Ben Okri - The Famished Road

Dad pushed him away. The fight began. Dad circled the man in white. Dad rushed him, but the man wasn’t there. The blind old man, chuckling, waving a chicken bone, said:

‘That is what we call magical boxing, eh.’

I loathed him. Dad went on rushing the man, throwing wide swings, wild flurries of punches which only dazed the green moths and confused the midges, but he couldn’t touch the man.

‘Don’t you want to fight?’ he asked in frustration.

The man cracked Dad with a punch so fast that it was only when the women hurled Dad back into the arena that we registered its effect. The man went on striking Dad with electric punches, his fists were so fast that it seemed he was completely still the whole time, while Dad’s head kept snapping backwards, as if the air, or an invisible hand, were responsible. His nose became swollen, the bridge broke, blood spurted out. Dad tried hard not to breathe in his own blood. When he breathed it was in excruciation and fatigue. Suddenly, he seemed terrified of pain. The man would move his shoulder slightly and Dad’s head would jerk backwards. The man jabbed Dad at will, with cold menacing indifference. I couldn’t bear it. The man went on pounding Dad’s nose, extending the territories of his bruises, discolouring and generally realigning Dad’s face, altering his physiognomy, disintegrating his philosophy, dissolving his reality, dislodging his teeth, and sapping the will from his sturdy legs. Every time Dad took a punch a searing light from another planet shot through my skull. Blinded by the beating Dad was taking I went out, found Ade, and asked him to give me the lizard spell his father had made.

‘It doesn’t work when theopponent is wearingwhite,’ hesaid.

‘Get away from here!’ I screamed at him, and went back in.

Dad was absorbing monstrous punishment. The blind old man kept chuckling. Whenever Dad mounted another futile attack the blind old man would make a curious sound, a dissonant croak, distracting and discouraging Dad. He did this many times. Soon the celebrants took up the dissonant croak as a sort of dampening anthem. I decided to get rid of the old man. I went out and begged Ade to come and help me. We stole back in and, very gently, wheeled the old man’s chair out of the tent. In the intense excitement and concentration, no one noticed us. When we got out we wheeled him fast, shouting for people to let us through, saying that the old man was ill. He kept screaming and threatening us with curses. His frenzy only seemed to convince people that they should get out of the way.

‘A wizard is carryingmeoff!’ hehollered.

No one believed him. We wheeled him up the road, along paths, deep into the forest, and when we stopped his glasses fell from his face.

‘What has happened?’ he shouted.

His blind eyes were ugly in the dark. They had a curious light in them.

‘I can’t see!’ he cried, making our flesh crawl.

As we were about to leave he caught Ade’s hand and wouldn’t let go. I banged him on the head with a stick and he relaxed his grip and protected his head and uttered low cries. Me and Ade fled from him, with the noise of his wail amplified by the forest.

When we got back to the tent the fight was turning. Dad had crossed the desert of his exhaustion, had found new springs and oases of energies. He was covered in sweat and bruises. His head was firmly tucked behind his fists and his shoulders hunched. He had become more rock-like, like one who was thoroughly resigned to taking punishment as a condition of survival. There was something strange about the way he accepted his beating. He didn’t seem so afraid of every bone-grinding punch the man threw at him. Dad kept staggering, wobbling, under the man’s methodical, scientific combinations. It was astonishing to see that the man still hadn’t worked up a sweat. Dad went on wobbling, his legs watery, and I was sure he was pretending. I shouted:

‘Black Tyger, dirty his suit!’

All heads turned towards me. The man in white looked in my direction. In the brief moment of his distraction, Dad worked swiftly. He caught the man’s collar and with an insane howl ripped the coat. The man tried to protect the suit, but Dad abandoned allknown rules of fightingand concentrated on extendingtherippage.Hegrabbedthe torn bits of the coat, he spun the man round, and with the help of a foot to the small of the back, tore the coat off the man. Then Dad pursued him and completed the rippage, snatching off bits of white cloth clinging to his arms. Beneath the coat, there was a shirt, and Dad, with terrible persistence, tore off the shirt and tie as well. Beneath the shirt and coat the man was bare-chested and hairy. He had curious tattoos on his stomach and amulets round his neck. He had a hollow chest and a deep hole of a navel. He was so hairy, and his hair was so much like that of a bush animal that the spectators gave a shocked cry when they saw how inhuman he looked. The man began to cower. Dad feinted a punch to his head, the man blocked his face with both hands, and Dad grabbed his trousers, tripped him, and tore the trousers off him. He had long thin legs, the legs of a spiderous animal. His eyes filled with fear and shame at being unmasked. People backed away, gasping in horror. Sami, the betting-shop man, sent the buckets of money home with some of his protectors. The beggar girl began to cheer. Thewomen’s mouths hungopen.

The man got up, enraged. He had on the weirdest underpants. He rushed Dad and couldn’t find him. He rushed again and stunned him with a flurry of solid punches. They slogged it out for ten minutes. Dad kept hitting him, but he wouldn’t fall. The man caught Dad with an upper cut and rocked his head.

‘Punch his chest, Black Tyger!’ Ade screamed.

Dad paid no attention. His exhaustion had returned. He puffed, he weaved, his punches had no power. Theman began thelongarcofafearfulswingingpunchwhen the wind blew, shaking the tent, and the lights suddenly went out. They came back on again and the man stood disorientated, hand in the air. Dad, calling on his own name, charging his Own spirit, released one of the most destructive punches I’ve ever seen and sent the man flying right through the tent. Tables, plates, and fried meat, crashed around him. Dad stood, weaving, bobbing, waiting. We all waited for the man to get up. He didn’t. The prostitutes tried to resuscitate him, but he couldn’t move. They couldn’t carry him either. We heard them saying something about him being too heavy. His inert form remained outside the tent, in an outer darkness. We never saw him again.

Sami rushed into the middle of the arena and declared Dad the winner of the contest. The inhabitants of the area, who had been outside looking in, surrounded Dad. The beggar girl, me, and Ade kept touching him, wiping the great flow of sweat from his body. Overcome with the horror of his victory, and with fatigue, Dad sank to the ground. We tried to revive him, but we couldn’t. No one else came to help us.

While all this was happening the blind old man had found his way from the forest and back into the tent. He was raving about wizards and bony demon children. He ran one way, then another. His helpers tried to restrain him but he threw them off. His rage was frightful.

We tried to get Dad to stand up. He was out cold. The beggar girl got the other beggars to comeand help. WhileweweretryingtoreviveDadtheblindoldmankept pursuing me round the tent. No one could control him. I ran under the tables. I threw things at him, but he pressed on, he followed me with nightmarish persistence. I ran back to Dad, tried to wake him, but the old man came at me like a demonic sleepwalker, his hands stretched out in front of him. Then suddenly he turned away from me and with the quick movement of a snake striking an unsuspecting prey, he grabbed hold of Ade and wouldn’t let go.