Spiritual Satellite 3296h

Spiritual Satellite

Geoffrey Obasi

Copyright © 2016 by Dr. Geoffrey Obasi.

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4828-7669-7 eBook 978-1-4828-7668-0

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Epilogue

Prologue

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou cometh out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations. (Jeremiah 1:5).

Most renowned prophets were born of the name Moses, Elijah and Jeremiah and Dr Charles was of that order. Some twenty years earlier, he had heard a voice, which had asked him to steer clear of women, alcohol and tobacco, because there was a special job needed of him. ‘Who are you, lord?’ he asked the speaker, the owner of the well-distilled voice in that memorable dream of his that had become etched into his memory, almost like indelible ink. He was only 9 then. Today, now aged 29, as he closed his room in the house officer’s residence, he wondered whether the gift was a blessing or, in fact, a burden, well crafted to leave him drifting between insanity and stupor. About two weeks previously, during the swearing-in ceremony of the Ibadan Medical class of 1991, his eyes were opened for the very first time. He had created a scene that would remain a red-letter day in his life. He knew that neither the college provost, who kept on shouting, ‘Take the boy to the emergency room; he’s schizophrenic’, nor his classmates and other guests, were in a hurry to forget 24 June 1991. Dressed in a dark brown suit with a tie and a matching pair of shoes, he had entered the college auditorium with subdued pride to savour what he had expected to be a turning in his life. A decisive turn from a medical student to a doctor. The college provost sat next to the chief medical director of the university teaching hospital, both of whom were apparently well dressed, beaming with peace and blessedness, or so it had appeared to the ordinary eye. Doctor Charles was extraordinary. The college provost was, in fact, a leopard and before Dr Charles’ confounded eyes, the image before him kept on changing. Now Professor John, the next moment a leopard. Dr Charles’ natural

reaction would have been to alert the other guests seated with the provost on the high table, but Professor John was of no mean personality, revered all over the medical world. Dr Charles couldn’t ignore what he’d seen. He had turned in the direction of his fellow graduates and had hoped that perhaps somebody else might have noticed, too. Apparently, none did though, for they were all laughing merrily at the light joke of the master of ceremonies Dr Last. He intensified his search for a friendly, perhaps sympathetic face. Joseph would have been a natural choice, but he was nowhere to be found and his room was locked. Where could he have gone? Then he saw a hand beckoning him. It was Joseph. He moved closer and then glanced at the college provost. The picture was still the same. Now a leopard … now Professor John. Just as Dr Charles turned to whisper to his friend of six years that the college provost Professor John was, in fact, a leopard, he saw something else that proved to be the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Perched delicately on his friend’s seat was a serpent, a huge, dark snake that was gazing towards him. Without realising, he shouted, ‘Professor John is a leopard!’ Almost immediately, Joseph reappeared. Confused, Dr Charles turned and ran towards to the exit. He couldn’t understand what was happening to the college provost, his bosom friend! Yet he knew he was sure of what he had seen. Moments later, Dr Charles was forced into an ambulance and was rushed to the hospital emergency room against his will. Nobody would listen to his claim of sanity. This happened two weeks previously, but as he strolled past the emergency room that day, he could still see the bewildered look of Professor John. In a subdued voice, the Professor beckoned to him to him in his surgery. ‘Doctor, I am quite concerned and mystified by your behaviour. If this episode had happened during a hectic time such as that of an examination, one would have understood. But I must tell you that unless you are certified fit by the psychiatric team, we might not only reconsider the job we offered you, but we might also withhold your certificate until such time as we see fit. Nobody wants to unleash mad doctors on the unsuspecting public. You must face Professor John Lamb tomorrow morning. He is the only one who can advise us appropriately.’ He could still see the contorted face of the provost that portrayed

hurt and anxiety.

Chapter One

Apprehensively, he ascended the staircase to the SW4 gynaecological ward, venue of the ward round. It was 7.30 a.m. There was still time to update the case notes pending the consultant’s ward round. As the house officer of the unit it was his responsibility to make sure everything was in place and having just graduated from the medical school, he had to prove in a subtle way that he merited his certificate, despite the fact that he had trained in the same hospital. There were rumours of irregularities during the final degree examinations and that, coupled with the episode of the past few weeks, kept him on his toes. Everybody seemed to be watching him for any untoward sign of insanity. He sincerely hoped that he would not create a scene throughout his internship. This meant that he would have to carry himself carefully and he would have to observe some niceties, exchanging indolent pleasantries with at least some grace. A warm smile polished his handsome face for a minute or so. ‘Hello, Matron, do you know whether Professor Lund has had any new issions?’ he asked. ‘No, not this morning. We did have one at about 11.30 p.m. last night, though. She was the only new ission on the ward,’ she replied, appearing to have ed something. Perhaps the warm smile had carried her away and made her forget all too soon the event of 24 June, the common gossip in the hospital. Since then, she had not seen Doctor Charles. Carefully, she stared at the 6 foot man in front of her. There was nothing suggestive of mental imbalance in the handsome, dark face, with his full set of white teeth, the brown silk tie, the white overalls, the well-ironed brown tros and the well-polished pair of shoes that formed the ornaments of the young man in front of her. Not convinced, she ed the common adage, safety first, and walked towards the corridor about 100 metres from where Dr Charles now stood studying the case notes of the various patients itted under Professor Lund over the past couple of days. The new ission was a Mrs Lynda Ford, a school teacher with a history of

primary infertility. Earlier the previous evening, he had summarised the other cases, all of whom awaited discharge, so he picked up the only new case notes and walked to bed number twelve, where Mrs Ford lay absent-mindedly. At the age of 35, she still hadn’t managed to conceive and yet she prayed for a pregnancy, even if it ended in abortion or miscarriage. She wanted to be a full woman, to experience pregnancy, its pains and joys, but it would seem that that had been a tall ambition. Month after month, she had helplessly watched her normal menstrual flow exude from her with impunity. Hospitals, herbal specialists and even churches had expended all her savings and it had left her and her husband in near penury. This was meant to be her last fight in the nation’s premier hospital, before succumbing to a life of wretched childlessness. The future was gloomy, the present very painful, without a child in an African society. She knew it very well. ‘Good morning, madam. My name is Dr Charles, the house officer under Professor Lund. I need to discuss your case notes with you prior to the professor’s ward round this morning,’ Dr Charles said, flashing a warm smile that made the woman in the bed stir with some ill-defined excitement. ‘I’m Mrs Ford. I’m pleased to meet you,’ she replied, reciprocating his smile. Dr Charles found her story very painful. For such an otherwise pleasant woman to be childless, in a society where millions of abortions were performed each year, was a sad commentary on the injustice of nature. ‘Madam, what about your husband? Has he remarried? Or does he have any other children through other women?’ In a way, that was a stupid question, since he had earlier found out that Mrs Ford was the only wife of her husband and that Mr Ford had no intention of marrying or having a baby with anyone else. Quickly, he announced with some vigour, as if to regain his control of the discussion, ‘Madam, I would like to give you a quick examination, if that’s OK with you. I’ll have one of the student nurses step in the cubicle while I examine you.’ ‘That is quite unnecessary, doctor,’ Mrs Ford whispered, quickly undressing, fumbling with her fastenings, in an uncanny way that was quite characteristic of anxious patients.

Diligently, Dr Charles allowed his eyes to run over the pretty, feminine face, noting the anxiety portrayed in her neck, her full, virginal breasts and finally her abdomen. Involuntarily, his lips parted in amazement. He knew he was right, but how could he explain what he’d seen? No ordinary eye would appreciate it. Carefully concealed in Mrs Ford’s womb was a glass tumbler full of some white substance or other. There was no doubt in his mind as to why Mrs Ford had never fallen pregnant. ‘What is the matter, doctor?’ she asked, jerking him back to reality. The presence of the tumblerful of the white substance was as clear as day to him. It was so distinct to him that he couldn’t explain it to the woman, at least not for the moment. After the consultant’s round, he would tell her that even the best gynaecologist, the best surgeon, would be completely useless to her. ‘Mrs Ford, after the ward round I will come and see you again. Don’t worry yourself about anything. And don’t let my peculiar disposition discomfit you,’ he said with a smile. Then he bent down to palpate her abdomen. As his right hand touched the lower abdomen of his now nervous patient, he discovered the tumbler tucked away in her womb and its white contents became dimmer. Quickly, he lifted his hand. Instinctively, he knew that Mrs Ford’s reproductive organs were in a perfect state physically. After what had happened on 24 June during the swearing-in ceremony, he had been told that he had the ability of seeing beyond the physical. He could be permitted to peep into the supernatural. The physical, naked eye would never understand. He smiled to allay his patient’s fears, hurriedly summarised his findings and quickly exchanged pleasantries with the other patients in the unit. Of course, he omitted to include what he’d seen in Mrs Ford’s womb when writing up her notes.

Professor Lund’s Ward round kicked off at precisely 9.00 a.m. As usual, he had a keen sense of timing. Before 10.00 a.m., the team had reviewed all of the old patients on the ward and five of them had been discharged. Everybody was well aware that today’s consultant’s teaching would be based on Professor Lund’s new patient. Each set of medical students attached to him would soon discover Professor Lund’s practice that he liked them to prepare the patients before his

ward round by copiously reading topics related to each new case. Mrs Ford’s case was primarily that of infertility, a topic most medical students knew quite a lot about. The team formed a half-moon around Mrs Ford’s bed, while the professor adjusted his tie. In a deep, clear, authoritative tone, he began, ‘In the tropics, cases of infertility are prevalent, primarily owing to infection of the reproductive organs. This woman has had no previous issues and no previous pregnancies before, so the reason for her ission is undoubtedly infertility. I expect you already know everything there is to know regarding infertility at this stage in your education.’ He paused and glanced at the students. For obvious reasons, all avoided direct eye with the good-natured but serious-minded professor. No one wanted to bear the brunt of the day’s teaching; indeed, no student wanted to be the one to entertain the team on that morning or on any other, for that matter. Everybody knew that Professor Lund would not relent, until the unfortunate student was made to feel inadequate whilst fumbling with questions, but it was inevitable nonetheless. He continued, ‘Now, can anyone list the various causes of primary infertility in the tropics, apart from inflammatory pelvic conditions?’ He cast his eyes over the team and finally settled on an unfamiliar face. Surprisingly, the said student had prepared very well for the ward round and within minutes, had given the diagnosis to the professor: there were fifteen possible causes. Yet, the old man was not satisfied and so he persisted. ‘Apart from all of those, there are some other causes you have missed out. Anyone else?’ he asked, waiting in vain for someone to respond. ‘What about you, Doctor Charles?’ he asked. ‘Do you have anything to add?’ The professor turned to face his team of doctors on his right. Doctor Charles was the link between the two teams: the students’ and the doctors’ teams. It was Professor Lund’s habit to respect rank in asking questions during his ward rounds. Dr Charles knew that the student had given most of the causes of primary infertility in the tropics, but it would have sounded stupid for a doctor to appear

ignorant before the students. He had, on several occasions, prayed silently against being caught in a tight corner by Professor Lund, or by any other senior doctors, for that matter, especially in front of the students. He was now caught up between two dilemmas: to say something at least, to prove that he was not a dunce, whilst remaining calm, since he knew that the most appropriate thing to say now would make him sound stupid before Professor Lund. Most causes of infertility were as a direct result of infections in the tropics, but this particular case was not among these types of cases. The lady’s problem in this case had a deep, spiritual undertone. He had seen it with his own eyes and yet he was reluctant to give this as a cause in front of the professor and his team. Medicine was a science and it dealt with verifiable facts, not voodooism and not even hypotheses. Eventually, he began in a dignified tone as a mark of his new rank, ‘Apart from poor sexual techniques among some individuals in the primitive tribes spread across the Sahara Desert, who continue to partake in sodomy throughout life, unless corrected …’ he paused to take in the expressions on the faces of the other doctors, ‘for which I saw three cases of such causes of infertility as a medical student, there are also spiritual causes of both primary and secondary infertility. Voodooism, witchcraft practices and concoctions from the kingdom of darkness, when implanted in the uterus of the patient, can cause infertility. In fact, this particular case points in this direction. A pure instance of a spiritual cause of infertility,’ he concluded. Professor Lund glanced at him with disbelief. He wanted to ignore his house officer, but decided otherwise. A medical student could be forgiven for making such an unfounded, unscientific utterance, but not a doctor. After all, Dr Charles had ed from being a student in the very ordinary sense to being a medical doctor, having trained in the most prestigious teaching hospital in the land, long ago. He turned and faced Dr Charles directly. ‘Doctor,’ he said in his usual affable but serious manner, ‘can you enlighten us on your new findings? Perhaps you could win a Nobel prize for it.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ Dr Charles said impatiently. ‘If you had the third eye, the eye of insight, you would have seen a tumbler full of some white substance or other that had been implanted into the woman’s uterus. Indeed, previous investigations have revealed nothing scientifically. I saw this tumbler with my own eyes. In

fact, it is still there. Can’t you see it?’ he asked the now bewildered professor. Professor Lund merely turned to his senior house officer and instructed, ‘Please, Dr Eko, prepare the patient for an examination under anaesthetic in theatre. All investigations for infertility are to be carried out before our next teaching round on Monday of next week.’ Then he turned to Mrs Ford and whispered into her right ear, ‘Madam, take heart, we shall do our best for you.’ Then he dismissed the team. Dr Charles stood with his head slightly bowed for what seemed like ages and then he heard a female voice. ‘Doctor, please, what was it you were saying about a tumbler in my womb?’ It was Mrs Ford. He straightened himself up and mopped his face with a white handkerchief that he had in the breast pocket of his white overall, even though it wasn’t particularly hot outside. It was still only 10.30 a.m. and the sun’s rays were still caressing the land outside. Inside, a cool breeze wafted through the numerous sliding doors and windows into the ward and under normal conditions, the effect would have been soothing. Dr Charles wanted to say something, but discovered that his voice trembled slightly. He stretched out the handkerchief to cover his mouth and cleared his throat, while thinking how best to approach the situation to avoid further embarrassment. Finally, he said, ‘Mrs Ford, there are doctors and there are what are called witch doctors. Professor Lund is the head of the unit and I am the least senior member of the team of doctors, but I have an inherent ability that cannot be taught in any school. I can see beyond the physical. The supernatural controls the physical. Unfortunately, the profession of medicine doesn’t subscribe to these supernatural entities. Being a man of science, the professor deals only with facts, verifiable facts. I was one of her slaves, until a few weeks ago, but now I know better. So, just as Professor Lund knows many things that I don’t yet know, he cannot see most of the things I can see. He has only two eyes, just like most normal people, and yet my two eyes are not ordinary eyes, madam. Take it or leave it, but I’m telling you that there’s a tumbler full of a white substance in your womb and unless it is removed, you will never be able to have a baby.’ ‘But, doctor, I have undergone a series of investigations and none have indicated

anything like what you are telling me. How is it you can see it with the naked eye?’ Mrs Ford asked, with an anxious expression on her face. ‘Mrs Ford, we face many problems in life on a daily basis, because people tend to seek physical solutions to purely spiritual ones. Yours is a spiritual problem and the best available scientific gadget cannot penetrate the very grey or hazy demarcation between the physical and the spiritual world. Thus, what is physical will always remain so. Unfortunately, the supernatural rules the physical. I didn’t know that myself, until a few weeks ago. Prior to this, I was blind to it, just like you, Professor Lund and the likes,’ Dr Charles intoned. He was now feeling a bit queer. He didn’t understand the transformation in his life and what it all meant. Even his own words seemed to be spoken by an alien speaking through him. He intensified his gaze on the woman sitting on the bed and what he saw unsettled him. He felt her incredulity and, with a tinge of embarrassment, he realised that he felt humiliated. Perhaps Mrs Ford had heard the gossip going around the hospital concerning his mental status. He emphasised, ‘You don’t believe me, do you? Then continue imbibing the florid opinions of medical eggheads. Medical jargon cannot be exhausted. What I must emphasise though, is that Professor Lund cannot help you; no one can. A spiritual problem requires nothing short of a spiritual solution, do you understand me?’ ‘But I have seen many faith healers and prophets, doctor. I have slept in more than ten churches and not one of them has told me anything about a tumbler in my womb,’ Mrs Ford said. Dr Charles was losing his patience. He couldn’t help wondering why people believed only what they could see, touch or perceive. On the other hand, it puzzled him beyond words why the invisible is more real than the visible. In a split second, his mind raced to the college provost’s habits, his boldness, arrogance or even brusqueness; he was, indeed, a leopard who changed his spots. He thought of his friend Joseph’s uncanny, persuasive prowess and ability to wriggle out of apparently impossible situations. All these had driven Charles to the conclusion that Joseph was a clever young man. The avalanche of pretty women that milled around Joseph had always endeared the former to Charles. He ed, too, William Brian’s proposition that man’s natural reactions to serpents were curiosity and hatred, which had a deep-seated sexual origin. It

could be traced back to the events in the Garden of Eden. The serpent would beguile a woman any day. Perhaps, if he was Joseph, Mrs Ford would have listened and even offered him something for his advice. But that was unnecessary, he cautioned himself. A serpent cannot rub shoulders with a prophet, chosen to see beyond the physical realities. He wanted to tell himself “I am blessed”, but ed the hazards of the job: the drift between insanity and stupor that occurs without warning, the embarrassment of one’s message being repeated by the person it was meant for, the sneer and cynicism on the faces of people who would neither see nor understand. Reflexively, he glanced at Mrs Ford’s face. The expression he had seen earlier was still there. He had now made up his mind what he should do; abandon her to her fate, of course. Why should he labour, trying to penetrate a recalcitrant heart? He moved a step forward towards the door, then another. As he did so, he noticed a frightening phenomenon; he was losing complete control of the situation. His steps were becoming uncertain, if not hesitant. Several cold waves of unknown origin swept through him. He was now lost in his surroundings. The hospital ward no longer existed – there were no beds and no nurses or patients – he could now see only what transpired in the realm beyond the physical. An invisible hand pushed him back and rotated him, so that he turned and faced Mrs Lynda Ford directly. Involuntarily, he bent forwards and his lips were almost touching Mrs Ford’s ears. His whole being was in a perplexing miasma of rapid, involuntary, convulsive movements. He could see the genesis of Mrs Ford’s problem clearly now. To Mrs Ford, it was a mere dream, but actually, it went beyond that. It was real; even more so than all she knew and cherished to be real. ‘Do you the dream you had about ten years ago?’ he asked, pausing to glance at the bewildered face of Mrs Ford. It was unnecessary and he couldn’t help it. Even his speech was not his. It was as if some alien was speaking through him again. He was, in fact, only a vessel through which it transpired that the spiritual world was being relayed to the physical realm. He continued with his voice more vibrant and audacious. ‘Of course, you have forgotten. Some ten years ago, when you were in college, you had a dream that your uncle’s wife invited you to a party. You felt obliged to attend, but you were their only guest and when you got there, her 8-year-old daughter was the host. A basin of some creamy substance was offered to you, with a cup, from which you

could take as much as you wanted. Have you forgotten?’ Dr Charles caught a glimpse of the receptive face of his patient. She was now nodding her head slowly and her eyes were wide open as if hypnotised. ‘My dear young woman, it was not a mere dream. It actually took place in the spirit world. Your cousin, now a teenage girl, operates at a level in the kingdom of darkness called spiritual wickedness in high places. On that day, your spirit was invoked and a glass of the creamy white substance you saw in your dream was implanted into you. What happened in the spiritual was then superimposed on the physical. That’s why you are infertile. But, today, you are healed. What she had given you was a glass of fruit juice containing formic acid. When you get home today, you must drink a glass of lime juice and nine months later, you should be prepared to nurse a baby. Pack your things now and go. Don’t wait for any other diagnosis. As I said, Professor Lund and all the other professors in the hospital cannot help you. A mere glass of lime is what is needed,’ he concluded, collapsing onto the floor. Moments later, Dr Charles woke up in the emergency room. Standing by the head of his bed were Mrs Ford and her husband. There were also many other faces, including Joseph and some other doctors and medical students. But this time around, the faces seemed to have understood. He also noticed that a needle had been inserted into his left forearm and some fluid dribbled through the infusion set into his arm. ‘Remove this thing,’ he hissed. ‘I have no need of it,’ he said, sitting up on the bed.

Chapter Two

Offices have a way of exuding the calibre of their occupants. This morning, the spacious, cosy office of the chief medical director of the university college hospital of Ibadan spoke volumes about the man Professor Gabriel. Certainly, the thick grey rug and exquisite furniture had always been there and had survived several directors of the hospital before him. But the paintings, artworks and flowers that adorned the office now were the fingerprints of the serene, noblelooking chief medical director of the hospital. This morning, dressed in a grey business suit, a grey tie and a pair of black shoes, Professor Gabriel’s standards of subdued opulence and his vigorous personality could not be ignored. Dr Charles had always known right from the time he had received the letter from the office of the chief medical director two days earlier, that it would not be easy to face the academic committee of the hospital that comprised the core professors of the college of medicine. Moreover, he knew that most of them were bound to be sceptical of what they had asked him to come and explain. Above all, he wouldn’t like to be dismissed from the hospital, only to have to start his internship afresh. Indeed, it was an ordeal no fresh doctor would have liked to face. He glanced at the other professors in the gathering. There was no doubt that it was the highest concentration of mental energy the hospital could muster. Professor John Lamb, the college provost, Professors Lund, Arthur, Clatus, Rosemary and Duncan, among others, were all in attendance. In all, there were fifteen professors, each pair of eyes piercing through those of Dr Charles, a mere house officer. Quietly and slowly, he studied the faces sited in a half-moon before him. Only the slightly wrinkled face of Professor Rosemary, the head of paediatrics, portrayed any semblance of kindness and understanding. Professor John’s face, though stabled now, was full of rage. Dr Charles was not deceived. The college provost had not and probably would never forgive him for the bashing his ego had received from him. Even though most people didn’t understand, they found the disclosure concerning Professor John rather interesting.

It was precisely 10.15 a.m. when Professor Gabriel addressed the gathering thus, ‘Dear colleagues, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for answering the call of duty this morning at such short notice. It proved the intense desire on the mind of each member of this highly revered community to sustain the intellectual and ethical decorum that is the hallmark of the Ibadan College of Medicine and the college hospital. But before we allow the drive to become diluted or perverted in any way, it becomes pertinent for me to re-echo the issue at stake here.’ He glanced at his audience and then continued, ‘We have not gathered to apportion blame and neither have we gathered to settle old scores or to kill a fly with a sledgehammer. No. On the contrary. We have come here today to convey knowledge based on verifiable facts, which scientists are renowned for and for which this teaching hospital was established. We are here to correct, where necessary, misguided notions and expunge, where inevitable, any knowledge that may prove incongruous with the facts. This hospital plays three major roles in the nation: training and research, and the service which it provides. While each role will require an open mind for effectual execution, we should possess the wisdom to understand what knowledge we may openly welcome and imbibe and have the courage to expunge that which must be rejected. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Dr Charles, a house officer under Professor Lund, was alleged to have made a spurious diagnosis of a tumbler of some white substance in the uterus of one Mrs Ford, recently itted into Professor Lund’s unit. He went further to prescribe a glass of lime as the remedy, on the basis of which the lady absconded from the hospital. As I said before, our aims here are to train and research conditions and to provide a service to the community. Every academic is a student and maturity comes from a conscious paranoiac accumulation of facts. But only facts should be accepted in science. Verifiable facts. ‘Dr Charles, perhaps you would like to tell us more about your innovation in diagnostic and therapeutic medicine. Thank you,’ he concluded with a mischievous smile. Most of the professors now wore a plastic smile on their faces. If Professor Lamb was unable to certify Dr Charles as being fit mentally, then the most appropriate diagnosis would have been schizophrenia. But with Professor Lamb’s authoritative pronouncement of sanity, Dr Charles was at best being unusually stupid, which was what the office was now claiming in a discomforting manner. All eyes again were on Dr Charles. Most present at the

meeting already knew the punishment to be prescribed, except that decency demanded the former’s defence. Mischief was gradually giving away to impatient demeanours among the professors. Repeatedly, Professor John glanced at his wrist watch. The message was not lost on Dr Charles. Professor John was fast becoming irritated and he was sure to recommend the strictest punishment if he had his way. Finally, Dr Charles stood up to address the academic and ethical committee of the college of medicine and the college hospital. Initially, his voice was reconciliatory yet sombre. Later, he became bolder and independent. ‘Senior colleagues and teachers in the medical profession, thank you for this singular opportunity to give my own side of the story. It is, indeed, a privilege to be found among authorities in the medical profession like yourselves. On the other hand, it would be a dreadful thing to fall into the hands of the engine of growth and control of academic policies and ethics of the hospital and college. For instance, you could have gone ahead and punished me, without seeking to hear an explanation from me. But you thought otherwise. Decency perhaps advised caution. ‘Who am I to teach professors like you? Who am I to challenge authorities like you? Apart from being a doctor, a professor of medicine is a teacher, a scientist and a moulder of characters and ethics rolled into one. ‘But the issue at stake here transcends from medicine in its very ordinary form. It goes beyond the physical. It is a purely spiritual occurrence, which could be noticed and appreciated only by the spiritually inclined. I cannot deny that I saw what I saw; a tumbler of some creamy white substance in the uterus of Mrs Ford. Neither will I disown the remedy I advised. In a way, one would call them findings and I prescribed mine, based on what I’d found. Forces beyond my comprehension acted out and said everything through me. I was but a vessel. Nonetheless, instead of spending time on the appropriate punishment to be meted out modally to an innocent boy like me, I suggest that we let Mrs Ford be. After all, she has undergone myriads of orthodox investigations and treatments over the years. Let us see what happens in the next nine months of her life. If she becomes pregnant, then the issue would have been settled. Otherwise, let the committee punish me as it deems fit at a later date. Thank you, sirs,’ he concluded. He had barely finished his sentence, when Professor John exploded, ‘Dr Charles, you have now, in effect, accepted that you are not falsely accused. That the

allegation was true. That the spurious diagnosis and treatment came from a product of this college.’ His countenance was now fearful. Momentarily, Dr Charles saw the leopard in Professor John. With a weak smile, Dr Charles replied, ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘It stands to reason, therefore, that you need to undergo another psychiatric assessment. We need to be certain that you are not suggesting that the standard of training and teaching here has depreciated to the level that an Ibadan trained doctor will have no qualms in bidding false diagnoses and fantasies. In case you didn’t know, may I remind you that here, we are not just interested in the results. We have policies, procedures, protocols and organisation to consider. Yes, we have certain traditions and that tradition must be protected at all costs. That is to say that even if your patient Mrs Ford actually benefits from your prescription, the academic and ethical committee will still be interested in how and why you diagnosed and prescribed your remedy. ‘To be candid, we are not saying that a tumbler of some substance or other couldn’t feasibly be planted in the uterus, for that is entirely possible. Anything is. But, doctor, perhaps you would like to enlighten us as to how you saw the tumbler in the woman’s uterus with the unaided eye. What orthodox investigations did you carry out? If your practice was not orthodox, then be reminded that this is an institution for the practice of orthodox medicine in its purest form. There is no room for deviation from tradition. Our pride had been based on a tradition of excellence, which has been our hallmark since time immemorial. We cannot afford to compromise here,’ he concluded. As he spoke, Dr Charles glanced from one face to another, as if he expected that someone might have noticed this transformation of Professor John to leopard and vice versa, which had occurred many times that morning. He suppressed a chuckle. Sanity was restored to the room following Professor John’s outburst; everybody was sober now, reflecting on what the doctor had said. Only the humming of the air-conditioner disturbed the tranquillity of the chief medical director’s office. Dr Charles’ heart was no longer pounding as violently as before and for a spilt second, he wondered how he had mustered the courage to face the committee so boldly and with so much conviction. The transformation from a medical student to a doctor was a real one. Again, the provost’s attacks and metamorphoses,

instead of frightening him, amused him. This emboldened him all the more as he cleared his throat to respond to the provost’s remark. ‘My respected senior colleagues,’ he began. ‘I quite understand your concerns. On the one hand, you are concerned about … the reputation of an institution most of you have toiled to build up and to sustain for many years now. Again, no doctor or professional force of any substance would like to be undermined by his subordinate. But far be it from me that I should bring dishonour to an institution I love. Neither will I ever think of undermining the learned Professor Lund. The truth is that some invisible, supernatural force propelled me into action. But instead of appearing so conservative, let’s give way to pragmatism and follow-up Mrs Lund’s case. And if the result proves satisfactory, then perhaps we should find a way of incorporating the unorthodox practice into the hospital’s curriculum. In a situation like this, with profound social implications, the achievement of results should be our goal, not theories or professionalism and not academic seniority, either. A childless woman in our society is a living dead. ‘But I know I am sane. Oh! How I wish I had ordinary eyes. Yet, it is a privilege to transcend the physical realm.’ More vigorously, he concluded, ‘Do not be deceived, for the supernatural rules the physical. The fact that you cannot see doesn’t mean that no one else can. Mrs Lynda Ford will have a baby in nine months from now, make no mistake!’ ‘But that isn’t the issue, doctor. As far as I’m concerned, the committee is and should be more interested in procedure and protocols, and accepted practices. Of course, it is entirely possible that the lady could become pregnant,’ Professor John said sharply, now standing and sweating, his upper lip trembling slightly. Given half a chance, he would have expelled Dr Charles from the hospital and would even have gone the extra length of confiscating his degree certificate; after all, the degree was supposed to be awarded based on learning, behaviour and decorum. How he hated Dr Charles, with all his impudence and his effrontery. Professor John was now the only one left standing and it was obvious that he had an axe to grind with Dr Charles, who wasn’t in the least bit surprised. Most of the professors understood that what had happened on 24 June was still green in their memories. Professor Rosemary, the only female in the committee, was in attendance and it was her turn to address the gathering. As one time provost of the college and one of the oldest professors of the college, she took

precedence over the rest of the team and her integrity, resilience and beauty won her numerous irers among the predominately male community. Rosemary adjusted her spectacles and in a clear, rich, feminine voice began, ‘Dear colleagues, I am constrained to attend to this issue from three perspectives: as a mother, a woman and a professor of medicine. Each role bestows a peculiar behavioural pattern, idiosyncrasy and disposition. First, as a professor of medicine, I am not unaware of the embarrassment of a challenge from a junior colleague, especially when it has no basis. As a doctor, ethics and protocols are important to me. Without medical ethics, the profession would be an all-comers affair, but as a woman, I appreciate what a life of childlessness could mean and so I sympathise with Mrs Ford. That being the case, I venture to say that if Dr Charles’ treatment proves effective, we should let sleeping dog lie for two reasons. First, is that eventually, the glory will come to us and the college. Secondly, standards and ethics are meant to foster purposeful and result-oriented medical practice. We cannot and should not, because of ethics, allow a woman to go childless, when she could have been helped by one of us, even if in a somewhat outlandish manner. On the other hand, if Dr Charles’ prescription fails, as a mother, I will suggest that he be allowed to complete his training and leave the college for good, instead of withholding his certificate. We should ensure that he practices orthodox medicine in its purest form, without adulteration to nonconformist ideas, for as long as he is here in this hospital. Elsewhere, he should be free to become a spiritual doctor if he so desires.’ She concluded with a smile, saying, ‘By the time his prescription for Mrs Ford fails him, he will have learnt to stick to what we taught him here. Thank you for your time!’ Most of the other professors laughed and even professor Lund smiled; he was the next to speak. He hadn’t reported Doctor Charles to the committee in order to exact his pound of flesh. His aim was to have his house officer corrected by the appropriate means. Not for his own personal gain, but for the sake of the college, the profession and even Dr Charles himself. He accepted Professor Rosemary’s suggestion; as did most of the other professors. In the end, it was agreed that Dr Charles was to complete his internship at the college hospital of Ibadan, irrespective of the outcome of his prescription for Mrs Ford, and he was to receive his certificate and leave the college for good. As the meeting came to a close at 12.30 p.m., Professor John was still burning

with anger. He strongly took exception to the committee’s recommendation concerning Dr Charles and the Mrs Ford affair; he knew it was useless trying to overturn the decision. Indeed, Dr Charles had won a decisive victory as ten professors had voted in his favour.

Chapter Three

Today was one of Dr Charles’ worst days at work; a day in which virtually everything went wrong. He had lost one of his patients to crass carelessness, in which a nurse had increased the rate of flow of the intravenous chloroquine he’d had set up earlier that morning. The result had been instantaneous – the child had convulsed and died suddenly. As he trudged towards his room in the house officer’s quarter, his home for the past few months, he found consolation in the almost certain visit of Ruth, his girlfriend of two years. He turned the knob of the door and realised that the depth of his gloom couldn’t be ed for by the death of the 4-year-old boy alone; a common occurrence on the paediatric ward. Yes, beyond what had happened at the hospital today lay a deep-seated premonition of some impending doom. He wanted to swallow his saliva, but instead, a thick curd stuck to his throat and his lips were sewn together with some invisible thread. He struggled into his room and mechanically undressed and changed into some casual gear. It was now 4.00 p.m. and even Ruth’s imminent visit couldn’t dislodge his feeling of worthlessness that day. Ordinarily, a night with Ruth would have lifted his spirits, but not today. He quickly showered and then as he turned to pick up his towel and wipe his body, there was a knock at the door. It was Ruth, of course, but paradoxically the feeling of gloom intensified. Without bothering to cover his nakedness, he padded to the door, opened it and quickly ushered his pretty girlfriend in. Then, without giving her a second glance, he turned and walked back to the bathroom to dry off. Moments later, Ruth stood beside him, her face gleaming and now naked. ‘That was unkind of you, Charlie,’ she said, wrapping herself around him. ‘I had to cancel an important engagement especially to see you today, only to receive such a cold welcome. Whatever is the matter with you, Charlie?’ ‘Nothing serious, Ruth, except that every minute today seems to have dragged by. I don’t seem to be able to put a foot right. I’ve certainly had better days.’ ‘Don’t worry, darling. With me around, your gloomy nature will soon give way

to excitement,’ she said with a smile, drawing Charles closer against her nakedness, kissing him hungrily on his lips as she did so. Charles reciprocated and was soon running his fingers delicately over her body. Their excitement rose to a crescendo, but was short-lived and his gloom soon prevailed. Dr Charles was again aware of some impending misfortune. Hurriedly, he put on his shorts and walked into the bedroom for some quiet time, while Ruth prepared the lunch. He tried, in vain, to unravel the genesis of his unhappiness. Certainly, the dead boy couldn’t have been the sole reason, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what else it could be. As he tossed on the bed, he shouted, ‘Ruth, can you fix me up some pounded yam to eat. I hope you don’t mind, darling, but I need to have a little rest. I’ll leave you to it. I feel really drained for some reason.’ Ruth smiled benevolently and said, ‘It’s alright for some. Perhaps you’ll leave me alone to sleep tonight if you’re so weary. I am tired, too.’ She walked over to the dressing table beside the bed, on which Dr Charles lay in deep cogitation, concern arising in her. Try as he may, he just couldn’t place his finger on the origin of his gloom. As a house officer and the youngest in a family of five, he had no real reason for feeling so glum. His family were financially quite well placed at the moment, so there were no worries there. And even if there had been, his senior brother, a wealthy trader, wouldn’t have minded helping them out; after all, he had only just been relieved of his student’s wage. His father had died when he was still in high school and his mother was rich in her own right. So money wasn’t the problem and neither did family issues pose any problems. Furthermore, the threat to his internship and of losing his certificate had miraculously been resolved a fortnight ago, when Mrs Ford had shown up at the hospital for an antenatal booking. He was no longer with the gynaecological unit and yet Mrs Ford had diligently searched him out and given him a fat envelope. When he’d got home, he’d discovered that it contained $1,000. For a fleeting moment, he ed Professor John and his nuances. He almost smiled but restrained himself, for he still hadn’t found the cause of his sorrow. Ruth had nothing to do with it, either. She was the only girl he’d ever managed to keep for so long. In her final year as a pharmaceutical student at the same university, it had been love at first sight and she was someone he would be proud to show off to his mother. She was pretty, elegant and witty, with a solid family background. No, it wasn’t

her either, he reassured himself. The day was drawing to a close and the golden yellow rays of the dying sun streamed into the bedroom through a partially opened window. Dr Charles lay there on the bed nursing a sense of gloomy trepidation. Judging by the delicious smells wafting through from the kitchen, Ruth would soon be intruding on his privacy. A soothing aroma of freshly prepared egusi soup permeated the room and the clattering of cutlery and dishes could be heard echoing up from downstairs. From the sounds emitting from below, he could say precisely when Ruth was opening the refrigerator and he could also tell that she was now reaching in it to bring out some bottles of cold water by the clinking noises. He hadn’t slept at all and true to his expectation, the door opened a few minutes later and he saw Ruth approaching him through the corner of his eye. She lay seductively down on the bed beside him and whispered into his ears, ‘Charlie, supper’s ready. You’ve been asleep all this time. You must be starving by now. Come on, let’s go and eat.’ He was too overtired to be feeling hungry, although he felt a deep-seated feeling of emptiness within. Sleepily, he crawled out of bed and allowed his eyes to take in the figure at the door. Something within him set him alight and even in enveloping darkness, one couldn’t ignore Ruth’s presence. Her beauty was solid and as he approached the door, he allowed his right arm to wander towards her waist as he drew her to him. Then he reached towards the light switch by the wall, but nothing happened. ‘I expect the bulb’s blown,’ Ruth said. ‘Perhaps after we’ve eaten, you could dash out and buy a new one. I am so tired, I expect I won’t be long out of bed,’ Charles said, still wondering what the genesis of his profound weakness and feeling of hollowness could be. Before sitting at the table, he opened the kitchen cupboard and brought out three tablets of Fansidar, thinking that malaria might be responsible for the way he was feeling. Pounded yam and egusi soup was one of Dr Charles’ favourite meals and he had soon polished off a large bowl of the stuff. Despite the efforts of the ceiling fan overhead, he was sweating slightly.

