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The Boy and the Dish A long time ago, there lived another man who also had two wives. The first wife had a son. The second wife was also blessed, for she too had a son. But the first wife did not live to see old age. She died suddenly from one of those mysterious illnesses people often succumbed to and no one, not a healer, not a diviner, can say exactly what killed them. Her family grieved for her. The death celebrations over, her son was left in the care of her co-wife. But this co-wife was not a kind woman. She was called thewicked -one because she didn’t treat the little boy as her own. People talked, but she didn’t care that custom and tradition demanded this of her. It was considered shameful if one visited a compound and could tell which children belonged to which mother by the way they were treated. It was clear by her attitude that this boy could never be her son. He remained a stepson to her. People said she treated him as if he were a leper. She sent him to the farm to weed grass, to harvest food; she sent him to the forest to fetch firewood; at home, she made him do all the housework. Her son spent all his time at home eating, sleeping , and playing. You’d never see him doing any of the chores: he would not wash a dish, he would not sweep the floor, he would not go to the river like any other child and wash his own clothes. His mother worshipped him like a god, and he took his brother for his slave. 71 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. It all happened one day when the boy came back from the farm exhausted and famished. Rather than give the boy food to eat, the stepmother ordered him to carry the dirty dishes to the stream. Knowing what any form of protest could provoke, the boy obediently carried the basin full of dirty dishes to the stream in spite of his fatigue and the hunger gnawing at his ribs. It was the rainy season. The water was cold, but he carefully washed and rinsed dish after dish. While he was busy loading the clean dishes into the silver basin, one of the bowls fell from his hands and was swept away by the strong current. The stepmother was furious when the boy came home without the dish and promptly ordered him to go and look for it. The boy begged and pleaded with her; he complained that night was fast approaching, but she took no pity on him. She wanted her dish, be it night or day. “Do not return without it,” she decreed. Weeping bitterly and thinking about his mother, the boy called upon the dead woman to come to his aid. He left the house, the fear in the balls of his feet propelling his steps as he ran all the way to the stream. He searched the waters for a long time. The more he waded downstream, the higher the water rose, to his knees, his thighs, and his chest. Slowly but surely the waters engulfed him. To his surprise, instead of drowning, he saw a path in front of him. He took the path and it led him to a single house in front of which was sitting an old, old woman. He felt a knot in his stomach, fought down his apprehension , approached the old woman, and greeted her. “Grandmother, are you at home?” “Welcome, my son.” “Is all well with you?” “I’m all right, but you, where are you going to this hour of the day?” The boy sat down and told the old woman the story of the missing dish: “My mother sent me to the stream to wash our 72 / Makuchi You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. dishes. One of them was swept away and I came downstream looking for it. My search led me to your house. Mi,1 have you seen our bowl?” She listened and at...

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