The Half-God of Rainfall by Inua Ellams

Author:Inua Ellams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2019-03-07T16:00:00+00:00

Among the Greeks there is a famous tale of pride,

about a child strapped with feathers and wax. It’s told

this child who got too close to the sun fell and died.

Whenever and however this story unfolds,

it’s never admired that heflewthat he proved

it was possible, knew it, that – wings – fluttered bold,

bright,broad,a graceful glide of a thing and it moved

towards the horizon before gravity pulled.

His vengeance needed greatness. Demi understood

the need to go further; become legend. It ruled

his waking life, his every dream. His conviction

burned in him … then burned him out … to a pitiful

shadow of a man, whisper of a God. A shunned

silence of graveyard-weight and a soup-thick darkness

held him. The year: two thousand and twelve. Location:

London, Olympic Stadium, changing room, a mess

of ice packs, drowned towels, frustration and regret.

Hours earlier, first quarter, despite their best

Nigeria trailed America forty-nine nets

to twenty-five. Halfway, seventy-eight points to

forty-five and nothing Demi did worked, from threats

to his team to deep-reading The Art of War to

inventing new plays on the spot. Even his shots

fell shortand slow murmurs like low tides began to

rise in the crowd, questioning if the rain had stopped,

asking whether the Rainman’s reign had finally

dried up, for captained by Demi, Nigeria lost

by the largest margin in the whole history

of Olympic basketball. The final scores were

one hundred and fifty-six to seventy-three.

Fans were furious. If mid-game you’d scanned them … there!

Thirty-seventh row, far far right, you might have seen

Hera – Greek God Queen, in human disguise, her hair

twisted in a popular style, skin dimmed to seem

like any mortal but a tide of discontent

spreading from her lips, her influence i n f e c t i n g

the crowd. By her, someone so short he was a dent

in the earth, the unknown God of Gravity, who,

to make amends for the Icarus affair, lent

his service to any deity that asked and through

the match pulled Demi’s shots, so each fell short. The Queen

waved to dismiss him. She vanished and appeared through

the steam in the changing room, solidifying

to full Goddess form before a forlorn, naked

Demi. Demi. Why so sullen? What’s wrong? You seem …

… broken. You know who I am. Good. What clouds your head?

What is ruffling your nappy feathers? So naive.

That was a scrap of Zeus’ power, just a shred.

You’ve heard that one who goes against us does not live

long? Your days are numbered. But should you go to Zeus,

kneel before him, confess your plot, he will forgive

his son, expand your little powers … Shhh! Just choose,

and wisely, small god, think, then talk. The door will be

open for two days more. You’ve time to call a truce.

When Hera left, Demi to dodge journalists, eased

out the back-alley entrance of the stadium

and walked, hood up, through throngs of disappointed kids

asking what had happened to him. Demi sat numb

shrunken down on the bus, a fallen God among

men. He was used to press conferences but these drummed

within him, their questions pitched, rolled and rocked like strong

currents, sloshing from their mouths. He felt himself shrink,

phase in and out, grow weak as though his blood flowed wrong.

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