‘That was quite delicious,’ he whispered to Ruth with a weak smile. ‘Have you ever thought of becoming a cook? Perhaps, after our wedding, you could try your hands in the catering business,’ he teased. ‘You can’t be serious and well you know it. Would you care for some sweet?’ Ruth asked. ‘No, thanks. You can eat mine as a bonus for being so good,’ Charles said with a laugh. ‘I’ve overeaten; I’m going to sleep like a log tonight after that little lot,’ Charles shouted after her as he walked into the sitting room and sat down on the hearth rug. Ruth ed him once she’d cleaned everything away and they both sat down to watch a movie together.

Before they knew it, it was 8.30 p.m. and they had almost got carried away with the film. It was growing dark and before long, they would need some light in the bedroom, Charles thought as he ran his fingers through Ruth’s thick hair as she rested her head on his thigh. ‘Darling, why don’t you nip out and get us that new bulb?’ he intoned. ‘It’s too late now,’ she said sleepily. ‘Let’s leave it till tomorrow. I doubt you’re that afraid of the dark,’ Ruth taunted with a mischievous smile. Charles ignored her jibe and merely switched channels to listen to the ten o’clock news. It was like a ritual to him and he had never missed it once, even on his sick bed. They watched the news together in silence; Ruth had learnt to let him be long ago once the news came on, having been shouted at for disturbing him once before. She didn’t need telling twice. Half an hour later, he stood up and strode lethargically up the stairs. He looked across at Ruth, who was now in her nightdress brushing her hair at the dressing table. Her thick, dark hair, her smooth velvety skin and her full hips rejuvenated his manhood. Ruth would make the perfect wife for him, he reassured himself. As if Ruth had read his mind, she turned and their eyes met. Charles was now burning with

desire and the intensity of the fire within him momentarily consumed the gloom that had overpowered him earlier; there was no doubt that Ruth was exceptionally attractive. ‘So, we’re sleeping in the darkness tonight then,’ he said, nuzzling into her back. But there was no response. She had already fallen asleep. Charles was unable to sleep; he tossed and turned, glancing every now and then at Ruth, who was sound asleep beside him. It puzzled him how rude if not cruel he could be to his girlfriends and yet they worshipped and adored him. Even Ruth, the daughter of a former state governor and a man of immense fortune, had tolerated his occasional mischief and inordinate tendencies. By 2.00 a.m., Dr Charles was still awake, each minute ticking away monotonously. He was desperate to get some sleep before his marathon 72 hour paediatric shift. Determined to catch some sleep, he employed several tactics and he eventually found himself drifting towards that hazy demarcation between sleep and wakefulness. Ruth stirred beside him and Charles pretended to be in a deep sleep, though he was, in fact, wide awake now, the lull of sleep still evading him. Through the corner of his eye, he saw that Ruth was carefully scrutinising him as if to be certain that he was in a deep sleep. Once completely satisfied, she then quietly stole out of bed and reached into her handbag with some trepidation. The implications of what she might be up to unsettled Charles and yet still he pretended to sleep. What could she be looking for at this hour? Eventually, she found what she was looking for: a tiny cowrie, which she inserted into her left ear. Before Dr Charles’ confounded eyes, Ruth transformed into a huge python and crawled majestically towards the door, through which light from the sitting room partially illuminated the bedroom. Just before the doorway to the bedroom, the python stopped and in a matter of seconds, several other snakes had assembled around it from several parts of the flat. It was as if Dr Charles’ flat had been transformed into a huge cage, where all kinds of snake had been allowed to proliferate. A wave of fear threatened to engulf him. Then he ed that fear was normal. It was what distinguished cowardice and bravery. The brave man rules his fear, whereas the coward is ruled by his fear, and he was no coward. None of his acquaintances had ever

characterised him as such before and he wasn’t about to become one now. If he succumbed now, that would be dangerous for him, for fear initiates inappropriate responses. Finally, he overcame his feelings of trepidation and he watched keenly as the various snakes formed a huge mound of multifarious colours and sizes. Then he heard a voice: the voice of royal eloquence from among the snakes. ‘You know full well that the Queen of the Coast can no longer tolerate your antics. How many of us are here? Not less than 200 young women. And all except you have made a contribution. I have the authority of the Queen of the Coast to inform you that beyond today, your safety and that of your family can no longer be guaranteed. In the first place, I must ask why you are hesitating. Did you not find Charles for just this purpose? Was the love between you not supposed to lead to death? Well, it is either him or you. Nothing less will be tolerated.’ ‘A couple of years ago, I captured him for this purpose, but soon afterwards, I knew that my original ion of using him as a means to an end had changed to that of a genuine love. I truly love him and he’s promised to marry me. Please, I need some time to look for another man. I love Charles and I don’t want him dead. I’m pregnant and what will become of the baby?’ It was Ruth’s voice; Dr Charles had no doubt about that. He understood the message; he was the reason behind the meeting among the snakes tonight. No. His Ruth was no snake. He still loved her and still intended to marry her, despite tonight’s revelations. He was now breathing heavily, yet he knew that any attempt to disturb the snakes could lead to his death. So he remained silent, cowering in fear, until the royal voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Your love for him and the fate of your baby are lame excuses. Those are carnal problems and this gathering is a spiritual one that is both far removed and superior to the will of a person or to that of carnality. The Queen of the Coast takes precedence over all your desires and preferences. There are many lovable men in this world apart from him. Besides, your baby can easily be given to the queen as a gift. In case you have forgotten, you have a special assignment to perform. The Queen of the Coast is enraged against you; Charles is not an ordinary man. In a matter of months, that man is destined to cause havoc in our kingdom unless forestalled.

If you cannot accomplish it, then I must inform you that there are only two possible outcomes: one of us will have to do it and in the end, you will surely die. I have the queen’s assurance concerning that.’ ‘I can and will do it. Though I need all the strength that I can get from the queen.’ ‘You must , Ruth, how you became a very brilliant, pretty young woman. You will soon become a pharmacist. Without the queen, it would not have been possible and what do we have here? An ungrateful old woman, quivering at the thought of taking a life.’ ‘Just this one life; that is all we ask. No more will be required of you,’ another voice said. ‘And it is not a difficult task,’ several other voices chorused. A thick silence descended on the room. Dr Charles’ pounding heart became heightened now in his fear for his own safety. In his mind’s eye, he could see Ruth’s pretty face and he was certain that he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. He saw, too, that one of the snakes had a crown on her head, belonging to the owner of the “royal” voice. He knew, too, that Ruth was on trial for negligence. A new wave of fear swept through him as the reality of it all came to him. Ruth could be dangerous. I have been playing with death, he thought, with the first realisation of how serious this was. His thoughts were interpreted once more. It was Ruth still pleading for time and understanding. ‘Please, give me more time and do not touch my family yet. I will kill him. I promise. As compensation, the queen may have my baby, too, only she must not touch my family.’ ‘Time is no longer on your side; this is not an ordinary man. He is a time bomb. If he explodes, none of us will be spared; otherwise, we would have allowed you to marry him and even initiated him into our kingdom. He could be useful as a doctor; blood transfusions would be much easier with him around. But he is our enemy from his mother’s womb. Very soon, his very presence alone will threaten our very existence, for he is a prophet of the highest order. The queen can no longer wait,’ the royal voice said.

‘No, we cannot wait any longer,’ the others said, shrouding her escape. ‘Give me until Sunday of next week; nine days from today. I hope the queen will agree to my demands?’ Ruth stated simply. ‘I will have to persuade the queen. Perhaps she will bear with you, but this will be the very last time. There are to be no more excuses. Now, the main point on the agenda for today is the Christian Union of the university, which is organising a crusade on the main campus this Sunday. The Queen of the Coast has directed me to send five of us to the crusade. Our job shall be to weaken and thereby frustrate the man of God, the prophet, Arthur. The following five people selected, including any volunteer, will be given the powers of extreme beauty and glamour: Ruth, Gold, Helen, Angela and Elizabeth. On the day in question, you only need to say: Queen of the Coast, we are ready for the mission,’ the royal voice said. ‘But why do we always wait until the eleventh hour before fighting these people? Is it not possible to have suffered before they start sending fire into our midst? I think it’s high time we changed our strategy. If Prophet Arthur had died as an infant, or if Dr Charles had been killed as a neonate, then all these problems would have been avoided,’ Ruth said. ‘I understand how you feel, my dear. At times, I have felt that way, too. But do not forget that some of them are useful to us, too,’ the royal voice muttered. ‘Then let’s try to induct both Prophet Arthur and Dr Charles into our kingdom. Let them be among us,’ Helen whispered. ‘It is not always possible. We need the permission of their friends,’ the royal voice said. ‘This is not the time for such discussions; we are pressed for time already. In summary, Ruth has promised explicitly that on Sunday, nine days from now, she will deliver Charles into our hands and her baby will be given to the queen. Ruth, Gold, Helen, Angela and Elizabeth have been chosen for the assignment tomorrow. The meeting is hereby closed,’ added the royal voice. In a matter of seconds, all the snakes had disappeared and Dr Charles watched the python that was Ruth transform back into his girlfriend. She climbed back into bed and quietly resumed her position. He held on to his pretext and feigned sleep. Cautiously, Ruth nudged him, but he refused to move. After all, he was supposed to have been asleep, not listening to the snakes deliberating over him.

Ruth was one of them now and she had been given the singular, unenviable task of eliminating him. She ran her fingers through his chest hair and kissed him ionately on his lips. He felt numb. That night, he found that he was unable to reciprocate her advances. For the first time ever, her thick, long hair, her nakedness and her strong, feminine attributes didn’t ignite the familiar fire. There came a point when he could no longer pretend, for her advances were persistent. As if aroused from a deep slumber, he opened his eyes drowsily, as though slightly intoxicated, and muttered something incoherent and eerily ran his fingers through her head and shoulders. A quick glance in her direction indicated the conflict within her. She was torn between two choices: to please her queen or to spare him. Neither was an easy choice, for he knew that he had given her immeasurable joy. ‘Darling, I think I might have malaria,’ Charles lied, to avoid having to reciprocate her advances. ‘I’m not feeling too good. Would you mind if we didn’t …?’ Ruth looked intently at him and without saying a word, she turned her face away from him and dozed off.

Chapter Four

Ruth was still asleep when Charles stole out of bed to prepare for his marathon on-call session. The house officers’ quarters appeared deserted, but the peace and tranquillity of the early part of the morning gave him time to think. On any other Saturday morning with Ruth around, Dr Charles would still have been asleep and his flat would still have been secretly locked from the outside world, just like those of the other house officers, but today was an odd Saturday in several respects. Despite the fact that his on-call duty wasn’t due to start until 9.00 a.m., he left his flat two hours beforehand. Ruth was no longer what she used to be and he no longer felt the same towards her. On his way to the hospital, he thought about what he’d seen and heard earlier that morning. It was real and he bluntly blocked out any doubt concerning the authenticity of it. There was no doubt in his mind that he had seen Ruth transform into a python and that an extraordinary meeting had taken place in his bedroom. Moreover, he knew that it wasn’t just a peep into the supernatural; it was no hallucination, either. It was a physical event, with its roots in the supernatural. He wasn’t naive enough to dismiss that much. Then it occurred to him that perhaps he’d seen and heard what he had, because he was an extraordinary man. Perhaps if he’d been an ordinary person, then he would have been dead. But then if he wasn’t, who was he? If he had been ordinary, then the Queen of the Coast probably wouldn’t have noticed him and perhaps he wouldn’t have met Ruth. In a split second, his thoughts raced back to the day he’d finally decided to approach Ruth and ask for her friendship. He had banished all caution to the wind and he had been hooked to Ruth’s startling beauty that evening. He ed, too, that Ruth, even prior to their formal meeting, would smile seductively at him each time their eyes met. Initially, he had ignored her, but she was not easily deterred. Yet, it was now clear to him that she had some hidden agenda, a mission to accomplish. He was soon within the hospital confines and the paediatric ward was as busy as ever. He relieved the night team by his presence two hours before schedule. That

meant that they could go home and enjoy their weekend. He had cut his own day off short, but that didn’t bother Doctor Charles, for he had to escape from Ruth; Ruth had become a symbol of the devil to him. The house officer on duty that night team beamed at him as he approached. ‘Hello, Dr Charles,’ he said. ‘It’s great to see you so early. I’m dead on my feet. It’s been a very busy shift,’ Dr James said with a generous smile. ‘Thank you, Dr James. Unfortunately, I won’t be relieving you just yet, though. I would quite like to get a little more rest myself in the other room. I barely slept at all last night,’ Dr Charles said. ‘Hmm! A quarrel with your other half, perhaps,’ Dr James mocked, amidst a coarse laughter. Dr Charles suppressed his irritation and entered the house officers’ sleeping room and sprawled out on the bed. Then he lifted the phone and dialled the number to his flat. He expected Ruth to respond quite promptly, as was her habit, and after just a few short rings she answered in a weary tone, ‘Who’s speaking, please?’ glancing at the clock as she did so. ‘Guess who?’ Dr Charles asked, still trying to be friendly. He didn’t want her to suspect anything was amiss until he’d decided on an appropriate course of action. ‘Charles, what on earth has come over you lately? Where are you phoning from? Do you have any idea what time it is? You didn’t even say goodbye. I’m disturbed by the change in your attitude towards me,’ she blurted out. ‘I didn’t want to disturb your sleep,’ Charles said. ‘You looked so peaceful.’ ‘What time do you finish?’ she asked. ‘Monday morning,’ Charles replied triumphantly. ‘In that case, there isn’t any point in me hanging around. I’ve got an important appointment tomorrow with my father, so I may as well make a move.’ ‘Lock the door behind you, if you would. I’ve got a spare set of keys with me. Perhaps we can get together during the week. I’ll make a point of dropping by,’

he said. He waited until Ruth grudgingly put the receiver down, before quietly hangingup. Then he removed his shoes and lay back on the bed.

It seemed like only a few minutes before a gentle tap on his right shoulder woke him up. It was already 9.15 a.m. and he couldn’t deny Dr James of his welldeserved rest any longer. That day was exceptionally quiet and by the end of his shift, he had attended to just twelve patients and they were expecting an even lower patient load that night. Despite his relative freedom, he still couldn’t bring himself to return back to his flat. Ruth, who used to be his pride and joy, had now become his greatest enemy and he was unsure of her. Yes, we know our friends; but it’s our enemies we don’t know and he was now coming up against one. He strolled out into the corridor and for the umpteenth time, he marvelled at the beauty of the hospital. The cool, serene atmosphere and the tranquillity of the setting at this hour of the day almost lulled him to sleep standing. He went back to the staffroom and dialled his number for the second time that day. No one picked up the receiver, proving conclusively that Ruth must have already left to prepare for her mission the following day; he had no illusions concerning what could happen tomorrow afternoon at the crusade. If the spiritually enhanced bevy of ladies from the Queen of the Coast prevails, the prophet could be mesmerised and then the crusade would be much less powerful, much less fruitful. On the other hand, the ladies could be overpowered and spiritually arrested and delivered. It would be the battle of the titans, the queen against the prophet, Arthur. No, not Prophet Arthur, but the queen against her maker. Does she expect to win? Suddenly, a thought intruded into his consciousness: if Ruth was delivered tomorrow, would he still love and want to marry her? The thought persisted despite all attempts to banish it. Finally, a strong desire to attend the crusade overtook him. He had been thinking about nothing else all day, to the degree that it had almost interfered with his routine job that day. Yes, he must warn the man of God and possibly seek his assistance. The desire had now become a craving and he wanted time to reflect, so that he could take a decisive step to free himself from Ruth. But time was against him and it wouldn’t wait for anybody, neither could anybody hasten it. It moves at its

own speed, at its own pace and volition. The ion was becoming intensive. He thought of ways of diffusing the tension that had built up in him: phone his mother? Or his elder brother Benson? Since he had become an adult, he had always loved and honoured his mother and brother, who also doubled as his father. As he had advanced in years, a mutual respect had grown between him and Benson. Just as he would do nothing without Benson’s approval, the latter would seek his opinion before making any major decisions in his own life. Certainly, if Ruth had been what he had imagined she was, then their marriage would still have depended on Benson’s approval. But he knew that all things being equal, Benson would have sanctioned their marriage, only today that was not the pertinent question at hand. Today, he was looking for the means of avoiding Ruth, a means of avoiding an untimely death. Everything about Ruth now symbolised death to him and Ruth’s beauty, glamour and intellect all came from the Queen of the Coast, of that much he was certain. With mixed feelings, he dialled the nurses’ bay and said, almost sharply, ‘Only disturb me if there’s a genuine need for it. I’ll be in the house officers’ sleeping quarters.’ He didn’t like the nurses. He felt that they were always out to prove to a newly trained doctor that they knew certain things he didn’t and this was the sort of behaviour that Doctor Charles abhorred. It was a perfectly quiet night, as expected, and Dr Charles had a good rest that satisfied his craving for a full night’s sleep for the time being. By the next morning, he felt fully refreshed and ready to face the day, though still uncertain what the outcome of today’s spiritual confrontation would be. The day dragged by; it was as if the clock would never reach 4.00 p.m. Dr Charles was determined to attend the crusade and he had organised a colleague to cover his afternoon’s absence on the paediatric ward. It was impossible for him to be alone in his flat. Everywhere he turned, he saw a heap of snakes converging and conversing in low tones. He could still hear them trying to persuade Ruth to kill him and he wondered how Ruth would eventually strike. Through a kiss, perhaps. A direct attack? In a dream? By injecting her venom into his meal? All could be effective, but he wouldn’t give her the chance. A spiritual problem can only be solved spiritually and a physical approach would

almost certainly be sure to fail. As early as 3.34 p.m., Dr Charles had taken his seat in the front row of the crusade ground. The sun was strong and most of the numerous plastic seats were vacant and too hot to sit down on. The organisers were working diligently on the electrical and audio installations. Dr Charles knew that the five agents of the Queen of the Coast would be arriving shortly and fear churned in his stomach in anticipation. They would come just in time to take up the vantage position necessary to distract Prophet Arthur. Yet he knew that in the spiritual realm, time and space didn’t constitute any hindrance. They could well attack from any given position. The crowd built up gradually and people were milling around chatting in clusters. Prophet Arthur and his exploits in previous crusades constituted the main topics of conversation. There were stories of the lame walking and the blind being able to see and several dead people were rumoured to have been raised from the dead by Prophet Arthur. Dr Charles now longed to encounter him. Time no longer bothered him. All he wanted was to witness and if necessary to participate actively in the crusade. The day now wore a tired look and the seats were virtually all occupied. It was as if people knew what was about to take place. A few metres to his left there were five vacant seats. Could it be that some invisible force kept people away from them? The coalition of noise in the crusade ground now resembled the rumbling of a market heard from afar. Dr Charles estimated that tens of thousands of gaily dressed and expectant people were present, their faces dreaming in optimism under the harmless sun. Suddenly, a harsh, unnatural silence fell on the gathering. The chattering and murmuring ceased and one could hear the sound of a pin dropping on the ground. It was now 5.00 p.m. and Dr Charles concluded that the prophet must be in the near vicinity. Reflexively, he looked right ahead of him at the rostrum, but Prophet Arthur had still not shown and a handful of attendants were obviously putting final touches to the audio installations. Automatically, his gaze followed through to five vacant seats, where five stunning, splendidly dressed beauties were now seated. He was well aware of who they were: the five, distinguishing Ruth from the other four. Each was the replica of the other, their beauty radiating around the stadium.

The chorister was absent and the scintillating tune reverberating though the various loudspeakers soon drove the crowd into a frenzy. Everybody, including the five agents of darkness, sang and clapped their hands, gyrating in response to the tune emitting from the loudspeakers. The ground was alive and Dr Charles knew that he was unlikely to escape spiritual intoxication. The signs were already apparent: an inexplicable wave of uncontrollable dancing and singing, which remained unabated. He was already possessed and a powerful yet invisible hand lifted him up out of his seat and drove him towards the rostrum. This happened well before the arrival of the prophet and he was now staggering like a drunken loafer. He knew that he would soon start to operate in the spiritual realm. It was only a matter of time. All in the crowd were now possessed and the tune from the speakers drove Dr Charles to tears. He didn’t know why, but he was sure he sensed some wetness on his cheek and he became oblivious to his surroundings. He had been hookedup to the spiritual realm, the realm that could be appreciated by the privileged and seen by even fewer people. He could hear a voice distinctly now, as if he’d been transported from the thick, lively ground of the crusade to another cocoon of amazing tranquillity. The voice was still ringing in his ears, almost as if somebody inside him was speaking to him. ‘There are five girls here. You know who you are and you are aware of your mission. Tell them they cannot leave here, until they have confessed their plights. If they try to abscond, I will fish them out. I am the first and I am the last. No power can overcome the spirit of the living God. Tell them now, do not hide it, or they will perish and you shall be held responsible.’ He couldn’t ignore the voice. It was too persistent and authoritative, yet small and still. Of course, Dr Charles knew full well who the five girls were, for one was his girlfriend of two years. He looked towards them and they were dancing and clapping with amazing grace and splendour. For the first time, he could distinguish Ruth from the other four. They had been unmasked, yet only the few, the very privileged, could see that the girls were not as outstanding as they had first appeared. Even their clothing no longer stood out before Dr Charles. For he was now in the spirit and nothing could be hidden from the spirit. He staggered towards the microphone, which hung limply, waiting for the Prophet Arthur to appear.

The voice persisted, ‘Don’t hesitate. Deliver the message now. Prophet Arthur will soon be here.’ He picked up the microphone as if struggling for and said, ‘Brothers and sisters, I have been mandated by the spirit of the living God to tell you that five girls in our midst have evil intentions for the man of God. They know who they are and they know that I know them; the spirit of God shall pick them out now.’ Like sheets of paper caught up in the hurricane, Ruth and her cohorts were blown out of the crowd and they approached the rostrum, their bodies wriggling like snakes. Almost simultaneously, the five fell at Dr Charles’ feet. The crowd surged forward and the very ground of the crusade became possessed. Spontaneously, Dr Charles burst into a song he knew and loved: ‘Satan shame unto you all powers belong to Jesus, in the name of Jesus. All powers belong to Jesus.’ The crowd ed him and an unimaginable joy swept through him. It was divine and it was quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It superseded the joy of ing important examinations or of love-making or of abundant wealth. He was unable to steady his gait as he danced to the tune that possessed the crowd. The excitement was palpable. ‘My dear young ladies,’ he said. ‘Confess your sins and forsake them. The Queen of the Coast is powerless here.’ The five agents of the queen lay as if dead, motionless, speechless and prone. Dr Charles was now entirely a spiritual satellite station and his grimaces, steps and gestures all had a direct link with the supernatural. He moved closer towards the girls and held one of them by her thick, dark, long hair, exposing the nape of her neck, her hat having been thrown off violently by the tumultuous, jerky movement the girls had been subjected to. Surprisingly, the same lustrous hair he had caressed and held firmly in sexual ecstasies on several occasions, today resembled well-processed wool in his hands, inanimate and drab. He didn’t even anticipate experiencing the warmth or perceiving the fragrances that would have ordinarily exuded from those hairs and invaded his whole frame, driving him to insanity. Under such compulsive drives, he would depreciate into sub-humanity and time and place would have been immaterial to him. On such occasions, his ids would become his God.

Calmly, he lifted her by the hair and winced at her as if she had become an abomination. Obediently, Ruth staggered up and wobbled towards her captor, their previous relationship no longer seeming to matter. It had been overwhelmed by events at hand and the climax was the spiritual confrontation between them now. Ruth was powerless. She knew Dr Charles but until now, she had never imagined that Dr Charles could be a lethal opponent. He raised his voice and with authority, proclaimed, ‘Marine spirit, manifest yourself and leave our presence. Serpiginous spirit, I command you to manifest and go. All evil sprits should manifest and leave us right now, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.’ The onlookers held their breath as Ruth perambulated through the crowd, throwing her hands forwards and backwards in a swimming motion for more than five minutes. Finally, she collapsed full length on the salty ground. Simultaneously, Dr Charles saw a very pretty damsel step out of Ruth’s body and recede into oblivion. Gradually, Ruth’s shining face, skin, spectacular beauty and splendour dwindled and was not as pretty as it had been. The crowd was now going insane; it was not the type of insanity that could lead to hospitalisation or self-mutilation, destruction or aberrant behavioural pattern. But it was the culmination of spiritual excitement and the excitement was justified. Ruth had just been delivered from the power of darkness. The same thing took place with the other four girls; the crowd certainly had cause to celebrate the victory over the Queen of the Coast.

Everybody knew that soon, Prophet Arthur would be arriving. Those who knew him well didn’t expect to see him on the crusade ground much before 5.30 p.m. The singing, dancing and celebrations continued in his absence, yet people looked forward to seeing him. He was the man of the day, despite Dr Charles’ demonstration of power that day, for the doctor was still relatively unknown. Prophet Arthur was a household name across the country. At precisely 5.30 p.m., he emerged from a vehicle and moved with power and confidence towards the rostrum. The chorister garnered renewed vigour and the celebration approached its boiling point. He held the microphone in a practised manner and with a power-laden voice shouted, ‘Praise the Lord Jesus Christ.’

The five girls on the ground were lifted high and dropped back down again onto the ground. ‘Praise the lord,’ he shouted again. And the crowd responded with, ‘Amen.’ ‘The Lord prevails.’ With lethargy, each of the girls stood up. All were well known on the campus and each of them had money or was at least comfortable. Each was dressed immaculately and each had the uncanny ability of coming top in the class. Each was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, but this seemed to be enhanced periodically. Ruth was the first to approach the microphone and she held it with unsure, trembling fingers. Her fingers were still graceful, but the unusual trappings that made them unique had now gone. Her face was covered with tears as she confessed, ‘My romance with the Queen of the Coast started six years ago. After my secondary education, which I laboured to accomplish, I had a burning desire to further my education. I have always ired pharmacists and the pharmaceutical profession. My Father Chief Ibruse wanted nothing short of that. He wanted me to my matriculation examination to gain entry into one of the federal universities at all costs. All my friends seemed poised to leave me behind. For three years, I fought tooth and nail to achieve that feat and to endear myself to my beloved father and to satisfy my own desire. ‘For three years, I was unable to succeed and I was becoming despondent. Desperation abolished caution, till one day, driven by frustration, I found myself in the house of a naive doctor, who claimed that my problem was among the least of his specialties. By appointment, we met in his house late one evening, about a week later. At about midnight, he took me to the riverbank. I would do anything then for the purpose of attaining the goals I had set for myself, even if my father wasn’t interested or ive of my plight. ‘The native doctor recited some incantations and a most attractive woman, the sea goddess, emerged from the river. She was obviously in a hurry and she claimed that she had an important engagement with the prince and demanded to know what I wanted from her. I told her and she applied deliverance to my forehead. Thereafter, she proclaimed, “Young lady, go out into society and

conquer the academic world. Dress in the most attractive garments and plumages. Like a peacock, be proud, because beauty is yours. You shall mesmerise men at will. Everyday, men will think about you. They will be infatuated with you and they will burn with desire. But you will be an important instrument in the battle that will always stand before our kingdom and that of the other kingdom. If you are obedient and strong, you shall engage in various exploits and I will make you one of my queens. The nation is within my sphere of influence and control. I shall communicate with you again in the not distant future”. ‘And that was how my career in the kingdom of darkness commenced. I have worked, and seen to the downfall of many men of God. I have caused, through supernatural manipulation, both accidents and disasters to occur. The accident on 28 October, in which someone drove off the road, was my handiwork, for which I was promoted. I have inducted not less than 300 young people into the kingdom of the queen through my generosity. The five of us here today came here purposely to disorganise the crusade and, if possible, to discomfit the man of God. May God forgive me.’ All five girls confessed, one after the other, and asked forgiveness from God. Prophet Arthur lifted his right hand up and prayed in this manner, ‘Heavenly Father, you have drawn these individuals into your kingdom in line with your will that no man should perish and as a demonstration of the fact that Satan is powerless. Our God is the mighty God. Brothers and sisters, stretch out your hands and pray for our sisters and welcome them into the father’s kingdom.’ Most of the powerful men of God within the crusade prayed likewise: in short, purposeful prayers. The atmosphere became possessed again, with singing, dancing and clapping of hands. The trumpeters’ neck and cheek merged in to one bulbous tube, while the drummers’ muscles rippled. The guitarists swayed their hips to the rhythm and their faces shone with incredible blessedness and contentment. Prophet Arthur’s presence always had the same effect at any crusade. It had always been an occasion for excitement, celebration and spiritual aggrandisement. Today’s crusade held the same promise as the Rev Prophet Arthur announced, ‘The lame shall walk, the blind shall see, the deaf shall hear and the poor shall listen to the good news. The kingdom of darkness is in disarray because of us.’

People’s expectations were not dashed. The lame walked, the blind regained their slight and many were delivered from the evil one. Dr Charles trudged home after the crusade at about 11.00 p.m. He knew that a new chapter had opened in his life. That day, he had decided to jettison carnality and its gratification. As a born prophet, he should be above urges of the flesh.

Chapter Five

Joy, the 18-year-old daughter of Mr Rufus, Mrs Ford’s cousin, could barely disguise her hatred for Dr Charles’ spiritual preciosity. How could he suddenly neutralise what she had managed to settle in the spiritual realm eleven years ago? Overnight, Dr Charles had increased her problem by a very wide margin. During their meeting in the clouds the previous night, she had learnt that somebody had broken into her spiritual strongroom, where she had held Mrs Ford’s children hostage, releasing the four remaining out of the seven she had imprisoned. Enraged, she had switched on her spiritual searchlight and had discovered that a hitherto unknown person had caused the disappearance of the tumbler of acid she had planted in Mrs Ford’s womb. It was 3.30 a.m. on Saturday 30 November 1991. Joy couldn’t sleep as he tossed about in bed, engrossed with thoughts concerning her position. She knew that she faced spiritual annihilation, unless she could find suitable substitutes for the four children Dr Charles had snatched from her. She knew, too, that once released, the victims were difficult to recapture. Indeed, Dr Charles must pay for it. She was now concerned with the appropriate punishment to meted out to the vicious intruder, Dr Charles. Finally, she settled for a two-point solution. Death. Dr Charles must die. Killing, she reasoned, would be desirable if not entertaining. Secondly, she had now chosen to replenish her store with her own blood brothers and sisters. Her own sibling would have to die; otherwise something was going to happen to her, something gruesome. She didn’t want to die just now; she didn’t want to be imprisoned in the clouds. Either of which was entirely possible, following her misfortune of the recent past. Her store was now empty! She had already given her three uncles to the kingdom of darkness and later, she had submitted her two aunts, and so left with limited options she had turned to her cousin Mrs Ford and had imprisoned her unborn children, thereby inflicting her with infertility and penury. She took this course of action because the feeling of guilt was less than that compared to the agony of deaths around her loved ones. But now, she had no option than to turn to the very people she had

avoided. Only a close relative was accepted in their coven. In three months from now, she would require blood to oil her ascension in the kingdom of darkness, that much was clear to her. Then three months later, it would no longer be a choice but a necessity if she was to stay alive. She was now terribly disturbed, for six months from now, her life would be on the line, unless she could find a suitable substitute. She jumped out of bed, opened her wardrobe and thus exposed the mirror she had received from the prince in recognition of their spiritual relationship. She smiled. The mirror looked innocent and in-fact, some of her naive friends had taken it for an ordinary mirror and had used it as such. She swung her right hand in front of it and said, ‘Dr Charles of the university college hospital of Ibadan, I had never met you before today. I had never bothered you before now. It was reasonable to say that you, therefore, had no cause to upset mine. But you violated this simple, natural dictum. You set loose my prisoners in my strongroom, thus putting my own life on the line. What I’m about to do is purely out of self-defence and not out of malevolent spiritual appetite.’ Raising her voice a bit higher, she commanded, ‘Dr Charles, appear on this mirror at once.’ She knew she didn’t have to justify herself but, on balance, she knew that a spiritual war or offensive only becomes enhanced when based on natural justice. After all, she was provoked. Yes, that was it. Dr Charles had provoked her and so he deserved to die. In vain, she waited for more than five minutes for him to appear. However, instead of Dr Charles, to her annoyance, a very bright light, too bright for comfort, appeared in the mirror. Infuriated, she turned off the spiritual coating of the mirror, dashed out of the room and ran to see Mrs Jack, a respected senior colleague of hers in the kingdom of darkness. As she commandeered the first available taxi using her hypnosis skills, she couldn’t help but think about the 80-year-old Mrs Jack, who had introduced her to the eyes of the spirit. She sat back in the rear enger seat of the taxi and her thoughts turned to the events leading up to her ingratiation and introduction into the kingdom of darkness. She was only 7 then and Mrs Jack was living in their neighbourhood. She could vividly see Mrs Jack as she offered her the fateful

groundnut that marked the turning point in her life. Later that very night, Mrs Jack carried her on her wings to what was to be her first meeting with the Prince of the Coven. That day marked a memorable day in her life. It was the origin of her romance with the prince. Today, however, he was attending a superior meeting and so she was unable to go to him for guidance. Mrs Jack, being next in line to the prince, should be able to offer a reasonable solution to the thorn in her side – Dr Charles. She glanced at the ring on her finger and saw that Mrs Jack was still fast asleep, perhaps from the fatigue of the previous night’s exercise. Even though Mrs Jack was an old reliable, a spiritual meeting was always energy sapping. She wondered what could be responsible for the considerable physical exhaustion that always came with a spiritual manoeuvre. Perhaps it was the speed of the activities or the distance that must be covered in such a short time. For instance, the activities of the previous night had lasted for just five seconds and within that period, sacrifices and celebrations that would have consumed considerable time on this side were covered. Joy knew that only vengeance could have forced her out of bed now, for it was still only 6.30 a.m. Mrs Jack lived in an apparently dilapidated building that had only been built eleven years ago. She had been driven out of her late husband’s home by relatives and neighbours; her offence was the death of Mr Jack, her husband. Everybody pointed with accusing fingers at Mrs Jack and Joy knew that they were correct in their assumptions. Indeed, there was no doubt in her mind that Mrs Jack was responsible for the death of Mr Jack, an easy-going school head master. Spiritual things were particularly important to people in the spiritual plain. For instance, Mrs Jack’s home, on the surface, was rusty and poorly maintained. Yet, in the spiritual realm, she had cars, helicopters, mansions and ships, and she was next in line to the prince. The seclusion of her surroundings afforded Mrs Jack ample room for her spiritual intrigues and manoeuvres. The taxi pulled to a stop in front of the dilapidated bungalow and the driver had barely collected his fare than he hurriedly drove out of the secluded compound. Mrs Jack sensed that her spiritual daughter was determined to see her and so she dragged herself out of bed in readiness to receive her.

She emerged from the bungalow and shouted, ‘Hello, my daughter. It is said that the toad does not run in broad daylight for nothing. I hope no harm has befallen you for you to feel the need to come here personally? You could always have communicated through other means, like telepathy. ‘Still, you are still young and your recovery time is short. As for me, the hangover from the previous night’s meeting is still profound. Please, come in and sit down.’ She led the way into her house and offered Joy a short wooden stool. Joy accepted the stool with a warm smile, as if squalor was not only desirable but a necessity. Every member of the kingdom of darkness operating at a level of spiritual wickedness in high places knew that the things of the spirit are always in conflict with the things of the flesh. Physical wealth was irrelevant to those with a spiritual preoccupation. She knew for certain that Mrs Jack’s wealth in the spiritual realm was immense. Only the blind would ever call her a church rat. Anyone who could see into the spiritual world would know that Mrs Jack’s dilapidated bungalow was, in fact, a mansion, with cars, helicopters and the like parked audaciously in front of it. Such eyes would also know that the marshy ground not 100 metres from Mrs Jack’s house was, in fact, a sea port, with ships moving in and out of it regularly. Spiritual eyes would know all of this. As Joy sat down and wondered whether she would ever become as rich as Mrs Jack, she knew that the answer was dependant on her ruthlessness against the human race and not just the human race, but also her own people, her own flesh and blood in the form of her siblings. She managed a smile and said, ‘Good morning, Mother. I needed to tell you that my store was broken into. I have found the culprit.’ Mrs Jack nodded her head lazily; she already knew what the problem was and she knew from experience that it was a formidable challenge. If the intruder hadn’t belonged to the race of the righteous one, he would have been visible the previous night. All were left to discover that some people couldn’t be attacked successfully in the spiritual realm; she had found that out in her tenth year in the kingdom. Even now, at 80 years old, with her experience, she would still rather avoid the righteous one and anyone that bore his mark. She glanced at her spiritual daughter with some sympathy. Unfortunately, she, too, was powerless. She could only console Joy right now.

‘Don’t let that disturb you, my daughter,’ she said offhandedly. Then she ed that it was a premature comment. Quickly, she added, ‘You know what you must do, don’t you?’ ‘I couldn’t make Dr Charles appear in the mirror. Instead, I saw a very bright light. I want him dead!’ she shouted with exasperation. Mrs Jack looked much older now. Bent double with age and wickedness, she could barely tolerate stress in any form. After an interval of about five minutes, she spoke again. ‘The young man belongs to the righteous one. We cannot harm him. No, we cannot harm him, unless we can make a hole appear on his body. If you succeed in etching a hole on any of the seven possible sites, then you may penetrate and harm him. I assume you already know where these are. Otherwise, even Lucifer himself is impotent before him. Such people emit spiritual fire that consumes any offences or threats made from us. It is an ever present problem.’ Silence supervened. Joy was now buried in deep thought, her head between her palms, her mind far away in the clouds. If there was no means of reaching Charles without considerable repercussions, then she was in deep trouble. Would Mrs Jack and the prince let her drown? She lifted her head and asked anxiously, ‘Is there no other way?’ ‘No, there is not,’ Mrs Jack answered gravely. ‘But there must be a way. If Lucifer is as strong as he claims, there must be an alternative way out. How do I go about making these holes appear? Today, if possible?’ Mrs Jack smiled a melancholy smile. She knew that her spiritual daughter was completely ignorant of what was at stake. How could she make her understand that she could die or at best be captured in the course of the proceedings. In all her battles with the followers of the righteous one, she had lost out completely; occasionally in a very painful and humiliating manner. She would rather insulate Joy from the pain of spiritual defeat, but would she listen? ‘My daughter, it is best to divert your energy into something more worthwhile,’ she cautioned her. ‘You can replenish your store with others: your brothers,

sisters or even other intimate relatives, if you insist on fighting the righteous one. You should know that you have taken a very difficult decision, which could rebound at any moment, with serious repercussions.’ After a reasonable interval, she added in a serious and elevated tone, ‘Fight him with women, wine and money. If you can persuade him to fraternise with any of them, then at least one of the spiritual holes will appear. After that, the fire around him will be extinguished and the rest shall be history. But, : the righteous one is a devastating foe.’ ‘It’s Dr Charles I’m interested in, not the righteous one’! ‘As long as his spiritual fire is intact, you will not be able to fight the righteous one. You cannot hope to fight the latter, unless you can counter the former. That is the problem, my dear. Spiritual battles are very dangerous in their own right and they cannot help your promotion to any reasonable extent. Settle for what is available and useful. Replenish your store and forget about Dr Charles. Or, atbest, monitor him from time to time and strike when you notice a hole in his spirit. That is your best bet,’ Mrs Jack concluded. As if giving her a sign of the finality of her assertion, she changed the topic. The pair talked on a wide range of issues of mutual importance and it was not until about 11.00 a.m. that Joy took her leave, fully convinced that a battle with Dr Charles should be avoided. It would be foolhardy for her to stick to her guns, despite Mrs Jack’s advice. Moreover, it was gratifying to know that the battle was not necessary for a rapid spiritual growth. What was necessary was blood. And blood could be obtained from her immediate environment. The flesh and the spirit are constantly at war. She had picked the spirit and the flesh shall be mortified. Her brothers and sisters were still at her disposal.

