‘My daughter, you’re welcome’, she began, with the son acting as an interpreter. ‘I understand that you’re looking for the Epilogwus. You couldn’t have come to a better place. We are the last surviving Epilogwus in the entire Idomaland. I hope all is well?’

            ‘No problem, Ma’, replied Lesley. She knew too well not to raise the anxiety of an old, ailing woman without the proper preamble.

            ‘The gods of our ancestors be praised. But don’t be angry with me, my daughter. Age may not be on my side now but I don’t seem to know you before. Forgive me if I ask you: who are you, my daughter? What can we do for you?’

            Lesley had long expected this question before now while they braved the elements to be in the village without her husband. She had rehearsed her answer several times in the mind.

            ‘I’m the wife of your son Alexander Epilogwu.’

            ‘I have not heard of that name before. Alex ... what did you say?’

            ‘Alexander, Ma.’

            ‘No’, the old woman said, shaking her head firmly. ‘No, none of my children goes by the name Alexandara. Did this man you say tell you he was my own son?’

            ‘Yes’

            ‘And an Epilogwu?’

            ‘Yes, Ma.’

            ‘Hmm’, sighed the old woman, ominously. ‘Maybe there is another Epilogwu that I don’t know’. There was a pregnant pause.

            ‘No’, repeated the old woman, rather emphatically. ‘Maybe not an Epilogwu. As you can see, I have only one surviving son now. That young man sitting over there. My other children are all female and are now married with children in their various husbands’ homes, except … No! This cannot be. You see, my first male children were twins looking so much alike. This one here and his twin brother who died several years ago after a protracted illness at Apa. No’, she shook her head sadly, suddenly agitated by the reminiscence. ‘I don’t want to think of him now. Not after their father has joined the ancestors and left me all alone’.

            ‘I’m very sorry, Ma’, Lesley said, sympathetically.

            ‘That is all right, my daughter. Perhaps, you have any picture of this man that claims to be my son?’

            ‘Yes, Ma’, said Lesley, and turning to the driver, ‘Adejoh, could you please get my traveling bag from the car?’

            ‘Yes, ma’am’, replied the driver, and was gone in a moment.

            A sudden hush fell over the room as everybody was wrapped in his or her thoughts. Could Alexander have lied to her of his parentage? No, not likely, Lesley thought. In any case, the whole mystery would soon be unravelled tonight.

            ‘Ma’am, see am’

            ‘Good. Thank you, Adejoh’

            Feverishly, she opened the bag and brought out the large family album. Drawing her seat closer to the old woman, Lesley opened the album, while the old woman’s son held the lantern over it. The first picture in the album was when he was in Liberia for the ECOMOG Peace-Keeping Mission where they first met and fell in love instantly. In fact, it was love at first sight.

            ‘This is my husband, Alexander. Is he not …?

            Lesley’s statement was cut short by the heart-rending scream of the old woman. What again? Lesley wondered.

            ‘Oh, the gods of my ancestors!’ wept the old woman, uncontrollably. Her son’s efforts to placate her were in vain. It was obvious that he too was trying ineffectually to hold back his tears as a man. Lesley was appalled by this inexplicable spectacle by mother and son.

            ‘No, the gods of my ancestors. This cannot be true!’ wept the old woman, disconsolately.

            ‘What cannot be true, Ma?’ asked Lesley, confused and at the same time afraid.

            ‘Never mind, my daughter. By the way, where do you say he is at the moment?’

            That was it, Lesley thought. The inquisition at last. She braced herself and narrated to them how they had left home together with their two children and how on getting to the outskirts of the village, her husband had taken leave of them to go and defecate and how after waiting for some time without seeing him, they went in search of him in the forest which proved abortive before they finally decided to come to the village without him. There was a graveyard silence as mother and son pondered over this story.

            ‘Hmm.  My daughter, I am afraid, that was his ghost’, she said with a broken voice.

            ‘His what did you just say?’, Lesley nearly shouted.

            ‘His ghost, my daughter’, answered the old woman, tragically. ‘What you had seen was not my son but his ghost. He’s no longer alive. He is dead. My first twin son is dead and we buried him here ten years ago. That is his twin younger brother, Ejeh. You can go ahead and ask him if you think that I am lying to you.’

            This was too much for a day. ‘No’, Lesley shouted, feeling as if she was going to faint. She felt dizzy, overcome by a wave of nausea. Suddenly, things began to fall into place. What a fool she had been. She could now understand why it had to take her such a long time to convince him to take her to his village to meet his people. He had always found one cogent excuse or the other to postpone the journey until the last time when she couldn’t take any more of it. And when they were almost at the village, he had to vanish in the pretext of going to defecate. So, all along she had been sleeping with a ghost? No! She heard herself scream sepulchrally. This cannot be true. Let somebody wake her up from this nightmare and tell her it was not true.  What about the two flesh-and-blood children they had together? What would become of them? Or were they also phantoms like their father? What would she tell them if they grew up? That their father was a ghost when she conceived them? No!

            ‘His name was Akpaja while he was alive. He was a civil servant and not a soldier before his untimely death’, went the old woman’s voice like a voice in a misty past. She could as well be talking to a statue. For Lesley’s mind was far away. She could not bring herself to believe that Alexander was a ghost. The memory of the first night that they made love fiercely came flooding her mind like a river that has overflooded its banks. What a nice and selfless man in the bed. No-o-o! Somebody was being economical with the truth.

            That fateful night was the longest night of her life, as she kept awake throughout the night, waiting for him. The slightest rustle of the wind against the reed door outside brought goose bumps to her body. Had he come to claim her? Would he appear to her now that she knew he was a ghost?