THE REDEMPTION

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.