Chapter Six

Dr Charles had now become a wanderer, moving from one destination to another. He couldn’t sleep in his own flat, even after Ruth’s deliverance. Even though it had been granted that Ruth had been set free from the influence of the queen, he was still an enemy of the other agents of the Queen of the Coast. With this in mind, he usually slept at one of his friend’s houses one day and the next with another. Call it fear, if you like. He was not ashamed of what people thought about him, far be it for him wanting to tempt God by undue male chauvinism, and neither was he was not going to pretend that all was well. Indeed, the Queen of the Coast was still very much against him. He glanced at his watch; it was 5.30 p.m. on 23 December 1991. He should be getting ready to go to Henry’s, where he would spend the night. That would be his last shift at the hospital that year. On Christmas Eve, he was to travel to the village to spend Christmas with his family. This was to be his first Christmas at home in seven years, partly because of the pressure of work and lately because of Ruth. Throughout the Christmas period, Ruth used to be his only companion and pleasure in the form of sex would be the only thing on his mind. Even on holidays during his leave, he would still refuse to visit home, but since the crusade of 30 November, his libido had been zero and it was if the glands responsible for his sex drive had been seared. It was a marvellous transformation. But would it last? A new fear had descended on him. Originally, the chirping of crickets or the whistling of doors or window frames as the cold harmattan wind seeped through them had made him scamper out of his flat in search of a companion. Now, he became afraid of the possibility of Ruth begging him for forgiveness. Would he be able to resist her advances? Would he be able to banish past memories, or would he prevent the fire from being rekindled? If they eventually married, would Ruth’s romance with the queen rear its ugly head again? He dismissed the thought immediately. A marriage with Ruth was out of the question. He was confused. His love for Ruth seemed to have survived the episode that had driven fear into him. Common sense demanded that he should

leave Ruth, but human fragility had him hooked. She was the only woman he had ever loved. Now, the fear of the unknown was becoming greater than fear of the love he had for Ruth. He popped back to his flat to fetch some things to take to Henry’s, hurriedly locking his front door behind him, in the hope that no one had seen him. But he was too late. Just then, there was a tap on his door. He knew instinctively that it was Ruth. He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to find an enraged Ruth that could, at will, transform to become a snake. Would the snake strike to kill? Or would it strike to disfigure? On the other hand, if Ruth’s pretty face became tearsoaked and she begged forgiveness and acceptance, could he withstand that? Both were undesirable. And there was no way out. Suddenly, it was as if the door had been removed physically and he could see Ruth standing on the other side of the door. Her face was wet with tears. She was not exactly beautiful, but one couldn’t describe her as ugly, either. The white brocade she wore gave her the solid poise of an independent woman. Charles knew from the bottom of his heart that he still loved her, but was love enough? The will of God was paramount. No, no it can’t be. The will of God cannot allow his prophet to marry an agent of the Queen of the Coast. He was still in this confused state when Ruth knocked again, this time more desperately. He could see the despair on her face and he found it difficult to bear. Finally, Ruth spoke, ‘Charles, are you completely disillusioned with and mistrustful of me? The Bible teaches forgiveness. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?’ It was a powerful statement. No one could ignore the word of God. Mechanically, Doctor Charles opened the door and thus itted Ruth into his sitting room. Ruth’s presence somehow rejuvenated his ion. He certainly felt warmer and it could be dangerous to spend any length of time with her. He picked up his new Bible as a defence mechanism and held it close to his left breast as if to implant it into his heart. Acting as Ruth wasn’t there, he moved towards the door, but Ruth blocked his path. She spoke again, ‘Forgive me, Charles; it was the work of the devil.’ ‘Thank God you have been delivered from the kingdom of darkness, Ruth. The truth is that you made your mind very fertile and receptive and so the devil used

you as he deemed fit. You could have chosen to resist him,’ Dr Charles said coldly. ‘But we can still start afresh, with a clean slate,’ Ruth said. ‘That is certainly a possibility. Though first and foremost, we must find out what the will of God is through another prophet; otherwise, you can count me out.’ ‘But I cannot live without you, Charles. I love you. If it were not so, you would have been dead a long time ago.’ ‘I know I ought to be dead by now, but the glory for that goes to God, not you. Even if your love was genuine, it makes no difference. The fangs of the viper could have been lethal. Perhaps it is better we seek the will of God first.’ Without saying another word, Ruth crossed to the wardrobe to change, one of the first things she used to do on a normal visit. In her heart of hearts, she was convinced that all the defences that had been erected by Dr Charles would crumble before her nakedness. It had happened on many occasions before. Charles would then embrace her from behind and soon became enveloped by her feminity. She prayed for that and, indeed, anticipated it as she undressed seductively in front of him. It was her last weapon against Charles’ wall of defence. For some minutes, she stood gazing at nothing in particular, with her back to Dr Charles. Then, as if awakened from a deep slumber, she picked up the spare nightgown she had kept in the wardrobe and slowly put it on. Even now, she still expected to feel the warmth of Dr Charles’ masculine figure behind her. She was wrong. Dr Charles was a changed man; he had completely extricated himself from her world. Of course, before now, she would have won. There had been several occasions in which she had adopted the same tactics of gradual exposure and had won. Yet, today, she waited in vain his response. Instead, he was more interested in his Bible, which he was now reading, for it had a calming effect on him. The stirrings in his loins had now vanished. Paradoxically, he was now both relieved and excited by an event that would have made him seek help in the past: impotency in the face of obvious provocation! He brushed past her and said, coldly, ‘Ruth, you can stay here in the flat tonight, if you want to. I am on call,’ he lied. Given his new spiritual affiliation, he didn’t have to lie. He wanted to confess

and to ask for forgiveness, but instead had told a purposeful lie to enable him to escape. After all, in Egypt, Abraham had lied for a purpose: to protect his life from the natives, who could have killed him to covet his wife Sarah. He felt justified in what he was doing and was about to close the door, when Ruth exploded, ‘So that’s it then. You expect me to sleep alone in this place, while you go to your girlfriend! I cannot condone that. No, it cannot happen. You must be seeing someone else. The other day, you claimed to be on call and now you are spinning me another lie. Are you the only doctor in the hospital? Or are you always going to be so-called on call?’ she hissed, employing different tactics. Without saying a word, Charles watched her dress hurriedly and then she stormed past him and out of the room. As she breezed down the stairs, she couldn’t help wondering whether this was, in fact, the end of her relationship with him. In a matter of seconds, she recounted the several happy moments they’d shared. Would she ever get over Charles and his masculine vigour? No! She wasn’t going to stand by and let her Charlie become another woman’s prey. Her mind was now crowded with several issues, flitting between a number of things at once. Simultaneously, she thought of her final examination, her father’s love and affection, Dr Charles and the event of 30 November, when she had suffered humiliation. She had felt like a cornered animal. She couldn’t afford to fail her examination, which was looming and which she was sure to fail without divine intervention, and if that happened her father would be offended. At least she could salvage her dream of leaving the university with a first-class degree, the only one ever recorded in the pharmacy department, and thus retain her fathers’ love. But what about Dr Charles? At any rate, there was always the option that he could be sacrificed. In fact, it had been an ill-fated affair; it was either she or Dr Charles; she should have known that. It would never have lasted. It was becoming dark outside and the college hospital was bathed in light. It would be a different story in the City of Ibadan though, which would soon be in near darkness owing to the absence of street lights. Beside the Ogwumkpa River, it was certain to be even darker and unnaturally tranquil, the ideal environment in which to communicate with the Queen of the Coast. The time was not exactly ripe, though. Somehow, as a prodigal daughter, she’d expected the queen to

welcome her with open arms. She was now ready to acquire new powers in addition to what she’d had prior to her disgrace. How could she have allowed Dr Charles to humiliate her and to put her life in danger? Yes, she knew that her life was on the line and it was certainly a precarious situation to find herself out of the Queen of the Coast’s good books. Ruth was now wary yet, for some unknown reason, she was contented as she walked to the college hospital’s taxi rank. The last taxi to Ogwumkpa had only one vacant seat and it wasn’t long before the taxi driver was racing towards her destination. Midway through the trip, it struck Ruth for the first time that she was going to have problems getting a campus-bound taxi later that evening. Ordinarily, it was always a difficult task, but late at night, she was certain it would be almost impossible. Then, a thought occurred to her. She was going to meet the queen as a weakling, a weak human, though on her way back, she would have grown beyond ordinary flesh and blood. The journey from the river to the hospital might not even take more than five seconds in the spiritual world, yet in flesh it could be a boring four-hour trip. How she despised completely the encumbrances flesh and blood constituted. She glanced at her watch; it was 8.00 p.m. Just as it was growing dark outside, her mind had been darkened by a new ion. She now desired to be able to decree things into existence. She wouldn’t even dine with the queen if she got invited into the palace, for she was going back to the kingdom of darkness to excel. As the taxi pulled up outside, she dipped her hand into her handbag and gave the driver his fare. Walking down the slope that would soon terminate at the river, she sensed the driver’s bemusement at the direction she had taken. She ignored him; it was none of his business and people should learn to confine themselves to their own sphere of influence. Her most major concern at the moment was to acquire the power to conquer the whole world. Quietly but fearlessly, she continued down the slope and very soon she was at the riverbank. The perfect serenity of the river’s tranquil surface was occasionally punctuated by the chirping of crickets and the crocking of toads. It was too late to turn back now that she was within the domain the sea goddess. It could be dangerous to show fear before the Queen of the Coast. She was

hungry for spiritual upliftment, for once in the spiritual mode, she constituted fear itself. The sense of urgency for Dr Charles to be her first victim grew. If she had ridded herself of her flesh and obeyed the queen, then perhaps she would have been a force to reckon with in the hierarchy of the queen’s kingdom; better late than never, she thought. Today, the war would begin immediately, once she had met the queen. To evoke the queen’s presence came naturally to her. She had done it many times before. In a shrill voice, she began, ‘Queen of the Coast, this is your daughter Ruth. Let’s forget the past. The future shall be richer. Please come to me, for my house is on fire.’ She wondered how far her voice reached, for she imagined it permeated though the trees and hills that lined the river bank, piercing the cool, breezy night. Ordinarily, she didn’t need to call the queen up more than once, but today, she had called her at least six times now without any response. She refused to give up. Much was at stake: her degree and her father’s love and affection, and her spiritual upliftment. Somehow, she knew that she had to forget Dr Charles, who should be dispensed with in order to achieve a total reconciliation with the queen. Raising her voice, she repeated the incantation, now for the seventh time. Then came the response she had anticipated. In the centre of the river, a thick pillar of water rose and approached her purposefully. She knew it was the queen herself and not just a messenger. Having seen it several times before, she knew that only the queen could project such a tall pillar, for others emerged with lesser pillars. Any moment from now, she would accept the beautiful, ageless girl, who would to step out of the pillar. A sense of excitement wafted through her. Then, suddenly, she ed her betrayal and disobedience and a sense of fear took over her. Yet, it was too late. She couldn’t go back now that the queen was almost within reach. The pillar approached her menacingly and behind it, a tongue reached out and lapped-up Ruth and then receded into the river. Only her handbag, which she had dropped by the river bank, and her identification card indicated that she had been there, for the river showed no sign of her.

The news of Ruth’s fate – her disappearance and the discovery of her personal belongings beside the bank of the river – spread like wild fire in the harmattan on the campus. It was not a surprise to the university community. After their confessions on 30 November, not many people believed that Ruth could sacrifice her finals. Many people accepted her, even among the Christians, with caution. They knew how much her examination mattered to her. Even now, people believed that she was bound to re-emerge to complete her examination. For several weeks, people waited in vain for Ruth to turn up. Even her parents nursed that notion that their beloved daughter would return back to their fold. But when she didn’t materialise, they swore to give up everything and to spare nothing in order to retrieve her from the clutches of the kingdom of darkness. Dr Charles himself had been a victim of this illusion that one day, Ruth would be reincarnated from the dead. He also held on to the fact that it may even be possible to gain her deliverance once and for all from the kingdom. But in his heart, he knew that Ruth was gone forever. He’d had a vision of her and what happened to her. It was vivid in every respect and from the comfort of his sitting room, he had seen the dark forces beneath the Ogwumkpa River. The floor of his flat had suddenly given way, replaced by a channel of clear blue water, which led directly to the river. Beneath the river was a magnificent city of well-maintained laws and tarred roads paved with gold and precious stones. The mansions were as numerous as they were splendid. In spirit, he asked where he was and a voice replied, ‘You are looking at the Ogwumkpa River and below it is a kingdom that is much larger than anything you have seen on earth. It is a kingdom of darkness and Ruth is being held hostage in one of the rooms and will soon live a life of poverty for the angry Queen of the Coast. Do not fear and do not be dismayed, for I am always with you to deliver you from your enemies. You shall only look with your eyes and see the recompense of the wicked. I have chosen you to lose the chains of wickedness.’ It was the same small voice that had told him several things that had eventually proven to be true. So he had no reason to believe now that he would ever see Ruth again. Despite Ruth’s poor intentions towards him, Dr Charles wept like a baby following this latest revelation and his fears resurfaced. He knew that even now, the queen was still bent on his destruction. He knew that the queen would be sending more of her women out in an attempt to track him down. More than

ever before, he was to avoid women if he was to be saved. That was the only way of rebuffing the queen’s attacks. His thoughts returned to Ruth again. If the queen hadn’t embraced Ruth, then perhaps he would have been a happier man. Yet, there was always the chance that someone else would have been sent in her place, had she not charmed Ruth. He was not aware of anyone else though, who had formed the habit of smiling seductively at his him in the recent past. He had no doubt that Ruth came from the queen. Her beauty was so unnatural: clear, sparkling beauty that defied the vagaries of weather and ageing. He was happy that he had mortified the flesh. And so, women and what they could offer meant nothing to him any more. He could remain celibate, but for the sake of having children. Yes, he would still marry, but only on the inspiration of the almighty God. He wandered through to his bedroom to get some sleep. Gradually, he was getting used to sleeping and being by himself, even in his own apartment, where the trappings of Ruth appeared to be indelible. If God was with him, who could be against him. He drew immense strength from that piece of wisdom.

Chapter Seven

Mrs Ford was now heavy with child. In three months time, she would deliver her first baby. The joy of being a full woman who had experienced pregnancy elated her. Often, she would nurture her protruding belly with pride. She couldn’t wait to cuddle the tiny limbs of her first baby, most probably a male, and in preparation for the arrival of the child on her expected day of delivery, 24 April 1992, she and her husband had bought some tiny outfits. Her enthusiasm was only rivalled by her husband’s joy. Now 45 years old, Mr Ford’s aggressive preparation was but a token of his eagerness to receive the first child that would, without reservation, call him papa. He had always wanted a child of his own, preferably a son. Initially, it had appeared as a vain wish, but now, with each ing day, and as the girth of Mrs Ford’s abdomen increased, it was becoming a realistic hope. Then, one day, watching her struggling to catch her breath, he asked if she thought she should see the doctor. It was with some hesitance that she agreed to see Doctor Charles and no one else. Only he would be acceptable. Mr Ford’s whole life and joy had come to hinge on the pregnancy: he needed a child and neither was he becoming any younger. In Africa, one thing one could depend on for certain was that they would have a child. Beyond that, the pregnancy proved conclusively that he was a man, after all. He was even willing to undergo a blood test to prove conclusively that the child was his. To him, dreams used to be mere dreams, that is, until his baby’s conception. Since that day, he had come to respect dreams. With some urgency, he turned to his wife and said, ‘Here is some money to cover your expenses to and from Ibadan. Don’t waste any time. You must get ready to leave at once. Please extend my greetings to Dr Charles.’ By air, a trip from Enugu to Ibadan took just forty-five minutes at that time of the morning and Mrs Ford had arrived at the house officer’s residence by 9.30 a.m. It was not difficult to trace him and within minutes, she was standing outside Dr Charles’ door. She raised her right hand to knock at the door, but it opened before she could do so.

She smiled and followed him into the sitting room at his prompting. It was Dr Charles who spoke first. ‘I had a premonition that you were coming to see me today. Just as well I’m on call this afternoon. I hope there’s nothing wrong?’ ‘Doctor, I’ve not been feeling too good lately. I’ve been having a series of nightmares and I couldn’t ignore it any longer,’ Mrs Ford said miserably, expecting Dr Charles to explain them for her. From experience, she knew that this shouldn’t pose too much of a problem for him. After all, he had exhibited that capability before, which was what had won her heart. For what seemed like ages to her, Dr Charles gazed into the distance. Then, finally, he said, ‘Mrs Ford, it was good that you came and I’m pleased that you have learned your lesson to regard dreams as important supernatural messages. Never mind whatever anybody else might tell you about dreams. Psychologists claim that dreams emanate from the subconscious and medical science claims that dreams emanate from certain waves associated with a rapid eye movement. All these certainly are but a tip of the iceberg. Dreams are supernatural phenomena and not merely thoughts in the subconscious. People have dreams of places they have never visited or even imagined. Any interpretation based on carnality is bound to be null and void. It is good that people know that dreams are important; I mean, knowledgeable people, like yourself,’ Dr Charles said, pausing to look at Mrs Ford, who had sat back on the sofa opposite him. He saw anxiety and desperation in her face; she couldn’t afford to lose her baby. Indeed, he could see a mixture of pain and hope written on her face. He smiled to himself. If people could see or appreciate even a negligible percentage of the struggles that take place in the spiritual realm, they would seldom rest. Mrs Ford was now becoming impatient and Dr Charles hated himself for aggravating her plight. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Dreams and visions are direct messages from God. When the Lord Jesus Christ was on earth, he spoke in parables. God loves parables, for these make for compression of thoughts and messages and a universal adaptation of information. The scarecrow you fought with in your dream was the same person who implanted the tumbler in your womb. She lost

the first battle and was infuriated that you had managed to conceive. The four yam tubers were the four children you may still have. ‘The three rotten tubers were the children already cooked and devoured in the spiritual realm. Actually, you were to have seven children, but the forces of darkness have eaten up three. They will not relent in their plight, but your weapon, the only weapon that can counter their offences, is a thorough spiritual regeneration.’ Somewhat abruptly, he asked, ‘What church do you attend?’ Mrs Ford was perplexed. It was the last question she had expected to hear; she was only interested in the interpretation of her dream and any remedy that might be necessary. She looked vacantly at Dr Charles and timidly answered, ‘We are freethinkers, my husband and I.’ Dr Charles was not surprised – he was a victim of the so-called independentminded intellectual. ‘Then you should let witches and wizards put up your children freely. Listen to the whole world. You will be a victim of your neighbour’s inordinate desire for wealth, power and money. Develop your spirit in line with the will of God and pray without ceasing, you and your husband. Otherwise, you are doomed.’ ‘Doctor, are you saying that the scarecrow was Joy?’ she asked. ‘With all certainty. If you pray hard enough, she will give you some reprieve and turn elsewhere for blood. Otherwise, your child will perish in your womb,’ he said calmly but authoritatively. Mrs Ford virtually jumped up from the sofa and was now perspiring on her forehead. She also noticed that her palms were moist and her vision was impaired. Reflectfully, she asked, ‘But what can be done about it, doctor? I mean today.’ Her eyes now bore through Dr Charles’ forehead as if any loss of attention could lead to her death. Dr Charles was sympathetic to her problem. He looked intently at her and said, ‘Bring the young girl to me. Discuss the matter with her parents and have her brought to me. Otherwise, no member of your family is immune to her onslaughts. Today, it is you; tomorrow, anybody in your family could be her victim. She is of spiritual wickedness in high places. Before long, she would have developed to the extent of carrying people alive, in flesh and blood, to their

nocturnal meetings in the clouds. Now is the time to stop her. Already, many people have died in her hands.’ ‘How could this be? Her parents will not hear that. She is their pet. The last thing I want is any internal wrangling in our family,’ she said, tears now rolling down her cheeks. ‘But this is not time for such concerns, Mrs Ford. When you go home, you and your husband should pray and fast for three days, after which you should go to her parents. They should listen to you, for their daughter’s own safety. I will help you with a prayer and I will fast, too. , you and your husband must face the battle before you. You must bring that girl here to me.’ The time had flown and it was already midday by the time he saw Mrs Ford to the door. He had spent more than three hours with her, leaving him with just an hour to get himself ready for work. At least he wouldn’t have to find time to eat anything, having agreed to abstain from food not because of poverty but for reasons of spiritual growth.

His first patient as the medical house officer on duty that day was Mr Joe, a 49year-old motor mechanic, who was rushed into hospital with bruises sustained from a road traffic accident. The patient was obviously drunk and it was not difficult to perceive that judging by the smell of alcohol. Beyond that, Dr Charles saw quite a number of things that would sound strange even to the man himself. Despite what anybody might think to the contrary, what he saw before him was the root of the matter and it was not enough to treat just the minor bruises. Much more important was what he saw: wound round Mr Joe’s waist, wrist and ankles were spiritual ropes and protruding out of his pocket were leaflets with adultery, fornication and drunkenness boldly printed on them. If it was not a serious issue, it would have been ridiculous; but he knew that it was more serious than just the physical injury of cuts and bruises. He owed Mr Joe not just the physical aspects, but also spiritual healing. Yet, he wouldn’t force his opinion on Mr Joe, for people were always unwilling to face the truth, especially when it came to intangible things such as the spiritual. He knew from the aura that was emanating from Mr Joe that he would be sceptical of the root

cause of his problem. He hesitated for a moment, but the voice kept on ringing in his ears, urging him not to hide what he had seen. Freely he had received, so freely he must give, the voice concluded tersely. ‘Tell him that he is bound by Satan and that he needs deliverance from the power of Satan. That way, he will be saved from adultery, fornication and drunkenness, which are threatening to destroy him and to lead him to eternal damnation.’ He continued to hold back. Not because he doubted what he’d seen and heard, but because Mr Joe was likely to consider him an obscure doctor and he wouldn’t like that. He completed his medical examination, consciously avoiding discussing any matter concerning the chains and ropes, and attempted to resume his case and to put down his findings, but it was impossible. He was powerless. Without any further prompting, he knew what would follow: a scene akin to his own encounter, his very first encounter with Mrs Ford, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen. Quickly, he bent over Mr Joe and whispered, ‘Mr Joe, I can see ropes and chains binding you and preventing you from making progress in life. These have been responsible for your financial downturns. Perhaps, to compensate, you took to alcohol and woman; you indulged in this recklessly and thus separated yourself from your God. You need deliverance more than any orthodox medical treatment can give you. You can do without medical treatment, but without deliverance, in the end you will find yourself in penury, resulting in your early death. I was compelled to tell you what I had seen, because the message came from the superior, all-powerful being. You need to take this message and be saved. Leave it and be damned.’ He was now released of his encumbrance and so he walked towards his seat to resume his routine work. Quietly, he glanced at Mr Joe and saw a clumsily nonchalant but defiant face. He was still drunk and Dr Charles knew that the message hadn’t penetrated his conscience. A baffled smile spread across his lips as he added sluggishly, ‘I’ve done my job as a prophet, so now I will also do my job as a doctor.’ Quickly, he scribbled on Mr Joe’s chart, requesting twenty-four hour observation and the cleansing of his wounds with alcohol and gentian violet. Now, relived of his burden as a prophet, he was free to see the other patients. But

every now and again, thoughts of Mrs Ford and her cousin kept intruding on his conscience. He knew it was one spiritual battle he must win; no one can fight God and expect to win. Not even his prophets. That being the case, there was no point in pretending otherwise.

Chapter Eight

The day was tired. The golden yellow rays from the setting sun produced fading shadows that were doomed to be enveloped by the impending darkness. The chickens would soon go to roost and no one would want to be seen on the usually lonely streets of Agenebode. Well before 9.00 p.m., the city would have become a ghost town; an ideal habitat for nocturnal, dubious meetings. One such meeting was to take place today in the clouds over the quiet town of Agenebode; all the of the kingdom of darkness knew this sleeping city as a ground to settle old scores with enemies, friends, neighbours and even relatives. Joy had looked forward to today with warmth and happiness. She loved to rub shoulders with the prince and other important names in the kingdom of darkness. On such occasions, they would adjudge cases that could have profound effects on the city and the nation. Today was a special day in her eight year career in the kingdom of darkness. She was to take her younger brother to the kingdom and partake in the feast of his flesh and blood. It was to be her first contribution from her family. She called her 6-year-old brother and scrutinised him as if to ensure that he was ripe enough to foster her growth on the spiritual ladder. Her one desire was to achieve these materialistic items that she lusted after in the spiritual realm. She even saw herself overtaking Mrs Jack in the near future and knew that in the kingdom of darkness, only blood could bring this about. Not money and not her relationship with the prince, either, but she least anticipated that her plight would degenerate to this level of using her own brother Sebastian for her own gains. Self-defence and self-preservation was her greatest instinct. Sebastian was going to die out of necessity. Mrs Ford, her cousin, had suddenly become impervious. She would have preferred to use distant relatives, but today, her wishes weren’t important and certainly not as important as the job at hand, and she would need to do it quickly, too. She glanced at the wall clock in their sitting room. The time was just right and finally, she picked up a banana and some roasted groundnuts she had carefully concealed in her handbag and called in Sebastian. She handed them to him, with the instructions that he should sit

down and eat them in front of her. ‘Don’t let those hungry lions snatch them from you,’ she ordered. If it were possible, Joy wouldn’t want any of her other nuclear relatives to become victims. The banana and groundnuts appeared harmless but, indeed, they were spiritually prepared from the blood and oil from roasted humans and vultures in the spiritual realm for the purpose they would serve today: to liberate his spiritual body from the physical and to propel it to the venue for their nocturnal meeting. Perhaps, in a year’s time, all things be equal, Joy would be capable of direct physical conveyance of humans to the meeting. That would only be possible when she, too, could attend the meeting in her physical form. Again, she scrutinised her younger brother, who was sitting down between her legs and eating his way to the grave. Extricating herself from him, she went to the refrigerator and brought out a bottle of cold water she had bought for him from the only store that had a generator in the city. The store stood out in the darkness that had now taken over the city. She recounted the ease with which she had destroyed the only transformer that had fed the city from more than fifteen years prior to her attack. It gave her some satisfaction, through the promotion and recognition it won her in the kingdom of darkness, which was enough compensation for the heat and darkness that prevailed in the city as a result of her actions. Each time the transformer was replaced, she had repeated the same feat, until the local government authorities had become totally frustrated and had abandoned the city to a lifetime of darkness and fate. Her thoughts were interrupted by Sebastian as he made his way towards the door that led to the sitting room to re the other siblings. ‘Thank you, sister,’ he said, but Joy ignored him. She didn’t want to reduce or to even neutralise what had happened in spiritual realm. In the kingdom of spiritual wickedness in high places, free gifts were ideally used and greetings and any show of appreciation could undermine this. Ruben aged 15, Tina aged 12 and Mary aged 8 knew that Sebastian had eaten something in their sister’s room. It was written all over his face; some modicum of inner satisfaction, despite the fact that supper wasn’t ready yet. They eyed him with envy and some malice. As if completely oblivious to his crime, Sebastian found himself a place and sat down beside Mary. He had no regrets. If only Joy

had given him the chance, he would have given some of his groundnuts and banana to all of them. It was unnecessary and even futile to explain this fact to them. He was afraid of Joy’s reprisal and the fact that the story was incredible didn’t help his position. He looked at Mary and their eyes met; he saw that she was disappointed in him. Finally, Mary stammered, barely concealing her anger, ‘You finished it all without so much as offering some to anyone else. That’s why you hid away from us, hoping we wouldn’t notice. If I had something now, you would pester me for some and I would now refuse to give it to you. I thought we were supposed to share things in this house.’ Without saying a word, Sebastian stood up and walked into the kitchen, where their mother was putting the finishing touches to their dinner.

After the family had eaten dinner and all the doors and windows in the Rufus household had been locked, Mr Rufus settled himself down in the sitting room, reviewing the day’s sallies, as was his normal practice. The job of the secretary of the local government was demanding and to make it worse, the chairman of the council was new on the job and apparently learning the ropes. He smiled; the job of the chairman of the largest local government in the country cannot be easy and he didn’t envy him. It was now 10.00 p.m. and he was becoming drowsy. In view of the general meeting of the secretaries of all the local governments in the state early the next day, he would need to get a good night’s sleep. So, he dragged himself into the bedroom, closed the door quietly behind him and climbed into bed. His wife Eucharia was already sound asleep. Joy inspected her wardrobe, to be certain that all was set for the night’s meeting. Of course, everything was intact, with her black nightgown thickly adorned with all her medals, representing the various battles she had won for her kingdom. There was the one given to her by the prince himself to cement their intimacy and another she’d received when she had successfully thrown the city into perpetual darkness. There were many medals, but she refused to think about them. Joy’s thoughts were full of outright wickedness: wicked, bloody activities like instigating accidents on the roads, seas and air. She told herself that she

killed out of spiritual necessity and not out of a love of blood. Once in the flesh, she would often have regrets, but in the spirit world, wickedness became second nature. Today’s meeting would be crowned with blood from an accident. The ring on her middle finger from the prince sparkled even in the dimly lit room. Perhaps that ring had prevented her from iring the opposite sex on this physical plain. For now, she seemed contented with the twice-weekly orgies with the prince. Each orgy often left her sexually satisfied and Joy had indulged in sexual intimacies on several occasions with the prince. For a second, she wondered whether it was the same as sexual intercourse in the flesh. Quickly, she dismissed the thought. Such feelings on a night like this could be detrimental to her spiritual upliftment, for the flesh would always weigh down the spirit. For a moment, she inspected her contraption from the groundnut peelings and it was this device that would transport her to the clouds. There was also the mirror that would link her up with Sebastian in few hours from now. Satisfied, she activated it and saw that he was barely asleep. With a melancholic smile, she told herself, ‘I have to do it. It is even possible that I’m about to do you a great favour, my dear Sebastian. After all, there’s nothing to be gained in this world, compared to what exists in the spirit.’

The clock in the sitting room struck midnight and Joy dressed for the nocturnal meeting in the clouds. In that state of partial sleep, she hung between life and death, with her spirit completely liberated from her flesh. Usually, as a precaution against displacement and possible death, she would, on such occasions, close all doors and windows in her bedroom. She would then lie down on the bed, numb, dumb and listless; the process itself of escape from her physical body was always the most remarkable of all her spiritual manoeuvres. Her spirit would lift itself up and would hover over her body for a split second, before engaging in a purposeful ascension towards the clouds. Today, she repeated the unusual practice and flew through the wall in Sebastian’s room, where the latter was already primed for tonight’s event. She bent down over him and lifted his spirit onto her back and off they went. This was her thirty-first meeting in the career that spanned over eight years, which had proven to be fruitful as well as eventful. The speed and precision in the spiritual realm

always fascinated Joy. A distance that would require months or even years in the flesh, when in the spirit, would take no more than a few seconds. That’s why things that appeared impossible in the physical plain could easily be accomplished in spirit and thereafter, be superimposed on the physical. Briefly, she wondered what it would look like in the flesh to watch herself butcher her brother as a sacrifice to the prince. It would have been gruesome, but in the spirit, it would be very easy, safe, precise and almost unnoticed. Having been eaten spiritually, what had been done in the spirit would then be imposed on the flesh, following which he would certainly become sick and it would pose a threat to life. People might imagine things and gossip, but such things are not verifiable and could be regarded simply as superstition by their parents. She couldn’t help but smile; her parents were the most ridiculous of all the human beings she had met. They wouldn’t listen to so-called superstition and she would often watch them with contempt each time they dismissed things of the spirit. Ignorance was a lethal disease. All the of their coven were already sat apart from the prince when Joy arrived with her 6-year-old brother. Before ing the other guests, she took him to her strongroom and chained him up. Her seat was reserved for the insignia of royalty and on her right was the only vacant seat, which was reserved for the prince. She knew that any moment from now, the prince himself would emerge in a red flowing gown. While they waited for the prince, it occurred to her that she hadn’t spent much time here and yet, on earth, all the activities they were about to embark on would have taken hours. Perhaps that was why she had spent more time in the physical world than the supernatural. Suddenly, there was pandemonium and automatically, all of the guests fell on the ground. The prince had arrived. Joy could never get used to the aura he exuded, despite their numerous sexual intimacies. That lent credence to his claim that to have any relationship with her, he had to condescend to one-hundredth of his full radiation power. In order to attend this particular meeting in the clouds, he would have to lose one-tenth of his power. Everywhere was calm and only the prince’s eyes roved though the cloud. Finally, he said, ‘You may be seated.’ Raising his baritone voice, he now addressed Mrs Jack directly, ‘This is our first meeting this year. Mrs Jack, could you tell us how you fared last year with the disorganisation of our enemies? For

your information, our enemies always refer to the disciples of the righteous one, so that repetition and possible mistakes and inevitable disaster could be circumvented.’ Mrs Jack stirred with enthusiasm and her immaculate white gown, with its red ribbon indicating her rank in the kingdom, exuded power and experience. She stood up and after obeisance to the ruler of the kingdom, the prince said in an even tone, ‘As the head of the kingdom in the local government, I am emboldened to say that we did very well in the past year. We have successfully engineered the fall of thirteen prophets and we have struck many followers of Christ.’ The whole gathering became paralysed as Mrs Jack mentioned the name of Christ. A bright light struck and all the guests fell to their knees. The majority knew why. Only a few who were spiritual babes were ignorant. Mrs Jack was not a spiritual infant and she understood what happened. It was a terrible mistake; in the kingdom of darkness, that name was the anathema. She didn’t understand why everyone seemed to commit that blunder. She threw herself on the ground and wept for forgiveness. Sanity was restored after that episode and gradually, everybody regained their composure. The prince stood up and resumed his seat. Joy was confused; she noticed that the prince had lost some of his former glamour and vigour. He was still shaking violently and he appeared to have been the worst hit. Angrily, he onished Mrs Jack, ‘If you were any other person you would be dead now. I will not tolerate any more mistakes from anybody in this kingdom. That name must not be used in my presence. And I tried to forestall its use at the beginning of this gathering. You may continue.’ After a reasonable interval, Mrs Jack continued, ‘We struck our enemies with diseases, pestilence, poverty, misfortune and death. Our weapons have been enhanced, through the activities of the rulers of our kingdom; we have been able to develop newer and better weapons. Never mind that we have used wine, woman, weeds and money as a means to our end. For all that has been made more attractive, to the extent that so many people succumbed. In addition, we ordered twenty road traffic accidents that claimed more than 500 lives. We have their blood stored in a 2,500 gallon drum for you, your Excellency. Once again, I

apologise for the embarrassment my folly might have caused you.’ She sat down and appeared to have noticed her spiritual daughter Joy on the other side of the prince. Being next in line to the prince, she always sat on his left, whereas Joy would sit on his right, because of her spiritual past. Today, that arrangement was respected and as usual, Joy almost envied her. She had sacrificed all her children, loved ones and anybody that could be described as being close to her. She was completely insulated from any more heartbreak. Joy thought about Sebastian and what was sure to happen shortly. Joy understood the next time they met, the topic on the agenda would be death. That day, about 2,500 gallons of fresh blood, five virgins and three children were available for use. Sebastian was one of them; numerous others were driven into a large, open field and pinned down. There, they would be held and could be killed for food for the prince and his court when the need arose. The special aide of the prince inspected all that had been presented for the feast; he selected some for himself and the rest he prepared for everyone else. While eating, everybody had their fair share of the feast.

