Butterfly Fish Read Online Free PDF Page A

seat.
    Mrs Harris popped a piece of gum in her mouth, “Can’t say I’ve ever noticed. That was some sight, you giving a fish mouth to mouth!” Then she said, “You’re grieving but be careful, behaviour like that can get you thrown in the funny farm.”
    â€œIt was reactive!”
    I looked out the window at the gaps between the leaves of the tree leaning to one side.
    As if addressing the wing mirror I said, “Whatever we come back as in the next life, it’s mandatory for you to be my swimming partner.”
    â€œDone deal”, she laughed. “RIP, fish.”
    I hit the gas, turned the wheel and steered the car forward. I watched the right wing mirror on my side. People dripped out of it onto the pavements with bits of glass embedded in their bodies. I placed my left hand on the lump of key in my pocket, felt its finger guise against my thigh. The fish, the finger and the people were in my head. Swimming at the speed of a bullet from one end to the other, if my head got sliced open they would fall out, bucking with afterlife.

The Advantage of Nmebe Soup
    Adesua recalled the advice Mama Uwamusi had given her earlier that morning. The secret of good Nmebe soup is balance and employing a light touch. All the flavours combined must play their part for the overall taste. The wild tomatoes should be ripe but not overly so, the onions sparsely added, a small portion of peppers for the required burst of heat, a sprinkling of bitter leaf. All cooked in the juices of a tender fowl. All around her, people were milling to and from the various stalls, their raised voices an ever-increasing hum. She often wondered whether people who came to the market thought they were in competition so keen was each person to out-shout and out-talk the other.
    Apart from Adesua’s duty of cooking the soup, today was a special day for the bridal choice ceremony was to begin at The Royal Palace after the setting of the sun and the market was rife with gossip and high energy. The scent of peppered meats lingered in the air and children with small sugar cane sticks in their mouths, were roaming freely, happy to escape their mother’s heavy hands, their eager fingers quick to reach out and touch whatever caught their restless eyes.
    At the furthest stretch of the market next to Ijoma’s fish stand, Adesua saw a young boy eating watermelon who helped himself to another healthy sized piece whilst Ijoma’s back was turned, and was soon chased. There was a juggler dressed in red with multi-colouredpieces of string tied across his head and two sets of white feathers tucked near each of his ears. In the middle of the market, as well as various fruit and farm produce stalls was Esemuede the palm wine seller who was always remarkably merry. Next to him sat Ahere, the one armed beggar accompanied by his dog who was quick to imitate his master and stick a needy paw out at passers by. On the opposite side across from them was Emeka the tailor who sold some of the finest cloths and materials, all laid out in an elaborate fashion to tempt the most disciplined of market visitors. Beside Emeka was the curious figure of Ehinome, the medicine man surrounded by bags of herbal remedies, each designed to resolve ailments such as back pain and bowel trouble.
    This was what she loved about market day, the familiar comfort of mayhem that surrounded her. The women with their generous hips and ample bosoms, chopping fish and slaughtering chickens, ignoring the sweat that glistened on their furrowed brows and the sheen it left on their taut skin. The men wielding produce in their powerful arms, jokingly exchanging banter across the amused heads of customers who would at times pass judgement and salute their chosen winner; smoke rising to the sky and the distinctive aroma of goat roasting, your stomach growling, mouth watering and tongue snaking across your lips in approval.
    It was during this moment of reverie that Adesua