The month of June came to the village and expired with no drop of rain from the air. For even once, there showed no cloud in the sky. Scalding sunlight struck Ayetoro townlet and its neighbouring communities throughout the month. As a result, timeless wells were beginning to dry. The overflown stream nearest to the village turned to a footpath. Famished livestock perished. Ageless trees blighted. Roofs were coated with dust, making the rooms easily sandy. The bumpy, sun-baked dirty pathways often burned the soles of flip-flops as many a pedestrian trekked on them. Animals had become lean. This was a tragic situation that worried a score of farmers whose crops and plants had suffered a great deal. They periodically crowded to Baba Agba's mud-and-thatch hut to listen to his infallible prophecy about the hour rain would fall. But the old man's prediction was vain since the grim development surged towards July. Have we badly sinned against 'Eledumare' and 'Eledumare' has chosen to punish us this way? The victims wondered amid themselves when the prophecy did not come to pass on the stated day.
It was not until mid-July that the rumblings of thunder struck the earth, staining the air with clouds. Suddenly, the violent wind began to lift and sway every light object and people ran for cover in the awnings or the rooms, lest the reeling objects hit them or the tornado made them go blind. People clapped and hooted in expectation of the rain. As the cloud was fading on the horizon, at about five-thirty that evening, the villagers paused rejoicing, their faces disappointed and displeased.
With quick speed and at a time no one expected, raindrops pounded the roofs, washing away the dust and every other thing that needed to be made neat. No villager had placed a container outside yet because the water was still dirty. As it rained heavier, farmers felt a rush of glee stirring in them. A number of them were overwhelmed with joy in a way that they ignored the nightly meal. They only sipped gourds of palm wine till bedtime. Maidens did a little dance from side to side. Toddlers, that often complained of the heat, stark undressed and stepped into the rain for a cool bath, whistling happily, leaping and occasionally rubbing their bodies, not minding the coldwave whose sign was palpable. It was like they were bathing away the severe heat that licked them two nights ago and the rest of the days that preceded that evening.
Muck-spreading helped the strong soil to regain its fertility. Empty cisterns and metal drums and other containers stored neat water. Waste materials, unfazed along the paths, were flushed away by the deluge.
At about two-twenty midnight, the villagers were sleeping soundly since the weather was comforting. The only person whose eyes had not closed was Aduke. She sat down in a corner of her room, her back against the wall, and her face straight, her palms placed on her cheek like a mourner who missed the deceased.
During that lonely moment, she heard a sound. She trembled. But after a few seconds of shuddering like a cocoyam leaf blown by strong winds, she was convinced, however, that the sound came from the gecko that crawled behind the old, torn calendar hung against the wall. For a moment or more, she restricted the hose of her breath to stop the pounding in her mind, for she formerly thought the sound as Pa Simon's---her father.
There was always something dignified about Pa. Simon. As a learned man, he spared no room for things he considered wrong. Among those things was toying with insomnia at the time the chickens had gone to roost. He believed that lack of sleep had a way of harming health and his belief contained a kernel of truth. When Aduke earliest lay sleepless and got caught in the act, Pa. Simon had suddenly walked in to rebuke her, wearing a quizzical expression that conveyed his displeasure. Aduke was able to be pardoned by a saying that she had a headache. Pa. Simon believed her and found a cure for her ailment. Getting caught again a second time, a few days later, Aduke ran out of ideas as she did not see a workable excuse to avoid the blame, for it was obvious she had been warned a thousand times against the harmful habit. Then she knelt, her head bowing and her eyes clothing with fright:
"I'm sorry, father," she pleaded, "I will not stay sleepless again,"
Pa. Simon's corneas were darting around the pools of his hazel eyes. His facial expression needed to be studied if it were to be understood. He paced the room for a while before he turned back to his daughter:
"I will pardon you, Aduke," he said calmly, holding her on the shoulder, "Everything I want of you is for your good," he digressed to briefly tell her a story related to how a promisingly wealthy man died on account of sleeplessness. Aduke shook her head, determined to follow the number of hours Pa. Simon allocated to sleeping.
"Give sleeplessness good riddance. You are the only child I am blessed with," her father said and headed for his room to meet his waiting wife.
"I will, father," Aduke said with a raised voice so that it would strike the holes in Pa. Simon's ears. She was certain that her response got to him judging from the waving of his hand in the air as he exited her room.
That day marked, for Aduke, the beginning of going to bed very early, but today, the vow was about to be altered as she rose to her feet and sneaked to the sitting room, paused at the threshold of Pa. Simon's room, parted the green curtain half-way and looked forward to the silky bed. As she did so, she saw Pa. Simon snored through his parted lips, and her mother, far gone in deep sleep that was fully dreamy, fully dreamy that Janet, her mother, rested her arms over Pa. Simon's chest as he snored boisterously. Aduke smiled and her mouth felt sour. Her eyes once again surveyed her father. An increase in his breath assured Aduke of safety; she was not going to get caught in sleeplessness. When she was done, she dragged the green curtain back to its rightful position and quickly returned to her room. She got to her room and bolted the door and dragged the wooden stool to a corner. She was about to straddle on the low stool, bent on resuming her earlier, halted thought, when the bright, ripe-orange-coloured bulb above her head went off, making the room as black as soot. It angered her and she looked downcast. It was not right for NEPA to interrupt electricity when an undone thing was smiling ahead of her; the thing that had been keeping her awake; the thing that did not give her a breathing space. Her face became dour and impassive. Having ranted within her, she fell on her stomach and crawled towards the wooden etagere that nestled near her foamy mattress, her hands groping for a bundle of candles and a matchbox placed side-by-side upon the etagere. She succeeded in her search as she quickly thrust out a stick of candle and lit the white wick. There was this brief shi-shi-shi sound from the candle, its flame went higher and higher towards the high ceilings made of white cartons, and they were still as white as snow because the dark flame did not tamper with them. Accidentally, beads of burnt-candle wax dropped in between her toes. She whistled and winced her leg as she felt the sharp pain. The muffled whistle was needed to stop her father from jerking up from sleep and coming over to challenge her. She was able to cool down the pain.