Joy arrived back home just after midnight and while she used to be baffled by the speed of spiritual activities, she now had great iration for everything spiritual. Slowly, she approached her room, vaporised though the wall and reentered her body through her mouth. Using a mirror, she conjured up what was left of Sebastian and by sheer manipulation, she sent it back into the body of her 6-year-old brother. It was a perfect job and she felt fulfilled. She’d had no option. Even if she wasn’t promoted, at least she wouldn’t suffer any harm or demotion now, having completed this task. In the kingdom of darkness, most positions were bought with blood. A tinge of regret flickered though her but, as usual, she quickly banished it. Shortly afterwards, she dropped off to sleep and was only woken by noises in the sitting room at 7.00 a.m. the next morning She opened the door and entered the sitting room, where the family was having breakfast round the table. All turned in her direction and appeared to be in some kind of excitement. Eucharia, her mother, was most lively this morning and as soon as Joy entered the room, she said almost with some of her former youthful exuberance, ‘Joy! Joy, come and

listen to your brother Sebastian.’ Joy was relieved that nobody had noticed the effect of that statement on her, for she had lost all her colour and had almost fainted when she’d heard that statement. She quickly recovered on realising that her parents were freethinkers and, at best, were likely to regard Sebastian’s story as just a cock and bull story from a kid. She smiled innocently and walked to the table. Now, standing beside Sebastian and cradling his head, she hoped that Sebastian would keep quiet about the events of the night before. But Sebastian persisted, with deep seriousness that belied his age. ‘Is it a lie, sister, that you took me to a stadium last night? You put me in a room throughout the match, but later brought me out and my body was cleaned with a white handkerchief. Have you forgotten?’ Joy smiled again, bent down and kissed her 6-year-old brother on the cheek. She knew it was the best response under the circumstances and it could neither deny nor corroborate such an allegation from her brother. There was no way of saying anything without giving something away and that was the last thing she wanted. Both parents smiled pleasantly, enjoying and cherishing the bond they had entrenched among their children. The affection could be seen boldly written on the faces of all of the family. Today, the kiss from Joy had a profound effect on them. Still smiling, Eucharia said, ‘Sebastian, you have a vivid imagination.’ ‘Yes, he can come up with flowery explanations and lively stories at times. He’s bound to excel in humanities and literature,’ Mr Rufus said with some satisfaction and then he stood up to ire his reflection in front of the dressing mirror before leaving for work. ‘You look just perfect, darling,’ Eucharia said with a loving smile. ‘Thanks for the compliment,’ Mr Rufus said, dashing out of the sitting room so as not to be late. ‘Goodbye, Daddy,’ the children shouted almost simultaneously.

Chapter Nine

The day began ordinarily. The thick cord that held the Rufus family was apparently intact, belying the macabre incident that had taken place in the clouds the previous night. This morning, the family dispersed to their various offices and schools, leaving Joy alone at home. She was supposed to be preparing for her matriculation examination, which she was sitting for the third time, but instead, she took the opportunity to recover from the effects of the tedious spiritual exercise of the previous night. The zeal to excel academically or materially was completely lacking. If she wanted, she could have obtained such powers from the prince. But she had only contempt for physical things. If only people would realise that physical, material items are irrelevant and transient, then perhaps most people wouldn’t have behaved in the way they did. Almost everybody believed in the physical accumulation of wealth. She was looking forward to completing the existence in the spirit world. Just like Mrs Jack, she had slept for at least four hours and in an hour or two, she was expecting the little ones to return home from school, when once more the house would become a beehive of activity, with childish bickering and the occasional outburst of crying and laughter that characterised and in fact formed the species of a routine family life. It occurred to her that very soon, the voice of the youngest boy in the family would be no more. In a week or so from now, she expected Sebastian to take ill. Without remorse, she headed for the kitchen to prepare the family lunch. Just then, the front door opened and Sebastian wobbled in. It had just gone 12.30 p.m., but his class teacher had permitted him to go early on health grounds. He was pale and it was as if he was chronically sick. Listlessly, he dropped his school bag on the dining table as if it were a great burden and virtually collapsed down onto the nearest sofa. Joy knew what was amiss. She dropped the plate in her hand, strolled into the sitting room and stood over Sebastian. Without any emotion, she touched the sweating face of her once robust younger brother, finding it very hot to the touch. But instead of regret, an inner wave of joy and accomplishment swept through her. She was pleased by what she saw. That meant that the event may

culminate in her elevation by at least one step. She wanted it actualised soon; preferably today. She wanted to feign some concern, but it was not possible. She couldn’t even stand beside him, cuddle him or say any niceties such as not to worry and that he would be alright, as she would have and should have done under normal circumstances. She didn’t want to think of it as an impending death in the family, for such thoughts were useless. Sebastian had been consumed in the spirit. Finally, she could only mutter, ‘Sebastian, your mother will soon be home from work and she will take care of you.’ Then she walked back to the kitchen to continue with her cooking. The day dragged by and every minute left Sebastian weaker and closer to the great beyond. By 2.00 p.m., when the other children returned home, he had become mute. He was now a sweat-soaked bundle of bones. Confusion broke out. Only Reuben had the faintest idea of what to do. While the others wept and wailed, he lifted Sebastian up, placed him on his shoulder and dashed across the road to the nearby health centre. Sebastian was now critically ill. He was itted immediately, but the health centre wasn’t enough. Sebastian’s case required a fully fledged emergency unit, not a ramshackle, makeshift clinic. The health supsritendant knew that only conscientious medical attention offered any hope. He knew, too, that in this particular case, the attention of a seasoned doctor was required. He was not a doctor and never pretended to be one. However, he instituted available emergency resucitatory measures while waiting for the arrival of the doctor. Time began to tick away and still the doctor hadn’t arrived. By 5.00 p.m., it was apparent that Sebastian was getting worse.

It was a busy day at work in Mr Rufus’ office and a meeting with the league of local government secretaries had been held. Most other people would have used the meeting as an alibi to neglect their usual duties, but Mr Rufus was always unhappy to see any unattended file on his desk at the close of business. It was now 7.00 p.m. and the office had already closed for the day, but Mr Rufus was still hard at work. His wife was a bank manager and if Reuben hadn’t sent a taxi for her each day, she would still be working late at night. It was a nice thing to know that she had a driver she could rely on to get her home on time each night. Only tonight it had come for her a little earlier, for Reuben had come to collect

her because her youngest was so poorly. ‘Oh! If only I had wings, I would fly home to see my children,’ she muttered to herself as she jumped into the waiting taxi. She was restless as the vehicle tore though the single lane traffic that traversed the sleepy city of Agenebode. Reuben was sat beside her and he helplessly watched the tears cascading down his mother’s cheek. Only a mother could know of such pain. She had a terrible premonition of disaster and an aura of death hung over Sebastian. When the taxi pulled up in front of the health centre, Eucharia Rufus jumped out, her pretty face now compromised by sorrow and tears, but still elegant, nonetheless. Today, she appeared vulnerable; only she didn’t know who her enemies were. She stormed into the room that constituted the emergency unit of the health centre and what she saw terrified her. Lying lifelessly on the couch was her younger son Sebastian. An intravenous drip had been connected to his right arm and there was a tube protruding from his nose. His face was pale and his mouth was agape as his breathing became laboured. He was oblivious to his surroundings and he was drifting in and out of consciousness. If he was aware of his mother’s presence, he didn’t show it. Eucharia tried to assimilate what was happening and stars obscured her vision. She gazed at Sebastian, who had been in apparent good health that morning, as she tried to console herself and she genuinely believed that once he was in a hospital they would save him. The health superintendent Mr Mulbah used to be a school teacher and he taught in her son’s school. Had Sebastian not been on the critical list, he would have shared jokes with the former teacher and perhaps would have parted with some tales from school. But today was a gloomy day and the two faces reflected thus. With shaky voice, she said, ‘I would like to take him to the general hospital.’ Mr Mulbah merely nodded, even though something in him told him that Sebastian had crossed the rubicon. From experience more than scientific fact, he knew when a person was very, very sick and beyond help. He knew that even the best centre would be useless under such circumstances and he had come to accept that most people in the tropics would improve within the first six hours when a combination of antimalarial and the antibiotic treatments were

istered if they were going to. If that failed, he was always humble enough to throw in the towel; this was the case with poor Sebastian. He quickly disconnected the intravenous fluid and the feeding tube through his nose was removed. Reuben once again lifted Sebastian onto his shoulders and ran towards the already waiting ambulance.

Back at home, Joy tried to convince her father Rufus that she didn’t know the whereabouts of the other family . Sceptical, Mr Rufus persisted. ‘Joy, do you mean to tell me that you have absolutely no idea where your mother’s gone? I sent a taxi to collect her from work. Surely you must have seen her by now? And where’s Reuben got to? He should have been home hours ago for his tea.’ ‘I’ve no idea,’ she answered bluntly. ‘But you’ve prepared supper for them. Surely you must know something?’ ‘Yes, I did. But after that I went to see one of my friends and returned only an hour ago,’ she lied, trying to bide herself some time. ‘And the fact that our home was deserted and that none of your brothers and sisters had returned for supper didn’t bother you?’ Joy didn’t reply and neither did her father expect a response. He left her leaning by the door and slammed the door behind him, still wondering how best to approach the problem. He thought of visiting the nearby health centre, but none of them had been poorly that morning, so where could they have got to? He was becoming anxious.

At 7.30 p.m., Sebastian died in the Agenebode Medical Centre. He was only 6 years old, but age had little to do with achievement. The goodwill of his parents had rubbed off on him; it was as if a village nobleman just died. If his father was less prominent, his body would have been deposited in the hospital morgue, pending the full settlement of the hospital bill. But shortly after his death, the hospital ambulance was already carrying his corpse to the Rufus’ household,

well aware that the hospital bill would be settled all in good time. Mrs Rufus rode behind the ambulance in a taxi. She could see in her mind’s eye the cold, motionless body of her 6-year-old son. This was the first major calamity in the nucleus of her family. She had been satisfied with two boys and three girls, but in the twinkle of an eye, one had been snatched from her, leaving her with just one boy. Immediately, she resolved to have more children; one more boy to replace Sebastian. It was her way of dealing with the grief at the time. But could Sebastian ever be replaced? Would she have another son with the same build and mannerisms as Sebastian? What if the next one turned out to be a girl? No, it couldn’t. Surely fate wouldn’t deal her that one. Nature knew that she needed a boy. It occurred to her just how much she loved Sebastian. No one ever hated their children, but her love for Sebastian was deeper than most people could imagine. Sebastian was just like her husband Rufus in every respect. The tears were flowing freely now as the ambulance and her taxi snaked towards the house. It was a melancholy procession that arrived on the doorstep a few minutes later. The ambulance deposited the body at the Rufus’ household, which became the meeting point of all the inhabitants of Agenebode that night. Even those who didn’t know Sebastian went there because they knew Mr Rufus or because they’d heard that he was the secretary of the local government, or that they were connected to the family in some way. The body was carried through to the guest room and covered with a fine linen. Now, she needed to confront her husband with the terrible news.

Mr Rufus refused to accept what was happening. He tore up the stairs and entered the guest room, expecting to be told that it was only a joke and to see Sebastian lying down in bed smiling and requesting for one thing or another. But instead of finding consolation, he saw several tear-soaked faces and a white bundle on the bed. Everything seemed so surreal. All these people can’t be wrong, surely? He walked purposefully to the bed and tore the white sheet back, revealing Sebastian’s body, now cold and stiff. He stooped and undid his son’s chain from around his neck and then he walked back down to the sitting room. In deep agony, he sat down on the sofa and allowed his son’s chain to rest on his right palm. With his left middle finger, he traced some incoherencies on the table.

In Agenebode, the remains of a child must be buried that day shortly after the death and so by 11.30 p.m. Sebastian’s remains were buried in the mission’s cemetery. Joy pretended to be too sick to leave her room to attend the funeral procession, despite appeals from well-meaning people. Indeed, for ten days, she remained indoors, declining all invitations and refusing sustenance, being fed only spiritually. That served two purposes: enhanced spiritual growth and a believable front that her brother’s death had devastated her. Inwardly, she laughed to her heart’s content when she overheard her parents contemplating inviting a psychiatric nurse to examine her in the hope of avoiding the loss of yet another family member. It was laughable. If only they could see her now, behind closed doors, they would know that it was Joy who was the formidable foe. In the spiritual world, her fortune was to increase as theirs decreased. And, what’s more, she was to advance in spirit and anything physical would be sacrificed in her bid to climb the ladder.

When Joy’s spurious ten-day period of mourning came to an end, the whole family was only too pleased to welcome her back to the breakfast table. What nobody noticed was that despite ten days of abstinence from food, she hadn’t lost any weight. Instead, she was robust and her face shone with satisfaction. The gloomy atmosphere in the family hadn’t affected her in the slightest. But all this was lost on the over-joyous parents of the crafty Joy, who were just pleased to see her. The family recovered fairly quickly once she was back to normal and Sebastian lived on only in their memories, pictures, clothes and exercise books that bore his childish scribbles. Such reminders of Sebastian were carefully coveted by Eucharia. Initially, she would cry whenever she looked over them, but now she no longer exhibited such strong emotions and would just ire the boy or rather the figments of the boy that would have grown up to become just another Rufus. Within a few months, she was pregnant, authenticated by medical examinations and laboratory results. Gradually, her emotions shifted from the past to the future. Would her unborn baby be a boy or a girl? She wanted it to be just like Sebastian; not just another boy, but Sebastian. She wanted to establish the sex of

the baby in her womb, to the degree that this desire had become inordinate. If they had been living in the advanced countries of the West, she would have been told the sex of a child, which could have been determined by a scan during the first few weeks of pregnancy. She was prepared to try anything in order to benefit from such advances in medical technology. On several occasions, she suppressed the desire to tell her husband that she would like to travel to England, or the United States to establish the sex of her unborn child. Gradually, the ion diminished and six months after the death of Sebastian, she was finally satisfied with the indisputable fact that she was pregnant – three months pregnant. A curious thought strayed into her mind: how can you be so sure that you’re pregnant? This drove her to a nearby clinic, where the diagnosis of pregnancy was once again made.

The next meeting of the of Joy’s coven was to take place in a week’s time. Joy was happy that her mother was pregnant again; there was no doubt about that. Even a blind man could see that a clear bulge had appeared below her umbilicus. To be sure, Joy had gone into her spirit and there was no doubt that her mother was, indeed, four months pregnant and would, in five months from now, give birth a baby boy. That gave her some consolation, but Joy didn’t relish the prospect of welcoming the new arrival into their family. Her happiness was achieved through the realisation that she could appreciate much more in the spiritual realm with lesser physical pains. Certainly, a miscarriage was nothing compared to the death of a child that had been welcomed and included in the family. Besides, the birth of this child could mean more prey for her to sacrifice in order to climb another rung on the spiritual ladder. Each morning, she inspected her mother and her unborn child, and on each occasion, she feared that something might happen and deny her the opportunity of utilising the child for spiritual antecedents. The spiritual realm was the first place to effect an action before its physical manifestation and she knew that any spiritual attack on her family would have to be channelled through her. That realisation gave her additional satisfaction, for it meant that she had grown into a demigod. She was now ready for another meeting in the clouds and within the space of just

one year, she had climbed seven spiritual rungs. Now, her insignia included a grey gown, with a red ribbon pinned to her left shoulder. Indeed, Mrs Jack had occupied that very position ten years earlier. So Joy dressed up in her current spiritual attire and before embarking on the necessary spiritual preparations, she shut all the doors and windows and lay down on the bed. A minute later, she lay there as still as a log. She no longer had any difficulty extricating her spiritual from her physical being. The time was about midnight, just before the zero hour, when she ed though to the other side and she was soon hovering over her parents; she had worn a mask that evening, so that if any of them were spiritually elevated enough to dream, her identity would still be protected. It was a necessary precaution, given the past few months, even though she knew that her parents didn’t believe in the existence of witches and witchcraft. She hovered directly above her mother. It wasn’t difficult pushing her right hand into her mother’s womb and plucking off the foetus. Hungrily, she lapped up the blood that oozed out and in less than a second, she was through with the process. Her mother only winced and quickly, her face lost all traces of unease. With more than thirty seconds before the meeting, Joy embarked on some inconsequential adventures just for amusement. First, she sought to find out how much her parents had in their s and in the event of the death of any of their children, which of them would they favour. She was surprised to find that her father had only $5,000 in his private and that in their t , they had just $20,000. She discovered that Reuben was to inherit everything when her father died. For some seconds, she entertained some envy, but she quickly overcame it. Material things didn’t matter to her the only thing she couldn’t overcome was the ease with which her father had named Reuben as the apparent heir. She knew that it was supposed to be her right as the firstborn, but that right had been denied her. Because of her anger, the pain was indelible. She soon resolved to kill Reuben. Reuben must die, though perhaps not today. That would leave her parents with no choice but to bequeath all they had to her, the eldest of their three surviving daughters and children. She resolutely decided not to touch her two sisters Tina and Mary. She flew swiftly through the roof into the cool, serene, breezy atmosphere of Agenebode into the clouds and in less than a second, she was at the venue of the meeting. The prince was not expected to be there that day. Apart from Mrs Jack,

she was the highest-ranking guest; a remarkable feat. She had done a lot for the kingdom, much more than some other people, who had been in the kingdom ten years before her. She took her seat and a moment later, the meeting kicked off.

Chapter Ten

It was Monday and Mrs Eucharia was invigorated by the weekend’s rest. Indeed, the doctors had advised her to have rest at some point during the day and she often exchanged light conversations with her husband during these snatched moments at lunchtime. At breakfast that morning, they spoke about her dream the previous night, in which she was given a tortoise, but an old scarecrow had forcibly dispossessed her of the tortoise. ‘A tortoise of all creatures?’ and both she and her husband laughed. She couldn’t get over it. Dreams were supposed to be related to psychological thoughts that were buried deep in the subconscious and she couldn’t the last time she’d dreamt about tortoise. Eventually, she found consolation in the realisation that when she was much younger, she had found a tortoise once near a village stream. Yes, the mind and the brain are very intricate and could store information for years! With that, she had forgotten all about her dream and went to work happily. The day progressed smoothly, especially for a Monday morning. Indeed, her work load was much reduced these days and she had employed an assistant manager to help her during the confines of her pregnancy, in accordance with the doctor’s advice. Occasionally, there were times when she was sure that she saw some cynicism in the eyes of her new staff member. She recalled that a young man had once told himself that a woman was just a woman, irrespective of her position. Therefore, she made it a point of duty to be more scrupulous. Every now and then, whenever she ed Sebastian, she effectively replaced that thought with one about her unborn baby. She was now aware that all her conventional clothes were becoming too small for her and she was also conscious of the fact that she needed to use the restroom a lot more frequently than usual. Then she became aware of some discomfort and pains in her lower abdomen. A sense of fear gripped her, but she refused to submit to unfounded apprehension. As soon as she stepped in the bedroom that afternoon for her

afternoon rest, she pulled the covers aside and inspected her abdomen intently. What could this be? Blood? She was confused. It was quite unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Bleeding and pain during the fourth month of pregnancy wasn’t normal, so she quickly dressed and called for help. The Agenebode Medical Centre wasn’t far away and Mrs Rufus was soon sitting before the doctor in the gynaecology clinic. Her pensive face urged the doctor on. He hesitated, for he knew how much his patient wanted that baby, but it was too late. He couldn’t do anything to stop or change the course of events. The examination was unequivocal: widely dilated cervix, painful uterine contractions and profuse bleeding. There was no doubt in his mind that the miscarriage couldn’t be prevented. The doctor announced gravely, ‘Madam, we would like to it you for rest and sedation. We will keep you informed, depending on the outcome of your treatment.’ Eucharia wasn’t satisfied; she wanted to know what was happening. ‘For how long?’ ‘For as long as is necessary.’ ‘Do you think you can help me?’ ‘You will need to be itted and then if the bleeding and the pain fail to subside, we might have to adopt a more aggressive treatment,’ the doctor answered truthfully. ‘Like what?’ Eucharia asked, now growing concerned. The doctor dropped the stethoscope that had hung round his neck on the table and he spoke to her honestly. ‘Madam, if the symptoms persist, then it means that a miscarriage is inevitable. We will have no other choice but to proceed with an abortion or a D&C. The bleeding could create more problems than you could imagine and we don’t want that to happen. Let’s just take you in to be on the safe side for now and let events run their course.’

Dr Charles had now been at St Paul’s Hospital in Enugu for three weeks. Shortly after his internship, he had managed to secure a job as a medical officer at the hospital, unaware of the fact that his talents would be wasted there professionally. Just less than two years ago, he would have trembled at the very thought of running the clinic alone. Apart from professional confidence and competence, he had also grown spiritually and he couldn’t help thinking about Professor John, his friend Joseph, Professor Lund, Mrs Ford and all his earlier acquaintances during his spiritual infancy. He sympathised with Professor John, because with the benefit of hindsight, he knew that it must have caused him tremendous embarrassment to have been challenged in front of all the ward staff. He could still see the agonised expression on the face of the college provost that faithful day on 24 June 1991. For the first time, it occurred to him that he had ed the employ of St Paul’s Hospital on 24 June 1992; one year after his spiritual eyes had been opened. He had noticed the very first day he had spoken with the medical director of St Paul’s Hospital that he was, in-fact, a tortoise. But unlike the scene he’d caused the day when he’d discovered that Professor John was a leopard, he had kept his knowledge to himself and thus an event that could have disorganised hospital went unnoticed. Had he still been an infant, then perhaps Dr Walters would have been his enemy by now. The huge figure had sat behind a large oak table with the inscription Dr Walter W. H., MBBS (IB) FRCS, and he’d grinned broadly as soon as he’d entered his office. Dr Charles’ heart missed a beat, but it was short-lived. He had been received quickly and he had wondered whether the matron who had ushered him into the director’s office had also noticed that Dr Walter was a tortoise. He was not surprised, though, that the matron hadn’t seen anything and that she knew nothing concerning the short pad-like hands, the hairless head and the huge shell behind the table. He knew who he was dealing with even before their discussion commenced, for he had prepared for it. That’s one advantage of having a good spiritual eyesight, for with this ability, it would be possible to forestall avoidable misfortune and to counteract little pranks from a tortoise man like Dr Walter. The latter struck the table with his pad-like hands to stress a point. ‘Welcome to our institution. I trained at Ibadan, too, so it would be unnecessary to ask you mundane questions like how you would manage a malaria patient or any such things. Suffice to say, therefore, that I would be pleased to offer you a position, provided we can agree on your remuneration and the schedule.

‘It may please you to know that we have facilities for accommodation and we would be more than happy to make this available to you if that suits you.’ Dr Charles refused to embrace Dr Walter’s proposal. He needed the accommodation, but he would not jump at it, for he knew better. Dr Walter dangled it as a carrot; he knew that the stick was sure to follow. He didn’t want to be exploited. If Dr Walter wasn’t a tortoise or, more appropriately, if Dr Charles was ignorant, he would have grasped the offer with both hands and he would have paid dearly for that. He who dinned with the devil must use a long spoon. He pretended not to have heard Dr Walter. ‘Thanks for the compliment. I appreciate the privilege our Alamata could bestow on any one who ed through her. Well, I do not know exactly what you require of me, whether you require a full-time or part-time doctor? As for me, I can be available twenty-four hours a day, given adequate remuneration.’ ‘That’s good. But if you’ve got any accommodation problems, we could assist you. We’ve more than enough facilities here. Actually, one of our doctors has just left this complex. He used to cover for the hospital between the hours of 5.00 p.m. and 8.00 p.m.; we gave him a three-bedroomed apartment, fully furnished, for his efforts,’ Dr Walter said innocently. But Dr Charles was not to be deceived. Only one desire could have made a tortoise-man like Dr Walter be so generous: a desire to exploit others. Apparently, the said doctor had left his employ when he could no longer bear the inconveniences being available throughout the night that the hospital position engendered. It was a subtle way of making a doctor available round the clock and Dr Charles wasn’t ready for that sort of commitment. Besides, he would expect to receive adequate compensation for such a privilege. ‘And how much are you offering for a full-time position?’ The war of wits lasted for more than an hour. It was obvious to Dr Charles that his employer would have preferred a naive doctor to be standing before him, who would have not read the writing on the wall. Such a person would have agreed to his offer, without making demands. Dr Charles used his nous to box Dr Walter into a corner. At the end, Dr Charles was to be paid as a full-time doctor; it was always an advantage to know the spiritual aura of anybody one was dealing with. Spiritual information could be invaluable in such situations.

Chapter Eleven

Dr Charles acclimatised himself within three months. Many people knew and loved him, not just as a prophet, but as an astute, educated man and using his spiritual skills, he was able to sharpen his professional skills and he could unmask the unseen causes of ailments. Patients preferred him to his director Dr Walter. He knew that it was a dangerous development though, for Dr Walter and any other doctor, for that matter, wouldn’t take kindly to losing their patients to someone else; and especially not to a younger, less experienced and less qualified one. But he wasn’t bothered. From the outset, he knew he had just a few months to spend at St Paul’s Hospital and he was determined to enjoy his time there; his waxing popularity only invigorated that resolve. Indeed, he actively encouraged it and occasionally, patients would ignore Dr Walter in favour of him, even visiting him at his house when he was off duty; Mrs Ford was one such patient. Each visit from Mrs Ford was always a memorable event, not simply because of the gifts of food, fruit or money that she bestowed upon him, but because of the joy of knowing that he’d played an essential role in alleviating the pains and sorrows of his patient. Mrs Ford’s son was also his own joy, for he would ponder over life, the transformation and growth from a foetus to a neonate, through to infancy, childhood and adulthood. He wondered about the growth in all aspects of life that accompanied such a transformation. For instance, the gradual growth of a tiny infant’s hands compared to those of adult hands that could work on the farm, operate complex machines, perform intricate surgeries, and all such fine skills fascinated him. Most people took life for granted. How would one know the infant’s palms that would become callouse-ridden, reddened or soft and leathery in adulthood? There was no way of knowing, as man doesn’t control his own fate. Dr Charles smiled to himself. Only a year ago, he himself had paid little attention to things he couldn’t readily and he had taken for granted the beauty of the early morning sun, the beauty of the green leaves and the intrigues of growth from the seedlings of fruit-baring plants. He crossed the well-maintained lawn between the hospital building and the doctor’s quarter. Today was antenatal day, his favourite day. He had, indeed,

grown in spirit and could tell, spiritually, the position, presentation, sex and condition of the unborn child. He didn’t have to send the mother for expensive and time-consuming investigations. Initially, his gift had frightened him, but it didn’t take much getting used to. By gazing at a pregnant abdomen, he could see with amazing clarity through the skin, the tissues and the muscles to the uterus. Most didn’t believe, but with time and with the vindication of his earlier prophecies, there were few people these days who doubted what he said. Any investigations he ordered these days were mere formalities, for he had keen, spiritual eyes. The waiting room was full to capacity and as he walked into his consulting room, the women murmured among themselves. ‘That’s the doctor. That’s the doctor. He’s a special doctor.’ He tried to ignore them, because praises of the moment meant nothing to him; all he knew came from the spirit and couldn’t have been out of his own enterprise. The day’s work began as soon he sat down in his office. The acclaim he gained as a gifted doctor placed a crushing workload on him. He often wondered whether they were trying to kill him. By 3.30 p.m., he had attended to well over forty-five patients and he knew that most of them simply avoided Dr Walter in favour of consulting with him. His stay here wasn’t supposed to last for any length of time. But he wasn’t afraid of the outcome of the unfolding event and was well endowed to face the future. He knew that despite the ambivalence of Dr Walter, deep-down, he nursed some grudges and that was not to be unexpected. He had just seen his last patient for the day and so he stood up warily to retire to the safety and comfort of his apartment. His thoughts turned to the physiology of obstetrics, the near perfection of the foetal environment and the changes that take place at birth, with the ultimate goal of living life outside the womb. Was it God’s work? he wondered. He opened the door and walked past the empty waiting room. The blazing sun was a menace that afternoon and as he thought about the intensity of the sun, he wondered if it had anything to do with the depleting of the Ozone layer as held by scientific and even spiritual explanations. He didn’t allow that thought disturb him, though. Yet, he knew that every action and reaction on this earth had spiritual or antecedent connotations. The realisation of this was the first step

towards the solution of all problems that confront man. Again, it amazed Dr Charles that people often concentrate on the periphery of life and that they are complacent about what they cannot see. He lifted his face almost recklessly to visualise his apartment, when he noticed Mrs Ford waiting patiently by his door with another woman, most probably Mrs Ford’s sister. He knew a naive woman when he saw one and he usually accepted that there was more to life than meets the eye. A revolting feeling of frustration almost overpowered him as he trudged along towards his apartment. The satisfaction of seeing Mrs Ford was his only consolation as he crossed the lawn into his apartment that hot afternoon, with Mrs Ford and her sister in tow. Mrs Ford was eager to pester him with questions about anything she could imagine. Dr Charles could see her generous smile and her warm, lively face, but he also saw the cynicism on her companion’s face. She was certainly elegant, but her elegance was overwhelmed by her snobbish disposition, to the degree that he almost developed a hatred for her, before even speaking to her. Her offences were forgivable. It was ignorance that was her problem. And he knew, too, that she wasn’t alone. Elegant people often snubbed the spiritual things. Certainly, he ed how he’d met Mrs Ford. What if his prophecy and prescription failed? Perhaps the authorities of the college hospital of Ibadan would have withheld his degree certificate. Perhaps Mrs Ford would have held only contempt for him or perhaps he wouldn’t have waxed stronger in his belief. Yet, he knew that not many prophets were actually prophets. Of course, there were opportunists, fortune tellers and occasionally just businessmen, he told himself with some satisfaction. But I am a prophet, who was born a prophet and who was ordained by God himself. Mrs Ford was now handing over the little Charles to Dr Charles as she said, amidst a smile, ‘Thank you, doctor. Good evening, sir.’ ‘Good evening, Mummy,’ he responded. Mrs Ford, being the mother of the little Charles named after him, effectively became his mother. He handled little Charles with care and wondered whether his tiny limbs would be used for creation or destruction. Would his palms become tough and stubborn, or soft and leathery? Above all, it baffled him why men weren’t being given a choice; he wouldn’t have chosen to be a prophet by any means, but now he had no choice. He smiled broadly at Mrs Ford and

searched his breast pocket for his key, while holding the little Charles with his right hand. Mrs Ford moved closer to him and accepted the little boy, her bundle of joy, and whispered, ‘This is my sister Eucharia Rufus, whom we talked about some weeks ago.’ Then, more audibly, she added, ‘Sister Eucharia, this is Dr Charles, my saviour. Don’t be intransigent, sister. I used to doubt, just like you, but now I know better.’ Mrs Rufus said nothing. Instead, she walked calmly but elegantly behind her sister as they entered the now open door of Dr Charles’ apartment. ‘Please, take a seat,’ Dr Charles said. His statement was meant for Mrs Ford’s sister alone, for he would have expected Mrs Ford to realise that they had become intimate friends and therefore all formalities could be waived. As they sat down, Mrs Ford continued with her groundwork. ‘Mine started like a dream, too. To think that an apparently innocuous dream I had about eleven years ago was responsible for my woes! Even now, I still feel queer. Could it be that I’ve been dreaming all along or that life itself is but a dream?’ As soon as Dr Charles dropped his keys on the dining table, he entered the bedroom and then quickly undressed and changed into some causal wear; a pair of white shorts and a white T-shirt, with the inscription “Out of Tune”. Then he sat down directly opposite his guests. He ired Mrs Rufus, but that iration didn’t permeate his skin, which had toughened over the years against physical things. For instance, since being parted from Ruth, he hadn’t so much as touched another woman. It wasn’t a simple achievement for a young-man like him and honestly speaking, he couldn’t have achieved it by his own merit. If not for society and the African penchant for children, he would have remained celibate for the rest of his life. Briefly, he thought about what society was in its purest form. Should the society of an individual constitute the poignant coexistence of people of frankly alien attributes? He had considered it before and each time, he had concluded that society was a term that needed to be redefined. A society should comprise people of like minds or at least of near harmonious disposition. That would be the climax of development and civilisation. Of

course, such segregation should disregard sex, wealth and race. Suddenly, he realised how futile such a search would prove to be. That sort of enterprise would need astute spiritualists to become the real man, only to be assessed without bias from the spirit. Thereafter, goat-men, leopard-men, tortoise-men and serpent-men would be segregated from one another. Indeed, many thoughts crossed his mind. Would this require cages? If anything, is it in this present dispensation that a goat-man must be separated and protected from the leopard or the lions. Though no one should bother to protect one from one’s own species. He took in the countenance of the two women opposite him. He saw the simple, bold nasal bridge on each face and knew they must have inherited the features from their parents, but they were poles apart. Why, Mrs Ford was optimistic, yet her sister was in deep cogitation and was generally pessimistic. Mrs Ford’s face had her life written on it: a long-standing agony that only recently had found cause to be happy. On the other hand, Eucharia’s face hadn’t seen any difficulties until lately and the dark shadows around her eyes contrasted with the supple face and the well-nourished skin. Dr Charles, unlike most prophets, didn’t have to pray to be transported into the spiritual realm. All he had to do was to concentrate his thoughts on any issue or person in that state, in which the physical would then give way to the spiritual and he would see, hear and perceive all things spiritual, irrespective of time, place or circumstances. Mrs Ford didn’t need any prophecy. She knew all about her present and future through him. He concentrated his thoughts directly on Mrs Eucharia Rufus and a second later, the physical drifted away in front of him, just like a leaf of paper. A new page had opened in front of him. It was of the sprit and from the spirit and no one else in that room could appreciate it. It lasted for about ten minutes and then the piece of paper wafted back and the physical page became obvious once more. He saw the astonishment on Mrs Rufus’ face and knew that she had also seen it about five or ten minutes ago. He knew that Mrs Rufus was still sceptical, but now scepticism was mingled with curiosity. He smiled a knowing smile. He knew he was about to erase all her doubts. In an even tone, he began, ‘Mrs Rufus, live life as if you could see that which is invisible.’ He paused to take in the impact of his statement on his target. ‘Mrs Rufus,’ he continued, ‘the universe is vast and awesome. The earth is but a planet in our solar system. Numerous other systems exist in our own galaxy, the

Milky Way. Of course, other galaxies also exist. Do you agree with me?’ Mrs Rufus only nodded, her eyes fixed on Dr Charles’ forehead. He continued, ‘But, obviously, you have neither seen nor touched any other planet, let alone another system or galaxy. In effect, the fact that you have not been to Jupiter doesn’t exclude the existence of that planet. ‘When extrapolated, one can argue that the mere fact that scientists haven’t established the existence of a spiritual realm doesn’t mean that it isn’t in existence. Therefore, perhaps with time, science might be able to develop to the extent that spiritual things may be explained by theories. Things happened in the spiritual realm before they manifested on this earth. Thus, I didn’t meet your sister by accident. Her acceptance of my advice wasn’t her own taking, either. All these things were initiated and controlled by some spiritual intelligence. You may not see them, but they exist. Take it or leave it. The sorrow of your home, the death of your son and the two miscarriages you suffered from were accomplished through the spiritual.’ He glanced at Mrs Rufus and saw a semblance of willingness to listen. He also noticed that she wanted to keep him talking. He wasn’t surprised, for the curiosity of man was legendary. It drives scientists to near insanity as they enquire and labour to acquire facts and near facts. The same curiosity compelled even cynics to visit prophets and naive medicine men. At last, he said, ‘Joy, your daughter, has a strong pact with the prince of spiritual wickedness in high places. Their meetings take place periodically in the clouds. At one such meeting, Sebastian was sacrificed. He forewarned you all about it, but you didn’t listen. Joy was also responsible for your miscarriage. In one of your dreams, a scarecrow dispossessed you and you were given a tortoise. It actually took place spiritually and if you re-collect what happened, you will realise that you had your first miscarriage shortly afterwards. Your daughter is a very aggressive, spiritual personage. Do not be deceived. Your daughter is your number one enemy.’ Mrs Eucharia Rufus listened attentively. But doubt began to creep in as soon as Dr Charles had ended his speech. It was unbelievable. How could her innocent daughter be so wicked? Yet, everything he told her was true. She had no doubt about that, either. Only his explanation was weird, for she knew that Joy had neither eaten nor drunk anything for almost two weeks following Sebastian’s death. She was convinced that somebody must have incited him against her

daughter. Who else could that be apart from her sister Mrs Ford? But when? Both of them came here together. Moreover, only Rufus knew of her dreams and the events that preceded the death of Sebastian and her miscarriage. Yes, nobody else knew. Even her sister Lynda Ford didn’t know. She felt defeated. How could it be that Joy was a witch? She shook her head in disbelief. ‘But, doctor, Joy almost died following Sebastian’s death. For ten days, she neither ate nor drank. She locked herself in her room for days on end, pining for his loss. Moreover, my husband and I don’t believe in things like witches and spirits. We are pragmatic and we apply reasonable and workable principles into our lives. I believe that the events that have unfolded are purely circumstantial. For instance, I wouldn’t have come here without my sister’s persistence and so I am here not because of any predestination or events that may have happened in the spiritual realm. Joy is the most lovable of all my children. Besides, I believe that a wicked person cannot completely conceal their true personality from relatives and friends. Joy is outstanding, homely and kind.’ Charles glanced at Mrs Rufus. Her clear eyes probed deeply within him and she earnestly appealed to him to expunge such a cruel thought from his mind. She wanted him to see Joy through her eyes and from her perspective. As far she was concerned, Joy was a lovable child. But, in the doctor’s eyes, the issue went beyond that. Accepting that Joy was a wicked witch was tantamount to her acceptance that she had lost yet another child at her hands. He knew she would resist that strongly. Anyone would resist the loss of two children, first her son and now her daughter, in less than a year. Then there was the small matter of the miscarriage. He sympathised with her, but in this case, his role was minimal. He was only a link between Mrs Rufus and the spiritual plain. ‘Mrs. Rufus, I know that you love your daughter dearly. I’m not saying that she should be killed. No, I only want to help save you from her and to save her from the wicked intelligences that have taken over her body. You daughter is full of wicked spirit beings and the atrocities she commits are well beyond her personal disposition to evil. Following Sebastian’s death, Joy fed on blood and flesh only for ten days. Or did you not notice that she hadn’t lost any weight, despite her abstinence from food and water? The things of the spirit resembled the colourful crocodile on the river bed. A fisherman or anyone paddling thorough a crocodile infested river will see only the luminous red glow of the eyes of the crocodile.

