“After noon, meaning prepare a lunch,” the mistress say.
Mistress Komwono set the cookwoman working, and before her guest arrive, mpotopoto with mackerel, herring packed in salt—for sea fish is a rare thing in the mountains—sweet yam eto, fresh figs, and rings of fried klouikloui are all ready. From when she sit down on the cushions, Lady Mistress Doungourou complain about how everything is so sweet, too sweet, even the herring, and how the cook must not be the sophisticated sort from court. For at court, savory is the old thing that new now, which would have sent up the price of salt, but since we no longer at war with the South, the price stay firm, and even though a woman like her, with a noble name like hers, would never associate with any form of tradesman or merchant, they did dabble a little for their own amusement in the markets, so what a sad thing for many, but not for them really, that peacetime make salt prices drop so low. And then she complain about the food again, but don’t leave a drop for the mistress.
Sogolon watch them and observe a new thing. The friend enemy. She don’t understand it, so she watch more. Lady Mistress Doungourou, the dearest sister, the lanky breast bitch, for she did wear her dress the old way, with her breasts uncovered. This lady remind her of the mistress sister, who also cling close, but who the mistress also say she can’t stand. Seem to her that this kind of friend and family is all Mistress Komwono have. But Sogolon can’t find anywhere in her head to place it. What hold them close if not love? Not that she know that love be any sort of thing, much less a thing to hold people close. Her brothers hold close because they don’t know how to live any other way, and as soon as they learn one, she sure they gone. This is some other big word that the dead master would use. Sogolon let the thought of the master leave as quick as it come. What pull them women close? Maybe this is how it is, where people of all sort surround you but you have nobody. Keme have a lion that he play with in the dirt. She let the thought of Keme leave as quick as it come. Maybe it is a show, a dance, a ceremony between the two of them.
“Oh yes, ever since the Sangomin taking seat at the foot of the crown prince. Now every other woman beyond blessed if she don’t get call witch,” say Lady Mistress Doungourou.
“They calling Lady Kaabu a witch? Then what they calling her mother?”
“A word a proper woman don’t use.”
“Then don’t trouble your head, dearest sister.”
They both sprawl out on cushions like women who don’t have to worry about male company. Lady Mistress Doungourou wearing a dark green gown and a heap of bead necklaces that come all the way down to her dark nipples. On every finger, a gold ring. On some fingers, two. The lady mistress talk as much with her hands as she do with her mouth, and both make her look like she raising alarm.
“They summon the Ifa priest after a week of divination, and all then nobody could say for sure.”
“But why they think she is a witch?”
“God’s words, Njaaye, you don’t get news out in that lower province? Two of the lord’s concubines have baby that come out foot first. One strangle on the mother cord, and the other one kill the mother. All the servants say Kaabu filled with wickedness and bad spirit ever since all she birth is one slow girl.”
“And Lord Kaabu just let them take his wife?”
“He the one who accuse her. The priests couldn’t find nothing to say she is a witch, so the lord call a Sangoma.”
“And now this nasty river shaman come reach all the way to the throne? Things really different.”
“You no want to hear the story?”
“Of course.”
“Oh. Well the lord ask for redress from the King and that, good sister, is when the chancellor get involved. God’s words, that man make me shudder. He’s the one why all this happen, if you going fire an arrow. I don’t believe no rumor, but I hear is sake of him, the chancellor why the court now showing the Sangomin favor, and why now there is to be judgment to all things witch. This is how the things happen, sister. The white clay man, this witchfinder who never ever bring comb to his hair show up unannounced at their house. Man look like skin and bones I hear, and hear this, he also come with seven others. Listen sister, all seven of them be children and lo, the strangest children you ever going see. One of them skin red, one crawl sideways on the wall, and another have two head! They just drop in the house like thunder and seize Lady Kaabu saying she is a witch. Two guards I hear, two guards go to defend her, for they thinking this must be some attack, and the children set upon them like somebody throw raw meat to a pack of hyena. My lady, I hear when they pull away, one guard is bones and the other have all him parts scatter all over the courtyard. Demon children, but they in service of good now, so they good? Two other concubines they find to be witches too.”
“How?”
“The white clay witchfinder divine that they sharing lusts for each other.”
“So? Ignored concubine make do. That not new.”
“It new now. The witchfinder himself have the children hold down and spread the two woman while he correct them himself.”
“I don’t know what you meaning, my sister.”
“Yes, you know. That nasty hair man and his demon children set upon the house like it is war they come to fight. They even grab the master and beat him little bit until somebody realize who he be.”
“But you not leaving out something, sister? When it come to pass that witches now evil?”
“How long since you . . . since you gone, sister?”
“Long enough.”
“Of course. And poor Master Komwono. I didn’t even know until last quartermoon, sister.”
“Witches, sister. When since that any woman can get called witch?”
“But they are witches, sister.”
“You don’t hear what I asking, sister.”
“You will have to ask my husband. He is the smart one, even the crown prince is impressed.”
“That is the second time you mention the crown prince. What about the King?”
“The King? You didn’t hear. Dearest sister, I thought that is why you come. For your husband was always in the King’s heart. Even after you . . .”
“You make it sound like—”
“He leaving, sister.”
“Leaving to go where?”
“He leaving, sister. Leaving.”
“And I say where . . . he . . . oh. The King near done dead.”
“Sister! You gone too long. That kind of talk is treason. The King is about his business with the ancestors, you hear me? Good for you to never talk that way again. Is treason now. To say what you didn’t say, for I didn’t hear it, is to wish to kill the country. The lord chancellor say it, and the crown prince approve it. And the scribes put it down in parchment which mean is law now. The King is about his business.”
“Nobody going dead, so nobody need no last respects.”
“Now you sound like you learning.”
“I learning many things, Njaaye, and this only my third day. Is it new tradition also to not speak of her? Or am I not worthy until she receive me?”