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Palm Sunday

Things started to fall apart at hoo to co his heavy ère We had just returned from church Mama placed the fresh pal table and then went upstairs to change Later, she would knot the pal theold-framed family photo They would stay there until next Ash Wednesday, ould take the fronds to church, to have theray robe like the rest of the oblates, helped distribute ash every year His line moved the slowest because he pressed hard on each forehead to make a perfect cross with his ash-covered thufully enunciated every word of “dust and unto dust you shall return”

Papa always sat in the front pew for Mass, at the end beside thenext to him He was first to receive communion Most people did not kneel to receive coin Mary mounted nearby, but Papa did He would hold his eyes shut so hard that his face tightened into a griue out as far as it could go Afterward, he sat back on his seat and watched the rest of the congregation troop to the altar, palether and extended, like a saucer held sideways, just as Father Benedict had taught thenes for seven years, people still referred to him as “our new priest” Perhaps they would not have if he had not been white He still looked new The colors of his face, the colors of condensed milk and a cut-open soursop, had not tanned at all in the fierce heat of seven Nigerian harmattans And his British nose was still as pinched and as narrow as it alas, the sah air when he first cas in the parish, such as insisting that the Credo and kyrie be recited only in Latin; Igbo was not acceptable Also, hand clapping was to be kept at a minimum, lest the soles in Igbo; he called theht-line lips turned down at the corners to for his sermons, Father Benedict usually referred to the pope, Papa, and Jesus—in that order He used Papa to illustrate the gospels “When we let our light shine beforeChrist’s Triuene He could have chosen to be like other Big Men in this country, he could have decided to sit at hoovernment did not threaten his businesses But no, he used the Standard to speak the truth even though it ene spoke out for freedom How many of us have stood up for the truth? How many of us have reflected the Triumphant Entry?”

The congregation said “Yes” or “God bless him” or “Amen,” but not too loudly so they would not sound like the mushroom Pentecostal churches; then they listened intently, quietly Even the babies stopped crying, as if they, too, were listening On soation listened closely even when Father Benedict talked about things everybody already knew, about Papa est donations to Peter’s pence and St Vincent de Paul Or about Papa paying for the cartons of communion wine, for the new ovens at the convent where the Reverend Sisters baked the host, for the neing to St Agnes Hospital where Father Benedict gave extreether, next to Jaja, trying hard to keep , because Papa said modesty was very important

Papa himself would have a blank face when I looked at him, the kind of expression he had in the photo when they did the big story on hihts award It was the only time he allowed himself to be featured in the paper His editor, Ade Coker, had insisted on it, saying Papa deserved it, saying Papa was too s That blank look would remain on his face until Father Benedict ended the sermon, until it was time for communion After Papa took coation walk to the altar and, after Mass, reported to Father Benedict, with concern, when a person ed Father Benedict to call and win that person back into the fold; nothing but mortal sin would keep a person away from communion two Sundays in a row

So when Papa did not see Jaja go to the altar that Paled his leatherboundout, down on the dining table e got holass It shook, as did the palm fronds on it

“Jaja, you did not go to communion,” Papa said quietly, almost a question

Jaja stared at theit “The wafer gives me bad breath”

I stared at Jaja Had so come loose in his head? Papa insisted we call it the host because “host” ca the essence, the sacredness, of Christ’s body “Wafer” was too secular, wafer hat one of Papa’s factories ht their children to give them a treat better than biscuits

“And the priest keeps touching myat hied him to seal his mouth, but he did not look at me

“It is the body of our Lord” Papa’s voice was low, very low His face looked swollen already, with pus-tipped rashes spread across every inch, but it see the body of our Lord It is death, you know that”

“Then I will die” Fear had darkened Jaja’s eyes to the color of coal tar, but he looked Papa in the face now “Then I will die, Papa”

Papa looked around the roo had fallen froht would fall He picked up theit across the roolass étagerè, which Mae, finger-size ceraurines of ballet dancers in various contorted postures to the hard floor and then landed after them Or rather it landed on their e leather-bound s for all three cycles of the church year

Jaja did not move Papa swayed fro theht bulbs attached to it clinked against one another Then Ma slap-slap sounds on the ed from her sequined Sunday wrapper and the blouse with puffy sleeves Now she had a plain tie-dye wrapper tied loosely around her waist and that white T-shirt she wore every other day It was a souvenir from a spiritual retreat she and Papa had attended; the words GOD

IS LOVE crawled over her sagging breasts She stared at the figurine pieces on the floor and then knelt and started to pick them up with her bare hands

The silence was broken only by the whir of the ceiling fan as it sliced through the still air Although our spacious dining roo room, I felt suffocated The off-white walls with the fra down ontoward me

“Nne, ngwa Go and change,” Mabo words were low and cal, she said to Papa, “Your tea is getting cold,” and to Jaja, “Come and help me, biko”