Knowing what he knows, no one can possibly blame Oyigbo for pushing himself beyond his own imagination. However, a non-person whose opinion matters a lot is not only heaping blame but is complaining noisily in a most agitated way about Oyigbo's thoughtlessness; his heart is on the verge of bursting ...
Oyigbo's heart has come close to bursting many times in the past years.
"Oh, don't be so fast," Mama Barna would often say from beneath him at such times.
"Yes, yes, no, no," Oyigbo would mostly be confused, his eyes rolling crazily.
Yet at such times, his heart, though close to bursting only seconds earlier, would decelerate to a steady, sated rhythm.
This time, there had been neither deceleration nor satisfaction before Oyigbo had to dash off. And now his heart is threatening to burst for real.
Being sharply aware that he would have no need for a heart if he stops, Oyigbo presses on. Papa Barna sails after him, stocky legs, blazing eyes, glimmering machete and all. Papa Barna --
His return from New Town on this fateful day had begun happily enough. To begin with, the mechanic worked fast on his motorcycle and the repairs didn't cost half as much as he had feared. Buying quite a large number of presents for everyone in his household, including a new bowler hat with a silk band and a red feather stuck in it for himself, he had set off cheerfully for the return journey, enjoying the new surge of power delivered by the newly-serviced engine. He made good time and as he alighted from his motorcycle, the quiet pervading his compound struck him as odd. The girls may be in the farm, he reasoned, and Baba - his pet name for his son Barna - would either be frolicking in the stream or still in school, though not on account of any serious work. But his wife ought to be around. He'd opened his mouth to call out to her when he saw the cart. His mouth stayed open but no words came out. Slowly, almost as if he were some external being other than himself, he went into the house. He heard them before he reached his - their - bedroom door. The passionate cries of lovemaking were unmistakable. Entranced, he made his way silently to the store where he kept his tools and things. The machete, usually very heavy, felt almost weightless as he clutched it and started back towards the bedroom.
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