The witching hour caught up with Mutum trudging home in a drunken
stupor, like one participating in a dance of wraiths. He had not gone a
hundred unsteady paces when he fell into a pit; a pit whose gluttonous
depth swallowed his whole frame even when he stood. The pit located
somewhere off his homeward path, was covered with dried briers and
thorns.
His scream from the fall and intermittent calls for help failed to
attract any succour, so he sat down – legs outstretched – bemoaning the
unjust ways of fate. He had not sat for long in this depth of despair
when he heard footsteps coming down the path.
“Hey” he bellowed, “help me out of here or else I bleed to death.”
“Like just…” replied the stranger.
“Yes, there’s no justice in the world anymore.” Mutum cut in, “A man
falls into a pit and the world goes on sleeping. See how the world
sleeps on as if they blame me for my fall. I came upon this pit while on
my way home from Damuah’s bar where I had gone to confer with men on
affairs of the world. I tried to get around the pit but it stayed in
front of me. I retraced my steps, yet it still cut off my path. The pit
haunted me and will not rest until it had me. How then am I to be blamed
for my fall?”
By then the clear and moonlit night had revealed the ragged
accoutrements and dreadlocked head of the stranger to be that of
Maiceto, the only madman in the village.
“My wife’s son…” now said Maiceto, continuing with his gibberish.
“Yes my wife is such a fiend.” Mutum interposed. “I see her handiwork
in my present plight. I’m certain she must have dug this pit as I saw
her go out with a hoe yesterday. O my wife, she’s the reason I’ve come
to this. Her nagging is what drives me each day to the comfort of
Damuah’s bar. She wakes up each early morning and like the dutiful cock
she is sets to nagging. Evening brings her lazy feet from the farm and
before her burden is laid in place, she begins nagging until sleep finds
her. I swear she even nags in my dreams, leaving me to get what
peaceful sleep I can during the day. Nothing will please her more than
to see me roam the streets in mad health.
By now Maiceto’s face bore an increasingly disconcerting look. His
misty mind could not comprehend the mystery of the talking pit. Suddenly
his face brightened as if he had hit upon a wonderful idea that will
unravel the mystery. He dug his hands into one of his filthy pockets and
produced a matchbox. He struck a match and lit some dried brushes lying
beside the pit. The fire quickly spread to the dried briers and thorns
lining the pit.
The haziness that had held Mutum captive as a result of his heavy
consumption of cheap alcohol was now dispelled by knowledge of this new
calamity. He climbed out of the pit by some inexplicable means and fled
home to the suffocating presence of his tyrant wife.
