That night she obsessed his dreams filling up every space in the eerie twilight of dreamland.
In one particularly vivid dream he was at Ihuoma’s house chatting with her when Emenike, Ihuoma’s dead husband, strode into the compound.
‘Welcome, Eme,’ Ekwueme greeted. ‘You have stayed away too long. Where have you been?’
‘Did I not tell you I was going to farm?’ he queried.
‘You are working too hard.’
‘I am not working at all. I am resting.’
‘Why go to the farm to rest? Why not stay with us at home?’
‘It is nicer there than here. If you would come along with me you would see what I mean.’
The two friends set out for the farm. Soon they came to a stream.
‘We have lost our way; there is no stream across your farm path,’ Ekwueme pointed out.
‘This is a new path. It is short. Come along,’ Emenike urged.
‘No, I can’t cross. The waters look dark.’
‘Come on. See I am almost over.’
‘No, I can’t cross.’
‘Let me come over and help you.’
‘No, don’t, I am going back.’
‘No, you mustn’t.’
Suddenly from nowhere other villagers appeared at the scene.
Ekwueme had a vague feeling of being familiar with them but somehow he could not see their faces. They all urged him on.
When he refused they decided to drag him across. They bore him slowly, ever so slowly, across the stream.
But the other shore seemed to recede as they inched their way towards it. With a frantic effort the captive broke loose and raced back.
Progress was painfully slow.
One villager overtook him and tried to grab him. He screamed and gave a blow. He woke to find his hand aching and his body wet with sweat.
The next morning he told his mother about it.
‘Emenike and others tried to drag me across a stream in a dream,’ he said.
‘Amadioha protect you, my son. We must see Anyika about this. It is no ordinary dream.’
A market day later, Ekwueme was nursing some cuts on his chest into which Anyika had rubbed a potent protective charm…….
Credit:James Carlos
