the wall with her legs extended and crossed while she watched the storm.
Efia came in soaking wet.
“What are you doing in here?” Adzima yelled. “Get out.”
“Sorry,” she said and went back into the rain.
“Stupid,” he muttered.
“Should I go, Togbe?” Ama said uncertainly.
“Did I tell you to? Stay there.”
When he was done, she held the bowl out in the rain to wash it, and then she put it back in the corner with the rest. She made a move toward the door, but he told her to come back and sit down. He stared at her smooth black skin, the way it glowed in the light of the kerosene lantern. He turned the lantern off to save fuel, and it now was almost completely black inside the hut.
“Come here,” he told Ama.
He drew her to him and felt for her breasts. They were lovely. He had been watching them grow over the last several months. But Ama was tense and stiff. He pulled at her wraparound skirt, groping for her flesh. She tried to get away, but he held her fast, and once she began to struggle, the fight was on.
Efia felt uneasy about leaving Ama with Togbe. The other wives were busy trying to catch leaks in the roof while the children played around, but Efia stood at the doorway waiting anxiously for Ama. Togbe’s lantern had gone out, which worried Efia even more. She sighed, took a few steps toward Togbe’s hut, and turned back again. What should she do? Should she check on Ama?
She decided she would. She was already soaked, so what difference did it make? She stepped out, trying to avoid the deepest parts of the water and holding up her skirt so she wouldn’t trip over it.
Suddenly, before she could get to Togbe’s hut, Ama came running out. Her mouth was open in a silent scream against the storm. Her top was torn. Her skirt was tangled and pushed up and some of her thigh was exposed. Efia knew immediately what had happened, and it stabbed her in the heart and seared clear to her back in between the shoulder blades.
She caught Ama in her arms. The girl was shrieking. Efia held her tight and cradled her head. Ama wanted to collapse, but Efia wouldn’t let her fall. They stood in the rain until Ama was still, and then Efia took her to the wives’ hut.
Nunana came to them. Efia looked at her in a special way, a way that said, The worst thing possible has happened, and Nunana nodded. She understood.
“Sit down with her and hold her,” she told Efia.
Nunana turned around and ordered the other wives and all the children out.
“In the rain?” they said, incredulous. She must be crazy.
“Get out, now!” Nunana yelled furiously. “Go to the other hut. You can come back later.”
They left hastily, crying children and all.
Efia was sitting on the floor holding Ama tightly, gently rocking her. Nunana knelt down and put her arms around both of them as they began to cry.
After a while, Efia stopped, and then so did Ama.
“Ama,” Nunana said, “did he make you bleed?” She spoke above the noise of the storm, but her voice still sounded gentle.
Ama nodded.
“We’ll wash it with rainwater,” Nunana said. “Did he go inside you?”
“I don’t know. I… I’m not sure. I think so.”
“I have to touch you, Ama,” Nunana said. “I won’t hurt you.”
The girl cringed, but she let Nunana check her by lantern light while Efia held her tight and talked soothingly into her ear.
Nunana looked at Efia and shook her head. “There’s blood,” she said, “but no seed.”
Efia kissed Ama, and into her ear she whispered, “It will never happen again, Ama. I promise you that.”
The storm quieted down to a steady light rain, and finally everyone could get some sleep. Keeping her arms around Ama as she slept, Efia waited two hours. Her eyes never closed in that time. She was extra alert, her mind bright and clear.
She shook Ama gently. “We have to leave.”
“Eh?”
“Shh. Come.”
They stepped over the sleeping wives and children and went outside. A feeble flash of lightning lit up Togbe’s hut for a moment, showing the way.
Ama wiped rainwater away from her eyes. “What’s wrong, Mama? Where are we going?”
“Togbe will try to hurt you and me again. We’re going to run away to Ketanu, and from there maybe someone can take us to another town far away, where Togbe will never find us.”
Lightning illuminated Ama’s face, and Efia saw how fearful she was.
“Wait for me here,” Efia said, but thunder drowned her out and she had to repeat it.
“I have to get something from Togbe’s hut first,” she explained. “Don’t come to look for me, do you hear? No matter what, you must not come looking for me. You understand?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“But when I come out, we run, okay?”
Ama nodded. She was shivering from cold and fear.
Efia knew about how many steps it was to Togbe’s house, and she found the edges of the doorway and went in. She waited for the next bit of lightning. It was less bright, but still enough to see Togbe sleeping on his right side the way he always did. He was a heavy sleeper and slept even better when it rained and when he was sleeping off his drunkenness.
Efia knelt down behind him and gently tapped his left shoulder. He grunted, moaned, and rolled onto his back, and she waited a few moments until she was sure he had settled back into deep sleep. Efia fumbled around for the bottom edge of his sleeping cloth. Some of it was tangled under his weight, and she had to gently peel it up and out. She looked nervously up at the door to make sure Ama wasn’t there. Good girl. Just a few minutes more.
She had almost all of Togbe’s lower section uncovered. He was wearing trousers, but she was still worried the exposure to the air would wake him. Now she had to be quick.
One burst of lightning, and then thunder. Good.
One button. The others had fallen off long ago.
Lightning. She spread the fly open. Thunder.
Don’t wake up, please.
Her knife, the one she used to cut goat meat with, was under her cloth. She took it out. He stirred.
No, no, don’t turn over.
Knife in her right hand, left poised steady over his penis like a runner on his mark.
A brilliant flash of lightning, and she saw it clearly, grasped the shaft, and pulled up. The knife blade arced silently through the dark, so sharp she did not feel it cut the flesh, but she felt his penis come cleanly up and away from his body in her left hand. He writhed like a worm on a stick and sat up, but she was already at the door, and she never heard his first scream.
For a moment she didn’t see Ama. Where was she?
They bumped into each other.
“Run!” Efia shouted.
In pitch darkness, they held hands and ran over ground they could not see into a future they did not know.