Now, however, It was no longer raining, but the earth was so cold. In her room, only the sizzling of the melting wax intruded into the silence of the night. Although It was past two-thirty midnight, Aduke was still awake. Against the right-hand wall of her room was the writing desk with a clay-coloured chair pushed to it. This was the same desk on which the burning candle was placed. Under the desk were booked neatly crammed while she was on her bed. She pressed her hands into the springy softness of the mattress before she silently headed to the desk on which a gleaming pen and a sheet of paper were placed on a pile of books. When she approached the side, she pulled the chair back from the desk and sat on it:
'Dear Adigun,
I've just spent a frustrating hour in an attempt to write to you. How are you doing? You told me about Mama battling with a severe cough. I hope the cough subsided now. Did the weather make you sleep well and dream well? And other questions I may not remember to put across through words? I pray that 'Eledumare' will not make the enemies stop us from bubbling with energy like fresh palm wine (Amen).
I do not know if you have ever been told that you're a gallant lion on the field. Throughout the recent contest, I beheld your skilful dribbles and passes. I still recall that tragic scene Bayo got the underneath of his red jersey torn----almost to two complete parts. This was because of your merciless dribbles. Some of the close spectators could hear the pa-pa-pa sound as his pair of shorts tore backwards and had only stopped at the side of his butt. But I thank God on his behalf for the presence of the orange-like boxer he wore within Jersey, otherwise, he would have become the butt of cruel jokes among his people. Indeed, it was a comic but interesting scene.
Genius, It may interest you to know that you were the cynosure of the gathering as you bubbled the white ball with proficiency. I am certain that if not for the presence of the merciful Lord we serve, your ruthless shots would have made the innocent goalkeeper topple over and probably kick the bucket in the process. Well done, though! Your team did well. And Congratulations on lifting the golden trophy!'
She paused writing, chewed on the upper part of the black pen and closed her eyes as if she was in a trance. Soon, she fiddled with the gleaming pen as she gently tap it against a pile of books on the table. It was as if she was looking for the right words to right on with the taxing writing. This lasted a moment or more before she sat up to pace the room. It was during such a suppressed pace that the electricity supply was restored. It heightened her mind with bliss. She took some soundless steps towards the table and blew off the ember of the candle with her breath and sat down on the chair:
'I am sorry that my response is coming late. Pardon me, dear Adigun. Truth be told, I am a keeper of my promises and have always been, but the past week was a busy one for my household. It was not until the day before that I was free from the hook and decided I was going to write to you today,'
As she blinked, sundry and sharp voices sounded and it was a time. The voices were followed by a loud thud. It startled the writer out of her thought, out of fetching the soothing words. She was now placed on the road she never wished to follow. Curiosity made her kick off her slippers and walked barefooted across the window, wondering what was up. She peered into the distance through a narrow hole and came across a group of nighty guards who were massing around a tall lad that had a basket of yams balanced on his head. He was groaning and moaning as the men kicked him with the butt of the guns, chanting words of incantation through esoteric language. One of the men was blowing his flute. Its rhyme made it obvious that a thief was caught. When she glanced at the wall clock, Aduke has placed in the know that the careless lad was truly a thief; it was sealed years ago at the palace, that he who was seen outside his hut during the darkest hours of the day should be tormented. The only exceptions were the guards. When the limp victim was asked why he had stolen the tubers of yams under the dry palm fronds in the bush just outside Baba Dotun's house, he spoke no word but he showed the guards his bony stomach and neck to mean how hungry he was.
Aduke was able to see his skinny neck and stomach because the scene was almost close to her window. She found herself pitying the lad. The pity grew wings when the boy's scream became louder. Then her inner mind seemed to whisper to her that Pa. Simon had stirred up from sleep. She quickly lay flat out on her bed and feigned she was asleep. It was when the guards' voices were no longer close and when no one walked into her room to challenge her that she got up and sneaked towards the chair and sank on it:
'As planned and promised, I've thought over the question you asked me. But Adigun, what is love? Isn't it a tender thing? The thing that is too rough, too rude, too boisterous and that pricks like thorns? Love? Isn't it a form of practice I've been told a million times to refrain from by Papa? Isn't it the same love that led to the ruin of Busayo that Bro? Also impregnated and later denied it. When Papa had the embarrassing news about Busayo and her pregnancy planter, Papa had shaken his head and vowed he was going to disown me if I chose to be fooled and careless. However, we can be platonic friends only in the secret because Papa must not see me with a man aside from my cousins.
Wait, have I informed you about the proximity of my going to Lagos State? Perhaps I did not Let me use this medium to state that I've been offered admission to a nursing school over there, and I will be staying with an Aunty. Papa said her name was Aunty Ijeoma, who was a good friend of his when he was still a student at the University of Nigeria, Nssuka. In case you are wondering when I would take my leave, It would be on Sunday after the communion service.
Kindly take very good care of yourself till we meet again. Don't forget to convey my warmest regards to Mom.

Yours truly, Aduke Simon.
She walked to the bed and lay on it, her long slim body stretched out like a bright red ribbon, her hand, the right one also flung out across the full breadth of the bed and because the bed was narrow, the hand suspended on the outside. She raised a hand to the wall near the bed and switched off the light and closed her eyes until they grew accustomed to the darkness.