The Will of Allah (by: David Owoyele)

There had been a clear moon. Now the night was dark. Dogo glanced up at the night sky. He saw that scudding black clouds had obscured the moon. He cleared his throat. 'Rain tonight,' he observed to his companion. Sule, his companion, did not reply immediately. He was a tall powerfully-built man. His face, as well as his companion's, was a stupid mask of ignorance. He lived by thieving as did Dogo, and just now he walked with an unaccustomed limp. 'It is wrong to say that,' Sule said after a while, fingering the long, curved sheath-knife he always wore on his upper left arm when, in his own words, he was 'on duty'. A similar cruel-looking object adorned the arm of his comrade. 'How can you be sure?' 'Sure?' said Dogo, annoyance and impatience in his voice. Dogo is the local word for tall. This man was thickset, short and squat, anything but tall. He pointed one hand up at the scurrying clouds. 'You only want to look up there. A lot of rain has fallen in my life: those up there are rain clouds.'

They walked on in silence for a while. The dull red lights of the big town glowed in crooked lines behind them. Few people were abroad, for it was already past midnight. About half a mile ahead of them the native town, their destination, sprawled in the night. Not a single electric light bulb glowed on its crooked streets. This regrettable fact suited the books of the two men perfectly. 'You are not Allah,' said Sule at last. 'You may not assert.'

Sule was a hardened criminal. Crime was his livelihood, he had told the judge this during his last trial that had earned him a short stretch in jail. 'Society must be protected from characters like you,' he could still hear the stern judge intoning in the hushed courtroom. Sule had stood in the dock, erect, unashamed, unimpressed; he'd heard it all before. 'You and your type constitute a threat to life and property and this court will always see to it that you get your just deserts, according to the Law.' The judge had then fixed him with a stern gaze, which Sule coolly returned: he had stared into too many so- called judges' eyes to be easily intimidated. Besides, he feared no-thing and no one except Allah. The judge thrust his legal chin forward. 'Do you never pause to consider that the road of crime leads only to frustration, punishment and suffering? You look fit enough for anything. Why don't you try your hand at earning an honest living for a change?' Sule had shrugged his broad shoulders. 'I earn my living the only way I know,' he said. 'The only way I've chosen.' The judge had sat back, dismayed. Then he leaned forward to try again. 'Is it beyond you to see anything wrong in thieving, burglary, crime?' Again Sule had shrugged. 'The way I earn my living I find quite satisfactory. Satisfactory' exclaimed the judge, and a wave of whispering swept over the court. The judge stopped this with a rap of his gavel. 'Do you find it satisfactory to break the law?' 'I've no choice,' said Sule. 'The law is a nuisance. It keeps getting in one's way.' 'Constant arrest and imprisonment - - do you find it satisfactory to be a jailbird?' queried the judge, frowning most severely. 'Every calling has its hazards,' replied Sule philosophically. The judge mopped his face. 'Well, my man, you cannot break the law. You can only attempt to break it. And you will only end up by getting broken.' Sule nodded. 'We have a saying like that,' he remarked conversationally. 'He who attempts to shake a stump only shakes himself.' He glanced up at the frowning judge. 'Something like a thick stump -- the law, eh?' The judge had given him three months. Sule had shrugged. 'The will of Allah be done.

A darting tongue of lightning lit up the overcast sky for a second. Sule glanced up. 'Sure it looks like rain. But you do not say: It will rain. You are only a mortal. You only say: If it is the will of Allah, it will rain.' Sule was a deeply religious man, according to his lights. His religion forbade being dogmatic or prophetic about the future, about anything. His fear of Allah was quite genuine. It was his firm conviction that Allah left the question of a means of livelihood for each man to decide for himself. Allah, he was sure, gives some people more than they need so that others with too little could help themselves to some of it. It could certainly not be the intention of Allah that some stomachs remain empty while others are overstuffed. Dogo snorted.

He had served prison sentences in all the major towns in the country. Prison had become for him a home from home. Like his companion in crime, he feared no man; but unlike him, he had no religion other than self- preservation. 'You and your religion,' he said in derision. 'A lot of good it has done you.' Sule did not reply. Dogo knew from experience that Sule was touchy about his religion, and the first intimation he would get that Sule had lost his temper would be a blow on the head. The two men never pretended that their partnership had anything to do with love or friendship or any other luxurious idea: they operated together when their prison sentences allowed because they found it convenient. In a partnership that each believed was for his own special benefit, there could be no fancy code of conduct. 'Did you see the woman tonight?' Dogo asked, changing the subject, not because he was afraid of Sule's displeasure but because his grasshopper mind had switched to something else. 'Uh-huh,' granted Sule. 'Well?' said Dogo when he did not go on. 'Bastard!' said Sule, without any passion. 'Who? Me?' said Dogo thinly. 'We were talking about the woman,' replied Sule.

