Butterfly Fish by Irenosen Okojie Page A

his touch and the copper birds on the turreted roofs had returned from secret journeys, pressing their newly inherited irises against a darkening skyline and lining the rooftops with small spoils visible only in a certain light.
    Clutching an empty green bottle of palm wine, Oba Odion stumbled along, an almost comical figure. His large belly stuck out, he followed its rumblings, occasionally looking down, patting it affectionately. He could smell the palm wine on his own breath, could feel the looseness and lightness of his tongue, as though it would shoot out and keep the rooftop birds company, or trace a coming dawn with saliva before being swallowed by its pale mist.
    Oba Odion raised the bottle to his lips, thinking of the new road to Benin he’d instructed his workers to start building. Not only would it lead to more trade for Benin but it meant labour for some of thepeople of the kingdom, who repeatedly came to the palace begging for scraps. Who knew what that road would bring to Benin’s gates? Arching his neck, he spoke to the bottle. “Go and tell the world about Oba Odion! Tell them the wonders I can do!” He flung the bottle. It landed in a gnarly patch of shrubbery, neck jutting out, and ready to catch tiny silvery cracks winding their way towards it.
    When the Oba arrived at Omotole’s quarters she was naked, and voluptuous. He knelt before her in the warm dark room, reached for her waiting body. He traced the line of sweat snaking between her breasts greedily with the remnants of the wine from the mouth of the green bottle. He did not tell her about seeing her spread-eagled on that new road and that the copper palace rooftop birds had passed through her womb in a blurry blue light that rendered a person temporarily blind. Instead he stuck his face deep into the folds of Omotole’s bountiful breasts and told his mind to quiet down. Meanwhile Adesua the new bride paced her quarters, unaware of the slow erosion eating through the virgin movements her silhouette shared or that bits of the red trail had found its way into the Oba’s thrown bottle.
    On her wedding day Adesua was struck by two things: that life would never be the same again and secondly, it would always be divided into sections: life before and life after the wedding. The day itself rolled in as if reluctant and with the pace of a snail. The palace roused with a gentle hum that turned into a buzz of activity on discovering Oba Odion had gone missing. Adesua heard the news through her personal servant, a young woman with tribal markings on her arms who stammered slightly. She bore a cut above her left eye and her small frame belied a sturdy strength of character.
    Her name was Etabi and it was she who burst through the wide door of Adesua’s living quarters as if a flame had been set on her backside. “Mistress! Mistress! The Oba is nowhere to be seen,” she said, out of breath having run all the way from the servants building. There she had heard it from one of the noblemen’s servants, who in turn had eavesdropped on his master’s conversation with one of thecouncilmen and took it as his duty to spread it to any equally lowly person within the palace grounds.
    On hearing this good news Adesua had to stop herself from jumping up and down. She smiled and it was wrapped in sunshine and nearly threw her arms around the servant as they went through the motions of dressing her for the day. Throughout she hoped this meant her predicament would change. She fantasised that the reality of having her as a new wife had troubled Oba Odion so much it had given him stomach ache and he was crumpled in a heap somewhere. Or that he was in a secret meeting with one of his advisers who was doing such a good job of persuading him to send her back home, that by the following day, she would be back in her village trying to outrun her shadow and making stupid bets with some of the elders. By the time she was fully dressed, Etabi