She stand in the darkest corner of the bedchamber and watch the women. Sogolon want to cry whenever she think about herself and what a loose tongue get her, so she look outside herself at these women working. Two women at the head of the bed start to sing a praise song barely above a whisper. We thank the Gods for the ntoro, for through this the King is of his people and the people of his King. Two women on left and right of the bed roll away one bedsheet, as the princess and the rest of the women stand at the foot. All the women humming if they not singing. We thank the god for the mogya, the blood of kings that come only from woman, for it is through the sister that come the King. The two women roll away the second sheet. We thank the gods for the sunsum, which is all that our King is and will be when he is called to the ancestors’ tree. The two women roll away the third sheet. We salute the okra, the soul given by the gods, which returns to the gods for it cannot die, but will rise to the ancestors’ tree and decide our destiny. At that the princess wail and two women catch her as she stumble. If there is wickedness, if there is evilness, if this is not his time, guide him to the tree of ancestors, so that his spirit not roam the world in fury and disturb the living.
Then a woman step forward, one Sogolon never see before this day. This woman, a cousin of the King on his father’s side. A woman from an old and noble family that help found the empire but run afoul of the King. She stand by the left side of the King’s body, the side of the father’s kinfolk. On the right should be the relatives from the mother’s kin, but Kwash Kagar’s cousins are too old and he have no sisters, so the duty fall on his daughter. Sogolon try to picture it, even though she is about to see it, the princess washing her father’s body. The women all gather and lift him up with their strength. They take his body to the center of the room to a sheet on the floor. The women remove his death mask, his tunic, and his undergarment and slippers. The flurry of women’s robes block her view but then they pull away like a flower spreading open. The King, pale and death thin, with bones poking under his skin. His head drooping more like a drunk man than a dead one. The princess wail again and the headwoman touch her shoulder, the only woman allowed to do so. Women on the left and right dip washcloths in a bowl and hand them to the cousin on the left and the princess on the right. The cousin wipe the left side of Kwash Kagar’s face, while Princess Emini wipe the right. They move down as the women sing, We are your kin washing away your death, banish all illness and ill will, bring us health and send us children. The princess wash the right nipple while the cousin wash the left. The women keep singing for his okra to bring them health and send them children and the two women scrub down. Princess Emini reach his penis first and drop the cloth. As you would a child, Highness, headwoman say, but the princess refuse to pick back up the cloth. Is the cousin who dip her hands into his cock and sack and between him like she cleaning a baby. They put a fur to hide his maleness and the princess continue. When she get to his feet, as much tears as water wash him. They finish by washing their hands with rum and pouring the rest of the bottle down the King’s mouth. That will keep you happy, Kagar, she say, before crying again that now that he is dead he is not Kagar anymore.
“He lost his name,” she say.
The other woman dress him in black and white robes streaked with gold, and a crown of gold crocodiles and turtles. They place the funeral shroud on the bed, then they place him on the left side, like a lover turning to talk to you in bed. A pillow prop up his neck, and his left hand is open to receive whatever he will need for his journey to the ancestors. Then they leave him, all of them, none saying anything to Sogolon, who stand so still in the corner that nobody see that they leave her alone in the room with the dead King. Why she didn’t speak, whisper, or cry out will bother her all night. Something in the princess’s voice make her think that her mouth is the last thing that any woman want to hear. The day moving on without her, but Sogolon don’t know what to do. She could just leave, but she in the corner under order of the princess. If she leave now, somebody might see her and accuse her of theft, or something else that people who get caught with a dead king do. And the princess will be back in her castle, no longer caring about the affairs of this house. Or worse. They could accuse her of worse, acts treacherous or indecent, for she is a no name girl, and the only people outside of the court of the princess who know her are the twins, who want her dead, and the prince, who might give them their wish. Or Commander Olu. Or Keme. None of this mean a thing for girl in the bedroom of a dead king who is washed, dressed, and ready for all who will pay tribute.
So she stay all night. It strike her first with confusion then with bitterness that she not even trying to hide in the corner, and yet nobody see her. She just standing there. By late afternoon, two men wearing purple enter with plates of food, which they place right by the reach of his left hand. They leave, walking backways. Sogolon settle on being in the corner, for how long she don’t know. The sun dip lower and lower until rays coming through the window hit the King’s face. His eyes are shut but he is frowning at having her in the room, she can feel it. Lying there on his side with the trays of food by him, he is a man disturbed from his feast. Outside drums boom like thunder and startle her so much that she slip out of the corner, tripping in a spot of water the cleaning women leave behind. Hit the floor hard she do, her shoulders and the back of her head the most. Sogolon barely up on her elbows when loud footsteps come straight for the door. She scramble to the bed but there is no hollow to slip under, so she try to cover up with the leopard-skin rug on the floor.
She feeling breeze on her feet when the door open. A commotion of footsteps march in, but only one go all the way up to the bed.
“You all plan to hold my cock so I can piss as well?” Prince Likud ask. The motion to the bed stop.
“Get out. All of you.”
“Your Highness, it is tradition that no one who sees the King wi—”
“There is no King.”
“Of course. But with respect—”
“Respect? You have as much respect for me as I have affection for you. Or as any of you have for the crown.”
She hear him before she see him, the darkchild with yellow eyes glowing even in the daylight, scuttling on the ceiling, the shadow spider. As she pull the leopard skin over her face, she can feel more air on her bare feet.
“You lords know the way out, or shall I have him show you?”
More scuttling. This time on the floor as the men all back out of the room. Everything is quiet. The darkchild scuttle across the ceiling twice, then settle somewhere beyond her feet. The room is again quiet, until she realize that the prince is sitting on the bed, and only after he spit a seed on the floor that he is eating the food.
“Come,” he say. Scuttling she soon hear, from the ceiling to the wall to the floor. Then a laugh like a shriek, and scramble back up to the ceiling. She lift the leopard skin off one eye just to see him, feet on the ceiling, hands free as he devour a full roasted fowl in four bites.
“What unfortunate vagina spit you out,” the prince say and laugh, but it wither into a sigh. She feel him adjust his weight on the bed.
“Kagar of Akum. Look at you now,” he say. “Look at you now. Look at you.”
Another sigh. Another silence.