The Half-God of Rainfall. Inua Ellams
target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#u58a6d126-e9ec-5069-b6d5-cf19116d8b6e">
They say when Modupe was born her own mother,
who worshipped the God of vision and fiction, screamed
when she foresaw the future looks of her daughter:
the iridescent moon she’d resemble, the dream
she’d seem to men and thus the object she’d become.
Her mother had known these men her whole life, had seen
them all … from the weak and pathetic overcome
by lust, to warlords who to crush rebellion
would attack the women to daunt their men and sons.
She’d suffered such brands of violence. It had churned
her for years. Knowing her child would need protection
from a God who could wash the eyes of men and numb
their hot senses, the young mother took swift action,
stole her child to the shrine of the River Goddess
Osún, she prayed for protection, poured libation,
straddled her daughter and to show conviction lest
Osún think this a token act, split her own womb
with a knife, the blood pooling on her daughter’s chest.
Skies above Nigeria, far above the gloom,
in the heavens over Earth where the Òrìṣà,
the Yoruba Gods and Goddesses lived and loomed
Osún wailed. Voice like cyclones, she swore an oath as
Modupe’s mother bled: no mortal man would know
this child. No one will come near! She swore to the stars,
to the galaxy’s dark. Osún’s oath shook black holes.
Woe to those who would test me! To those who would try!
She made Modupe her high priestess, her go-to,
her vessel, her self on Earth, and built her a shrine
and compound by the river’s edge, where the soil soaked
with water meant Modupe could move land, unwind
the swamp into a weapon should she be provoked.
And though it became widely known that Modupe
was untouchable, it never stopped men. It stoked
their prying eyes and their naked hunger. On clear
nights they’d secretly watch her. They’d see the full moon
beaming to the rippling and pristine waters where
she bathed. The water, like liquid diamonds, cocooned
her with light. This happened years later, when she was
fully grown and legends of her beauty had bloomed
into foolish shameless lustful moans and prayers
pitched to Sàngó, the brash God of Thunder, who too
would grab his godhood, gaze at Modupe and pause
to stroke himself. If she could humble thunder too
how safe was she among men? In his palace up
among storm clouds, Sàngó squeezed himself, slow, imbued
with dreams of her beneath him, dark skin ripe, breast cupped
when__BOOM!___rang the doors of his palace, the room shook
BOOM!___I’M THE GOD OF THUNDER! WHO DARES INTERRUPT …
Oh, greetings, Osún. She swept in. Her garments took
the deep thick greenish tinge of low waves. Her crown quaked
with new-moon jewels. The River Goddess, angry, shook.
Sàngó! That’s Modupe! You shouldn’t even take
a peek! You know the oath I took__/__Yes but__/__Nothing!
Now, go clean yourself. I bring news. For your own sake.
Moments later Sàngó returned, low-thundering
with each step. Don’t sulk! A ah! Now, I know his name
angers you, but the Greek God-King, Zeus, is warring
and mankind again is at risk. Modupe’s name
is drawn among the list of likely casualties
if you react, Sàngó. Now, our sage who has tamed
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.