Even though the crocodile was invisible, the wise man would be conscious of the deadly owner of the fascinating, if not attractive, “eyes of the river”. Take it or leave it. If you were to direct your spiritual searchlight on your daughter, you would be surprised to discover that Joy is poised to render you childless. But something can be done, so don’t ignore the problem until it’s too late.’ ‘Thank you, doctor; I will consider all that you’ve said. And with the consent of my husband, I will see you in a few weeks time. But if I many ask, how are you going to tackle this problem?’ Eucharia asked with some sarcasm. Then, turning to her sister, she asked impudently, ‘Is that all you brought me here for? To be told that my daughter is a witch?’ Mrs Ford understood her concern; she’d hardly expected anything less. She knew that her sister Eucharia desired physical, scientific treatment, instead of spiritual deliverance. She knew, too, that only somebody of Dr Charles’ calibre could solve the problem. She only hoped that her sister wouldn’t turn Dr Charles against her. Yet, she herself was not prepared to give up. The problem transcended from the nucleus of the Rufus family. It went beyond internal family wrangling. It was a conflagration that was threatening to engulf and devour relatives, neighbours and anybody connected to the Rufus family. In fact, the whole town was in danger by the very presence of a spiritual, aggressive focus like Joy. That truth made Mrs Ford paralysed with fear. She ed the horrors of childlessness and barrenness very well, for she had been just that herself for more than ten years, until little Charles came along. Anything that could impose childlessness on her was directly opposed to her way of living. Swiftly, she knelt down before her sister and implored her to reconsider her decision and her attitude towards Dr Charles. ‘Dr Charles is the only man I know who can help you … no, us.’ Turning to Dr Charles, she begged, ‘Please forgive my sister and disregard her intransigence. Don’t forget that I was just like her that day we met for the very first time.’ Dr Charles saw a look of sheer desperation in her eyes. The infant Charles was the cornerstone of her life. Dr Charles was grieved by Eucharia’s stubbornness. He knew that with time, Eucharia would come running back to him, but at what cost? Would Charles be next? Or perhaps Reuben? He didn’t want to answer that question, for the little Charles had become dear to him, too. Reflexively, he turned to Eucharia and tried to penetrate her mind again.

‘ what you sister went through for ten years. People wrote her off. People believed that she was barren. When I told her that your daughter Joy was responsible, she didn’t believe me at first. You have refused to believe me, too. First, it was your sister Mrs Ford, but now her eyes are open and if they remain thus, she will have no choice than to look inwards, and your family will be and already is a natural choice. If you refuse to listen now, then don’t come to me when your family has been completely consumed, for it will be too late and I will be powerless to help you.’ A sense of uneasiness descended on the sitting room. The despair in Mrs Ford’s eyes intensified and he saw, too, that Eucharia Rufus remained recalcitrant. He stared deeply at her and concentrated his thoughts on the family in Agenebode, a distance of 300 kilometres from Enugu. He saw vividly the modest, fivebedroomed abode through his spiritual eyes. Reuben was studying a book at the dinning table and Tina was busy in the kitchen, while Mary lay asleep on the sofa. He felt an unnatural desire to disclose what he saw. For Mrs Ford’s sake, he would try again to save Joy and all those around her. Looking intensely at Eucharia, he said, ‘Even now, my dear lady, Joy is watching us from the safety and comfort of her room through her spiritual mirror. By the door of her wardrobe, there is a mirror which, to naive eyes like yours, is just a normal mirror. But to those with spiritual eyes, it is a direct link with the spiritual world. Joy could inflict injuries, maim or kill though this mirror. Reuben is her next target. I could see her in the spirit – a slender, faircomplexioned, tall, rather pretty young woman eyeing Reuben, your son. I cannot stress how important it is that you don’t overlook the problem. If you should fall pregnant again, I can guarantee that it will terminate within three months, and when you decide to give up any further attempts at child bearing, Reuben’s life will be in danger. Mark it somewhere in your diary. You have been warned.’ Eucharia refused to accept that Joy was a witch and the architect of all her troubles in life. Even if witches existed, in her eyes Joy couldn’t be one of them. That was not negotiable. But one thing she was not prepared to compromise on was any attempt on Reuben’s life. Joy … kill Reuben! What on earth for? She felt herself becoming angry, but what she didn’t know was what the object of her anger was directed at. Dr Charles, her sister Lynda or her daughter Joy? No matter who the culprit might be, it was better for her to master her own emotions and thereby prevent the creation of a scene here. She was too educated and too

sophisticated to let something like that happen. Mustering all her self-control, she suppressed the wave of anger that had welled up inside her and then a thought flickered through her. How did he know so much about her family and Joy, in particular? For some seconds, she almost softened towards Charles and his views. Inwardly, she began to work out a plan to convince her husband Mr Rufus to let the whole family be examined by Dr Charles. It crossed her mind that Lynda could have told Dr Charles everything about her family. The anger she had suppressed earlier surged forwards once more. It was now threatening to snowball into an evil ion. Instead of her younger sister, whom she had travelled all the way from Agenebode to Enugu to congratulate on the birth of her very first child, she saw a despicable, hateful gossip, bent on upsetting her life and her home. She discarded all the excuses Lynda had given her concerning her reluctance to visit her, despite her misfortunes. The reason was now obvious to her: it was jealously. Even now, she resented her presence in Enugu. The first chance she got, she would tell Lynda and leave for Agenebode. That was the most natural thing to do.

Chapter Twelve

Once she had arrived back home, Eucharia told her husband all about her encounter with Dr Charles. It was possible to decipher the pain she felt from the tone of her voice. As they discussed the matter over in the confines of their bedroom, Mr Rufus was unable to hide his disdain for Dr Charles. He wondered whether Dr Charles was, in fact, a trained medical doctor. ‘But how did you allow yourself to be drawn to such a fellow? Is he a native doctor of some repute or just one of those boys who try their hands at anything, just to make ends meet?’ Rufus asked in a cool, masculine tone. Eucharia lifted her head off her pillow and as if to emphasise her point, she gesticulated with her left hand as she said, ‘Dr Charles is a medical doctor at St Paul’s Hospital in Enugu. In fact, he trained at the University of Ibadan, where Lynda met him during his internship. I wouldn’t have visited him if I’d had the slightest idea that he wasn’t an orthodox doctor.’ She lay down in a self-satisfied manner and lifted her rich, dark hair seductively, which was consciously directed at her husband. Mr Rufus remained speechless for a long time as he ran his fingers through his wife’s hair. He knew what he would have said if Dr Charles had graduated from a less prestigious college. But apart from the fact that he himself was a product of the same university, he’d had always had immense respect for the University of Ibadan and especially its medical college. He was lost in thought, drifting back to his years in the university, when Eucharia nudged him and ran her fingers through his hairy chest. Coyly, she asked, ‘So then, however did you manage without me last night?’ For some minutes, Mr Rufus lay there bemused. Women and their problems remained a constant puzzle to him. He’d never understood why women preferred to hear lies to the truth, provided that glowing pictures were printed of them, of course. If Eucharia knew that for the first time in twenty years he’d felt really free last night, she wouldn’t have asked that question. He didn’t know how he’d stumbled on that thought, but last night, it had occurred to him that at 50 years

old, he was not getting younger. While he still felt strong, a voice he hadn’t heard before reminded him that he’d already spent much of his lifetime on earth. He had then pondered over what would become of him after his sojourn here on earth. After his death, would he simply decompose and return to the earth in another entity? Or would he then cease to exist? Is the cycle of life constituted of birth, development, adulthood, regression and then death? Was that all there was to this complex entity called man and life? He had virtually concluded the previous night that life in itself was undesirable when weighted against the backdrop of that recent morning’s outcry – culminating in the death of his son – of pain, sickness and pollution on this earth. But when he ed his children Reuben, Joy, Tina and Mary, he felt better. It was a consolation that they would bear his name and labour to perpetuate it, just as he had tried to keep his own father’s name alive. He fought back a feeling of fear that had intruded into his conscious mind concerning his family, in which his own family died in a fatal car accident or some other disaster. Would a catastrophe like that be the end of his lineage? The fear he felt inside him was tremendous, as it would be for anyone facing annihilation. It would appear that there’s an inbuilt, natural tendency for man to want to live forever; call it survival, if you like. His thoughts turned to nature, evolution and God. How did man come about to evolve in the first place? He had come to believe that evolution could explain the origin of man, but whatever the case might be, it was an extravagant waste of intellect and time to have crafted such a complex living machine like man without a foolproof mechanism to forestall its extinction. Would man one day disappear from the universe? Yet, despite yesterday’s so-called freedom, he wasn’t unaware of any feelings of incompleteness following Eucharia’s absence. Perhaps that was why his thoughts had degenerated into panic and why thoughts about life, death and what follows death had plagued him. None of the books he had researched last night had offered any consolation about the genesis of life, its purpose and its sequel. Eucharia nudged him again and asked playfully, ‘Darling, did you miss me last night?’ She was behaving like a teenager who was head over heels in love with a rather less enthusiastic young man. Mr Rufus’ excursion into the unknown was thus

aborted. The room was dark and the children were already asleep in their own rooms. Given the previous night’s separation, it was only natural that husband and wife should come together for their mutual good. But even as he tried to respond to Eucharia’s advances, he still couldn’t understand why a man lusted after a woman. Any real man would do that, even though the degree of inertia varied widely. He could no longer think about anything constructively any more. Life to him now meant the ion that burnt inside him. He knew that after his sexual gratification, he could think clearly once more. But, somehow, he knew that soon, he was sure to doze off in a blissful slumber, with his Eucharia wound around him in her own blissful slumber, until the equally puzzling beauty of the dark, starry night begot yet another wonder – the warm, early morning sun. Would the cycle ever end? He neglected that question as he kissed his wife tenderly, preferring ion to thoughts of evolution.

Dr Charles’ woke, refreshed and ready to start his shift at St Paul’s Hospital in Enugu, content in the knowledge that many people today would benefit from his special ability. The cordial suspicion between him and his boss had become intensified over recent months and while Dr Charles appreciated Dr Walters’ predicament and sympathised with him, there was no doubt that much profit could be accredited to the hospital owing to his presence. Equally, because of his ignorance and his refusal to conform to Dr Charles’ methods, a good number of Dr Walters’ patients had been lost to him. He was now caught between the devil and the deep blue sea; both options were unattractive. Dr Walter had never underestimated Dr Charles’ special ability, but neither had it gone unnoticed that Dr Walter was well aware that the younger man in his employ was not in the least bit surprised that their relationship had grown cold. This situation continued for quite a while as they jogged along together, though Dr Walters’ materialistic instinct counterbalanced his personal and professional dignity. Eventually, Dr Walter took the bull by the horns and as he drove towards the hospital complex, he had no doubt in his mind what he must achieve, for his own patient load had already dwindled considerably. Everybody preferred Dr Charles! Today, he would confront the man, with two options: sign a contract to

stay for at least twenty years or leave St Paul’s Hospital at once. If Dr Charles agreed on the former, then he had the potential of making a considerable amount of money from him, but he would have to handle Dr Charles carefully. He knew that dismissing Dr Charles from the hospital, rather than solving his problem, could in fact worsen it. Dr Charles might even establish his own hospital within the same area and if that was to happen, then he would be ruined. Only one course of action would solve the problem once and for all: to kill him. This thought enlightened his mood, though he realised that he wasn’t dealing with an ordinary man. Dr Charles was not a mere mortal and he would be sure to know if any plot against him had been forged. His mind was blank as he pulled up outside the hospital and so he decided to abolish all forms of unorthodox medical practices within his hospital. Yes, he would do nothing right now. He was the proprietor of the hospital and he didn’t have to seek anybody’s opinion before making any decisions. He was his own boss, answerable only to himself. He couldn’t risk the hospital’s reputation based on mere fantasies and figments of the doctor’s imagination. In his opinion, if it couldn’t be seen, then it couldn’t be real.

The sun was sending showers of yellow rays that bathed the hospital as the first rays of dawn broke across the horizon. But everybody knew that soon this would gradually give way to the harsh, bright tropical sun of Nigeria and Dr Charles hated the blazing sun. After much thought, he had decided to establish his own hospital and spiritual home. As far as he was concerned, he was good at his job and he wasn’t prepared to tolerate disbelief in his abilities by any other doctor, and especially not by Dr Walter, a tortoise-man. If he broke out on his own, then he wouldn’t be answerable to anyone else and he could get on with the job at hand of treating people. Just like it had happened at the university college hospital of Ibadan, and now St Paul’s Hospital, he resolved that being involved in any other centre would produce the same thing. People would always be sceptical of the unknown; of intangible things they couldn’t see, let alone understand. His problems would continue in the form of his own colleagues as long as he continued to practise these unorthodox methods in modern surrounds. Jealously had recreated walls between him and the other doctors, even the most accomplished among them. But why? he wondered as he gently tapped the door

of the director’s secretary and stepped into the office, as he had many times before. He would face the tortoise-man with his proposals. There was no need to be nervous, for it wasn’t as if he was going before a of fifteen professors. While he was waiting for Dr Walters to arrive, he reflected over his current situation. Would the establishment of his own hospital prove to be a success? Or would it degenerate into his complete isolation by all other doctors? Even more profound were questions about method and principles; the question about orthodox practises. Would it be like the blind leading the blind? Or could he enlighten people to come round to his methods and his way of thinking? Anyway, what were the standards for measuring spiritual standards against medical practise? A light sigh escaped through his lips as he was ushered into the chief medical director’s office. The sooner it was all out in the open, the sooner he could move on and help people, in the way that God had intended with his new gift.

Dr Walter wore a dark brown business suit that blended very well with his dark complexion. He asked the younger man to sit down and flashed a warm smile at him. Dr Charles ired his panache, the pleasant personality, harmless countenance and apparent candour of the man, which belied the true perception of the inner man. He looked directly at him and hoped that he delivered the appropriate message: that he was not deceived. He knew that he was no longer in his good books and had become a thorn in his side by the way he had been acting with him. Abruptly, he shifted his gaze, realising that the time had come to face the music. He was well aware that Dr Walter was considering his assassination as a possible solution to his problem and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. Perhaps removing himself from this hospital would guarantee his safety. The man behind the oak table had transformed into a tortoise before his eyes, but Doctor Charles was no longer afraid of him in either guise. His misgivings would have felt much better had he been facing the well-dressed, pleasantlooking young man he had seen behind the table earlier, but that was obviously not to be. How could a tortoise expect him to answer him seriously when transformed into this weird thing now seated in front of him? He barely managed to suppress his desire to dash out of the director’s office; he was too mature to behave that way and he had come too far now to turn back.

The tortoise brought his pad-like right hand down onto the table to stress a point. ‘Dr Charles, I thought we should remind you that St Paul’s Hospital is not a spiritual home; it is an orthodox medical centre. Indeed, it is the leading medical centre in this part of the country. I appreciate your good intentions, but the world is full of good intentions. The most important thing here is results and I have decided that the result here must be in parallel with the hospital’s policy. Any deviations could lead to you needing to seek employment elsewhere.’ Dr Walters was now in his human form again and a wry smile had creased his face. Dr Charles imagined that the tortoise in him would manifest only when speaking in a tongue-in-cheek manner. Could it be that Dr Charles could be seen by other people with spiritual eyes in his naked form? What would he look like? A lion, a sheep, a goat, a bull, a cat? He became confused; no man could possibly know precisely who he is except perhaps though a mirror. But it would be comforting to at least know what animal he represented. He turned and faced the tortoise before him. ‘Thank you for being frank with me. I’m not in the least bit surprised by your decision. In fact, I’m surprised that you’ve tolerated me for so long and it is to your credit that until now, our relationship has been most cordial. During my internship at the UCH, I faced the same problem. Even their knowledge couldn’t hope to even begin to flourish without the shackles of tradition bearing down on them. People are afraid to face the truth, the unknown, but I believe that we should be bold enough to appreciate the limitations of science. In mathematics, in natural science, everywhere one turns, one sees new methods, new ideas, new findings that threaten to eliminate seemingly well-established, practised methods, theories and principles. ‘Indeed, man may have exaggerated his true worth and knowledge and he could be coming together in the unknown of the kingdom of darkness right as we speak. If we accept that knowledge increases with each day, we should be bold enough to consider the implications of the implied fact that we don’t actually know that much. Is a man alive or dead, when he is supposed to be dead? Is there life beyond the tomb, or is physical death man’s chief goal in life? No matter what anyone thinks, I myself know that the spiritual realm exists. With time, man will come to accept this and perhaps convey this knowledge to others. That way, we will learn how to solve problems appropriately. That’s the only solution as far as I’m concerned.’

He looked at his boss for a split second and saw that Dr Walter was listening attentively; he knew that he had already made up his mind and irrespective of what he had to say now, he was destined to leave St Paul’s Hospital soon. But before he did so, he was determined to leave an indelible imprint on the mind of the older-man today as he continued, ‘Even in our everyday practise, we are aware that occasionally, people we least expect to die away, while others survive against all the odds. Is it not more appropriate to pause and to consider things beyond what we can actually see and with the naked eye? This way, we will come to accept that there is another plain of existence apart from our physical plain. Many people cannot even begin to appreciate it. Yes, it is not tangible, but it is certainly very pervasive.’ ‘Well I don’t know much about all that, but what I do know is that man has done so much to erode the frontiers of the ignorant. He has advanced in leaps and bounds over the years. This is seen as evidence in our mastering of our environment, which can be seen all around us in the form of improved transportation, telecommunication, health-care delivery and the narrowing of science and research,’ Dr Walter said. Then, quickly, he added, ‘Take medicine, for instance. In years gone by, tuberculosis was a great killer. Another main cause of death, malaria, is now preventable and its cure poses no serious challenge. Polio, plague, diphtheria and measles to mention but a few have now virtually been eradicated and these are veritable proof of the advances in preventative and curative medicine. These advances defied death and defined indolent spiritual epiphany.’ Dr Walter smiled triumphantly at Dr Charles, but the latter was not convinced. Indeed, no one would have been able to convince him, because he had seen and known that spiritual things exist with his own eyes. He had first-hand experience of it. To him, the issue went beyond the gains of research and science. How about the problems created by what appears to have been the gains of research? The carnage on our roads, violence from the mass production of weapons of mass destruction, the new, incurable disease in the form of AIDS, apparently created through man’s misdirected inquisitiveness? And what of the inability of man to know for certain of the origin of the genesis and purpose of life? Surely the origin of the singularity of the big-bang theory and the currently held view that some stars are older than the big bang itself leaves a hole in the theory. Again, Dr Charles reassured himself that man would definitely do better if he humbly accepted the existence and pre-eminence of the spirit over the physical,

and all the physical quantities of equation, observation, inferences and theories. He was on the verge of asking the director questions concerning what happens following death, but he quickly dismissed that idea, thinking better of it. After all, this was not the reason behind the meeting. Perhaps at a more conducive time and place, he could ask him again or any other apologist of man’s intellectual prowess, science and research, for that matter. He was here because Dr Walter had sent for him and because he’d been asked by him to desist from all unscientific practises at the hospital where he worked. That is, to desist from any diagnosis and prescription without scientific foundation. He glanced at Dr Walters and was irritated by the triumph depicted on his face. Again, he wondered whether the blind would one day lead the sighted. He had no doubt in his mind of what he should tell Dr Walter. ‘Thank you for allowing the time to hear my views. This hospital is yours and you reserve the right to run it the best way you see fit. That much is clear to me, but I also know that my practice is superior of the so-called scientifically approved principles and practises. It is not confined by the imperfections of scientific theories. I shall hold rigidly to it, because I know that it is real and rewarding. Indeed, I believe it to be more realistic than any scientific theories, except that in this field you need no laboratory, no chemical ingredients and no equipment in order to diagnose the problem. All you need is insight, a spiritual insight, coupled with a free mind. If you had these supernatural abilities, you would know what I was talking about. You would be able to see the root and the origin of what it is that I’m referring to. You would be able to see it with the naked eye.’

As he left the istrative block of St Paul’s Hospital, he turned and looked at the edifice, perhaps for the last time, with mixed feelings. Dr Charles had decided that he must leave if he was to move on and develop his spiritual tendencies. St Paul’s Hospital could establish its own hospital policies, based on their beliefs, leaving him to his own. He hoped and knew that he was going to operate without hindrance for the first time; he would combine the spiritual with the physical, orthodox medical practices, because any attempt at separating them was bound to be futile or less rewarding. He had already given his dream hospital a name: St Charles’ Total Health. Yes, Total Health would be formulated

to cater to the total health of all his clients: both the physical and the spiritual. St Charles’ Total Health already existed in the spiritual realm. On several occasions, he had seen a vision of the dream hospital and he genuinely believed it was the only sure way of avoiding petty jealousy and confrontation with other doctors. At his hospital, all such confrontations and squabbles wouldn’t exist. He convinced himself that Total Health would succeed at all costs and that it would be a force to reckon with. Changing the attitude of men towards the unknown was the way forward.

Chapter Thirteen

Professor John was yet to recover from the leopard myth. The bemused stares from the College Hospital community and even innocent glances irritated him. He ired the leopard as an animal but the derogatory allusion to him as one was unacceptable .It was now more than two years since the genesis of his predicament but he still felt as if it happened only yesterday. The 24th of June 1991 was indeed a red letter day in his life, a day his ego was bashed and his unrivalled profile in that premier teaching hospital dragged in the mud. Once again, he wondered whether he will ever get over that incident in his life. He ed the inability of the academic committee to rise up and fight for the redemption of his ego and the painful boosting of Dr. Charles’ profile by the unexpected outcome of Mrs. Ford’s encounter with that rascal. He knew he hated Dr. Charles and would exact his pound of flesh once the opportunity arose. If only he could discredit Dr. Charles, if only Professor Lamb ed his impression of schizophrenia, an incident that brought his self-esteem to its ebb would have been thrown into the dust bin of history. He cautioned himself against developing unnecessary and counterproductive feelings against the academic and disciplinary committee. Still boiling with bitterness towards Dr. Charles, he resolved to track him down at all cost. He had followed the young man’s progress very closely and could not understand the strange stories he heard from Dr. Walter, the Medical Director of the St. Paul Hospital, Dr. Charles’ employer. Although the former was against the latter’s unscientific approach to medicine, he was irked by the apparent acquiescence of such profanity. The unsuspecting public needed to be warned and protected from Dr. Charles. And he, John Olayinka was well placed to do that. He felt better for a split second but this soon vaporized when torched by the heat of his earlier failure to impale Dr. Charles at the College Hospital Ibadan. Paradoxically this appeared to be the momentum he needed, to incorporate an outsider in his crusade. Dr. Walter Hendricks, even though a product of the College of Medicine Ibadan, had been in private practice since graduation and could therefore be seen to be removed from the earlier imbroglio between he, Prof John and Dr. Charles.

He phoned Dr. Walters without hesitation and invited him to the next meeting of the academic and disciplinary committee hoping to find a means of inserting the menace of quacks in the medical profession into the agenda of the meeting in good time. He was pleased that his friend did not probe further or ask such question as ‘why me, etc.?’ He certainly will not have Dr. Walter think that this was a personal vendetta against Dr. Charles. On the other hand, he had little doubt about his plan: he would like Dr. Charles license ceased forth with. He knew that although the committee could not possibly guarantee that, a nod from her was a giant stride towards his goal. With a condemnation of his foe, he could personally approach the Medical and Dental Council in furtherance of his campaign. The meeting started promptly and Dr. Walter was in attendance as were all the committee . The former found his presence at the gathering quite refreshing because he knew virtually everybody in that cozy office either as a former classmate or old acquaintance. One thing he had not been able to fathom even until now was the reason for his invitation to the meeting. Well, he reassured himself, irrespective of the reason for his invitation, he believed it was a welcomed development for the people in the ivory towers to also seek the opinion of the people on the street who in deed are in closer with the masses. His thoughts were interrupted by the loquacious voice of the college provost. ‘As of the ethics and academic committee of this premier college of medicine of the nation,’ he began, ‘we are charged with an onerous task of maintaining ethics and decorum in this noble profession. But if we accept this college as our sphere of influence and limit ourselves to its tranquil cocoon and close our eyes to what happens outside this confine, and abruptly disengage ourselves from actively monitoring our graduates to ensure that they practice what they were taught, we might be doing the society some disservice. We have worked hard to maintain the tradition of this institution. We should not be complacent regarding what happens outside our gates. Therefore, I thought it wise to invite our friend and colleague in the private sector to solicit his views and know his experience in this matter. If this meets the approval of this body Dr. Walter Hendricks will address this meeting to cap our deliberations.’ Professor John concluded. Bewilderment was visibly written on all faces in that meeting: the suggestion adduced by Professor John went beyond the scope of the committee to infringe

on the responsibilities of the Medical & Dental Council of Nigeria. Professor Gabriel took the bull by the horn in his characteristic manner. ‘We are all aware of the roles and responsibilities of the Medical & Dental Council in that regards. That body has the statuary obligation to maintain ethics and standards in the practice of medicine in the nation and I believe they have been doing just that. Our role is thus fairly well defined and limited to this College and its hospital. On the other hand, it is the civic responsibility of all of us here to ensure that law and order reigns supreme in this nation. Therefore we could individually or collectively bring cases of malpractices to the attention of the council and expect and trust that statuary body to uphold justice at all times. In a nut shell, Dr. Walter is also one of us and his presence here is well received despite the breach of protocol in his invitation’ he concluded. The regular meeting of the committee lasted for just one hour at the end of which, Dr. Walter was asked to address the committee. If he had as much as glanced on the Provost’s face he would have seen the mixed expression of anxiety and expectation it portrayed. But he waded into Professor John’s arms innocently. He had thanked the committee for the honour to be in their meeting and address the body. He saw the gesture as a testimonial to the transparency and integrity of the committee. Briefly he recounted his years at College and expressed immense gratitude and appreciation to the body and individuals that have fought to maintain the excellent tradition of the College over the years. He continued: ’In the private sector, we have always strove not to allow freedom and independence corrupt the lofty ideals of the college imparted on all of us here. We will not relent because we believe it is right and noble to protect our noble profession from corruption and ineptitude. About two months ago a doctor, a product of this college had to leave my Hospital because of his unscientific and unorthodox methods. The fact that we allowed him to exit despite the gains his practice brought us clearly shows our commitment. Once more, I want to say thank you for this opportunity’ He barely finished before Professor John praised him for his exemplary courage and pretending to be ignorant of the doctor concerned said; ‘We are all interested in your story and should be delighted to learn more about it. What really happened?’ Dr. Walter Hendricks hesitated for a second then said with a chuckle: ‘He is actually an unusual fellow who could see things (even things that ordinary folks

will order elaborate tests and investigation) with unaided eyes. Surprisingly, people believe in him and this Dr. Charles is a household name in the eastern part of the country. If he continues like this, he will surely become a national living legend” “That name rang a bell. Could it be the same Dr. Charles that few years ago we allowed to walk out of this institution triumphantly despite the overwhelming evidence that he was mentally unstable?” Professor John interjected. All at the meeting knew Dr. Charles and was still engrossed in thoughts concerning the strangeness of that disclosure. Was it an ordinary coincidence or a deliberate plot by the provost to exact his pound of flesh? Professor Lamb was the first to respond to the provost’s statement. It was a direct attack on his profession judgment and integrity. “About two years ago, I was asked to evaluate the mental status of one Dr. Charles, then a house officer in Professor Lund’s unit. That we did and reported to this committee that he was of an excellent state. Unless there are new developments, we stand by our findings and deduction and take strong exception to any insinuation to the contrary. Dr. Charles didn’t show any traces of schizophrenia contrary to what Professor John might want to hear. We cannot be cajoled into anything unethical, Professor Lamb said. ‘But the fellow is still on rampage with his unscientific and unethical practice as corroborated by Dr. Walter. This cannot continue. Dr. Charles must be stopped. We owe this nation and her people this sacred duty. Let’s be clear about this: whatever Dr. Charles does reflects on us and the college. He is capable of tarnishing the reputation of this college and we should not allow that” Professor John shouted. The atmosphere of the meeting was now tension-laden and it could be seen that the Provost’s intrigues were targeted at Dr. Charles. Yet it was imperative that the tension was dossed and a row aborted. Professor Gabriel rose to the challenge. He recounted the decision of the committee concerning Dr. Charles and the tumbler- in- the- uterus imbroglio stressing the fact that he was asked to stick to what he was taught in school. “But if we need to revisit our decision we could do that while bearing in mind that he is also a colleague and brother. After all, there are many quacks out there but Dr.

Charles certainly sat under our feet here’ he concluded. “Of course he trained but he appears to be bent on bringing this institution to disrepute. He has refused to stick to what he was taught and if a child insists on saying what he wants to say, he will hear what he did not want to hear. Dr. Walter was strong enough to stand for what is right. Why can’t that happen here? It is my candid opinion that Dr. Charles must be stopped.” Professor John said breathlessly. The Medical Director again tried to calm the situation. He treaded carefully because he knew that he was bound to fail in that bid. He looked intelligently at Dr. Walter and hoped he adequately conveyed the seriousness of the task he was about to heap on his laps in that brief moment. Then he addressed him directly seeking the latter’s opinion on Dr. Charles’ professional capability and decorum. Dr. Walter was full iration for the able manner in which the Medical Director of the College Hospital chaired the meeting. Professor Gabriel indeed was the hero of the meeting without whom the result would have been chaotic. Besides he understood all too well the implication of his opinion of Dr. Charles in this meeting. Of course he had no doubt of Dr. Charles integrity as a doctor especially since he left the St. Paul’s Hospital quietly as a demonstration of his fate in his belief. And frankly he produced results that might sound fantastic to those who have not had any personal with him. He knew that he had to defend the young man, Dr. Charles if that meant stepping on some toes. Dr. Charles was simply gifted and not unethical or unprofessional. Dr. Walter was in fact surprised that anyone expected him to succumb to Professor John’s game plan. He refused to be used in that manner, to settle an old score. Therefore in response to Professor Gabriel’s question, he didn’t hide his iration for Dr. Charles despite their differences. Finally he said; “I must conclude that the fellow in question is a worthy member of this noble profession. We might risk appearing parochial and vindictive if we insist on nailing him without proof of professional misconduct. Besides, his greatest strength is the efficacy and economy of the alternative he offers” The conference room, venue of the meeting was unduly calm now. Dr. Walter disappointed the college provost. And the latter was full of regrets for inviting him to the meeting. His lips were now curled up in hatred. He hated Dr. Charles and his so –called gift, but wondered why no one else agreed with him on this

issue. He knew too that if not handled carefully, he could lose the respect of his colleagues on the committee. He was still buried in cogitation when he was interrupted by Professor Rosemary’s voice:” I had imagined that that young man’s case had been laid to rest. However, I do not believe in jungle justice and feel that we should not crucify a colleague simply because of his gift. Wisdom is justified by her children”. Eventually the committee decided that there was no reason to take a punitive measure against Dr. Charles although he seemed to be an extraordinary doctor. Professor John stuck stubbornly to his plan to exact his pound of flesh. There must be a way of accomplishing that without the assistance of the committee or anybody for that matter. Still buried in thoughts, he hastened into his office with his head slightly bowed. On his part, Dr. Walter hurried to the airport to board an Enugu bound flight. Pleased with his role in today’s drama, he promised himself resolutely to henceforth be on Dr. Charles’ side: to fight for him and protect him against Professor John’s egocentrism. Briefly he wondered whether Dr. Charles already knew what happened at the meeting of the academic, ethics and disciplinary committee of the Ibadan College of Medicine this afternoon. He smiled to himself. He won’t be surprised if it is so. That fellow had demonstrated the capacity for clairaudience and clairvoyance before. Indeed he won’t be surprised if nothing is hidden from Dr. Charles not only concerning the meeting above but also the disposition of the provost towards him. From the comfort of his office, Dr. Charles fully witnessed the deliberations of the academic and disciplinary committee today. He saw the role of his former employer and prayed silently for the redemption of the college provost from acrimony and self-destruction. Unless the provost mended his ways, the still small voice he had learnt to trust promised to bring him to his knees.

Chapter Fourteen

Having resigned from St Paul’s Hospital, he was now free to garner active for his beliefs. Already, his elder brother had provided the building for the hospital and by the end of the month, all the furniture and equipment necessary to launch the hospital would be in place. But this would all take time and he wasn’t exactly used to waiting. It soon became apparent that the concept of the project taking only a month turned into a whole year. Perhaps he should have remained at St Paul’s, pending the firm establishment of his own hospital, for that would have forestalled his boredom and indolent waiting around. But he had been told by his spirit man to leave St Paul’s Hospital and that’s just what he’d done. He had no regrets though, at least not for now. He was convinced that sooner rather than later, he would come to understand why his inner-man had propelled him out of St Paul’s Hospital. His thoughts turned to that of friends he could possibly visit in Enugu while he had time on his hands before his dream came to fruition, when he would have no spare time to do such things. He was born and bred here in Enugu, but only Joseph had remained his true friend throughout high school and college. All of his other friends were actually mere acquaintances and he hadn’t kept in touch with them. But when he had last visited Dr Joseph at St Daniels Hospital, he had changed his mind just by the entrance to the hospital. He’d had a premonition that the real Joseph was actually a serpent and no ordinary man could possibly hope to understand him. Under those conditions, he would become sinister and if he should lie calmly on the grass, or crawl leisurely across the road, how could anyone possibly know whether it was looking for prey or just enjoying the warmth of the early morning sun? If it were possible to see its fangs, would you know whether or not it was about to strike? These thoughts made him recoil from Joseph. A serpent and a human being cannot hope to ever establish a balanced relationship, yet he wondered why Dr Joseph hadn’t bothered to look him up since they’d left college. Could it be that Joseph had made other, more compatible friends? Could it be that he’d met a like-minded woman that was keeping him from his friends? Dr Charles’ thoughts drifted to those about the pleasure a woman could give a

man, but he quickly suppressed them. His own joy had grown beyond the occasional transient gratification of human yearning to the solid joy that could come from the spirit. The joy of knowing what tomorrow would bring, of knowing who a man really was, even before engaging in any interaction with him. This joy of seeing and knowing someone came not from the psychology of man, but from an infallible spiritual standing, which superseded all carnal, physical joy. With his new desire to look intensely at each and every face he came across, he found that he could really get to know who they really were. That way, he would be able to determine who the more dominant kinds of people in certain localities were. But the only people he really needed to avoid were his own relatives. He would never look deeply into the eyes of his brothers, sisters or mother. Indeed, if possible, he would avoid looking at their faces at all. It was a minor price to pay when compared to repairing the irreversible sudden realisation that his own mother was a serpent, a goat or a pig, or that this elder brother was perhaps a sheep, a cow or a giant cat. He couldn’t even begin to contemplate or to entertain such thoughts. Dr Charles’ experience was still very limited when he first embarked on his rather odd mission. Dawn was the most appropriate time for the task he had given himself. It was a time when workers were all rushing to their offices, the market women were struggling to their stalls and the school children were fighting to escape punishment for being late. It was times like these, in the jostle and bustle of the city, that people manifested into their real inner selves, their spirit, when subjected to stress. But this will considerably reduce his own part during times of stress, for it would take less expenditure of time and spiritual energy. It was also at times like these that he had the ideal opportunity of knowing who they really were, without having to look closely at them. In their stressed demeanours, their spirit man would be revealed to those with spiritual eyes without any effort on their part. Dr Charles’ attention turned to thoughts about why people subjected themselves to adverse conditions, such as cramped compartments during rush hour on public transport. He had never thought about it before now and he resolved to find out what kinds of people let themselves be treated in this way. Without a second thought for his own personal safety, he jumped onto the bus and managed to secure a seat near to the rear, providing him with the ultimate vantage point from which to see all the engers without being noticed by too many people. Before now, he had always avoided that notorious contraption of some Shylock business men and instead of travelling on public transport, he used to walk.

