Page 74 of Death of the Author
“I don’t like you doing this alone.”
She froze for a moment, looking at the shirt in her hands. “I don’t, either.”
His eyelids lowered. “I will seriously stand outside waiting, Zelu.”
She smiled and kissed him. Then she finished getting dressed and called a cab.
It was nearly 6 o’clock when she walked up to her parents’ house. The sun was out, but it felt so far away that it didn’t make a difference temperature-wise. However, it had snowed overnight and the glare was spectacular. She wore a dark blue–and-black Ankara suit with no jewelry. Her micro braids were pulled back. The feet of her exos were caked with snow anddirt, but she felt stylish, respectful, and unassuming. Even in the wake of her father’s death—or maybe because of it—she knew her relatives would be eager to judge her. She wasn’t going to make it easy. She would make her father proud.
She reached for the door handle, then stopped. Her father couldn’t be proud; he was gone.
She opened the front door. Everything seemed the same, from the ever-present smell of curry, onions, and palm oil from her mother’s cooking to the earthy notes from her father’s many houseplants. His heavy winter coat hung on the rack beside the door. As if he’d just returned from a trip to the store or seeing a friend and was right around the corner, sitting in his favorite armchair.
She shut her eyes and massaged her temples. “Come on. Get it together, Zelu,” she whispered. But her mind wouldn’t stop: Who would water the English ivy in her room? Not only had her father nursed it back to life, but it was now joyfully taking over her entire windowsill, thanks to his green thumb. Who would eat the rest of her egusi soup and fufu when she was too stuffed to finish? Who would tell her those core stories that she loved to hear again and again about his youth in Nigeria? Who would be the one other adventurer in the family? Who would she look to first for support when her family inevitably told her something was out of her reach?
She was on her own. She urged her exos forward and was glad for their unemotional, robotic response. Into the house she went.
Everyone was in the living room. Her mother sat on the couch, looking somehow both like she was about to collapse and incredibly alert. On one side of her sat Uncle Dike, as tall and imposing as ever, and on the other side sat UncleUgorji, as robust and entitled as ever. But Omoshalewa was not a small woman, and she didn’t look small now. Sitting on the coffee table were a bowl of kola nuts and a plate of peanut sauce and alligator pepper. It was just like her mother to be capable of hosting in a moment like this. All around the room were Zelu’s siblings. No one looked herway when she entered; they all seemed frustrated, the room hot with an ongoing argument. Zelu moved to stand behind the couch.
“No disrespect, Uncle Dike, but that’s really foul!” Tolu snapped.
“This is how you people speak to your elders in this country?” Uncle Dike asked. He kissed his teeth. “Tufiakwa!”
“Irrelevant,” UncleUgorji said, waving a hand at Tolu. “He will be buried in Mbaise.”
Her mother suddenly stood up. “And when I die, where will I be buried? In some Igbo village? Me, a princess of Ondo. Me. AYoruba woman?!” She slapped her chest proudly.
“You are his wife,” Uncle Dike said. “You will be buried beside your husband.”
“I am aprincess!” she shouted at him. Her whole body was shaking now, and Zelu couldn’t tell if it was from rage or exhaustion. “I will not allow any of you to be blind to who I am! No! Secret wasmyhusband!Notyours. When is the last time you spoke with him, Dike? I remember!” Her eyes were wide and red. “Oh, I remember what you wanted and how you made him feel!”
Auntie Ozioma leaned forward in her chair, holding an arm out to urge Zelu’s mother to sit back down. “Biko, this is not the time—”
“When, then?” her mother screamed. “You three flew here so fast, I don’t even know how! People usually can’t even get visa, but you three did, overnight... just to tell me I have to ship my husband away! Did you know he would die? Eh?!Did you know?Are you Grim Reaper?!” The more she raged, the thicker her accent grew. “Let me keep my husband!”
“He ismybrother,” Uncle Dike said, voice deep and commanding. “I have known him far longer than you.” He paused and then added, “No one can be closer than the ones who come from the ‘head office.’”
“Patriarchy is so nasty,” she heard Amarachi mutter. “Always acting like their dicks are gods. ‘Head office,’ ugh.” Zelu met her eyes, then she met Tolu’s and Uzo’s. They all hated this traditional bullshit, and they all hated that they couldn’t just scream that they hated it because they were part of it,too. Respect your elders, respect your elders, respect your elders, one of the strongest rules of the culture.
“Your father,” their uncleUgorjisaid, addressing them all now, “will be buried as a chief. He deserves that. We see what he did here. He should be honored in his own land.”
“Uncle,” Chinyere said, stepping forward. “We respect you. We love you all. But this is our father.” She motioned to their mother. “And this is our mother. We understand your sentiment. We don’t know if we agree with it or not.” She looked to the others and they all nodded. “But we won’t have you coming here and making demands. We are fine with suggestions or requests, Uncle.”
Their uncles both looked as if they were about to object, but Chinyere held up a hand. “We need time to think on it. Can you give us that?”
All her siblings understood that it was time to remove themselves. They stood up and started filing into the kitchen. Chinyere held her mother’s shoulders and ushered her along, too. Zelu followed the procession. Their auntie and uncles remained in the living room, muttering among themselves.
Once in the kitchen, they all sat around the table except Zelu, who elected to lean against the counter. No one said anything for a long moment.
“Is this... what usually happens?” Uzo finally broke the silence.
“Yep,” Tolu said, looking like he’d eaten something sour.
“The nerve,” Chinyere said, shaking her head. “Like, they can’t just ask? They come making demands as if we’re nothing.”
“You know what comes next,” Amarachi said, curling her lip in disgust.
“Yep,” Chinyere asked. “They go after his bank accounts in Nigeria.”
