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“Yes, sah. Sah, something happened.”

“What?”

Ugwu told Master about the afternoon, quickly recounting the words of both women, and finished with what was the most horrible of all: “Mama said she will go to the dibia, sah.”

“What rubbish,” Master said. “Ngwa, get into the car. You might as well drive back home with me.”

Ugwu was shocked that Master was not shocked, did not understand the gravity of the situation, and so he added, “It was very bad, sah. Very bad. Mama nearly slapped my madam.”

“What? She slapped Olanna?” Master asked.

“No, sah.” Ugwu paused; perhaps he had gone too far with the suggestion. “But it looked as if she wanted to slap my madam.”

Master’s face relaxed. “The woman has never been very reasonable, at any rate,” he said, in English, shaking his head. “Get in, let’s go.”

But Ugwu did not want to get into the car. He wanted Master to turn around and go to Olanna’s flat right away. His life was organized, secure, and Master’s mother would have to be stopped from disrupting things; the first step was for Master to go and placate Olanna.

“Get into the car,” Master said again, reaching across the front seat to make sure the door was unlocked.

“But, sah. I thought you are going to see my madam.”

“Get in, you ignoramus!”

Ugwu opened the door and climbed in, and Master drove back to Odim Street.

5

Olanna looked at Odenigbo through the glass for a while before she opened the door. She closed her eyes as he walked in, as if doing so would deny her the pleasure that the scent of his Old Spice always brought. He was dressed for tennis in the white shorts she had often teased him were too tight around his buttocks.

“I was talking to my mother or I would have come earlier,” he said. He pressed his lips to hers and gestured to the old boubou she was wearing. “Aren’t you coming to the club?”

“I was cooking.”

“Ugwu told me what happened. I’m so sorry my mother acted that way.”

“I just had to leave … your house.” Olanna faltered. She had wanted to say our house.

“You didn’t have to, nkem. You should have ignored her, really.” He placed a copy of Drum magazine down on the table and began pacing the room. “I’ve decided to talk to Dr. Okoro about the Labor Strike. It’s unacceptable that Balewa and his cronies should completely reject their demands. Just unacceptable. We have to show support. We can’t allow ourselves to become disconnected.”

“Your mother made a scene.”

“You’re angry.” Odenigbo looked puzzled. He sat down in the armchair, and for the first time she noticed how much space there was between the furniture, how sparse her flat was, how unlived in. Her things were in his house; her favorite books were in the shelves in his study. “Nkem, I didn’t know you’d take this so seriously. You can see that my mother doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s just a village woman. She’s trying to make her way in a new world with skills that are better suited for the old one.” Odenigbo got up and moved closer to take her in his arms, but Olanna turned and walked into the kitchen.

“You never talk about your mother,” she said. “You’ve never asked me to come to Abba with you to visit her.”

“Oh, stop it, nkem. It’s not as if I go that often to see her, and I did ask you the last time but you were going to Lagos.”

She walked over to the stove and ran a sponge on the warm surface, over and over, her back to Odenigbo. She felt as if she had somehow failed him and herself by allowing his mother’s behavior to upset her. She should be above it; she should shrug it off as the ranting of a village woman; she should not keep thinking of all the retorts she could have made instead of just standing mutely in that kitchen. But she was upset, and made even more so by Odenigbo’s expression, as if he could not believe she was not quite as high-minded as he had thought. He was making her feel small and absurdly petulant and, worse yet, she suspected he was right. She always suspected he was right. For a brief irrational moment, she wished she could walk away from him. Then she wished, more rationally, that she could love him without needing him. Need gave him power without his trying; need was the choicelessness she often felt around him.

“What did you cook?” Odenigbo asked.

“Rice.” She rinsed the sponge and put it away. “Aren’t you going to play tennis?”

“I thought you would come.”

“I don’t feel up to it.” Olanna turned around. “Why is your mother’s behavior acceptable because she’s a village woman? I know village women who do not behave this way.”

“Nkem, my mother’s entire life is in Abba. Do you know what a small bush village that is? Of course she will feel threatened by an educated woman living with her son. Of course you have to be a witch. That is the only way she can understand it. The real tragedy of our postcolonial world is not that the majority of people had no say in whether or not they wanted this new world; rather, it is that the majority have not been given the tools to negotiate this new world.”