THE WIDOW'S VILLAGE

Najm was not supposed to be handsome. In Umueze, fine boys die quickly. Evil Forest likes fine boys. His mother called him Najm because his father was an Arab trader from Ilorin who passed through, left Qur'an and light eyes, and disappeared. So Najm had Igbo mouth and Arab eyes, and the village did not know where to put him. "Your sister Adaeze has entered forest," Mama Ajala told him. "Don't go. That forest kills men." "Has any man entered?" Najm asked. "No, because they are wise." "So how do you know it kills?" Mama Ajala looked at him long. "You are too fine to argue." That night, Najm stole. Not fowl. Not money. He stole his sister's wrapper — the blue one with small stars, and a black veil she used when going to stream so men would not see her hair. He sat before cracked mirror in his hut. He had small beard. He shaved it with blade till face was smooth like egg. He tied wrapper. Once. It fell. Second time, it held. He wrapped veil over head. He looked. He was not Najm. He was a widow with big shoulders. He practiced voice: "Nne, kedu?" — too deep. He tried again, soft: "Nne... biko..." Outside, cricket shouted. He picked small Qur'an, hid inside wrapper where women hide money, and picked cutlass. At midnight, he walked to Evil Forest. At the border, Mother Tree stood. The tree that had taken Adaeze's carved name. Najm stopped. "I am not man today," he whispered to tree. "I am Zainab, widow from Umuahia, husband died of chicken poison. Let me enter." Mother Tree did not answer. But wind blew his veil. He entered. Inside, fire burned. Women sang. Adaeze was not there — she had gone to teach early morning school. Only small girl sat pounding leaf. That was Layla. She looked up. "Ah! Who are you?" she said. Najm remembered voice. Soft voice. "I... I am Zainab," he said. "New widow. My husband... ehm... died. They said I should come here." Layla looked at his big legs, his Adam's apple hiding under veil, his fine eyes. She frowned. "This new widow," she muttered in Igbo, "why she get leg like yam?" Najm swallowed. Layla stood, dusted hands. "Come. Mama Ajala will see you. But first — you pound this. Widows pound here." She gave him mortar. Najm held pestle like cutlass. He pounded. Fufu jumped and landed on his veil. Layla laughed. First time in three years since her father died, she laughed loud. "Haba! Widow Zainab, you will scatter all our soup!" Najm — Zainab — smiled under veil. He had entered. No witch killed him yet.