That was how Kena earned his respect. Amraibure started to have a secret fear of Kena. On that night, what did she mean with her stripping momentarily? It was a lightning flash that dazed him. Where did her power come from to push him away, as if she were a lioness and he a club-footed deer? He knew they had reversed roles.
Amraibure had only realized he was grown up after he had started to ejaculate in his dreams. He could not tell what really happened to him at night while asleep but always woke up in the mornings of such dreams wet with sticky grime by his groins. It was like a starchy liquid from inside his body, he realized, that with time dried on his body. He had followed his father for so long participating in ritual ceremonies that he had got no time to play with his age-mates and gossip about such things that happened to young ones of his age. He had left behind much of his childhood without experiencing it, which was a sad loss to him. There are losses that cannot be recovered or replaced however hard one works. Such was Amraibure's loss of children's experience while in the midst of elders.
Though he had stopped serving Omoyeye for several years, it had not occurred to him that he was grown up. When younger a while ago, after every evening meal, he had gone to the wall by the door entrance to paste to it pieces of remnant meat or fish from his meal. He was imitating the elders, who served their ancestors but with bigger offerings. Then Amraibure did not quite know what he wanted, but he had expected Omoyeye, god of children, to protect and guide him. He was fascinated by the idea of leaving something for an unknown being to consume so as to help him. To him, Omoyeye might as well be the god of wrestling that he would invoke to assist him to throw down whomever he challenged on the wrestling ground, where he was very good. Omoyeye might also as well be the god of orphans and by serving him, the god would provide for children without food to eat. He loved the ritual at the end of the meal, something he passionately believed in—having the support of the wrestling god and providing food for the god of orphans to feed needy ones.
When the night experience had become so frequent that he was ejaculating twice, and almost on a daily basis, he could no longer keep his fear from his father. In his mind he wrestled with the hazy figure to recognize her but she would not show her face. He felt he was in deep trouble and had to act fast to release himself from the grip of the nightly intruder.
“I am having very bad dreams,” Amraibure told his father when the opportunity came.
His father was alone weaving fishing nets in the evening when he came to him to bare his troubled mind. Under the almond tree in the compound, he tried to observe how his father wove the intricate net that caught fish in the creeks. His father's cone nets caught the smallest fish in the creeks, the type of fish used in preparing pepper soup. His father had stopped humming a song, a practice he carried on while weaving his nets.
“What do you mean by bad dreams? Are you happy, laughing, or celebrating in your dream?” Odibo asked his son.
“No, father. It is something different,” he said.
“Thank God! That gives me relief because it is a bad omen to be happy in a dream. It is equally bad for one to be laughing and celebrating in a dream. What is it then that you are afraid of?” the father asked.
“Many nights, and in the past nights it has been a daily occurrence, once I fall asleep, I am pulled by a force I don't know on top of a woman,” Amraibure explained.
“What happens after that?” the father asked.
“I don't really know what happens but I wake with sticky grime in my groins.”
Odibo knew that his son was now mature enough to sleep with a woman. But why should a faceless woman force him upon her? he asked himself. If he found himself on top of a known woman, then that would be an ordinary dream of an adolescent boy, he reflected. But, as for a faceless woman, he had no doubt that a succubus, some witch in the family, had been coming to make love with his son. To him, this was a serious case since this witch could sap away the young man's virility. God forbid that, he told himself. It would be a disaster to have a eunuch for a son, he thought.
“I must tell you that it is a dangerous thing happening to you. If it continues happening, let me know so that we do something to stop it,” he told him to comfort his frightened son.
And then, “These witches must not be allowed to make my only son miserable,” he said to himself. This was how Amraibure came to fear witches. Before then, he had not felt they could ever hurt him. Though young, his ears had caught the frequent talk about witches who poisoned people they were envious of. Most witches were mindless, he now realized, since they could routinely harm innocent people. He could not think of anybody he had offended to deserve the nightly visitation. He started to shake with fear when he thought about witches, but he controlled himself in public. The greatest craft witches have is surprise, he had learned from the elders he had been following. He thought of witches as hunters who hid themselves so well before the game, aimed at a vital part of the body, and shot just once at where it killed.
Amraibure went to bed with the fear of witches. He started to hear the hooting of owls, which, before then, had never come close to the house at night. Deep into the night he heard strange hisses of the wind, which he interpreted as evil spirits or the breathing of witches roaming the night. He tossed in bed for long, and, in the brief sleep, the faceless being that he now took to be a witch always came to set him in that mood that left him damp. The occurrence of the visitation had not abated with time. He discovered that there were problems that time did not solve but had to be tackled head on. He was so petrified by the visitations of the witch that he had to do something about it.
He reported back to his father about the continuing night experience. The father realized he had to take immediate action to stop the deteriorating situation. He would rather like his son to suffer from fever and cuts than a witch making love with him.
“Son, don't be worried. Your problem will be solved. Ejenavi should know the cause and prescribe an effective remedy for the problem,” he assured his son.
“I know, father,” was all Amraibure could say.
“Nobody can hurt you as long as I am alive and they know it,” Odibo said, as much to himself as to his son.
“I am sick and tired of this problem,” Amraibure said.
“You shall be fine after Ejenavi has seen you.”
Father and son set out for Orhokpor with the intention of consulting the diviner that Odibo had known for over three decades. On his own, Odibo had gone to see Ejenavi many times while feeling unsure about certain happenings in his life. No adult man was free from some family troubles, he had realized, and he went to either receive charms to counter any evil forces against him or fortify himself against any rival, enemy, or evil person. This time, he felt the bug of a witch should be squelched before it grew too big to do his son irreparable damage.
Orhokpor was far enough from Okpara for them not to be noticed. There were certain things, Odibo believed, that should be kept secret. When personal problems were publicized, witches would know one's weak points and could exacerbate them, he believed. Nobody else should hear about this. He, who was as close to the gods as anybody could ever be, would be ridiculed if it became known that his son was a victim of a succubus.
The diviner welcomed them cheerfully; he knew Odibo very well. As Odibo introduced Amraibure as his only son, the diviner gazed at the young man. He shifted his gaze from the head downwards. He nodded, as if confirming a suspicion. He then turned from the son to his father.
“You have a young man big enough to impregnate a woman. He needs to have a young woman for a wife,” Ejenavi said.
Odibo was startled by the diviner's