There was no room to move and people were sandwiched in together in a confined space, where movement of any kind was impossible. Today, he was not travelling on the bus out of necessity, but he was there for a purpose. He watched on as people metamorphosed into their true selves, in which all on board shed their camouflage, revealing their inner animal. He focused on the very existence of such a deadly contraption as a bus, wondering what or who could be responsible for inflicting such conditions on man: fate, faulty government policies, greed? He glanced around again and noticed that most of the seats had been taken up by coarse-looking faces and a handful of people were forced to stand up, because it had become impossible for them to squeeze themselves into an empty seat. The bus rattled on and more and more people hopped on, until it was physically impossible to squeeze anyone else on board. The atmosphere in the bus became tense and stuffy; the potholes did nothing to help matters, either. The fact that people allowed themselves to be subjected to such conditions beggared belief. How could one possibly be expected to remain calm and sensible? People quarrelled and grumbled against one another in total hypocrisy. In psychological , Dr Charles thought that was sublimation. Why was it that they attacked one another, instead of the driver or the owner of the bus or the government, or the actual perpetrator of this crime against humanity? Dr Charles ed the whole purpose for his mission and who he was. The perceived thoughts of an individual cannot precede the individual himself. The inner man, in the form of the spirit, was the only reasonable explanation that could provide an answer to all of his questions concerning the bus and its very existence. The spirit man originates and inspires thought and therefore the qualities of a man that lead him to investigate the case. In other words, the spirit man modulates the physical man. Sighs and curses could be heard in the stuffy, crowded bus. Outside the confines of the moving coffin, the first morning breeze nudged the leaves and tendrils, which danced gracefully to its gentle touch. Dr Charles almost envied them, for they were free to dance and move with minimal hindrances, and he also envied the people in the street, who were smiling and bathing in the warmth of the early morning sun. Prestige cars and vehicles raced past the sickly bus, almost as if anxious to avoid any interaction with it. It would be interesting to find out what types of people were in the most prestige vehicles. These types of people would almost certainly dominate the choice areas, too. From the “molue”, its occupants

would be sure to be going to dilapidated homes or undignified offices in areas full of squalor. Dr Charles sympathised with the other engers. He hoped he could help them, but that would be dependent on his findings today. If the genesis was spiritual, as he suspected it was, then nothing could be done physically. Sweat was now pouring off people in the already oppressive bus and it produced a sickly, hostile odour that clung to the air. Pain and sorrow could be seen on each and every face on the bus now. Dr Charles knew that this was the time to take his census. Slowly, he shifted his gaze from one place to another. It was impossible to believe that at least sixty-nine per cent of those on board were goats, while only ten per cent were pigs; the rest were cats. He was horrified as he scrutinised the spiritual goats. These types of people preferred to keep quiet in the presence of glaring privation from any other man apart from a fellow goat man, but who are the predators in this instance? He contemplated over his dilemma for quite a while, trying to unravel the puzzle. Though without spiritual research, he was quite sure that he wouldn’t be able to deduce anything of relevance. That would mean that he would need to conduct an extensive investigation into all social strata of society. He turned his attention to the spiritual portraits in the bus and tried to relate them to physical entities. The goat would eat anything, just in exactly the same way as an ordinary goat eats just about anything, including grass. Nonetheless, he could, when conditions were appropriate, eat yams. The goat would wait for its master to create favourable conditions through carelessness, just as a goat would wait for the owner’s attention to be distracted before engaging in anything it shouldn’t. He now directed his attention to the pigs. He knew such characters could afford to ride in taxis or even to buy their own car, but they would choose not to, because they have no regard for safety, decency, prestige or any physical beauty. He could now understand why some well-to-do individuals seemed unable to utilise their wealth to make their lives more meaningful. If their detractors saw beyond the physical, they would let them be. He now wondered briefly whether it was possible to see a goat-man in a prestige car, a plane or a helicopter. Of course, he knew it was entirely possible and so he wouldn’t have to waste any more time investigating that avenue. A goat-man could be born into a wellestablished family, he could be found in the most exquisite places and he might

sit down and ill-conceived, ill-digested instructions to better endowed, more intelligent people, but the flaw could still be noticeable even with ordinary eyes; though without spiritual insight, its explanation would be faulty. Some would attribute their irrational decisions to youthful exuberance, pride or boisterousness that accompanied wealth. Dr Charles laughed heartily, despite the inappropriateness of the environment. A goat-man next to him stared vacantly at him, but he ignored him; after all, unless he was spiritually minded, how else would he know that he was, in fact, a goat? Was it possible for a goat to become a governor, a minster, a head of state or even president? he wondered. Just then, the bus stopped and all hell broke loose again as it deposited some of its load onto the curb. Dr Charles knew that very soon, it would become empty. With mixed feelings, he wondered what sort of people worked as salesmen, touting for business and drumming up for people to use public transport more readily. Already, he found himself imagining that they were lions, leopards or some other predator, but he tried to disabuse his mind of these fanciful notions. It got him wondering, though, as to what differentiated a lion canvassing for sales, business or in this case engers, from a lion at the universities, intimidating and forcing their way to the top? Knowledge? Wealth? It was then that he realised that he was putting the cart before the horse. It wasn’t necessary to expend so much energy thinking about an issue that had not yet arisen, especially as neither time nor space was a limiting factor. When they established the nature of the touts, he would be able to work out all in good time. Nearly one of the last engers to disembark, he quietly got off the bus, still immersed in his thoughts. He would have loved to have known his own true identity in the spiritual realm, but he didn’t want to be a goat, a pig or a dog. He fought his way through the crowd in an attempt to reach the other end of the park, which was no mean feat, because everybody appeared to be in a hurry. He decided to get himself an ice cream and a soft drink from the food vendor, but as he reached up to take the goods from the man, he knocked over some sandwiches that the man had displayed on the counter. Instead of accepting his profuse apology, the man pounced on him and held on tightly to his collar, squeezing and rumpling his new, well-ironed shirt. It was just as well he wasn’t wearing a tie; otherwise the young man could have choked him to death. Dumbfoundedly, he lifted his face and took in his aggressor. He

wasn’t in the least bit surprised to see a lion-man before him and there was no doubt about his physical strength, though he knew that he would be able to subdue the lion-man. Dr Charles managed a smile, despite the discomfort occasioned by the grip around his collar. Infuriated, the lion-man gave him a powerful blow to his jaw; he must have misconstrued his mirth and assumed that Dr Charles had been laughing at him. He realised how inappropriate it must have looked, at least from physical point of view. No one would know, except the privileged few, that the renounced Professor John, provost from the college of medicine at the University of Ibadan was actually of the same constitution as the rustic aggressor threatening to strangle him and perhaps any differences between them were because of wealth and or knowledge. Aggression was aggression, whether ive, active or violent, and he knew that the crowd now gathering before them expected some entertainment at the very least. Beyond that, something more horrifying was manifesting itself. Everywhere he looked, he saw lions and leopards making discomforting noises in their expectation for a fight and some action. Indeed, they were baying for blood and it made Dr Charles feel sick inside. He refused to succumb to the demands of the crowd and to make something of his spiritual endowment, knowing that the aggressor couldn’t help it; being a lion spiritually, it was a natural attribute and fighting was second nature. Dr Charles would have been stupid to fight back and so he refused to become angry. He ed the last time he’d fought as a teenager, indicating that it was certainly possible to make him angry, only now he was older, he knew that becoming angry was a personal choice that one made and one could make the conscious decision not to be riled, despite provocation, whilst taking appropriate measures against the noxious stimulus. He smiled again and in a voice that was struggling to remain serene, he asked, ‘How much would it take for you to leave me alone?’ The lion-man released his grip slightly and in a coarse voice, he hissed, ‘Five hundred dollars.’ ‘Then let’s go back to my apartment and I will pay you off,’ Dr Charles said. The expression on the food vendor’s face changed from anger to astonishment; it had been the last thing he’d expected.

Dr Charles led the way to a taxi that would take them to his apartment. In the taxi, Dr Charles reflected over what would have happened had he not exercised restraint. In his eyes, he could see clearly some small young chameleon-men and a larger, older chameleon-man modifying and constantly changing their stance and colours, while moving their agile tongue in their desperate search for any titbits that remained on the floor, where the sandwiches had dropped or where perhaps even their own blood may have fallen had he roused to the occasion. It was then that he knew he wouldn’t let the food vendor simply take his money; he would have been foolish to have let him do that. For the first time, he noticed that his aggressor was a human being once more and he even saw some kindness and warmth, both conveyed confidently through the eyes. Perhaps next time he went anywhere, he would ensure to conduct a thorough study of the man, his inner man and their relationship with his attributes before dealing with someone, but for now he had seen enough for one day. The taxi was a much safer and prestigious way of travelling than the notorious bus, especially in view of the driver’s practice of carrying more than the stipulated amount of engers. Dr Charles sat back and enjoyed the relative glamour and convenience that a taxi offered as it tore through the traffic from Enugu Park to the complex where his brother’s apartment was.

His morale was at an all-time low when he finally set off on his way home, yet he had no malice against his aggressor, for he knew better than that. To avoid the potential of seeing more disturbing things about other people that they ed on his way home, he had kept his eyes completely shut, leaving it to the driver to take them to their destination. Unlike visiting a new place, he was by now quite familiar with his surroundings and so he wouldn’t really miss anything of importance or relevance. It wasn’t as if he wanted any more adventures that day. The taxi slowed and from intuition, Dr Charles knew that they were close to his house on Nike Street. He was right, and the driver announced, ‘There we go; 22 Nike Street, just like you asked, my friend!’ If it had been possible, Dr Charles would have continued his journey with his eyes shut, but that was never going to happen. As he stepped out onto the curb,

three bulky, sweaty-looking men climbed in to occupy his space. He motioned to the food vendor to follow him and as he did so, he caught a glimpse of the snouts of two pigs sitting in the back of the taxi, while a bull climbed in next to the driver. As he paid his fare, he refrained from looking at the driver, having no intention of investigating the four people now left in the taxi. While it no longer disturbed Dr Charles regarding physical manifestations related to the spiritual side, it was nonetheless a confusing realisation, though that was one of the hazards of being a prophet. Out of sheer curiosity, he asked his companion, ‘How long have you been in this business?’ ‘Three years.’ ‘How long do you hope to spend in the trade?’ ‘As soon as I’ve saved enough money to go back to school. I’m 21 now and I’m struggling, because my parents couldn’t afford to pay my school fees through college. Perhaps by the end of my third year as a food vendor I will be able to sponsor myself though college,’ the vendor replied, now looking downcast. Dr Charles led the way into his elder brother’s apartment and without saying a word to the food vendor, he motioned to his new-found friend to take a seat. ‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked. ‘Anything soft will do, sir,’ the food vendor replied as he sank into one of the sofas. He was now gloomy and his sadness had its roots firmly entrenched in him and his behaviour evident to the man who was about to entertain him. The food vendor knew that one of his faults had always been his tantrums. They had got him into lots of trouble in the past and while he had tried to master it, he had not succeeded so far. At the slightest provocation, he would throw sanity and moderation to the wind. Had he been a bit more cordial, then perhaps he would have been rewarded with something quite extraordinary. Dr Charles could see that his regret was now apparent, without any recourse from any spiritual assistance. He could decipher that much alone and he pitied him now and he determined to give him much more than five hundred dollars. He was convinced that his friend was going to become another Professor John

and he genuinely believed that his drive and determination were sure to take him far. He opened a bottle of lemon juice and picking a glass from a nearby table, he walked towards the vendor. The latter was now lying prostrate on the thick rug, saying, ‘Please forgive me, sir, I was so rude to you. Pardon me, sir. I don’t know what came over me.’ ‘No, there’s no need for that. I knew you weren’t acting of your own volition. Indeed, I believe I know you much more than you know yourself. Here, have a drink,’ Dr Charles said, pressing the bottle and a glass into his hand. Reluctantly, the vendor straightened himself up and resumed his seat on the sofa, but an impending gloom was still apparent on his face even as he sipped his juice quietly, in deep contemplation. ‘So, do you have a name? I believe you at least owe me that much.’ ‘Yes, it’s Timothy, sir. Timothy Ike.’ ‘So, Timothy, how far did you get in school?’ Dr Charles asked suddenly. ‘I’ve got another year to go in order to complete my studies in high school. My parents would have taken me out of school much earlier if they’d had their way, so I could learn a trade. They are very poor,’ Timothy said in a trembling voice. It was obvious to Dr Charles that Timothy wanted to say more, but he left it at that. Dr Charles was deeply touched by Timothy’s candour concerning his family’s background and it brought him round to thinking about why certain people were born into certain families. But he kept his thoughts to himself, knowing it was really none of his business, at least not for now. Dr Charles felt a certain rapport developing between them and he had a great respect for those showing a certain amount of vigour and determination in life. He’d always loathed those who didn’t strive to rise above their birth status. Before he’d acquired the third eye, he would always have avoided such individuals. But now he knew that such people didn’t need to be avoided. Man, in his frantic quest for explanations, had forgotten what life was really about. It wasn’t merely about the physical genetics of families in the form of lion-men, dog-men and chameleon-men, to mention just a few, for it went

beyond that. With his new insight, he was now fully aware of the genetic theory of inheritance, but it failed to explain the fact that the family of brave, intelligent, hard-working men and women could conceive a stupid, cowardly, sluggish child. Scientists and doctors have postulated that apart from the genetic make-up of an individual, environmental factors can also influence the personality of an individual, all in a desperate attempt to shore up a failing theory. Man would do much better if he realised his limitations. He glanced at his guest and saw a handsome, intelligent-looking young man seated before him, but the animal inside him had made him cruel and cold. ‘You see, Timothy,’ he began, ‘you are what you are not because of your own making, but because of some invisible forces acting on you, propelling you along a preordained pathway. What you did today couldn’t have been helped. You don’t need to feel bad about it; you should be able to know your limitations and understand where you are coming from and therefore be able to master your undesirable animalistic tendencies. The first step is to know who you are.’ Dr Charles didn’t want to take the issue any further at this point, because he knew that his guest wouldn’t be able to understand what he was getting at at present, though perhaps with time, he would. Of course, he would have to determine if they were to remain friends before he ventured down that road. Dr Charles changed the topic. ‘What course would you like to study at university?’ Timothy’s face brightened. He sat on the edge of the sofa, rubbing his palms together, focusing his attention on some ill-defined object. Dr Charles tried to follow his gaze, but then ed that he wouldn’t be able to see what Timothy could; he quickly abandoned that option and probed further. ‘If you plan to go to college, you should have a course of study in mind, isn’t that right?’ At this stage, Timothy could no longer stomach the desire that had always burnt inside him. The desire had appeared unrealistic, given his birth status, and so he had therefore considered it unreasonable to broadcast it, in case it didn’t materialise. After all, if Dr Charles hadn’t asked, he wouldn’t have told him anything, in case his dream didn’t come true. So it was with subdued enthusiasm that he said, ‘Medicine,’ realising that he

couldn’t escape such a direct question. Dr Charles almost regretted his inquisitiveness. Success in life had very little to do with one’s course of study or profession, for success, like any other human endeavour, has laws and guidelines. People fail because they don’t know this. The most important of them is spiritual inspiration. With a deep sense of purpose, joy, humility, reverence and inspiration, success is sure to come. But he didn’t want to overwhelm his guest with all that now. Instead, he asked him, ‘Would you like to work with me, while you’re studying medicine at school? It would be an ideal opportunity to gain some experience on the job and I will pay you for your troubles.’ Timothy virtually jumped at the offer and in exultation, he embraced Dr Charles, once again saying, ‘Please, sir, forgive me. Forgive me, sir. I was just trying to make ends meet and when you dropped my profits for the day, I just saw red. All I saw was my mother’s face when I came home empty-handed.’ ‘It’s my pleasure. I’m sure we’ll work well together. I need someone young and full of drive to help me get my venture off the ground. Someone open-minded. Someone strong spirited.’

Chapter Fifteen

St Charles’ Total Health Centre occupied a four-storey building not far from Dr Charles’ apartment. It had enabled him to carve out a niche in the medical profession in the delivery of the health-care system, not just in Enugu, but in the whole nation. People openly confessed that it was exactly what they had been yearning for. Indeed, St Charles’ Total Health excelled on rooting out the cause of ailments that medicine and medical procedures hadn’t been able to determine. He believed that to solve any physical problem and to cure any of man’s afflictions, he would need to tap into the spiritual realm. The whole of the ground floor housed the consulting room, a general ward for spiritually sick patients, five private wards and a recreation hall. The first and second floors were for those suffering from physical disorders with spiritual components. The third floor was the istrative floor, with accommodation for three doctors on the top floor. But Dr Charles still lived at his brother’s Nike Street apartment, not wishing to be available 24/7. Not surprisingly, the ground floor was the busiest department. As he had always known, health problems almost always emanated from the spiritual realm. He knew that his new health centre was a great innovation and he tried to impress the spiritual aspects of disease and sickness on the three doctors under his employ. Initially, he had spoken to them like a friend, but later he had told them the same thing as an experienced chief medical director. He had the right to run his hospital the way he saw fit and he knew he was right in his way of thinking. Among his patients were the socially sick, like the jobless, the chronic bachelors, spinsters, drunkards, incurable womanisers, street loafers, the insane and several other categories of patients that would defy orthodox practises. In all cases, without exception, he recorded spectacular results. The resolution of unemployment problems could be imposed on a person’s spirit and what was done in the spirit was then superimposed on the physical. Dr Charles had seen it boldly marked on the forehead of many jobless individuals. For an enemy to achieve this, a seemingly innocent wooden statue could be carved and he would call the statute by the victim’s name. The opposite

condition to what they were experiencing could then be etched onto the wooden object and what had been done spiritually could then be superimposed on the physical. The opposite of other marks like hatred, loneliness, poverty and theft could also be placed on the icon, especially if the victim was unaware of spiritual realities. Thereafter, the problem placed on the victim’s icon would manifest in the flesh, thereby afflicting them with the conditions. Only the spiritually gifted could see and remove such marks. Indeed, this spiritual exercise would be rigorous. Of course, those who refused spiritual help would die with their afflictions. Apart from these marks, people could also be tied up in spirit. Spiritually, cords and ropes could sometimes be seen constraining the victim’s body and just like the marks, only a tedious spiritual exercise could break loose of such restraints. The same applied to drunkenness and most physical dependencies that affect man. Even a child’s brain could be completely blocked spiritually and the child would remain at the bottom of the class, until this was resolved. In some cases, this child worked very hard and might even be bright during routine conversation and other exercises, but when it actually came down to it during examination conditions, their minds would go blank. Not many doctors knew that. A very good doctor was supposed to base all their treatment on well-established scientific principles. But Dr Charles was convinced that the most important things that control life and man can neither be seen, touched or investigated. Moreover, he had been vindicated on many occasions. In such instances, he would savour his triumph over traditional, orthodox practises and ignorance.

He glanced at his next patient, an elderly man in his later sixties, whose left side of the body was paralysed. In medical parlance, doctors would call this patient a hemiplegic elderly man. He ed what he had been taught at the medical school: that the hemiplegic condition often emanated from either bleeding into the brain or the blockage of some minute blood vessels by foreign body carried in the blood. He laughed, much to the consternation of the elderly man sitting in front of him. If only the man had known the origins of his laughter. Humans could make buffoons of themselves when constrained by ignorance. Today, he could see clearly through the skull and brain tissue of his patient. He saw numerous pins and particles of broken bottles carefully wrapped up in a plastic bag, concealed in the brain tissue of his patient.

He knew that no scientific gadget could unravel that lot. Indeed, he was infuriated by what medical science propagates about spiritual healing. In his opinion, the best doctors are the spiritualistic ones. A slight cough from the patient redirected his attention to the man who was still waiting. He must have sensed that Dr Charles’ attention was elsewhere. ‘Doctor, I wondered if you could help me. I’ve been going from one hospital to another in vain. They said that I’ve had a stroke, but I told them I knew precisely what had happened; the left part of my body became weak the very moment I slapped one Chief Orji, the priest of the wealth goddess. They wouldn’t listen. Instead, they laughed at me and I know for sure that something entered my body that very moment, even though I didn’t see it. Nobody can make me change my mind about that,’ Mr Deji said helplessly. After a preliminary examination, Dr Charles agreed with him, having seen firsthand what Mr Deji said had happened to his spirit. He knew that his patient was well-to-do before this problem, but numerous visits to hospitals and doctors had impoverished him. Dr Charles shook his head in empathy with his miserablelooking patient, convinced in his own mind that he would be able to help him. In his opinion, no other doctor, unless they had spiritualistic tendencies, could help this man’s plight. ‘I’m sorry you’ve suffered so much. Your analysis of your problem was correct. I can clearly see the very genesis of your predicament in the form of a closely knit pack of nails, broken bottles and pins, which have become embedded in your brain. That is why one half of your body is paralysed; nothing besides spiritual healing can help you.’ He intensified his gaze on the man and saw many other things, including the reason why his client had slapped the said chief: Orji had raped his daughter. He saw clearly what must be done to save this patient. All those who went to see him didn’t expect to see a white overall and tie or even a stethoscope; all they wanted were results and these they always got. Dr Charles smiled and stated simply, ‘You need a spiritual massage for three days, during which time it will be possible to loosen and remove all of the objects in your brain. That is the solution. God cannot fail on this one,’ he added, scribbling down some notes on Mr Deji’s chart and handing them over to a nurse. As the man struggled up, he said, ‘Doctor, I knew you could heal me. I have no

doubts in your abilities. You are the only one who seems to have understood my problem. I used to own my own business, but because of my sickness, I was forced to sell up. Had I met you earlier and paid you to treat me, instead of wasting all my hard-earned cash on conventional doctors, I would have been a far happier man. Often, these so-called “quacks” would just give me a quick examination, keep me waiting for a long time and then push their bills down my throat, without so much as a diagnosis given. If only man would it to his limitations. ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head,’ Dr Charles said as the man tried to follow the nurse out of the clinic. ‘This time, I can guarantee your problems will be resolved. I have ordered the nurse to it you for treatment into our care, Mr Deji. I shall be with you shortly,’ Dr Charles added. ‘Before you go, doctor, I would like to know whether doctors have consciences. I believe that most people die in hospitals because your colleagues are neither frank nor bold enough to tell the patient the truth. Instead, they baffle them with science and big words, when really it is ignorance that is their sin. If they were prepared to look beyond the physical, then they would be able to see that alternative care could be used to treat the patient. In the medical profession, they put people’s lives at risk when doctors show their ignorance with obscure terminologies. All I can say is that doctors should be more honest and treat only what they know,’ Mr Deji said as he turned and left the consulting room. Dr Charles knew his patient was right; there had been several instances of greed in the profession. Doctors occasionally dabbled in procedures or surgery without adequate training. Many operations carried out in hospitals were unnecessary. Indeed, orthodox medicine should be enhanced by deep spirituality and this procedure would save money, too. Then he ed that if all doctors were to be so powerful, they could become demigods. Perhaps that was why the spiritual aspect of healing had to be hidden from them. The last patient for the day had just entered the clinic. Dr Charles already knew what the problem was; a voice had told him that he had seen the young man before when he was a medial officer at St Paul’s Hospital. The man hadn’t believed his diagnosis at the time and so had deteriorated. If only he’d listened. The man sat down directly opposite him and grinned foolishly. He was drunk and his fingers trembled as he extended his hand to greet the doctor. His

malnourishment, his unkempt, tangled hair and his filthy, claw-like nails didn’t escape Dr Charles’ notice. Were these the result of a mere manifestation of the hidden but original problems? Thick, spiritual restraints criss-crossed his full length and yet the man could still move. So his spiritual movement was impaired, but not ordinary, physical movement. ‘Please, take a seat,’ Dr Charles said, directing his patient to a seat to his left. The drunken man smiled timidly and staggered towards the doctor. ‘We have met before,’ Dr Charles said frankly. It was not a question but a statement of fact. There was no response. Instead, the patient started chewing and biting his clawlike fingers. ‘Have you come for treatment?’ Dr Charles asked. The man before him broke down and sulked like a baby. ‘Please, forgive me, doctor. But you told me two years ago what I needed to do to resolve my problem, but I didn’t listen,’ Mr Joe said. He was still suffering from hangover following the previous day’s overindulgence in alcohol; an alcoholic would never really look normal and healthy, the alcohol leaving an indelible mark on the victim. ‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ Dr Charles protested, while still gazing at his patient. He could see his patient’s predicament clearly. Dabbling in the spiritual realm instead of conforming to normal medical practice was bound to draw scepticism. It was one of the hazards of the job that one had to live with. Astounding results crowned his efforts when they saw the folly of disregarding what they hadn’t understood. For a moment, he considered employing spiritually gifted nurses, but quickly dismissed the idea. His practice was justified by results. He directed his attention again at Mr Joe and the latter said sorrowfully, ‘A couple of years ago, you told me that I was bound with ropes and chains and needed deliverance more than orthodox medical treatment. I didn’t believe you at the time, but yesterday, it occurred to me for the very first time that I preferred

to spend time with all kinds of woman and indulge in alcoholic tendencies than to accept help. I simply cannot resist the urge; an invisible hand seems to be driving me towards alcohol and women. What should I do, doctor?’ ‘I want you to erase any feelings of guilt from your mind. It isn’t your fault that you have acted in this way; but you should have listened to me. Women are carefully wrapped but could be deadly. Most men die at the hands of women. All you need to do is to follow my instructions,’ Dr Charles said. ‘I’m coming round to your way of thinking, doctor. It has recently occurred to me that women still follow me, irrespective of my physical inadequacies; it must, therefore, be that some other force is responsible. Yesterday, I went to the UCH in search of you and from there, to St Paul’s Hospital and finally here. Doctor, I need your help and guidance. I cannot continue in this manner. I don’t want to live like this any more.’ ‘When you leave yourself spiritually bare, your spirit is susceptible to becoming tied up, imprisoned or oppressed. Whatever happened in the spiritual realm is enforced physically by spiritually assigned demons. In your case, women are blind to your disabilities or your inadequacies. Demons are responsible for that and you need deliverance. You will have to be itted for a five-day fast,’ he stated simply. On Mr Joe’s chart, he wrote: chronic alcoholic and womaniser. In spiritual prison, tied with chains and ropes. Needs five-day dry fast for complete deliverance. There was no doubt that his practice was deeply and decidedly different from orthodox, Western practises, but even though coming to with such problems was a bit awkward, it was, nevertheless, the only solution to Mr Joe’s problem. Dr Charles had been glued to his seat since early that morning and was not yet free to go home, for Mr Deji was expecting him. The rewards of working hard were many, but he was beginning to feel exploited. Only those who needed drugs paid for them at his hospital, though the vast majority of his patients only paid for food and accommodation. As a prophet, he shouldn’t charge money for spiritual healing as on his own he could do nothing and would be powerless to diagnose things that medical science couldn’t ascertain. Slowly, he got up from

his seat and it was with pride that he walked into private ward “C”, where Mr Deji lay on the bed waiting anxiously. The ward was cool and calm and apart from Mr Deji, only his daughter Janet and a nurse was in there. The tranquillity of their surroundings was only disturbed by the humming of the air conditioner and Mr Deji’s pounding heart. Dr Charles set to work immediately. ‘ me the kidney dish, please,’ he ordered the nurse, who was assisting in the procedure. The nurse handed him the dish, a sausage-shaped stainless steel plate and a pair of gloves. The gloves were unnecessary though, for it was merely a spiritual procedure. For a moment, he wondered what an orthodox doctor would have requested. In neurosurgical procedures, for instance, myriads of instruments and equipment would have been necessary, but all those are restricted by man’s own limitations. The more spiritual a problem is, the more difficult a physical individual finds it and the more ambitious attempts at solving it become. Spiritual procedures are simple but sure. He turned to Mr Deji and said, ‘We are about to massage your head now. This procedure and technique will be sure to cure you. God cannot fail, .’ Gradually, he brought the dish up towards Mr Deji’s mouth and asked him to open his mouth wide. The patient obeyed and the procedure commenced. While holding the dish in his left hand, close to Mr Deji’s open mouth, Dr Charles ran his right palm from the patient’s occiput down to his mouth through the vault and the temple; saliva drooled out copiously from the patient’s mouth into the stainless steel plate. Mr Deji wondered whether such a simple procedure could cure him. His daughter Janet, a nurse in another hospital where he had been taken to, had almost laughed at the idea. However, it was not a mere child’s play to Dr Charles and those who knew him already knew the results of the treatment were far from speculative. He saw pieces of nails and broken bottles dropping into the dish and knew that the density of them in his patient’s brain had diminished; by the third day, Mr Deji should be fit and well.

The third day’s massage was more out of formality, for by the second day Mr Deji had made a full recovery and was up and about in no time at all. Dr Charles knew that the instructions from the spirit, which had prescribed the three-day

massage, would have stopped on the second day, but he also knew that the instructions of the spirit must be followed to the letter. The warmth on his face mingled with the bafflement occasioned by the rapidity of the cure, despite the simplicity of the procedure. ‘Why did they not believe me?’ Mr Deji asked Dr Charles as he handed the plate over to the nurse. It was always easy to ask questions, though it was much more difficult to answer them and to understand the explanation. Dr Charles knew that Mr Deji wouldn’t understand the realistic answer to his question and so he decided to simplify the answer as much as possible. ‘You have asked a difficult question, Mr Deji, to which the answer is the same. In your case, a spiritual event has manifested itself physically. The mortal eye cannot see the spiritual component, hence they cling to the physical. In medical , your problem could be explained as bleeding in the brain. Commonly, it occurs in hypertensive patients during activity or when excited; in your case, it occurred when you slapped Chief Orji. The physical doctor would have no problem tying up the information to arrive at a given diagnosis, but it was just the physical manifestation of the spiritual implantation of what we have just extracted from your brain. An analogy runs thus: if a bomb is dropped onto a house, where fifty or more people are living, some will survive, while others will perish. Their death will be attributed outright to the blast by ordinary eyes and those who survived will be said to be fortunate. The question is why were only some of them and not all of them fortunate? The answer to any physical event had its spiritual antecedent; the casualties of the bomb blast had died in the spiritual realm prior to the manifestation occasioned by the bomb blast.’ ‘Seeing is believing. I didn’t see any bottles or nails extracted from my brain, but the result vindicates your belief,’ Mr Deji said. ‘Yes. Intangible but real,’ Dr Charles said. It was just one of the wonders that could come from a thorough understanding of the spiritual plain. That week alone, apart from Mr Deji, several others were healed of diverse ailments. Mr Joe now hated alcohol and women and Mr Deji was now fit and well. St Charles’ Total Health had become a household name and it now threatened to cross the national frontiers. If that happened, many

people might have to rethink all that they have come to accept and treasure over the years in the form of their beliefs.

Chapter Sixteen

Ruth Ibrux was fully prepared and briefed for her assignment and opportunity to redeem her relationship with the Queen. She was now convinced that it was either she or Dr. Charles and if she must live, her ex-lover must die. It was indeed an ill-fated romance that had cost her so much. Her heart was pounding heavily and her resolve to eliminate Dr. Charles and save herself became an obsession .Her patient could snap at any time. She dragged her mind to the assignment itself. It would be the battle of the titans in which a winner must emerge. If she won, she would be reunited with her father and coven while Dr. Charles would be the sacrificial lamb. Otherwise, she was to be devoured by the Queen and another sent to accomplish the task the Queen regarded as paramount to the survival of the coven. Of course with the Queen’s explicit involvement, she can’t fail. Her new powers of transmutation, invisibility, clairvoyance, and clairaudience will all come to bear in this assignment. Yet it would be naïve to dismiss her opponent out rightly. Dr. Charles cannot be a push over. Even the Queen would say the same. One advantage of her imprisonment and ordeal was that finally almost all traces of Dr. Charles’s venom have been sucked away from her veins by time and penance. She was summoned by the Queen and for the first time found herself in the innermost court of the palace where the royalties dwelt. The ageless Queen, a paragon of glistering beauty, exuded power and affluence. She stood on precious stones and everything around her was gold. A stream of blood ran beneath her throne while seven beautiful maidens knelt on her both sides. The Queen reminded Ruth of the goodness of her kingdom. Promising her freedom, she blurted out” that arch enemy of our kingdom has erected a shrine to free our prisoners. We cannot permit that”. Then she said ominously;” I can make a good friend as well as a reliable foe. Call my name, Nnenneka when you need me”. Suddenly, she found herself again in her cabin She wondered how long she had been in that splendid palace .It was an ever bright place without day nor night , darkness nor sorrow and where even the prisoners lived better than earthly kings

and queens. She was often puzzled by the disparity between the two worlds of the flesh and spirit. Fleshy desires and death lead to much pain and rancor. The fear of death in all its variants leads to materialistic accumulation of wealth and power which often produces a vicious cycle of pain and suffering in the physical world of man. In the spirit world, even an infant understands the power of giving. The capacity of the spirit beings to give ensures abundance for all. She ed her father’s fortuitous attempts to find happiness and joy through wealth and power and smiled. She did not have to be told that he would have given up everything to forestall her predicament. The door opened and an attendant signaled her to follow. She trailed behind through a tunnel of gold and precious stones that eventually emptied into the Ogumpa River. Ruth had no difficulty recognizing the environment. It was about 6am and the River was still cool and serene. Not much had changed though: the sloppy road that led to the city reminded her of that fateful night that marked her sojourn in the Queen’s palace. She also realized that she wore the same clothes, hair style and make-up. It was as if her ill –fated visit to the River took place only yesterday. In fact she could return to her parents or campus but for the Queen’s stern command. Without thinking, she turned to thank her escort but she was gone. Ruth was conspicuously alone. She hurried up the sloppy river bank. The deed must be done this time around. She glanced at her palm and saw her target preparing for work. She also saw The St. Charles Total Health, the appointed venue of the battle. She knew she did not have to worry about how to get to the venue. She only needed to will it and it will be done. Suddenly, she found herself in front of the Total Health in the form of an old woman in rags with a white bowl in her right hand begging for alms. Her transmutation gave her much joy and reassured her of her preparedness for the challenge ahead. Dr. Charles was quite aware and prepared for the looming challenge. He was fully briefed the previous night concerning the visit of his ex-lover. The still small voice had said with much clarity that Ruth was a ravening lion that would come like a lamb. Furthermore, warned the voice, the Queen herself would appear. But he was not afraid of the Queen of the Coast once he got reassurance from the still small voice he had to trust. From the comfort of his bedroom, his eyes strayed to the street where Ruth, masked as an old woman stood waiting for him. His eyes went beyond the mask and deciphered her in her true form. She did not change at all. He contemplated informing her parents but had to discard

that impulse. Instead he thought of the battle ahead and realized that he had no battle plan nor was there any need for that. The battle was not his but the Lord’s. He gently closed the front door and purposefully walked towards his foe. Ruth on her part began to yell and ran towards him shouting: “doctor, please pity a hungry old lady”. He ignored her and crossed the single lane Nike road while Ruth pursued menacingly. She was just some feet from him and it was obvious to him that the die was cast. Suddenly a taxi sped past him and the street was thrown into much commotion. The old lady begging for alms had been run-over by the taxi. He glanced behind him and noticed that Ruth could not found. She simply vanished as there was no sign of her. He almost ed the crowd to pursue the offending driver but his eyes caught a glimpse of Ruth as she receded into oblivion. With mixed feelings he headed for his Hospital well aware that it was not over yet. His belief was reinforced by what he saw next. His office became a highway. He was being pursued by Ruth while he ran for his dear life. Just as she was about to grab him a glass screen appeared in between them. He also noticed that flashes of light came of her. Reassured, he went about his daily routines. There was a knock at the door and one of his doctors peeped into his office and said,” Chief, thank God that nothing serious happened over there. Some of the so-called beggars are actually agents of darkness.” Dr. Charles merely smiled. He appreciated the progress of his staff spiritually. It was a very busy day and it wasn’t until 6pm that he went home ever conscious that the battle was not over yet. That evening was uneventful. He had his dinner and retired to bed as if nothing was amiss. His mind went back to an earlier encounter with Ruth that led to his conversion. Then he was but an infant who sort refuge and consolation in men. Now he knew that carnal men constituted the greatest impediment to spiritual growth. He ed the man of God Prophet Arthur who was instrumental in his deliverance and conversion. But for that encounter he might still have been living in fear. Were it so, he wouldn’t have slept in his house that night. Ruth retired to a lonely park and waited for the right time. In her coven, spiritual intrigues were best carried out between 12 and 3am. Then, the physical man is easily extricated from the spiritual and dealt with without difficulty. When the

time was ripe, Ruth flew into Dr. Charles’ apartment. She stood over him and mimicking one of his nurses called out his name thrice. He heard his name called out thrice but simply refused to answer but instead lay still in anticipation. Suddenly his bedroom was transformed into a cold room well below freezing point. He was shivering and ebbing to his grave, Then a voice whispered in his ear,” it is death that is staring you in the face, my son” He rejected that statement but rather willed the appearance of whatever being that was responsible for that. Instantly Ruth dropped on the floor prostrate before Dr. Charles. He would recognize her even in thick darkness.. He approached her and stretched his hand and touched her shoulder. It was an innocent attempt to talk sense into her but it produced an unexpected result: flashes of light left Ruth. Dr. Charles sensed that her former heartthrob underwent some deliverance. Before ing off, Ruth uttered some incoherencies and lay sill and prone at his feet. Dr. Charles was not deceived, Ruth was delivered once but latter went back to the folds of the Queen of the Coast. Will it happen again? His thought was interrupted: there was a bang as if one in chains landed on the roof. The bedroom became perceptibly charged and a beautiful young woman stood menacingly in front of him. She wore a golden crown and a sparkling white gown. Dr. Charles was mesmerized and could not utter a word. He only stood gazing at the figure in front of him. The beauty addressed him in a scintillating feminine voice thus:“ I am Nnenneka the Queen of the Ogumpa River and the controller of this region. You have survived this far because of the negligence of that slot on the floor. But there is time for everything under the sun. This is the hour for you to meet your Lord. This is the hour Charles Ogbonna and there is deliverance in none but me. Good morning Mr. Savior.” Dr. Charles wanted to say something but his throat was dry. Nnenneka let out a masculine laughter which filled the room with some sickening odour. Dr. Charles grew weaker and weaker until his life force emerged from his mouth and he slumped on the floor. He saw the Queen roar with triumphant laughter but did not bother to respond to her mischief. He flew out of the room and was instantly in a very beautiful city of many mansions and singing flowers that extolled the might and power of the Almighty day and night. He wanted to the crowd that sang the praise of the Lord of heavens without ceasing but was redirected in the opposite direction into the world of men. He was in his bedroom again and found Ruth still lying on the floor prone. Quietly, he reentered his body through his mouth.

He moved closer to Ruth and touched her. She was still alive.

Chapter Seventeen

The City of Agenebode was cold and dark. The streets were empty by 7.00 p.m. and it was harmattan season again. Several couples enjoyed these evenings, where families were reunited after a day’s work or a day at school. People might have been forced home early by the chilling harmattan breeze, but the warmth of a loved one counterbalanced the cold breeze; this also applied to Mr and Mrs Rufus. Free thinkers, they didn’t go to church. On Sundays, breakfast was always served by 10.00 a.m. and Eucharia would then prepare the lunch. Every Sunday lunch in the Rufus’ home was a feast. Indeed, the late Sebastian used to love Sundays and he would follow his mother around the kitchen as she prepared the special lunch, while pointing out some minor, inconsequential flaw and asking childish questions. By Sunday afternoon, Sebastian’s talkative nature was certain to be missed and especially now that Sebastian had ed away. Eucharia would never be able to forget him and gentle reminders were always there for her, particularly accentuated by her latest miscarriage. Today, in a curious way, she was preoccupied with thoughts about her late child as she entered the storeroom to bring out some rice, chicken and fish for dinner, though she found consolation in her three daughters and her son Reuben. Thoughts of Sebastian gave way to those about Reuben and the idea of his possible demise tormented her. If Reuben died now, then she would be without a male heir and her husband might be forced to remarry. The average African man remarried all the time. Indeed, they had several wives. Education was a secondary factor in this case and if Mr Rufus remarried then she would be forced to take the role of second fiddle. That was the last thing she wanted and she would do anything in her power and intellect to make sure that didn’t happen, but she noticed a sickly hole in that resolution. Within two years, she’d had four miscarriages and she wasn’t getting any younger, having just turned forty. The doctors were far from ive in her case and merely advised that her problem was her increasing age. On the fourth occasion when she missed her period, she knew that she was in the very early stages of pregnancy before she was even officially diagnosed.

