Later

I have been, since my interview with Olakunde, in a state of considerable ferment, painting for myself the land that would be mine, had my mother not been torn away from it. This evening, I related to Olakunde the full dimensions of her tale, or I should rather say, the story she told me: not simply the tender prince, the cruel rival, the battle, but also the residence among the Collegians and their cages, charts, and paraphernalia.

He thought upon what I had told him; and in return, he has told me this tale, a tale of the Venus of my mother’s people, their Aphrodite, the goddess Oshun.

THE TALE OF OSHUN

In long time ago, in Oyo, they a beautiful woman, she name of Oshun. She beautiful past all other lady. She beautiful in she face. She beautiful in she hair. She beautiful in she mouth, in she eyes, in she hands. She walk, and all the Oyo mens, they love her in they belly; they want her in they arms.

But Oshun, she too fine for mens of she own Oyo country. The gods above, in the sky, the orishas, they has big want for Oshun too. Oshun say, “I marry some orisha god, then I never want nothing.” She take Shango for husband, Shango, orisha for lightning. When Shango talk, there fire in he mouth. Them days, he King over Oyo. She take him for husband. She think, “This fine, for true-true. My husband, he King of Oyo and orisha for lightning.”

Then she see Ogun, orisha of iron. He say to her, “Oshun, woman, you leave Shango. You hark here: I the iron orisha. I make for farmer can hoe. I make for slave can scythe. I make for butcher can cut and butcher can chop. I make spear. I make Dane gun and I make fetters. I make chain. This a world of iron, Oshun, and I is the master of iron. You take me, sure.”

So she leave Shango and go to Ogun, and then she Ogun wife. She live in a iron house.

Then all the orishas see she leave Shango, and they come and love her, and say to her, “You with me,” “Ki! You with me!” And she be tricked, and lose her ears, put them in a soup, and she be tricked, and lose her hair, and must has to wear a great wig, straw wig, and always, the orishas want her. Orisha arms reach for take her. Orisha mouths try for kiss her. Orishas all around her.

Then all the orisha, they quiet, because a noise in the forest. Out of that forest, out of that forest come Sonponna, orisha of the smallpox, wrap in red cloth. No body see him face, him hair hang down over him lips. He carry him arrow. He carry him red club. Dogs come with him and wind and devils with whips. He don’t say nothing to Oshun. He take she hand — no word — and he take she throat, and the other orishas, they watch.

He start for lead her back to the forest.

Then, the other orishas, they talk loud: The medicine orisha grab she arm and say she his, he save her from Sonponna; and the orisha of [Here Olakunde sought a word of me.] fate — the fate orisha, he grab she arm and say, “You come with me, and nothing ever change. I tell you all the thing that going happen,” and Eshu, the orisha of changes, he meets she on the crossroads, and he say, “You come with me, and everything change, all games, all tricks,” and one orisha on she left, and another orisha on she right, and orisha in the tree, and orisha in the dirt, and all for to hold her, all for to kiss her, all for to make they children.

And Oshun, this beautiful Oshun, she can only see eyes. She can only hear they shouting. So mighty palaver. In every place.

She don’t say no word. She tired. Oshun tired of they eyes, the orisha eyes. She tired of they hands, the orisha hands. She tired of they mouths. She leave them orishas. She take off her hair. She go down to Oyo town.

Oshun leave the orishas; she tired, oh, very tired, tired. Oshun lie down and become a river. She rest in that river. Last thing, she close she eyes and rest.

Oshun, now she still a river, run through Oyo City. Every body can touch she hand, but no body can hold it. Every body can touch she hair, but no body can take it. Every body be in her body, but no body be in her body. She go on past. A thousand years now, she done run through Oyo City.

And the Oyo girls, they sit by that river now, and they looks at it for they mirror and sees them selfs. They laugh, them girls, they laugh in the river, and they fix they hair for beauty. They want for be just like Oshun.

Thus, Olakunde’s tale of the Venus of his people; of my mother’s people; of my own. I wonder whether she knew this tale, and if she knew it, whether she told it to herself as she lay upon that pallet, requesting fairy tales of me; while in the house, Mr. Gitney, infatuated, prepared his fatal treatments.

I wonder if she knew this tale.