Graceland Read Online Free PDF Page A

shape, and have broad, saw-edged margins. It produces star-shaped yellow flowers and its fruits are seedlike, tiny and hard and have a ring of short bristles.
    The leaves and flowers, when crushed, are applied to wounds to stop bleeding, healing them quicker. A little salt and lime juice added to the sap of the crushed leaves, and dropped into the eyes, remove corneal opacities and other foreign bodies, clearing up vision.

THREE
     
     
     
With your finger on the King’s head, trace the star. See? The lobes fall where its reach points. This is the first truth.
     
     
     
    The King’s head is the kola nut’s apex, or head. The star is the design of lines clearly imprinted on it that determine the number of lobes the kola nut will have. This number is the key to the Igbo mathematical system. This number holds the truth of the clan.
     
     
    Lagos, 1983
    A pale watery sun rose over the ghetto of Maroko. The place was already abuzz with life. People hurried out to the bus stops to get to work, and the ferry dock was packed tight, yet the two ferries that spanned the lagoon between Maroko and the marina of downtown Lagos were sitting about fifty feet out in the water, with no passengers on board.
    The plank walkways, which crisscrossed three-quarters of the slum, rang out like xylophones as a variety of shoes hurrying over them struck diverse notes. In the mud underneath this suspended city, dogs, pigs, goats and fowl rooted for food. Somewhere in the vicinity, the congregation of a Spiritual-Church belted out a heady, fecund music that was a rhythmic, percussive background to their religious ecstasy.
    Elvis had decided to find steady work, as he couldn’t depend on his dancing to bring in a regular income. It wasn’t that he was giving up on his dream to be a dancer, he rationalized; it was more like he was deferring it for a while. Maybe with the money he earned, he could save up to go to America. That was a place where they appreciated dancers. Besides, he thought, remembering his humiliation the day before, it wasn’t as if he was enjoying it anymore. Anyway, his father was out of work and drinking again, and Comfort wasn’t too happy supporting everyone.
    He walked over to Madam Caro’s Bar and Restaurant, a rather grandiloquent name for the shaky wood-and-zinc shack perched on the edge of a walkway, hanging over the swamp. Regulars often had to be fished out by the teenagers hanging around. Of course, there was an exorbitant charge, but when you were drowning it didn’t matter. It was even rumored that on slow nights, the youths pushed people in.
    Madam Caro, who lived across the street from Elvis and his family, was one of those women that traditional society couldn’t peg into a role. Too big for that world, she seemed at home in the urban anonymity of Lagos. She was nearly six feet tall and had the girth of a baobab tree, or very nearly. Her skin was the black of onyx and her eyes, which missed nothing, were hard, although when she laughed they lit up.
    There was a good chance that his friends would be in the bar, Elvis thought. He was eager to run into Redemption. It sometimes seemed like Redemption knew everyone, heard everything and could procure anything, for a price. Elvis hoped that Redemption would help him for free, as he was broke. Besides, they were friends.
    He’d met Redemption at school when he first arrived, which in itself was a lucky break, because Redemption was hardly ever in school. He’d turned up maybe twice a month with gifts for the teachers and the headmaster, who always bumped him cheerfully to the next class. Redemption had been pulling a reluctant goat and balancing a bundle of yams precariously on his head when Elvis had torn past, nearly knocking him over, late as usual.
    “Hey, stop!” Redemption shouted in a tone that froze Elvis. “What is de hurry?”
    “Sorry. I’m late.”
    “Well, if you help me pull dis stubborn goat to de headmaster’s office, I will make things