Dangerous Love by Ben Okri Page B

some time, and none of his sons had been there to share it with him. After a long harrowing silence he asked Blackie to kneel down and greet Omovo traditionally. A long moment passed before she finally knelt. And there was that venomous look in her eyes when she greeted him and stood up hurriedly. He smiled at her: she glanced at him fiercely. Afterwards Omovo went outside and walked around the whole of the ghetto trying to defuse the emotions that threatened to choke him. From that day Omovo sensed that the house would not contain them both.
    Her voice brought him back to the present. She said something and proceeded to tie her wrapper with exaggerated gestures, in a manner that always suggested trouble.
    â€˜Eh, you say I am making noise? You are abusing me not so? Am I your age? It’s your mother who is making nonsense noise wherever she is!’
    Omovo’s anger rose. Any reference to his mother that was in the slightest way abusive enraged him. The statement was calculated to achieve exactly this: and he knew it. His fists clenched involuntarily.
    â€˜Who are you setting your fists for? You can’t do anything, you hear me, you can’t do nothing. You want to fight me not so; you want to fight me, eh?’
    She worked herself up and then she reached out and grabbed him by his shirt front. Her bare teeth flashed and her breath angrily fanned his cheek.
    â€˜I think you want to fight me. Beat me now! Beat me, let me see you! Beat me-o-o-o!’
    She made a movement with her hands, as if making for his eyes. He was not sure. But pushing her away was all he could do to save himself. His hands quite unintentionally squashed her breasts. He felt confused; and suddenly the memory of his father making love to her came back to him. He felt strange, as if he was a spectator to his own actions. He must have pushed her with more force than he intended for she staggered backwards, fell, and screamed piercingly:
    â€˜Omovo wants to kill me-O-O-O!... Omovo want to break my back-O-O!’
    The noise brought Omovo’s father rushing from his room. His wrapper hung loosely on his thin waist and his upper body was bare. The lines on his face, deeply drawn, showed he had been woken up from sleep. Age, drink and hardship had taken their toll on his face. He was unshaven and his mouth reeked of beer and an overnight staleness. He was alarmed by Blackie’s scream.
    â€˜Blackie, what’s happening...? Omovo...!’
    His alarm turned to genuine concern when he saw her on the floor. She rolled her eyes in a peculiar fashion and gasped and moaned.
    â€˜Your son beat me up. Omovo beat me and punched me on the breast!’
    â€˜That’s not true, Dad. She’s acting. All I did was…’
    â€˜Omovo, shut up!’ his father shouted, his reddish eyes flashing. Then he went on to ask her: ‘Why did he do that?’
    For a moment she cried tearlessly, then said: ‘Just because I told him to clear the table where he ate. Am I his slave that I should do that?’
    Omovo’s father looked up and saw the plate still on the table. ‘Why didn’t you just clear the table when you ate? Why? Why can’t you let a man sleep, eh, after doing a whole day’s work so that all of you can eat eba, why can’t I just rest when I come home? What is all this? Omovo, don’t let me get angry with you, you hear?’
    Omovo said nothing. He just stood there watching his father with an even and composed gleam in his eyes, as if he were beyond the reach of his father’s passions.
    â€˜Omovo, there are things that I am not going to tolerate from you, you hear? Now get out, get out of my sight, useless boy like you…’
    Omovo looked at his father. Through the corner of his eye he thought he saw a triumphant smile hover on Blackie’s face.
    â€˜Yes, Dad. I remember you said that before. That’s why they went. I am not fighting for you with