Menopausal bleeding was supposed to be irregular, even the doctor had said so, but she knew it was more than that. She was pregnant. In the back of her mind, she couldn’t shake the fear that Reuben could become a target after a series of miscarriages and the impending threat of the menopause. Without thinking about it, she stood up and walked into Reuben’s room; she wanted to be sure that he was fit and healthy. Reuben was busy preparing for his matriculation examination, in the same way Joy had done previously. Hands by her side, she stood by the door and gazed at him for some time. Then, reassured, without saying a word, she turned and went back to the kitchen. Reuben became concerned. It was unusual behaviour he hadn’t seen in his mother before. Abandoning his studies, he stood up and ed her in the kitchen, saying, ‘Is there anything you wanted me to do for you? I thought Joy was giving you a hand with dinner?’ ‘Not exactly. You get back to your studies. Your exam is less than a week away. I’ll be fine,’ she said with a generous smile, which was meant to reassure her son and mask her inner feelings. Knowing Reuben had an astute mind and could easily read people’s minds and situations, she added, ‘The best thing you could do for me is to your exam and secure a place in one of our best universities. That’s the only thing I’ll be expecting from you this year, my dear.’ ‘I’m determined to . I’ll make you proud of me, Mum. I’ll do it for Joy, too. She tried so hard and still didn’t . Oh, I forgot to tell you, in my dream last night the minister of education Professor Wilfred was my teacher. Professors teach only in universities and colleges, so it must be that I’m going to and go to university,’ Reuben said, laughing optimistically, exposing a full set of white teeth that had endeared him to many of the opposite sex over the years. Eucharia knew that Reuben was irresistible to women; indeed, all of her children were good looking. Rufus was elegant and attractive, but Sebastian had been poised to outclass the rest of her children. The pain bounced back as she said, ‘I’m sure you won’t let me down, my dear. Not because of your dream, but because you know your stuff; you must learn to disregard dreams and visions. Don’t let them dominate your mind, so that you can focus all your energies on tangible things. This applies to all dreams that you might have in future. What’s more, dreams are notoriously negative.’ ‘But, if it were not going to be so, then surely I wouldn’t have dreamt about it?’

Reuben asked, still smiling as he walked reluctantly back to his room and his books. At the age of 17, good food and soft living had combined to produce an attractive, intelligent young man in him. His parents adored him, not simply because he was male, but also because of his other qualities, like an unusual kindness and ability to understand any situation. He was quiet-natured, despite his physical strength, and he was always willing to help in the kitchen and with other household chores. At such times, Joy would scamper out of the house in a temper to one of the numerous hiding places in the sleepy village of Agenebode; she knew that household chores in Agenebode traditionally were meant for the girls and at the age of 20, she was supposed to be the woman of the house. It always amazed her that despite her disinclination towards physical things, she still found such sights revolting. She knew she was not an ordinary girl and her kingdom was not of the Rufus’ household, which was why she had told her mother she could only help her with the housework on certain days. As Joy rose up the spiritual ladder and her estrangement with physical things deepened, she was far from unaware that she was no longer her parent’s favourite; she had grown to be the black sheep of the family. She had sat her matriculation examination three times and still she hadn’t ed, but it meant nothing to her. If she hadn’t wasted her time and her talents, then she could have been top of the class, but such advances she considered to be drab and to be opposed to the real growth and development of the spirit. Her mission in life was to advance spiritually and to take over Mrs Jack’s position in due course. She had sacrificed a lot and much more besides would be needed in the future if she were to achieve her goal. Already, four unborn children and Sebastian, among others, had been sacrificed to her cause. It suited her that her mother was completely ignorant of the spiritual aspect of her miscarriage problem. The task ahead would have the same outcome; no one would notice her spiritual development to higher sources. She would traverse the tiny film between the physical and the spiritual in her physical body as many others before her had done in the past. Mrs Jack attended their meetings in flesh and blood; the only other thing that was required was courage and she had an abundance of that. She had chosen the wrong day to carry out her major plot against her family in the form of Reuben, but she had to accomplish it at all costs. The spirit and the flesh

were always in conflict. The greater the mortification of the flesh, the more agile the spirit became and this was true of the direction Reuben must take. It was now 8.00 p.m. and she knew that soon the family would be having dinner together and then everybody would leave her to her own devices. Given that the harmattan would force people to bed early, she would have ample time alone to prepare adequately. Reuben’s death would serve two useful purposes: It would satisfy both the flesh and the spirit. Not that she needed that property, but she had to do it out of malice. She would never forget the ease with which her father had decided to bequeath his property and his belongings to Reuben, without so much as a second thought to her, their firstborn. Reuben would oil her engine of spiritual growth. Only the spirit would be inclined to survive. Just then, a wicked smile spread across her face. Mr and Mrs Rufus, too, must perish. In her mind, she conceptualised the mansion that would soon erupt behind the family house in the astral world. That would be her new home. The ignorant and the blind, of course, wouldn’t understand. Indeed, all good things would follow in their proper time: a sea port, an airfield, ships and helicopters. She searched in her mind’s eye for a possible site for her sea port and she could spiritually turn the whole compound into her seaport, using her imagination. The ordinary eye would then see marshes and they would think it unnatural for such a place to become marshy. In the spiritual plain, time, space and circumstances were no obstacles and it was with this in mind that she resolved that the compound would become her seaport within a short space of time. The physical genius will be humbled if spiritual infants prioritised material things and then the so-called laws of gravitation, probability, correlation, demand and supply would be null and void. To her examination, she shouldn’t have to study. But what bothered her most was the origin of the appellation of the kingdom of darkness and why should it not be that of “light” instead of darkness? It had disturbed her on many occasions, but today it refused to subside. Even though light begets darkness and vice versa, there was something inherently pleasant about an affiliation with light rather than darkness. She knew that they couldn’t be mere sequences in an ordinary day’s cycle and if the coven could adopt the name kingdom of light, she would be more satisfied.

It was soon dinner time and a tap at her door and Mary’s voice told her everything was ready. With heavy steps, she shuffled to the dining room, where the family were already sat down eating. She took up her favourite position to the right of her mother. She didn’t like today’s gathering because of its very nature; if any of the male could see into the spiritual realm, they would realise that the collective aspirations of the family, like orderly growth, material acquisition and intellectual prowess, were diametrically opposed to hers: real, spiritual growth and pre-eminence. She glanced at her prey for the day – Reuben – and knew that if she were to confront him wholly in flesh and blood, she would have no chance. The rippling muscles and bulk were enough to turn anyone’s head. Immediately, she adopted a middle course: hers would be in the spirit, whereas Reuben’s would be in the flesh. By doing so, his bulk would pose no threat. She put some of the rice into her mouth and found that it was tasteless. It was time she had another meeting in the clouds. The thought of the feast that would follow completely destroyed all her natural appetite. Spiritual meals transformed an individual into what can be seen in of real advancement that was bound to be durable. Physical meals would still be subject to the uncertainty of the material world and even if absorbed and assimilated in the tissues, satisfaction would still be short-lived and produce would be prone to the elements. In her mind, spiritual existence was the only real state; every other thing in the physical world, including her parents and other siblings, now looked surreal to her. She had nothing but contempt for material things; briefly, she looked at both of her parents, especially her mother, and knew that this physical body she valued so much and nourishment would eventually decompose within the trappings of inner man. She was already full and was glad that Reuben was feeding heartily, for it would increase his vulnerability. Her parents and sisters ate voraciously, too, much to her delight. After such a good feed, they were bound to sleep well that night. Her parents had once taken her to the hospital for evaluation and they were told that she had a psychological aversion to food in an attempt to escape adulthood, in the form of anorexia nervosa. The diagnosis suited her fine and she had no intention of changing the prognosis. As long as she was fed spiritually, that was all she was concerned with. Her thoughts were interrupted as Mr Rufus spoke with a mouthful of rice and chicken, ‘Reuben, I take it for granted that you’re preparing enough for your exam. A good student should be revising several weeks beforehand. This is not

the time to be crash-revising or learning new facts and theories. These exams are very serious. They will determine what you will be able to do in the future as far as your chosen career goes. You shouldn’t squander this opportunity. What you haven’t learnt before now cannot be retained and utilised properly.’ ‘I’m doing my best; I shall by the grace of God,’ Reuben said. ‘No, it is not by the grace of God. If you work hard enough, my son, you will ; that’s all there is to it. The human brain is like a living computer: garbage in, garbage out. The grace of God has nothing to do with ing examinations. The earlier you understand this, the better for you. Your future is in the palms of your hands. Whatever you sew, you’ll reap,’ Mr Rufus said. ‘But, Dad, some people work really hard and still fail. Not just in examinations, but also in life. Why should that be?’ ‘I’m sure you must have asked that question with honesty. People fail for two reasons. Many don’t work hard enough, but when people fail, despite all the hard work they’ve put in, it’s important to reassess the direction they’re going in. To succeed, you have to work hard in a success-oriented manner and direction. ‘If, a week before your exam, you are still absorbing new facts or reading over favourite topics that you already know, then surely you shouldn’t be at all surprised if at the end of the day you fail. So people must work hard and apply themselves appropriately if they are to succeed. That is the rule rather than the exception,’ Mr Rufus replied with a smile. Joy listened with interest; she wanted to say that people should understand and incorporate the spiritual aspects of life or spiritual inspirations into their pursuits, but considered it unnecessary. Her father was not only deaf but equally blind to such theories. She glanced at her father’s forehead and wondered why he was still ignorant, even though his forehead was bright and prominent. Then she ed that a spiritual infant was more knowledgeable than a renowned theorist of this physical world. She wanted to pity her father, but quickly stifled that feeling. Her father’s wisdom facilitated her spiritual growth, so his blindness should persist until a much later date, and certainly beyond today. From her bedroom, she could still hear her father’s gullible thoughts on education. She was beginning to think that her duty in the home was to open her parent’s eyes and she was sure that somehow, that would happen, but by then she

would have wreaked what they cherished. Her white gown with its ribbon lay on the uppermost shelf of her wardrobe. The ordinary-looking spiritual mirror was still in place on the wardrobe and she knew that in a few hours from now, the mirror would become spiritually activated. She checked her perfumes and found them to be intact and strong. Being close to the prince was full of both pros and cons. A meteoroid spiritual growth could suffocate the spirit when unmerited and the danger of imprisonment by spirits of more powerful radiations was high. Therefore, she preferred a rise on the spiritual ladder based on solid personal efforts.

Chapter Eighteen

An hour before midnight, Reuben still hadn’t gone to bed. Joy was infuriated. She’d wanted Reuben to be asleep by now. Nonetheless, if constrained, she could carry on without him or come up with some other guise or rouse to get him to attend the meeting. She activated the mirror and made the perfume-laden air in her room waft towards her brother’s image in the mirror; this was done by a fan that had been spiritually made for the purpose. Her intention was to send Reuben to sleep beforehand, but her efforts were frustrated by the appearance of a very bright light that overshadowed Reuben’s image. At once, she knew there was trouble. Her encounter with a similar light in an attempt to harm Dr Charles was still fresh in her memory, yet she refused to give up. Unlike Dr Charles, Reuben was well within her reach. She reverted the mirror back to its ordinary state. Reuben’s refusal to sleep would necessitate her use of a mask to conceal her identity and to make him fear stricken and amenable to manipulation, even without recourse to spiritual contrivance. In a paradoxical sense, she knew it would turn out alright in the end. All things worked together for the good of the spiritually sighted. Reuben had just about dozed off, too tired to be perturbed by the catastrophic consequences of still having lots to revise. To achieve his target of being prepared to sit his exams just three days beforehand would be difficult. However, if one managed to get some rest at least two days before any exam, the result would always be beneficial: a calm disposition and a keen mind. He had tried it before during his mock exams and it had paid off handsomely. Sleep still eluding him, Reuben went to the sitting room and flipped through one of the dailies. As he picked up his favourite daily The Republic, the day’s motto seemed especially significant to him today: righteousness exalts a nation (Proverbs 14:31). He wondered why his parents were freethinkers and never went to church. He put his hand into his breast pocket and brought out the crucifix given to him by one of his numerous female irers in his class. He knew he could win over Gillian’s affections, but his overriding need now was to secure his ission into a leading university in the country. There was no doubt that it was the most sensible thing to do. Quietly, he returned the crucifix to his

pocket and refused to re-examine his own beliefs; it could wait, along with the newspaper. There was no time for digression, for it was now almost midnight and he still had a lot to do. Reuben stood up and turned towards the bedroom. Finding his door wide open, he hesitated in the doorway. In the centre of his room stood an apparition that immediately made his heart leap into his stomach. Its head was a skull, with deep-seated, fiery eyes. A flowing white gown concealed the rest of the figure, exposing only bony hands with claw-like nails. Behind the gown a pair of large, pendulant breasts protruded down to its knees. Its countenance was grotesque to say the least. Reuben managed to glance at the fiery eyes and the creature grimaced, sending cold shivers down his spine. By some mechanism unknown to Reuben, he was held spellbound and transfixed, while the creator inched forwards towards him, its fiery eyes roving from one side of the room to the other to ensure it was in full control. The door slammed shut behind him, preventing any escape, having been caught in the breeze from the open window. Just as the figure stretched out its bony hands to grab him, he woke up from his stupor, momentarily released, and screamed, ‘Dad, Dad, open the door! Help me! Come quick!’ He banged frantically at the door, while still calling for help. The creature advanced purposely towards him, with its hand outstretched. A nauseating fragrance permeated the room. It was the odour of death. He screamed again, ‘Dad, Mum, I’m in trouble. Come quick.’ Almost immediately, the figure grabbed him. Just then, Mr and Mrs Rufus threw the door open. It was unusual for Reuben to express fear so openly. In the centre of his bedroom, they saw Reuben struggling with the wind. Both parents were dumbfounded. With no time for questions, their immediate problem was how to help their only son, who was involved in a stupendous debacle that was bent on lifting him up and out of the room. They rushed to save Reuben, but they were unable to advance beyond a distance of about a foot from him. Could this be a nightmare? Both parents embraced each other; it was an embrace of fear and helplessness. ‘Father, Mother, it will carry me away if you don’t intervene,’ Reuben shouted in a voice that was remarkably alien.

‘What’s going on, Reuben?’ Mr and Mrs Rufus asked simultaneously. ‘Can’t you see? It’s a ghost,’ Reuben shouted, still trying to free himself from clutches of the figure. By now, Reuben had nearly reached the open window and with each ing second, their struggle intensified. Mr Rufus ran towards the window in an attempt to prevent Reuben from ing through it, but they were stopped by an invisible force. Reuben was now airborne before his astonished parents. In a split second, the creature appeared to have gathered strength and it lifted Reuben out of the room into the open compound below. Just then, he ed his crucifix. Gillian had told him that witches and ghosts flee at its sight. Quickly, he put his hands into his pocket and brought out his last resort: the crucifix. The result was instantaneous. The figure released him and from a height of two metres, he crashed down onto the lawn, fear-stricken, still holding firmly onto his saviour. The creature flew away into thin air as he turned and saw his bewildered parents running towards him. ‘Reuben, I am glad that you’re safe. What on earth was going on? I think you need some rest. You were probably hallucinating or sleepwalking,’ Mr Rufus said. ‘Perhaps it’s the stress of all the impending exams,’ Mr Rufus added, as if excusing what had happened for something tangible. ‘You didn’t half scare us,’ Eucharia said with some relief. Then, as an afterthought, she asked, ‘What’s the problem, Reuben? You aren’t under the influence of any noxious substances, are you? You are normally so settled, so placid.’ Reuben glanced at his parents; he knew they would never understand. Despite their astonishment at his behaviour, they were still the same freethinker, who believed in neither ghosts nor witches. ‘It was a bony creature with fiery eyes and claws, which seized me and tried to lift me out of the compound,’ Reuben said breathlessly and despondently. ‘Where is it now?’ Mr Rufus asked sarcastically. ‘In your dreams? Perhaps it was the bed monster. I’ve heard it all now,’ he added.

‘It has flown away into space.’ ‘That’s awful, darling,’ Eucharia said, ignoring her husband. ‘Perhaps we should take him to hospital and get him looked over,’ Mr Rufus said as the three of them walked back into the house, which was now a picture of calm and innocence. Once back in the confines of their own home, Eucharia noticed fresh scratch marks on Reuben’s face in the dim light. Reaching out towards him and wiping the blood from his face with her tissue, she asked, ‘What’s all this?’ Neither parent understood. Only Reuben knew what he’d ed through and he hoped that his parent’s incredulity wouldn’t destroy their relationship. Mr Rufus had always been cynical about such things as the paranormal or the supernatural.

Joy was ill-prepared for her experience today in the clouds; she had only heard but not seen the spiritual desert of offenders in her coven before. But, today, as soon as she’d arrived at the venue for the meeting, she’d been arrested and sentenced to seven hours of imprisonment in the searing heat and complete dryness of the desert. But it was no normal desert, for an invisible raindrop felt like an arrow that tore into her body as it rained down on her. It left no mark though. She was to spend seven hours in purgatory for disgracing the kingdom of darkness by failing to carry Reuben to the meeting. She saw several other things in the desert, where there was neither mercy nor death to relieve the suffering. On completion of her sentence, an aide of the prince issued her with a warning. ‘You must bring him here or die at our next meeting. You promised, ?’ It was her first dishonour in her romance with the kingdom of darkness. Ironically, it hardened her resolve to sacrifice her brother Reuben. As she flew back into her room, she wondered what would have happened to her if she had left her physical body on the bed that fateful night. Seven spiritual hours meant seven physical days, therefore her ignorant parents would have assumed her to be either missing or dead. A cold shiver ran down her spine, but she quickly overcame it and, paradoxically, she regretted not having left her physical body behind. If she had known the outcome, she would have flown straight to the

meeting when she had failed to carry Reuben across to the other side, but she had fumbled and had gone back into her body. Had she been physically dead now, she would have been liberated from the hindrance of the flesh and would be floating freely with the prince and other spiritual powers in the clouds. Certainly, a spiritual hunger wouldn’t affect the physical body as we knew it. She was surprised that the house was deserted at this time of the day and swung her hands in front of the mirror, revealing her parents in attendance with a certain Doctor Taylor, a renowned neurologist. She could hear what they were discussing and could see the pain on her parents’ faces. Then she saw the seriousness of Doctor Taylor’s face as he said, ‘I could document this and present it at the next conference of our society in the neurological association as a new form of chorea?’ Joy smiled; she knew even before now that a spiritual infant was greater than a carnal genius. She didn’t have time to listen to a hollow professor of medicine and so with that, she shuffled into the bathroom to have a bath. As she settled down for her first bath in seven days, she was happy again. Her parents’ stubborn disdain for spiritual things must have finally swung the other way for them to have gone to a spiritualist in her absence. They must finally be opening up their eyes to the possibility of something else being at work here. But this would mean trouble for her if it were to end in her ultimate disgrace yet again. And yet Doctor Taylor was applying a physical, neurological explanation for Reuben’s predicament. Maybe she would be OK, after all. Now refreshed and alert, she went back to her bedroom for a well-deserved rest. Mrs Rufus didn’t agree with Professor Taylor’s diagnosis that Reuben’s problem was chorea. There had been several occasions when she’d wondered about the scratch marks and the professor’s inability to explain their origin. Reuben’s fingernails were neatly trimmed and couldn’t possibly have produced such gruesome marks. Then there was the matter of Joy’s disappearance and her sudden reappearance, which bothered her mother, too. Once again, Doctor Charles’ warning reverberated in her ears, “The culprit is Joy. Her next target is Reuben”. She ed, too, the series of miscarriages she’d been subjected to, just as Doctor Charles had forewarned her. Slowly, she concluded that Joy must be the reason behind her predicament. Her disappearance and the events leading up to it could offer no other explanation. I cannot afford to drag my feet regarding my only son Reuben, she resolved.

It was almost dark outside, but a darker gloom enveloped Mrs Eucharia Rufus as she prepared the family’s dinner that night. She was going to confront her daughter Joy or, alternatively, perhaps she should seek Dr Charles’ help to resolve the situation once and for all. The family ate in silence, which was an unusual and an unnatural silence. A thick aura of ill-defined family confusion hung in the air. Joy agonised over her failure to give Reuben to her kingdom and its aftermath. Reuben himself needed time to recover from the upset and his impending examination compounded his gloom. Their parents understood that a threat on Reuben’s life was a threat on the very fabric that united the family. What they didn’t know was the approach they should take, for medical science appeared to offer no hope. Once they’d eaten, Mr and Mrs Rufus sent the others to bed and asked that Joy remain behind. They needed to sit down and have a long chat with her to find out what all this was about. It was an error made out of ignorance, giving Joy time to prepare her defences; she contemplated using hypnosis or outright denial. The air was thick around them and the silence that had accompanied their dinner hadn’t abated in any way. Finally, it was Mr Rufus who broke the ice first. ‘Joy, where have you been all this while?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been with one of my friends, Dad,’ Joy lied. ‘I don’t mind you visiting your friends, but don’t you think it would have been nice to let us know where you were going? Have you any idea how worried we’ve all been? Do you realise the upset you’ve caused in this family because of your absence?’ Mr Rufus said lamely. Mrs Rufus felt a lump in her throat. With exasperation, she asked, ‘Joy, are you aware of what happened to Reuben last Sunday night?’ Joy directed her ring towards her mother; she knew it was the only way if she was to overcome her mother’s questions and outwit her. As soon as she noticed the others gazing at her ring, she calmly replied, ‘No, Mother.’ Then, with feigned concern, she added, ‘I hope nothing bad has happened to him; that would be a terrible calamity.’ Mrs Eucharia Rufus’ face softened. She had been successfully deceived and almost apologised for ever associating what had happened in the family with her.

Even if Joy could be exonerated or attributed to be the root of the family’s problem, Reuben was the root of her very existence now and she would never wittingly put his life at risk. She now spoke to Joy like a mother and said, ‘Let’s forget about it for now. Just please let us know where you’re going in future.’ ‘You never told me what happened to Reuben,’ she said innocently. ‘Something very strange happened last Sunday. Your brother started sleepwalking for the first time ever. It was almost as if he was possessed; but you know my feelings about such things …’ ‘Have you seen the doctor about him yet?’ Joy asked. ‘As a matter of fact, we’ve just got back from seeing Professor Taylor,’ both parents chorused. ‘He’s in capable hands now. I’m sure they’ll figure something out,’ Mrs Rufus said. ‘I’m sure the doctors will be able to do something for him. They have to. He’s the rock of our family since Sebastian’s death,’ Joy said amidst feigned sobs. Deep down, she was mocking them. As long as they were seeing Professor Taylor and not Doctor Charles, she’d be safe. ‘Please don’t cry, Joy. We shall do everything we can to protect him, so don’t you worry yourself about that now. We’ll spend our last savings if we have to,’ Mr Rufus said, standing up to console his daughter. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked tearfully. ‘Your breaking down will only worsen our plight,’ Mr Rufus said. But even as he consoled his daughter, he wondered whether Reuben’s problem was amenable to medical treatment. What if Reuben’s ailment defied what was now known in medicine? His heart sank. If he hadn’t been a man, he would have wept with Joy and his wife. Reuben must be protected at all costs, even at the cost of swallowing her pride and going to see Dr Charles. She carefully dried her tears and those of her daughter’s as she said, ‘Stop crying and go to bed, there must be a way out.

We’ll think of something.’ When Joy had retired to bed, Eucharia brought Dr Charles into the conversation. ‘Darling, do you Dr Charles at St Paul’s Hospital in Enugu? Well, Dr Charles once told me that after a series of miscarriages, Reuben’s life would be in danger. Irrespective of what Professor Taylor said, I believe I shouldn’t ignore his advice.’ ‘Is he a specialist?’ Mr Rufus asked. ‘I don’t think he is a specialist. He’s too young to have gained that sort of status, but he was certainly instrumental in my sister’s conception and birth, when so many other professors had failed her,’ Eucharia said. ‘He’s sent up his own practice called St Charles’ Total Health.’ ‘I’m suspicious of anything that is not done in the orthodox way. I would have preferred Professor Taylor, but if you insist, then we will approach Dr Charles and see what he has to say for himself. Did you say he trained at Ibadan?’ Mr Rufus asked. ‘Yes, I think he did. Moreover, Lynda met him at the UCH Ibadan,’ Eucharia said. ‘When would you like to visit him?’ Mr Rufus asked. ‘I will phone Lynda. I’m sure she will have resumed work after her maternity leave by now.’ ‘And there was me thinking I could avoid her. She puts all sorts of rubbish into your head. Have you finally made up your mind that that’s what you’d like to do?’ ‘Reuben is the overriding factor. If Dr Charles can offer us the help we require, then we are obliged to locate and engage him at all costs,’ Eucharia said. ‘I’ll phone Lynda tomorrow. Besides, you’ve got living proof of his capabilities in Lynda’s new addition, little Charles.’

Chapter Nineteen

The week dragged by as if it would never end. The appointed day was next Saturday. She would have preferred it to have been earlier, in which case she would have dragged her workaholic husband Mr Rufus along, but he’d insisted on it being a weekend. It was Saturday 27 November 1993 when Mr and Mrs Rufus finally set out for St Charles’ Total Health Hospital in Enugu. By air, it was a forty-five minute journey and by 10.00 a.m. they had arrived at the hospital. The sheer number of the people and their afflictions startled them: the lame, the blind and the mad, with invisible but apparent ailments, were all waiting to see Dr Charles and they were now queuing up outside. ‘Dr Charles must be an eminent man,’ Mr Rufus said offhandedly. ‘He must have extraordinary abilities, if all these people are waiting to see him,’ Eucharia agreed. ‘We should have come earlier. All these people can’t be wrong,’ Mr Rufus said. ‘When is it our turn?’ Eucharia asked in an attempt to change the subject. Somehow, she had come to believe that Dr Charles could help, for surely her sister Lynda wouldn’t have lied or misled her. She certainly had nothing to gain by doing so. ‘Wait here under this mango tree, while I find out what the procedure here is,’ Mr Rufus instructed her. He walked to the reception area, where many others were already waiting. He noticed that each had a round plastic ticket and he moved closer to obtain one; his number was eight-five. ‘Who do you want to see? Dr Charles or someone else?’ the receptionist asked him. ‘Dr Charles. Are there other doctors here?’ he asked.

The girl explained that there were, in fact, three other doctors at the hospital and that people could choose their preferred doctors. Mr Rufus chastised himself for always tending to veer towards big titles. He had preferred Professor Taylor to Dr Charles and if he wanted to see just any other doctor, he wouldn’t have travelled this far.

It was not until 4.00 p.m. that it was their turn to see Dr Charles. To while away the time, they had visited the zoological garden in Enugu earlier that day. Dr Charles’ consulting room wasn’t as he’d expected, for he’d expected the room to have “unorthodox” written all over it. ‘Hello, Mr and Mrs Rufus,’ Dr Charles exclaimed as soon as the couple entered his consulting room. Eucharia had met Dr Charles before, but she wasn’t expecting him to her. Dr Charles read their thoughts and had he not had assistance from the spiritual plain, he might well have not recognised them. When one was dealing with people on a daily basis, one face tended to look much like another. ‘Please, take a seat. I’m Dr Charles, what can I do for you?’ ‘Thank you, Dr Charles. I can see you are a very busy man,’ Mr Rufus stammered. ‘My wife has told me all about you,’ he added. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’ ‘I’m pleased you came. I was once like you and only believed what I could see and touch until three years ago, though I know better now,’ Dr Charles said. ‘Dr Charles, we came irrespective of our misgivings, because we have been pushed against a wall,’ Mr Rufus said. Then he added in a soft voice, so as not to undermine the doctor, ‘Doctor, do you really believe that another plain of existence apart from the physical, material world actually exists?’ Dr Charles knew that he was going to have to spend quite a bit of time with the couple in order to change their way of thinking and to convince them that he was genuine. He’d need to get them on his side if he was to treat their daughter successfully. Any non-belief could set the whole programme back.

His previous encounter with Eucharia was fresh in his memory and whilst she believed in his abilities, he knew he would now have to win her husband round if he was to proceed and treat her and he was prepared to do whatever was necessary. ‘Mr Rufus, there is no doubt that the spiritual realm exists. This can be seen all around us in the form of a child growing to adulthood, a seed germinating into flower, a fruit- bearing plant, the beauty of the green leaves, the clear blue sky, oceans, rivers and seas, domestic and wild animals and even man himself. Think about life. Men cannot claim to understand these things, until they become attuned to them. They need to be able to see for themselves in order to believe in the unknown. Take it from me that there is a law that governs them and the constellations. There is no doubt that some intelligent superiors to man made all living beings, though we cannot see that person; yet, it is safe to say there are other plains of existence apart from our terrestrial plain. What I do know is that there are both physical and spiritual things in life. Where the physical fails, the spiritual can help.’ ‘Is this not just the process of evolution?’ Mr Rufus said with a smile. ‘Evolution should tell man that he has failed. He doesn’t know the origin of the species that evolved into man; the theory of evolution is a farce and as such should be discarded. Odd occurrences can only be explained by the existence of some other intelligence besides man,’ Dr Charles concluded emphatically. ‘I suppose we shouldn’t waste time in trying to find out the origin and destinations of man. Our short life here on earth could be used to make our stay more meaningful. Look at the carnage on our roads, for instance, and armed robberies, crime, violence, war, etc. Man could solve problems if we are honest with ourselves,’ Eucharia chimed in. ‘We cannot solve problems unless we know their origins. To understand them we need to know the origin of man himself. Indeed, the origin of man outside of the Bible is illusive. An honest search for the solution must therefore be directed towards the Bible which, incidentally, is spiritual. Only a spiritual solution will solve the problems of man,’ Dr Charles said. Glancing at his audience, he continued, ‘Man’s misdirected approach to life has caused man’s problems or has at best aggravated them. There cannot be any physical solution to our problems. As you have seen for yourselves, medical approaches haven’t done

any good for your condition in the same way that it has been proven that rich nation’s accurate weapons of mass destruction could actually jeopardise their own existence. The rich having exploited the poor became insecure and erected high walls and stockades around his home for security. All these are physical attempts at solving the problem of man; but these haven’t worked and never will,’ Dr Charles said. ‘But you aren’t poor, doctor,’ Mr Rufus said jokingly. ‘I’m not rich, either,’ Dr Charles said. He was becoming impatient with the couple and he had already given them more time than most in order to try to win them round. They had travelled a long way for this insight and he didn’t want them returning home empty-handed. In the back of his mind, Dr Charles knew they had come because of Joy who, a fortnight earlier, had attempted to carry Reuben into the spiritual realm to offer him for sacrifice in order to climb the spiritual ladder. He also knew that they had come to save Reuben’s life and to resolve her miscarriage problem once and for all. He saw they were not yet convinced that Joy was, indeed, a witch and so he prompted, ‘How is Joy? Are you willing to bring her here for deliverance? You mustn’t let what happened two weeks ago occur again, for the next attempt might be fatal. Don’t risk Reuben’s life out of your own stubbornness.’ ‘How do you mean, doctor?’ Mr Rufus asked rather sheepishly. ‘When Reuben told you that some grotesque figure had attempted to court and lure him away, that could well have been an end to his life. His attempts to convince you as to how he overcame the figure fell on deaf ears. Fortunately, this time, he managed to escape. Do you think Dr Taylor will be able to help you? Well, I’ll tell you now, no orthodox doctor can help you. A doctor cannot treat what he himself doesn’t understand.’ ‘Who told you all that?’ Eucharia asked innocently. ‘The fact that I know these things alone should convince you that I am genuine. Do you now believe? Is your sister’s baby not evidence enough?’ Dr Charles asked. The consulting room was silent. Mr and Mrs Rufus bent their heads in submission. It was difficult to explain how Dr Charles had got to know so much

about what had happened in their home. There could be no other explanation. Apart from their other family , only Professor Taylor knew about their predicament and it was therefore unreasonable to suppose that Dr Taylor had conferred with Dr Charles owing to patient confidentiality. ‘What do you propose, doctor?’ Mr Rufus asked weakly. ‘She can be delivered. It is not God’s wish that anyone should perish.’ ‘Doctor, that is one other thing I find confusing. If God is almighty and there is a God, he might not want people to perish, yet people perish daily. One can therefore presuppose that he is either negligent or he has lost control,’ Mr Rufus said with a smile. ‘That’s another mistake, Mr Rufus. We are referring not to physical death, but spiritual death. God doesn’t want anybody to die spiritually; therefore, he is willing to save those who want to be saved from darkness.’ ‘Doctor, what do you want us to do?’ Eucharia implored. ‘Tell us what we must do.’ ‘You must persuade Joy to accompany you to this hospital. You may even have to bring your whole family along for deliverance. However, once she arrives outside the gates of this hospital, you can leave the rest with me.’ ‘What’s your price?’ Mr Rufus asked cynically. ‘Patients pay for accommodation and drugs only. That’s all. Spiritual healing is free. Freely we receive, so freely we shall give,’ he said, stretching out both arms as if to demonstrate how generous he could be. Mr Rufus transferred a bundle of money from his pocket to the doctors table and spoke. ‘Here’s our deposit. I give you permission to do whatever is necessary to secure this family’s future.’ ‘That won’t be necessary right now. I can see you are a man of your word. However, if you insist, you can pay the s clerk on your way out. May I ask when you’re proposing to bring her to me?’ ‘Tentatively, I expect it’ll be before the end of the first week of December,’ Mr

Rufus said, exchanging glances with his wife. ‘Yes, or even much earlier,’ Eucharia said. ‘Within the next week or so, if I have my way.’

Mr and Mrs Rufus left Enugu for Agenebode at about 6.00 p.m. and reached home just before 7.00 p.m. Reuben, Tina and Mary were waiting apprehensively outside. Reuben’s recent encounter with the ghost was still pervasive in his mind and he could still see the fiery eyes and melancholic gestures of the demon everywhere he turned. Joy’s assurances that the demon had gone were too feeble to persuade them to remain in the house, especially now it was growing dark. While they were excited to see their parents drive into the compound, the family meal that night was merely a re-enactment of the deep-rented sadness that threatened to consume the family. They ate dinner in complete silence and afterwards, Mr Rufus announced that the whole family was to visit St Charles’ Total Health for a thorough medical check-up. Joy reacted immediately. Yet, she knew she had to be careful, fearing that she was the suspect in the whole drama. ‘Professor Taylor is by far superior to Dr Charles,’ she muttered finally. ‘Professor Taylor is a neurologist, an orthodox and seasoned doctor. Dr Charles provides spiritual healing,’ Mrs Rufus said. ‘No conventional medical practises have been able to help me so far, so what makes you think it will be any different now? I’m not getting any younger and Lynda is evidence of his success.’ Joy was unnerved. Dr Charles was one man Mrs Jack had asked her to avoid at all costs, but she couldn’t possibly disobey her parents and expect them to consider her innocent in all this. ‘Do you have anything against Dr Charles? Do you know of him?’ Mr Rufus asked, avoiding his daughter’s gaze. ‘Not exactly, Dad, but I believe that you are too sophisticated to expose your family to quacks. He is one of those who go about misguiding the gullible,’ Joy responded with a sneer.

‘Doctor Charles isn’t a quack, he’s a trained doctor,’ Eucharia said. ‘Moreover, why waste so much money on travelling costs, when there are better centres right here on our doorstep?’ Joy remarked. ‘Do not worry about the cost, we are prepared to pay. We’ve worked hard over the years to give you the best at our disposal,’ Mr Rufus said, ‘and we’re not about to change now. We’ve already lost several of our family and we need to ensure that it doesn’t happen again. Besides, your mother can’t take any more emotional ups and downs. She’s been through enough, first with Sebastian, then the miscarriages, Reuben’s sleepwalking and your disappearance. Your cooperation would now be appreciated and I won’t hear any more on the subject. That’s my final word on the matter.’ ‘Daddy, when are we going? I would very much like to visit Enugu,’ Tina interjected. ‘Very soon, my dear,’ Eucharia answered. ‘Are we going by air?’ Reuben asked optimistically, having never been on a plane before. ‘We certainly are,’ Mr Rufus said with a smile. ‘When are we going, Daddy?’ Mary asked enthusiastically. ‘Very soon. I’ll be discussing the finite details with your mother later. All in good time,’ Mr Rufus said.

Joy couldn’t sleep that night. She was equally surprised that the prince hadn’t turned up for their regular orgies. She was hoping to find out an effective way of handling the crisis, especially now that her parents had decided that on Tuesday, two days from today, they would all have to face Doctor Charles. One thing was certain – she wasn’t going to scamper into hiding and she was going to give Dr Charles the benefit of her wisdom with all the powers at her disposal that she possibly could. A mist still hung over the sun when Joy went to see Mrs Jack. It was more out of

desperation than any hope of reward, assistance or advice. Mrs Jack was only a few rungs above her spiritually and she couldn’t really offer much more advice than she already knew. A wave of hatred swept through her when she ed Dr Charles and the threat he had constituted. Again, she wondered why the prince refused to come to her rescue. Mrs Jack was still asleep when Joy arrived at her home, but just as she lifted her hand to knock at the door, Mrs Jack opened the door. Joy envied her and her spiritual wealth, which she was just about to acquire if she played her cards right. She looked at her spiritual mother, desperately hoping for some guidance. The astute Mrs Jack knew of the problem already and its possible outcome and repercussions. She offered Joy the only wooden chair in her room and said, ‘I’m pleased to see you, my daughter. Would you prefer to conduct this here or over at the mansion?’ ‘Thank you, Mother. I think I’m alright here. I have a problem, but I expect you already know that, and I need your help. My parents intend to force me to visit Dr Charles,’ Joy said sorrowfully. ‘Dr Charles? Again? What does he want?’ ‘My parents want to destroy all that I have built over the past twelve years. Imagine what it takes to rise in our system and they’re planning to destroy it all in one foul sweep!’ Joy said helplessly. ‘You don’t need to tell me, my daughter,’ Mrs Jack retorted. ‘I already know what it takes to reach the top of the spiritual climbs.’ ‘But you never experienced this kind of turmoil.’ An expectant look hung over Joy’s face. She’d hoped that Mrs Jack might have ed through and survived this kind of problem, but her hopes were dashed. ‘I never allowed anybody to pose a threat to my career. I’ve always been very cautious and selective with whom I’m acquainted. You see, the more daring one is in this kingdom, the faster one’s rise could be. But then the faster one climbs the ladder, the greater the risk of a disaster. You should not have touched your parents’ only son; you should have expected a tough battle at the very least. Caution has its merits, my dear daughter. The coward holds the lives of the brave in his hands,’ Mrs Jack said.

