away at the scraps of meat he had left behind! He was still staring at it, too appalled to move, when a thin, dry chuckle caught his ear. It was the arthritic godhorse, now seated on a low boundary stone nearby.
'I wouldn't take that if I were you,’ it mocked him, jerking a limb at the scavenging bird. ‘A fat bird like that should make a good meal, don't you think?'
With that comment, Ansige reached the pinnacle of frustration. He picked up a rock, hurled it, and whacked the thieving bird on its tiny brainpan. It fell dead instantly.
Now enter Paama. Poor thing. She came running towards Ansige, trying to scream out her dismay in a kind of anguished whisper.
'Are you mad? Where is the lamb my father gave you? Why have you killed the village peacock?'
Ansige looked at her, looked at the peacock, and looked at her again. The day's injustices seemed to pile up in his throat as he tried to explain to her that it was a perfectly natural mistake that anyone could have made, and why did she have to scold him for it? His emotions spilled out in an indignant bluster.
'Don't act as if you don't know me! I ate the lamb your father gave me, but it wasn't enough, so I saw the sheep and I thought he wouldn't mind if I had a little extra sustenance. He knows what a hard time I had coming here. And then this bird started eating the best bits of
And Ansige put on one of his famous expressions, the one titled ‘I have been Unwarrantedly Injured and Unreasonably Slandered.'
Paama was far too accustomed to the look for it to have any effect, and too horrified at the sight of the dead peacock. ‘Ansige, the chief will have you punished for killing our peacock! This is a rare bird, a gift from a visiting prince. He has walked about the village unmolested for years, and you manage to dispose of him within one day of being here! I have to find a way to get you out of this.'
'Well, if you had fed me properly—’ he began petulantly.
'Be quiet,’ said Paama, looking around frantically. ‘See there? That horse tethered over there has not yet been broken in. You must take the peacock and lay him near the horse's hooves. Then I will scream loudly, people will come running, and we will tell them the horse kicked the peacock and killed him.'
Ansige grumbled and whined and was fearful of coming near the hooves of the wild horse, but Paama bullied and persuaded him. He crept closer with the bloodied body in his hands, but the horse moved skittishly aside and tossed its head up, scaring him into retreat. Then, just as Ansige made a rush forward and dropped the bird on the ground, the horse decided it had had enough. Neighing an indignant scream, it reared up at Ansige, who screamed in turn and bolted away. It was sheer bad luck that he tripped over the tether, and even worse luck that he knocked the peg out of the ground. The horse immediately took off at speed, dragging the hapless Ansige a short distance until the rope finally pulled free.
Paama let out a shriek of genuine fear and dashed towards the nearest houses. ‘Help! Help!’ she shouted.
People came running, crying out, ‘What is it? What's happening?'
'A terrible accident! The peacock went too close to our wild horse, and Ansige was trying to shoo him away when the horse broke free, trampled the poor peacock, and knocked Ansige down!’ As she explained, Paama pointed wildly at Ansige, who was trying to pick himself up; the horse, who had slowed to a walk; and the bundle of feathers that had once been a proud peacock.
Some ran to help Ansige to his feet, others hastened to capture and secure the horse. The rest looked sadly at the limp remains of what had been the village mascot. ‘Never mind, Paama,’ they consoled her. ‘It was just an accident. It could have been much worse.'
Ansige came limping to her side, rumpled and dazed. She took hold of his hand firmly. ‘We must go tell the chief what happened. Say nothing. I will do all the talking,’ she instructed him in a low voice.
The chief was out on his veranda enjoying the cool of the evening. He smiled at Paama and nodded to Ansige as Paama said her greetings and Ansige bowed stiffly, all too aware of the smudges of earth and bits of grass that still stained his face and clothing.
'Ansige, Ansige,’ the chief muttered. ‘Aren't you the son of Jeliah, daughter of Chief Darei of Hsete?'
'Yes, I am,’ Ansige acknowledged, putting back his shoulders a bit and standing taller at this welcome piece of recognition.
'Yes,’ smiled the chief, stroking his beard and looking very pleased with himself. ‘I remember now. Did I not tell you he would make an excellent husband, Paama?'
Paama gasped suddenly to hide her indignation. ‘Sir, I nearly forgot. We have some bad news to tell you. Makendha's peacock is dead! Ansige tried to save it, but it was trampled by my father's half-tamed horse.'
The chief sat up straight, dismayed. ‘What misfortune! Why did it go so close to the horse?'
'It was so used to roaming about freely that it probably never realised it was in danger,’ she said with complete if economical truth.
The chief stood, frowning. ‘This is terrible. I will go immediately to see what the situation is.'
'A very good idea,’ Paama agreed, and there was a strange hardness in her voice. ‘One should never rely on a secondhand report for something so important.'
Later that night, after Ansige had been settled in at the lodge, Paama had time for herself. She went to the yard at the back of her parents’ home and knelt down before a smooth river stone that had been set near the back gate. She eased it over, exposing a patch of smooth, hard earth. Dusting off her hands, she folded them in her lap and began to cry, carefully spilling her tears only where the stone had lain. After a few minutes, she squeezed out the last of her tears over the patch of bare earth, covered it back with the stone, and went inside.
3
ansige and the unexpected harvest
Semwe and Tasi wanted to comfort Paama, but it was very difficult to comfort someone who stayed so dry-eyed and unmoved. They compensated by buffering Paama from Neila's careless slights and self-centredness, and by praising the food on the breakfast table. At first Tasi had feared that she would be forced to invite Ansige to share the morning meal, but her husband reassured her that Ansige and his enormous appetite would not awaken until almost noon.
Still, the compliments fell flat. Talking about food reminded one of Ansige, and thinking of Ansige brought a tension to the atmosphere akin to a mental indigestion.
Semwe was the first to admit his thought. ‘About your husband?’ he began uneasily.
Paama stiffened, but the tremor was gone in a heartbeat and her shoulders slumped in the despair of acknowledgement. ‘Yes, Father, I know. I know that Ansige has brought his huge, bottomless hunger into Makendha, and it must be satisfied or he will embarrass us all. But I do not know what I can prepare that will fill him. I have fallen out of the habit of planning meals for twenty.'
Semwe patted his daughter's arm while beside him Tasi made consoling noises. Neila, who was still oblivious to Paama's distress, continued eating and daydreaming and ignoring her family.
'I have a suggestion,’ Semwe said. ‘Why not send him a large basket of roasted corn? Roast enough for twenty men. That should keep him for the day. I really cannot see him getting through all of it.'
Paama smiled weakly, unconvinced. She might have forgotten how to cook for twenty, but there were many terrible memories of Ansige's eating still branded on her mind.
'I'll do that,’ she replied. ‘I'll go pick them right now so they'll be ready and roasted by the time Ansige wakes up.'
Paama went once more into the family lands and walked down the rows of maize, carrying a deep basket strapped to her back. While she picked, the growing heat of the sun beat down on her cloth-draped head until, wearied with her joyless task, she decided that she had picked enough. Then she carried her heavy load back to
