Читать книгу The Half-God of Rainfall - - Страница 12

They say when Modupe was born her own mother,

who worshipped the God of vision and fiction, screamed

when she foresaw the future looks of her daughter:

the iridescent moon she’d resemble, the dream

she’d seem to men and thus the object she’d become.

Her mother had known these men her whole life, had seen

them all … from the weak and pathetic overcome

by lust, to warlords who to crush rebellion

would attack the women to daunt their men and sons.

She’d suffered such brands of violence. It had churned

her for years. Knowing her child would need protection

from a God who could wash the eyes of men and numb

their hot senses, the young mother took swift action,

stole her child to the shrine of the River Goddess

Osún, she prayed for protection, poured libation,

straddled her daughter and to show conviction lest

Osún think this a token act, split her own womb

with a knife, the blood pooling on her daughter’s chest.

Skies above Nigeria, far above the gloom,

in the heavens over Earth where the Òrìṣà,

the Yoruba Gods and Goddesses lived and loomed

Osún wailed. Voice like cyclones, she swore an oath as

Modupe’s mother bled: no mortal man would know

this child. No one will come near! She swore to the stars,

to the galaxy’s dark. Osún’s oath shook black holes.

Woe to those who would test me! To those who would try!

She made Modupe her high priestess, her go-to,

her vessel, her self on Earth, and built her a shrine

and compound by the river’s edge, where the soil soaked

with water meant Modupe could move land, unwind

the swamp into a weapon should she be provoked.

And though it became widely known that Modupe

was untouchable, it never stopped men. It stoked

their prying eyes and their naked hunger. On clear

nights they’d secretly watch her. They’d see the full moon

beaming to the rippling and pristine waters where

she bathed. The water, like liquid diamonds, cocooned

her with light. This happened years later, when she was

fully grown and legends of her beauty had bloomed

into foolish shameless lustful moans and prayers

pitched to Sàngó, the brash God of Thunder, who too

would grab his godhood, gaze at Modupe and pause

to stroke himself. If she could humble thunder too

how safe was she among men? In his palace up

among storm clouds, Sàngó squeezed himself, slow, imbued

with dreams of her beneath him, dark skin ripe, breast cupped

when__BOOM!___rang the doors of his palace, the room shook

BOOM!___I’M THE GOD OF THUNDER! WHO DARES INTERRUPT …

Oh, greetings, Osún. She swept in. Her garments took

the deep thick greenish tinge of low waves. Her crown quaked

with new-moon jewels. The River Goddess, angry, shook.

Sàngó! That’s Modupe! You shouldn’t even take

a peek! You know the oath I took__/__Yes but__/__Nothing!

Now, go clean yourself. I bring news. For your own sake.

Moments later Sàngó returned, low-thundering

with each step. Don’t sulk! A ah! Now, I know his name

angers you, but the Greek God-King, Zeus, is warring

and mankind again is at risk. Modupe’s name

is drawn among the list of likely casualties

if you react, Sàngó. Now, our sage who has tamed