Joy was now devastated. Mrs Jack offered no help. She couldn’t possibly contemplate killing Reuben and hope to get away with it without so much as a scratch; Mrs Jack was right. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It left her with only one option: to strike down Dr Charles himself as soon as possible. It was then that Joy ed that she had been warned against such misadventures and to avoid Dr Charles and she said as much to Mrs Jack. ‘Yes, it is in your best interests, my daughter. You cannot hope to win a battle against him,’ Mrs Jack said somewhat sadly. ‘How about his relatives or friends?’ ‘It’s not enough to carry out attacks blindly, my daughter. Only such attacks that will further your career should be undertaken. Perhaps you could try another tack and distract him or you could attack his patients in his hospital, leading to his being discredited. Do you have the power to accomplish that? Do you have a temple?’ Mrs Jack asked sarcastically. She knew, of course, that only the head of the local government could erect a temple. Perhaps after death, Joy herself might even take over. She hadn’t considered it as an option before now. She’d always known Joy was ambitious and with recent months she had proven that she was capable of anything. Would she be next? No. She’d dismiss the matter out of hand. The fact she was still coming to her for advice showed her insecurities. She still had a lot to learn and she made rash decisions, without thinking them through first. Her actions with Sebastian and now Reuben had proved that much. ‘I could always use yours, couldn’t I?’ Joy implored, her forehead creasing into a furrow. Her wide-open eyes showed her desperation. ‘That could boomerang you and I wouldn’t like that,’ Mrs Jack said. ‘You may end up right back where you started if you were to employ those tactics. It’s all about spiritual learning and development and in order to rise, you cannot miss any of the rungs. It’s all one big learning curve,’ she added. ‘So you can’t help?’ Joy asked with a scowl. ‘Or is it that you won’t help?’ ‘I would advise you to forget the whole thing and to persuade his Excellency to accept just any other male; a gradual but steady rise will do no harm. You have only been in the kingdom for twelve years. What’s the rush for?’ Mrs Jack asked.

‘What about my parents? Will they let me be? I should never have embarked on such a course.’ ‘That’s it. You trod on dangerous terrain. You could always take refuge here; I could conceal you until they forget about what has happened to Reuben. That way, you can avoid any with Dr Charles.’ ‘Impossible! I cannot allow myself to run away from anybody, especially after mingling with the mighty and influential in the kingdom of darkness. I’ll fight unto death,’ Joy announced sharply. Slowly, Mrs Jack shook her head. All along, she’d known Joy as a spiritually overambitious little girl. As Joy stood up to go, Mrs Jack muttered, ‘Please, my daughter, you must never let them know of my existence. It could change everything.’

Chapter Twenty

The workload at St Charles’ Total Health was a challenge to its staff and the youthful vigour of the chief medical director drove everybody to their limits from the cleaners to the doctors. Diligence was the norm and was expected of every member of staff. Timothy Ike was no exception and apart from his propensity towards hard work, he loved Dr Charles, the hospital and the opportunity for advancement provided by his position in the hospital. He ate food from the hospital canteen and Dr Charles gave him occasional bonuses, which all combined to enable him to save his salary for his main project. Something that had appeared remote about a year earlier was now becoming a reality. Timothy dreamt that he had ed all his exams with flying colours and he knew he could other exams of the same standard. His climbing of the ladder career-wise had taken a rapid metamorphosis from a mere commoner to a medical undergraduate. He became aware for the first time that he had almost mastered the animal in him. He was still aggressive, there was no doubt about that, but the direction of the aggression was different: his books. He was almost happy now, except for the occasional intrusion of his past, a part of his past that could never be changed. Slowly, he told himself that he was an outcast. An outcast would always be such, irrespective of their achievements in life. His joy turned to sadness and quietly, he turned his thoughts back to work. Even as he recommenced his work, he promised himself that he would fight for acceptance for every other person that had been labelled an Osu.

Tonight was Joy’s last hope of attacking Dr Charles. She had made up her mind to manage without a temple. The family had finalised all the necessary arrangements for their trip to Enugu and she knew that unless she did something that night, she would be forced to see Dr Charles the following day. Already, she had chosen 1.00 a.m. as the most appropriate time to attack and she hoped that Dr Charles would have gone to bed by then. Otherwise, she would be left with no other option but to attack his hospital or a relative to divert his attention.

She assembled her weapons, namely her white gown with the ribbon and her dress ring. Once again, she wondered what had happened to the prince. She felt so lonely without him. Quickly, she dismissed the thought as mere nostalgia of no relevance. The prince perhaps had been too busy. Such thoughts shouldn’t distract her at this crucial hour. Without any ado, she swung her hand in front of her mirror and sprinkled the strongest libation on it. Thereafter, she bought out a pungent perfume and saturated the atmosphere of her room with it. Her strategy was first to target Dr Charles, then the hospital and, if necessary, his relatives. For several minutes, she waited in vain for Dr Charles to appear. Instead, a ring of fire encircled a blinding bright light, which unsettled her, but aroused her curiosity all the more. She was now going to meet Dr Charles in person. It would have to be a direct assault. In order to enable her to form the best route of attack, she commanded St Charles’ Total Health Hospital to appear in the mirror. To her consternation, the same circle of fire could be seen around it and again, she saw a man in an immaculate, flowing white gown holding a sword in his right hand at the gate. This would be his security guard, she told herself. His presence could pose a threat to her mission. Yes, she would have to start with the security man if her plan was to work. She aimed all of her energy and the knife, which she now held in her grasp, directly at the man in the mirror. Of course, she intended to kill, not to maim. She aimed at the man’s chest and struck it with malice. The knife penetrated the mirror, but was deflected and it dropped noisily to the floor. She was enraged, because the man was unruffled and there was no sign of any blood in the mirror. She picked up the knife again and applied more force behind it this time and so with greater virulence, she struck again at the left-hand side of the man’s chest. This time, the knife struck her cleanly in the right leg, missing him completely, and blood gushed out from the wound. It was unusual for her to injure herself in any spiritual battle. Yet, the man in the white gown was unsettled. As she struggled to stem the bleeding, she noticed that a warning had appeared in the mirror, cautioning her against something she couldn’t quite understand. Quickly, she ran to the mirror again and with anger lifted her knife to strike again. This time, the mirror was shattered completely. She became maddened and now resolved to face Dr Charles in person. Only a face-to-face confrontation could assuage her wounded ego. Meanwhile, she could always still attack Dr Charles’ relatives as a warning to

him of imminent danger. At least she could always fall back on her dress ring now that her mirror had been destroyed. She stretched out her left hand to focus the ring appropriately, but then, she discovered that her ring was missing. She was frantic now. Maybe her lack of success arose from her failure to take Reuben to the meeting. But even more pertinent was the identity of the man in the flowing white gown. She tried to consult the prince through an established channel, but to no avail. Her fear and frustration acquired a tinge of a paranoid persecution complex. Everybody and everything appeared to be against her. And she knew the reason. All the women in her coven wanted the prince for themselves. Even Mrs Jack couldn’t be exonerated. Her advice to proceed with caution left a deep mark of envy and jealousy. She attempted to Mrs Jack and confront her, but again her efforts proved futile. All her spiritual strength seemed to have drained away, leaving her denuded and vulnerable. She felt very prone to danger now and time was first running out!

Before the Rufus family left for the airfield at Agenebode, Joy attempted to reconstruct what was left of her spiritual arsenal. A less potent dress ring, an ankle chain and some not too powerful perfumes were what she needed. She had been told to carry just enough accessories for the day, but that did not deter her from concealing her weapons in her handbag. She knew that with appropriate incarnation, she could confront and damage any mortal. But Dr Charles was not just any ordinary mortal. Her rage and drive for vengeance became stronger as the plane approached Enugu, with her on board. St Charles’ Total Health swung to life as early as 6.30 a.m. daily and the tempo was maintained until late in the evening on a normal day. Thereafter, patients were treated on emergency basis, at which point only spiritual cases should warrant Dr Charles’ personal attention. Therefore, between the hours of 5.00 p.m. and 8.00 a.m., he was often relatively free. This Tuesday was no exception. At the ungodly hour of 6.00 a.m., Dr Charles was already in his office waiting expectantly for the arrival of the Rufus family. His major task for the day was to cure a spiritually active and stubborn young girl, whose only agenda was destruction. He had seen in his vision the previous night Joy’s futile attempts at destroying him and he knew he would have to be wary.

Dr Charles acquired a cloak of invinscibility and despite the tempo of his endeavours to help people, he never complained of fatigue. He knew his regular, familiar patients expected some recognition and preferential treatment and often, he obliged them. Today though, the task ahead might not give room for such niceties. As he waited, he found himself thinking of other areas he could specialise in. But even as he pondered over it in his mind, he knew it was purely out of personal satisfaction. No perfection can come from man and nothing one could do would satisfy man and his appetite for results. With this in mind, he was going to concentrate his efforts on the only source of genuine satisfaction, in the form of the spirit. It occurred to him now that he came to work so early most mornings because he was afraid, despite assurances he’d received from the spirit. The human mind could be very deceptive. He rationalised his early arrival with the apparent need to protect his patients, as if he was personally in control of their destiny. Even prophets occasionally despise their own prophecies. That thought made him unhappy for quite some time. How could he have dishonoured the spirit of the living God in favour of a lawless imp that was no more than 20 years old? After all, she had only been operating in the spirit world for twelve years. He would have liked to have kept Joy waiting in suspense when she arrived, but then he ed her parents. Even though there were at least 20,000 doctors in the city, he was still overworked. He believed that the most outstanding discovery in the century would be for man to recognise the shortcomings of science and theories that seek to explain the problems of man should equally be discarded. The most major problem to man was his spiritual blindness. Just then, he became aware of some active spiritual focus in the vicinity. His left eyelid trembled violently, a sure sign of such an event. Automatically, he lifted his face towards the hospital gates, where he saw a young woman he had seen many times before in his vision standing, transfixed, at the gate. He knew that the young woman was Joy Rufus, his main task for the day. He could hear words of encouragement from her parents and he knew all of them by name, even before having met them face-to-face. He knew Reuben, Mary, Tina and, of course, their parents. ‘What’s the problem, Joy? Let’s get a move on. Do you need some rest?’ they said. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

He could also see the anxiety on their faces. If Joy was to turn back now, it would mean the end to his plan. Ignorance was a deadly disease. If only they knew who Joy really was, what she really represented and what she was capable of in the sprit, he was sure their attitude would have been different. Quickly, he dashed out of his office towards the hospital gate to lend them his . Immediately, he saw everything. Concealed in Joy’s handbag was the bottle of perfume, the dress ring, the chains, the white gown and its ribbon. He also saw the heavy barricade that separated her from her relatives. He watched with amusement as her relatives attempted to drag her across the barricade. It represented a picturesque presentation of man’s futile attempt at solving his problems physically. He walked closer towards Joy and her family and asked them to leave her alone and go into the confines of the hospital premises. Then he turned to address Joy. Soon, a handful of people, then a sizeable crowd, had gathered around them. ‘Here, let me take your bag for you, my dear girl,’ Dr Charles said frankly. ‘That’s not possible, you witch. What rubbish have you planted in my parents’ minds?’ Joy retorted. ‘You cannot leave that spot unless you hand over your bag to me,’ Dr Charles stated simply. ‘If you don’t let me move, then you will be made to regret your actions. I can promise you that,’ Joy said defiantly. ‘I’m going to continue with my work, young woman. Don’t make yourself a laughing stock in front of the crowd. Imagine the press,’ Dr Charles said, turning and walking into the compound. Midway towards the reception area, he felt that he owed Joy’s parents and siblings an explanation. ‘Do you mean to say that unless she complies, she could remain there for ever, rooted to the spot?’ Mr Rufus asked apprehensively. ‘Not precisely. She has two options. Or rather, you have two options. She could leave her handbag at the gate and seek deliverance, or she could leave right now, unhealed and a danger to all. But she cannot expect to win a battle against us.

The forces against her will crush her. They have already reprimanded her for her actions thus far. This was seen in her disappearance for seven days. She has no real alternative but to comply.’ ‘What can be done to free her, doctor?’ Mr Rufus asked helplessly. ‘That’s what we are trying to work towards already. If she drops the handbag, much of her power will have left her. In that bag are rings, chains, perfumes and her gown, all of which constitute her visible spiritual weapons. On our own, we can do nothing, but with God on our side, she can do nothing.’ Then, more forcibly, he proclaimed, ‘That young woman, Joy, is an aggressive aggregation of all manner of demons: water-spirit, witchcraft and even devourer. If you had remained obstinate, others would have manifested. Now, she had only managed to manifest the witchcraft spirit. If you want her delivered, then you must cooperate fully and not be seen to panic. You must not give in to her desires. The more stubborn she is spiritually, the more difficult her deliverance will be.’ ‘Of course we want her delivered, that goes without saying, but will she survive it?’ Mr Rufus asked. ‘That’s the meaning of deliverance. The demons are quite different from your daughter Joy. They took over her body, which was available because you were freethinkers, and therefore, your children became vulnerable to the kingdom of darkness. By the way, did you manage to find out what saved Reuben on that fateful night?’ Dr Charles asked. ‘No, we didn’t. We felt an urgent need to solve the problem once and for all and that urgency obscured all other desires,’ Mr Rufus said apologetically. ‘Could you invite Reuben in?’ Dr Charles asked. ‘Certainly,’ Mr Rufus replied.

Moments later, Reuben walked into Dr Charles’ consulting room. Every now and then, he glanced towards his sister at the hospital gates. Worry was taking a hold of him. Despite her antics, she was still his sister. Once in the office, Mr Rufus asked, ‘Reuben, could you tell us what saved you

from the monster on that dreadful day.’ Reuben brought out the crucifix he had learnt to carry wherever he went and placed it on the table. Then, quickly, he grabbed it again, as if afraid that somebody might dispossess him of it. ‘So, you mean that the monster left you only when you brought out your crucifix?’ Mr Rufus asked curiously. ‘Yes, Dad. I thought I’d told you that earlier,’ Reuben answered defiantly. ‘Who gave you the crucifix?’ Mr Rufus asked. Reuben didn’t respond. He was vaguely afraid of possible reprisals from such a disclosure. A female classmate of his had given him the crucifix a while back, suspecting something sinister may happen to him. His father had warned him to avoid women until he could cater for his family and by accepting the crucifix, he had clearly disobeyed his orders. After a reasonable interval following Reuben’s tactical silence, Dr Charles said, ‘Well, Mr Rufus, I want you to appreciate the spiritual phenomena at work here. You may not see them, but they are there nonetheless. Those that are spiritually aware can see them and these individuals will tell you that they are real in every sense. Right now, there is a barricade preventing Joy from entering this complex and unless she drops the handbag, she could remain there indefinitely. Alternatively, she could leave the hospital without being healed.’ ‘No. We must prevent that at all costs. Already, she has attracted undue attention and we don’t want anything worse to happen,’ Mr Rufus said. ‘A succession of miscarriages and the death of a son is quite enough for one family.’ ‘By the time we are through, she may not anything. She is not the one responsible, like I told you before,’ Dr Charles said. ‘She cannot be blamed for her actions.’ ‘Yes, but the society will . Enugu is not too far from Agenebode. And you know how quickly gossip spreads,’ Mr Rufus said sullenly. ‘Don’t worry yourself. She will tire soon. The spirit in her is stubborn and refuses to retreat. In fact, I suspect she’s already devising other plans,’ Dr

Charles said, again trying to catch a glimpse of Joy at the gate. Joy was now alone and the crowd watched from a distance. To compound her problem, the sun was becoming harsher. Her countenance was severe and defiant. If her parents and those who knew her well were observant, they would have noticed that her face had changed and it had become rugged and masculine. Joy’s natural face was pretty and quite feminine. The changes and their implications didn’t escape Dr Charles’ attention, though. The demon would be on the offensive any moment now. There was no doubt that hers was a vicious spirit. As if to confirm Dr Charles’ observation, Joy wailed in a coarse, unnatural voice, ‘Stupid man, come and take me out of here!’ Then she continued after some minutes, her voice increasingly guttural, ‘Mother fucker! Come quickly, before I become destructive. You jump to bed with anything in skirt, fucking them until they’re comatosed.’ She turned to the crowd of onlookers. ‘You come here every morning to be misled. Only the fallible come here. They call him Dr Charles, but he drinks your blood every day and he extorts money from you. He is a carnivore; a leopard. Remove me from here or I will disgrace you all.’ Mrs Rufus and her children broke down and couldn’t imagine such vulgarism coming from Joy. For the first time, too, they noticed that the figure at the gate was not the Joy they knew and loved. Eucharia could no longer bear the unfolding drama before her eyes. ‘Please, darling, tell the doctor to release her. Please,’ Eucharia implored of her husband. Mr Rufus remained unmoved and if he was upset, he didn’t betray it. It was too late to reconsider the logic of their presence at St Charles’ Total Health Centre. Only one thing mattered to him now: conclusive evidence that there are truths that can neither be seen, touched nor explained scientifically; an invisible realm where life exists. Slowly, he muttered, ‘It’s too late, darling. At a certain stage in one’s life, only the truth will do, for one becomes too old to avoid the truth. I think I have reached that stage.’ Joy didn’t relent. She heaped obscenities on Dr Charles and anyone who so much as looked in her direction. Suddenly, she turned on her parents.

‘They claim to be educated and sophisticated, but they couldn’t prevent the death of their son Sebastian or the numerous miscarriages they endured. Instead, they have exposed their unfortunate children to a quack. If their ignorance and foolishness render them childless and poor, will anybody blame me? Certainly not. Every day, he lusts after me, her own daughter, and he thought I didn’t understand. What woman wouldn’t know when a man had made a at her? You stupid woman, Eucharia, tell your lover Charles, the mother fucker, to release me now or I will defecate right here and right now and I vow I will destroy his money shrine.’ ‘Please, Joy, keep quiet. Don’t speak like that. You’re supposed to be a lady,’ Eucharia sobbed. ‘I haven’t brought you up to behave like this.’ Dr Charles approached Joy and as he ed by, he tried to console the Rufus’ family, saying, ‘Don’t worry. It’s not Joy who’s talking. It’s the demon in her. When the demon is expelled, your daughter will be released. You must now go to private ward “D” and wait for her there.’ Dr Charles held some influence over them and Mr Rufus trailed behind his wife as the doctor walked towards the gate, where Joy was still transfixed. Dr Charles stood directly opposite the figure at the gate. Just then, Mr Rufus turned and spoke to Dr Charles. ‘Can we do anything to help? She will be OK, won’t she?’ he implored. ‘Nothing. Just remain calm and comply with my instructions,’ Dr Charles stated. Dr Charles then turned and confronted Joy. ‘Let me have that bag now or you’ll regret it. I’ll humiliate you here, in front of all these people, unless you behave and conform to my instructions,’ Dr Charles said in a calm, severe tone. ‘What can you do? Your parents thought that they had spent their hard-earned money on educating a responsible human being. Just look at how you’ve repaid them for their pains. Quackery. They would be ashamed if they could see you now. When you were about to be sacked from your position at St Paul’s Hospital in Enugu, you decided to come here and start this project of yours. You chose to deceive people with the rubbish that you extol,’ Joy fumed. Her eyes now bulged and they had become a deep, fiery red. Her dress was sweat-soaked, which far from became her. If Dr Charles was ignorant, he would have pitied Joy. But he knew better. The

figure before him was not Joy, but a bloodthirsty, virulent demon. In the kingdom of darkness, mercy was unacceptable. In the spiritual realm, to commend oneself to the spiritual world yields more fruit. His attention brought back to the present, he then raised his voice and spoke to her firmly, reiterating his instructions. ‘In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, give me that bag, now!’ Joy finally buckled and the creature fell to her knees and appealed for mercy. ‘Please, spare me and have the bag. All its contents are yours for the taking, but please don’t touch me. And don’t touch my home, either. I had plans for a mansion, a sea port, a helicopter …’ The first round of the contest had been won and he had no doubt that the rest would go the same way.

Chapter Twenty-one

Raising his voice in an authoritative tone, Dr Charles ordered, ‘Follow me.’ Obediently, Joy followed. Dr Charles knew that even though victory was certain, it would be naive of him to expect an easy one. Suddenly, Joy became feminine again and in her usual voice, she told her father, ‘Dad, you will be pleased to know that I believe I’m now ready to make my confession to the doctor. I believe he will find it to be most useful. Could you please excuse us? I promise to behave and to conform.’ Mr Rufus was only too glad to oblige. He had overheard that once a person in such a condition had confessed, they would be free. As soon as Mr Rufus had left the room, Joy shut the door, undressed seductively, stood before Dr Charles and began to rage, the devil coming out in her. ‘Is this what you want? I knew it. Come, take me now. You men are all the same. I have done it many times before with men of a high social standing. By this, I mean rulers of this world. You should be honoured to have me. Come, come, do not pretend you are immune. I’m all yours. And don’t worry about the people outside. I have the power to put them to sleep. Every night, you dream about me. This is an opportunity to satisfy your starved manhood. Come and have the real thing, now.’ Dr Charles was mesmerised. Joy had transformed into the most attractive woman he had ever seen. There was no doubt that he had been sex-starved and he was slowly drifting into thinking about the pleasure that could be derived from the full, succulent body before him. But he spurned her advances and shook himself from her clutches. ‘Get away from me, you witch.’ Joy ignored him and moved purposefully towards him. Alone, a mortal man is impotent before a demon. Then Dr Charles ed where his strength lay. ‘In the name of Jesus Christ, leave me alone and dress immediately,’ he commanded.

Joy obeyed and became her usual self, finally sitting almost innocently in front of Dr Charles. ‘Open the door and call your father in. You must begin your confession at once,’ he ordered. ‘There’s no more time for any childish games. , I have the rod.’ Meekly, Joy opened the door and called her father in, who was full of expectation. ‘Has she confessed?’ he blurted out. ‘You said you have some useful confession to make!’ Dr Charles said rather coarsely as the room became quiet. ‘Make your confession. Now!’ Dr Charles commanded. ‘I wanted to confess that you and I had done terrible things. You have soaked your hands in blood, just like me. We are colleagues, except that you are a pretender. You are even worse. At least I don’t pretend to be good,’ Joy said defiantly. ‘That’s no confession. Instead, you accused me. I want you to confess, now!’ Dr Charles said in a severe tone. ‘That’s why you are evil. Evil-doers hate the truth. I haven’t judged you. I haven’t even accused you. I have merely opened a chapter in your wretched life. Why aren’t you married? You don’t even have a woman. And you call yourself a man! You’ve given up your manhood for money and deceptive power,’ Joy said carelessly. ‘You’ve given it all up for quackery.’ ‘You’re a liar from the beginning. The truth is that you must leave Joy to her own strategies. She doesn’t want you any more. She’s leading you astray. Leave her now, before I use the rod,’ Dr Charles responded. ‘I see,’ Joy said. Then, after some seconds, she added, ‘If I leave her, where will I go? She has provided a home for me for the past twelve years and she hasn’t complained once, until you, you bastard, introduced your stupid doctrine. Leave me alone and I will leave you to your own devices. You’re a social misfit. How many friends do you have? None. You’re an outcast. A social outcast.’ ‘What evils have you done in these past twelve years? Dr Charles asked.

‘Bastard! When you think of evil, what do you have in mind? Murder, rape, starvation, disease, bloodbath, war, violence? Blood, blood, blood! You see how stupid you are? And you said you are educated! Did they even teach you that an innocent young girl like me, without so much as a gun, an arrow or a sword, could kill or maim? Who taught you all you believed? You shameless man. All you can do is call an innocent girl a witch. Is that the best you can come up with? If you know so much about witches, then surely you must be one of them. Either that, or you’re fascinated by the good things they provide for those who are willing and intelligent. Not idiots like you, or blind men like the sluggard of a guard next to you. You pitiful man. You allowed yourself to be deceived by a mere child. How old are you? And what do you have to show for it? ‘What have you done with all the local government money you’ve stolen? Good people would fly their sick ones to the advanced nations, where people no longer believe in fables about sea-monsters, witchcraft, dragons and all such stupid expressions. This is the age of reason, not fantasy and dreams. Your visions are sick. What you see with your own eyes is the only thing that matters.’ ‘Are you spent? What specific evils have you committed, you monster?’ Dr Charles said completely ignoring all that she’d said. Then, all of a sudden, she spat on Dr Charles’ face, covering his face with a thick, dirty yellow secretion. ‘Doctor, please don’t be offended. I’ll get you something to clean it off with,’ Mr Rufus said, wondering how his daughter could have acted in such a way. Even the secretion was evidently unnatural. ‘Don’t worry about that right now. I’ll take care of it,’ Dr Charles said as he brought out his handkerchief to wipe off the residue that covered his face. He crossed the room to the hand basin, washed his face and then wiped it with the hand towel. As he resumed his seat, he threatened, ‘, I have the rod. What specific crimes did you commit against yourself, family relatives, the community, the nation and the human race?’ Joy appeared to have dropped off, as she now had her eyes shut. The power of hypnosis was a wonder. ‘Speak now, or I will use the rod,’ Dr Charles shouted. ‘Provide a vessel for me, or I will perish in this. Even your master did the same. He was not stupid. Provide a vessel for me, or leave me alone,’ Joy shouted at

the top of her voice. ‘What sort of vessel do you require?’ Dr Charles asked. ‘Demons know the scriptures,’ he muttered to himself, noticing that the creature was now highspirited. ‘I want three vessels. We are, in fact, three; I speak for all of us. I want a bitch, he wants a pig and she wants a fish. Then you must bring a basin of water for her,’ Joy said. Mr Rufus listened to the conversation with amazement. He knew what Joy was demanding of him. He was glad that they were all available and affordable items that she’d chosen. He was becoming impatient. ‘Doctor, do I go for them?’ he asked. ‘Not yet. The devil is a liar. First, we must establish the truth of all that she said,’ Dr Charles said. Then, turning to Joy, he demanded, ‘In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, tell me what vessel you want?’ ‘Please, don’t harm me. Don’t use the name of God again in my presence. I need only a bitch. If you provide a bitch for me, I will let her be,’ Joy said. ‘Now, what crime have you committed, since you took possession of her?’ Dr Charles asked, and then added, ‘If you don’t talk, I will use the rod.’ ‘Shortly after I took possession of her, I locked up all my cousins’ children in my spiritual strongroom. By the time she found out, we had consumed four. I even sacrificed Sebastian. Even the accident on the Enugu Agenebode Highway was caused by me. The darkness in Agenebode was my handiwork. I caused people to be poor, jobless, childless and prone to misfortune.’ ‘Who are your colleagues?’ Dr Charles asked. And then he whispered to Mr Rufus, ‘Please do as she asks and go and fetch us a bitch, immediately.’ Mr Rufus left the room and ran across the road. He didn’t need to seek Eucharia’s opinion about that. The money was there and the market wasn’t too far away. Moreover, he had been convinced conclusively that he didn’t even know that he’d been living with a dreadful monster all this time.

Their session had lasted for 6 hours and only the very spiritually sick were still waiting to see Dr Charles. ‘Who are your colleagues?’ Dr Charles asked again. Still, Joy refused to talk. Dr Charles studied her closely and saw that she was now asleep, with her head resting on the table. ‘Who are you colleagues?’ he shouted again. Still, there was no response. Then Dr Charles turned and for the first time, he noticed Eucharia and her children standing by the door of the consulting room. Several others were there, too. He knew that it was a matter of time before his patient became completely free. Here was his opportunity to deliver her. She was powerless to resist in her current state. ‘Take her to the private ward “D”,’ he instructed the nurse. On her chart, he wrote: for deliverance and reincarnation. Three days’ dry fast.

The hospital staff and regular visitors to the St Charles’ Total Health Centre were used to outrageous confessions, but it was almost unbelievable that an innocentlooking girl like Miss Joy Rufus could have caused the road traffic accident of 5 October 1992 on the Enugu–Agenebode road. In that accident, two luxury buses had collided and caught fire, involving a petrol tanker, resulting in a nearby market being razed to the ground. At least 2,000 people died from that mishap. Timothy, like most people in Enugu, had heard of the accident. In fact, his first ever girlfriend had perished in the fire as a result of the crash. As he marvelled at the destructive potential of agents of darkness, he couldn’t help sympathising with Joy. After all, she was only a vessel and she was being used as such, perhaps against her will. At times, people suffered because of events they were unable to control. Quickly, he likened her problem with his. For instance, out of no choice of his own, he was born into a family of outcasts, just in the same way as Joy was coerced into the kingdom of darkness. And just as Joy would emerge from the whole episode complete, his own spirit, according to Dr Charles, would not remain an outcast. From today onwards, he discovered that he was happy. And his happiness was justified, for he was, indeed, free at last.

Timothy was confronted by another truth he had discovered. He had a burning desire to see Joy, to discuss the fact that the two of them shared a certain truth. Just as the hospital staff and patients were against her, his own people were against him and called him an osu. Even if he wasn’t allowed to see her, he could communicate and console her through the window via a look or gesture. He knew what effect such actions could have. As a boy in his village, he would crave such kinds of gestures in vain. Most people avoided him and his parents. With no land and no home to speak of, apart from the shrine of the goddess of the Nko River, they had and eventually escaped to the City of Enugu. Even that hadn’t ameliorated his plight though, until he had met Dr Charles. Was the meeting finalised in the spiritual realm prior to its manifestation in the physical? That much was obvious and so his possible meeting with Joy might have been preordained in the spiritual realm and he found he could relate to her. He pinched himself. There was no room for daydreaming! Her parents are too sophisticated and influential to allow him to interact with their daughter, he thought. It was even possible that they were aware of his stigmata. He was becoming sorrowful, but quickly he ed his new-found antidote: in the spiritual realm, there are no outcasts and the spiritual ruled the physical. His spirits lifted and he now resolved to speak to Joy, to make her woe of reclusion. That night, he dreamt he was chatting with Joy under the mango tree in front of the hospital. He knew then, for sure, that it wasn’t impossible; he would definitely secure a place at one of the universities this year following his experience at St Charles’ Total Health and he felt sure that Joy would visit him there. It was now 5.30 p.m. and very soon, Joy Rufus would commence her final deliverance session. Only then would he be able to walk in and chat freely with her.

Joy Rufus fasted for three days. On the third day, she became aware of her environment and called her mother and told her, ‘Mum, I’m hungry and thirsty.’ It was a good thing that Dr Charles was around. Otherwise, her parents would have yielded to her and thus annulled whatever benefit that had been ordained. As her mother attempted to satisfy her daughter’s wishes, Dr Charles said,

‘Leave her alone, please. It’s not time yet. The exercise hasn’t yet finished.’ Then he instructed the nurse, ‘She will break her fast at 6.00 p.m. It is imperative that you ensure that nothing, neither food nor drink, es her mouth until that time and only then on my instruction.’ Then he turned to Eucharia and said, ‘We have reached a critical stage. Don’t destroy all our efforts by listening to her pleas without my approval. If you do that, then I’m afraid we might have to start afresh.’

It was almost 6.00 p.m. when Dr Charles closed his consulting room and walked into private ward “D”, where the final deliverance session of Miss Joy Rufus was to take place. The spirit had expressly said that the session should be 6.00 p.m. and he had no intention of disobeying the spirit. At precisely 6.00 p.m., he said, ‘Let’s have the bitch now.’ Just then, Mr Rufus opened the door and brought in the bitch he’d brought three days earlier. ‘My dear young woman, how do you feel?’ Dr Charles asked with his eyes on Joy’s forehead. ‘I feel tired and weak. I’m famished,’ she answered. Then, as if an after thought, she retorted, ‘Why do you ask me? You pretend to care and yet you leave me to starve. I understand you want me to leave this vessel. Whatever it is, you must do it quickly.’ Only Dr Charles understood the spiritual significance of that response. The deliverance was almost accomplished. ‘What will happen to these?’ Dr Charles asked, lifting the contents of Joy’s handbag. ‘Burn them,’ she replied sullenly. Calmly and without any haste, he placed her dress ring, ankle chain, the white gown and its ribbon on the bedside table. Then Joy exploded, ‘Have I not said that you should burn them. I never asked

you to exhibit them. You have disobeyed me. You want to justify and satisfy yourself only. Already, you have denied me food and drink for three days and now you deny me again,’ she hissed. Her actions made Dr Charles realise that the demon was clinging to Joy. He dropped Joy’s arsenal on the table and asked sharply, ‘Do you want me to apply some force?’ ‘Those who kill by the sword shall die by the sword,’ Joy answered coldly. ‘Force it is then,’ he said, trying to make the monster angry before applying the rod. Then he raised his voice and commanded, ‘You wicked spirit of witchcraft. All manner contrary of spirits, I command you in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ to leave Joy Rufus and enter the new vessel the bitch has provided for you at once.’ Joy Rufus was lifted high up and she dropped violently back down onto the grey rug of private ward “D”. There, she convulsed repeatedly and then slept it off. The bitch ran out of the room, descended the staircase and ran across the road and disappeared into the nearby bush. Moments later, Joy Rufus was calm and almost back to her old self. She turned to her father and said, ‘Dad, I’m hungry.’ ‘What can I get you to eat, my dear?’ Mr Rufus asked, encouraged by her reaction. ‘Not yet; one more step and she will be completely free,’ Dr Charles interjected. Turning to Joy, he said, ‘Miss Joy Rufus, let’s go outside and complete the job.’ Joy staggered up and followed Dr Charles to the front of the hospital, where an elevated platform had been assembled and torched. Thick black smoke filled the whole compound, but Dr Charles saw grotesque creatures, skeletons, scarecrows, vultures and serpents beyond the smoke that escaped freely from the conflagration, which erupted from the small but powerful items on the platform from her handbag. Just as he was about to go back to his office, a dragon emerged for the flames with an incomprehensible noise. He knew that it was the last of the titans.

‘You are free to eat now,’ he whispered to Joy.

Epilogue

Joy Rufus was now completely human again, with a human appetite, drive and aspirations. She had eaten a huge meal consisting of Egusi soup, with eba and pounded yam. All that was left for her was to have a regular boyfriend and to secure a place in one of the universities. Deep down, she knew she had been irresponsible, having rebuffed all advances from men. Her appetite now also included a desire to explore the Bible and to know for certain why the kingdom she had known had failed abysmally before Dr Charles’ God and kingdom. Joy was oblivious to the indecent stares from hospital staff and patients. In a day or two, she would be free to return home to Agenebode. Once home, she would demonstrate that Joy Rufus no longer had anything to do with life in the kingdom of darkness. She would be the woman of the house and was prepared to assume that responsibility now. Inevitably, Joy ed Sebastian and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her parents and relatives were no longer there to console her as she wept and she was still weeping when Timothy popped his head round the door. Noticing her tearful face, he said, ‘Stop crying, Joy. You should be pleased that you’re now free to start life afresh. Life in Christ is a completely new life. ‘Forget whatever’s happened in your dark past and embrace your new beginning. None of this was your fault.’ It was an opportunity Timothy had longed for. He moved closer and was aware of the unmistakably feminine fragrance exuding from her. ‘Why are you crying, Joy? Is there anything I can do?’ She shook her head slowly; Joy only wanted company, something she’d been lacking in recent months. It was her own fault, for she had alienated all those around her. ‘Is it because of your relatives? When are they coming back?’ Timothy asked. ‘I’m not crying because of them, I’m weeping for myself, my past life, and especially for my little brother Sebastian. I was deceived,’ she said tearfully.

‘But that’s history now; only the future matters at this time,’ Timothy said. ‘My future is more uncertain. At the age of 20, I’m still struggling with my matriculation examinations and in gaining entry into a university. Most of my friends will be getting married sooner or later and I’ve missed out in all respects.’ Just as he finished his last sentence, she ed something else: the prince. Was she still a virgin? She hadn’t done anything physical, but spiritually she had done it several times with the prince. Even if she wasn’t a virgin, she wondered how many virgins were around these days. Her thoughts were interrupted by Timothy. ‘You’re still young, Joy. You’re very attractive and you come from a good family. I promise to be of as much assistance for as long as you need me to. I have no doubt that if you study hard enough, you will your next matriculation examination and you will be able to me in our studies at university. Most examinations aren’t too difficult. It’s just that most candidates don’t prepare well enough.’ ‘I’m glad you’re here with me,’ Joy managed to say in-between sobs. ‘There, there. There’s no need to cry now. What course do you want to study at the university?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘Medicine. I should have known better. I was lured by something I thought I wanted more than anything.’ ‘Joy, forget all that; the past is gone. The future starts today. You can mould the future from today, but the past you cannot change. Let’s embrace the future together and forget the past. I’ll pop in and see you again later tonight. I’m already late for work,’ he said. Then he stood up to go. But before he left, he turned and looked deeply into her eyes and saw some warmth from her eyes that swam in the clear fluid – tears of self-pity. He ignored that thought and preferred to call it tears of Joy. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he stressed, before leaving the room. He glanced at this watch and noted that he was already half an hour late.

Later that night, in Joy’s private ward, they discussed a wide range of issues

from the academic to Christianity, spiritual matters, courtship and family life. It was a fruitful meeting that left an indelible mark on Timothy. There was no doubt that he’d learnt a lot from the spiritually experienced Joy. Even as he went home that day it was as if her fragrance had permeated his clothes and he could still feel the warmth left behind from her lips. He knew that tomorrow’s meeting could go well beyond that. But where? Certainly not while he was still working at St Charles’ Total Health Hospital. Dr Charles would already know of his plans and the result could be predicted. He resolved to take her home and if not tomorrow, then at some point in the future. Joy was going to be the mother of his children. He cautioned himself against infatuation, but he had reason to believe all his dreams would eventually be realised and one didn’t need to sleep in order to dream. Yes, Joy Rufus would one day become his wife and she would bear him his children. He knew that now. But first he must his exams and secure entry into one of the universities to better their future.

It was a clear December morning; the sun cast its yellow glow across the land. The sky was a deep blue and the birds were singing merrily in the mango tree in front of St Charles’ Total Health Centre. Dr Charles, his staff and his patients waved Mr Rufus and his daughter goodbye. Everyone was happy for the same reason: new life had been injected into the Rufus family. Joy was happy, too, as she climbed into the taxi that would take them to Enugu Airport. She still ed a lot of things about her past. She ed Timothy, Sebastian and Mrs Jack and her past life in the spiritual realm. The ability to traverse distances, walls and objects, and to decipher thoughts and intentions, but she knew, too, that she had always preferred “agents of light” to “agents of darkness”. Moreover, there was no reason a man should rush into such a life in the spiritual plain prematurely, when the prospect of enjoying a perpetual life of celestial bliss with the creator exists after this transient phase of life after life.