They got to a small stream. Sule stopped, washed his arms and legs, his clean-shaven head. Dogo squatted on the bank, sharpening his sheath-knife on a stone. 'Where do you think you are going?' 'To yonder village,' said Sule, rinsing out his mouth. 'Didn't know you had a sweetheart there,' said Dogo. 'I'm not going to any woman,' said Sule. 'I am going to collect stray odds and ends -- if it is the will of Allah.'

'To steal, you mean?' suggested Dogo.

'Yes,' conceded Sule. He straightened himself, pointed a brawny arm at Dogo: 'You are a burglar, too ... and a bastard besides.'

Dogo, calmly testing the edge of the knife on his arm, nodded. 'Is that part of your religion, washing in midnight streams?' Sule didn't reply until he had climbed on to the farther bank, 'Wash when you find a stream; for when you cross another is entirely in the hands of Allah.' He limped off, Dogo following him. 'Why did you call her a bastard?' Dogo asked. 'Because she is one.' 'Why?' 'She told me she sold the coat and the black bag for only fifteen shillings.' He glanced down and sideways at his companion. 'I suppose you got on to her before I did and told her what to say?' 'I've not laid eyes on her for a week,' protested Dogo. 'The coat is fairly old. Fifteen shillings sounds all right to me. I think she has done very well indeed.' 'No doubt,' said Sule. He didn't believe Dogo. 'I'd think the same way if I'd already shared part of the proceeds with her . . .

Dogo said nothing. Sule was always suspicious of him, and he returned the compliment willingly. Sometimes their suspicion of each other was groundless, other times not. Dogo shrugged. 'I don't know what you are talking about.' 'No. I don't suppose you would,'



said Sule drily. 'All I'm interested in is my share,' went on Dogo. 'Your second share, you mean,' said Sule. 'You'll both get your share -- you cheating son without a father, as well as that howling devil of a woman.' He paused before he added, 'She stabbed me in the thigh -- the bitch.' Dogo chuckled softly to himself. 'I've been wondering about that limp of yours. Put a knife in your thigh, did she? Odd, isn't it?' Sule glanced at him sharply. 'What's odd about it?' 'You getting stabbed just for asking her to hand over the money.' 'Ask her? I didn't ask her. No earthly use asking anything of characters like that.' 'Oh?' said Dogo. 'I'd always thought all you had to do was ask. True, the coat wasn't yours. But you asked her to sell it. She's an old "fence" and ought to know that you are entitled to the money.' 'Only a fool would be content with fifteen shillings for a coat and a bag,' said Sule. 'And you are not a fool, eh?' chuckled Dogo. 'What did you do about it?' 'Beat the living daylight out of her,' rasped Sule. 'And quite right, too,' commented Dogo. 'Only snag is you seem to have got more than you gave her.' He chuckled again. 'A throbbing wound is no joke,' said Sule testily. 'And who's joking? I've been stabbed in my time, too. You can't go around at night wearing a knife and not expect to get stabbed once in a while. We should regard such things as an occupational hazard.' 'Sure,' grunted Sule. 'But that can't cure a wound.' 'No, but the hospital can,' said Dogo. 'I know. But in the hospital they ask questions before they cure you.'

They were entering the village. In front of them the broad path diverged into a series of tracks that twined away between the houses. Sule paused, briefly, took one of the paths. They walked along on silent feet, just having a look around. Not a light showed in any of the crowded mud houses. Every little hole of a window was shut or plugged, presumably against the threatening storm. A peal of languid thunder rumbled over from the east. Except for a group of goats and sheep, which rose startled at their approach, the two had the village paths to themselves. Every once in a while Sule would stop by a likely house; the two would take a careful look around; he'd look inquiringly down at his companion, who would shake his head, and they would move on.

They had been walking around for about a quarter of an hour when a brilliant flash of lightning almost burned out their eyeballs. That decided them. 'We'd better hurry,' whispered Dogo. 'The storm's almost here.' Sule said nothing. A dilapidated-looking house stood a few yards away. They walked up to it. They were not put off by its appearance. Experience had taught them that what a house looked like was no indication of what it contained. Some stinking hovels had yielded rich hauls. Dogo nodded at Sule. 'You stay outside and try to keep awake,' said Sule. He nodded at a closed window. 'You might stand near that.'

