When she went in he was just draining a tumbler that was a quarter filled with ogogoro. He had been to a meeting, but because it had ended in quarrels, and because the lights had been seized earlier in that area, he had returned sooner than expected. He was sitting bolt upright on a chair. His eyes were raw and red. His face had darkened. He looked as if waiting for her had exhausted him. He had bags under his eyes. He looked ravaged. His hands quivered. Ifeyiwa stood at the door, uncertain of what to do. Then, without looking up, he made for the belt which had been lying on the bed. His voice was loud with barely concealed anger when he asked: ‘Ifi, where have you been?’ Words failed her. She braced herself. ‘Where have you been?’ ‘I went to see my friend, Mary. On my way back the rain beat me.’ He looked up at her. His hands quivered more noticeably. ‘Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?’ ‘You were out.’ ‘So whenever I go out you go out, eh?’ ‘No.’ There was an awful tension in the room.
