that　for　men　like　myself；　that　is；　melancholy

men for whom love； agony； happiness and misery are just excuses for

maintaining　eternal　loneliness；　life　offers　neither　great　joy　nor　great　sadness。

I’m　not　saying　we　can’t　relate　to　other　souls　overwhelmed　by　these　feelings；

on　the　contrary；　we　sympathize　with　them。　What　we　cannot　fathom　is　the　odd

disquiet our souls sink into at such times。 This silent turmoil dims our

intellects　and　dampens　our　hearts；　usurping　the　place　reserved　for　the　true　joy

and　sadness　we　ought　to　experience。

I　had　buried　her　father；　thank　God；　hurried　home　from　the　funeral；　and　in　a

gesture　of　condolence；　embraced　my　wife；　Shekure；　then　suddenly；　in　a　fit　of

tears　she　collapsed　onto　a　large　cushion　with　her　children；　who　were　glaring　at

me　with　spite；　and　I　didn’t　know　what　to　do。　Her　misery　coincided　with　my

victory。　In　one　fell　swoop；　I　had　wed　the　dream　of　my　youth；　freed　myself　from

her father who belittled me； and bee master of the house。 Who would

ever　believe　the　sincerity　of　my　tears？　But　believe　me；　it　wasn’t　like　that。　I　truly

wanted　to　grieve；　but　couldn’t：　Enishte　had　always　been　more　of　a　father　to

me　than　my　real　father。　But　since　the　meddlesome　preacher　who’d　performed

Enishte’s final ablution never stopped babbling； the rumor that my Enishte

died　under　mysterious　circums