Dogo moved off to his post. Sule got busy on the crude wooden door. Even Dogo's practised ear did not detect any untoward sound, and from where he stood he couldn't tell when Sule gained entry into the house. He remained at his post for what seemed ages-it was actually a matter of minutes. Presently he saw the window at his side open slowly. He froze against the wall. But it was Sule's muscular hands that came through the window, holding out to him a biggish gourd. Dogo took the gourd and was surprised at its weight. His pulse quickened. People around here trusted gourds like this more than banks. 'The stream,' whispered Sule through the open window. Dogo understood. Hoisting the gourd on to his head, he made off at a fast trot for the stream. Sule would find his way out of the house and follow him.

He set the gourd flown carefully by the stream, took off its carved lid. If this contained anything of value, he thought, he and Sule did not have to share it equally. Besides, how did he know Sule had not helped himself to a little of its contents before passing it out through the window? He thrust his right hand into the gourd and next instant he felt a vicious stab on his wrist. A sharp exclamation escaped from him as he jerked his arm out. He peered at his wrist closely then slowly and steadily he began to curse. He damned to hell and glory everything under the sun in the two languages he knew. He sat on the ground, holding his wrist, cursing softly. He heard Sule approaching and stopped. He put the lid back on the gourd and waited. 'Any trouble?' he asked, when the other got to him. 'No trouble,' said Sule. Together they stooped over the gourd. Dogo had to hold his right wrist in his left hand but he did it so Sule wouldn't notice. 'Have you opened it?' Sule asked. 'Who? Me? Oh, no!' said Dogo. Sule did not believe him and he knew it. 'What can be so heavy?' Dogo asked curiously. 'We'll see,' said Sule.

He took off the lid, thrust his hand into the gaping mouth of the gourd and felt a sharp stab on his wrist. He whipped his hand out of the gourd. He stood up. Dogo, too, stood up and for the first time Sule noticed Dogo's wrist held in the other hand. They were silent for a long time, glaring at each other. 'As you always insisted, we should go fifty- fifty in everything,' said Dogo casually. Quietly, almost inaudibly, Sule started speaking. He called Dogo every name known to obscenity. Dogo for his part was holding up his end quite well. They stopped when they had run out of names. 'I am going home,' Dogo announced. 'Wait!' said Sule. With his uninjured hand he rummaged in his pocket, brought out a box of matches. With difficulty he struck one, held the flame over the gourd, peered in. He threw the match away. 'It is not necessary,' he said. 'Why not?' Dogo demanded. 'That in there is an angry cobra,' said Sule. The leaden feeling was creeping up his arm fast. The pain was tremendous. He sat down. 'I still don't see why I can't go home,' said Dogo. 'Have you never heard the saying that what the cobra bites dies at the foot of the cobra? The poison is that good: just perfect for sons of swine like you. You'll never make it home. Better sit down and die here.' Dogo didn't agree but the throbbing pain forced him to sit down.

They were silent for several minutes while the lightning played around them. Finally Dogo said, 'Funny that your last haul should be a snake-charmer's gourd.' 'I think it's funnier still that it should contain a cobra, don't you?' said Sule. He groaned. 'I reckon funnier things will happen before the night is done,' said Dogo. 'Uh!' he winced with pain. 'A couple of harmless deaths, for instance,' suggested Sule. 'Might as well kill the bloody snake,' said Dogo. He attempted to rise and pick up a stone from the stream; he couldn't. 'Ah, well,' he said, lying on his back. 'It doesn't matter anyway.'

The rain came pattering down. 'But why die in the rain?' he demanded angrily. 'Might help to die soaking wet if you are going straight to hell from here,' said Sule. Teeth clenched, he dragged himself to the gourd, his knife in his good hand. Closing his eyes, he thrust knife and hand into the gourd, drove vicious thrusts into the reptile's writhing body, breathing heavily all the while. When he crawled back to lay down a few minutes later the breath came whistling out of his nostrils; his arm was riddled with fang-marks; but the reptile was dead. 'That's one snake that has been charmed for the last time,' said Sule. Dogo said nothing.

Several minutes passed in silence. The poison had them securely in its fatal grip, especially Sule, who couldn't suppress a few groans. It was only a matter of seconds now.

'Pity you have to end up this way,' mumbled Dogo, his senses dulling. 'By and large, it hasn't been too bad -- you thieving scoundrel!' 'I'm soaked in tears on account of you,' drawled Sule, unutterably weary. 'This seems the end of the good old road. But you ought to have known it had to end some time, you rotten bastard!' He heaved a deep sigh. 'I shan't have to go up to the hospital in the morning after all,' he mumbled, touching the wound in his thigh with a trembling hand. 'Ah,' he breathed in resignation, 'the will of Allah be done.' The rain came pattering down.