With a dark look in his face, Okonkwo dragged Ikemefuna by the wrist. His grip was as tight as iron, and his glare as cold as steel. The young lad could feel himself melting under Okonkwo's grip as the two men marched closer to the obi.

"I have given you only gratitude and yet you show me disrespect by running away time and time again," boomed Okonkwo's deep voice. Ikemefuna kept his lips sealed and words quiet, only responding with trembles.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" He asked again, tone still serious. Again, there was no response as Ikemefuna swallowed down his words even more. A sharp tug on Ikemefuna's wrist was enough to get the boy to stammer a word or two out.

"When shall I go home?" When Okonkwo heard that phrase, he abruptly stopped and held Ikemefuna in place. The boy was on the verge of crying streams, he thought he made Okonkwo mad. Okonkwo turned around and still held on Ikemefuna's wrist as he spoke.

"Never," he responded. "Your father has committed a sin and he is repaying the price." Without another word, Okonkwo resumed dragging the nervous teen closer and closer to his obi.

A few minutes later and Okonkwo was banging on Nwoye's mother's door. He threw Ikemefuna inside once the door was open, then closed the door and went on his merry way. Once Okonkwo was gone, Ikemefuna was weeping bitter tears.

Nwoye's mother approached the child and kneeled on the ground next to him. Placing a hand on his back, she spoke softly like her voice was a feather off of a bird. "Ikemefuna," she spoke. "One day, you eventually will go home." It hurt her to lie to a lad like Ikemefuna, but it had to be done.

"When will that be?" He inquired again, tears calming. The poor child wanted nothing more than to go home and see both his mother and three-year-old sister again.

"Not for a little while, my son," she responded, helping up the boy. "Let us go eat dinner now, alright? I'm sure you'll feel better if you do." Ikemefuna nodded, creeping over to the table where Nwoye sat, awaiting his mother and Ikemefuna. He slid into a seat, staring at the yams in the bowl in front of him.

"Why aren't you eating, Ikemefuna?" Nwoye's mother asked, leaning over her own plate to see what was wrong with the boy. "Are you sick?"

"No, ma'am," replied Ikemefuna. "I just want to go home." Nwoye's mother's face softened into a frown as she resumed eating her yams.
Once she was done, she got up and cleared her spot on the table. And when her spot was cleared, Nwoye's mother went ahead and left the obi, leaving Ikemefuna and Nwoye alone in the silence.

Moments passed, then Nwoye's mother entered with a saddened expression on her face. She went off to the side, letting Okonkwo enter.
His face was screwed up in mild rage. In his hand was a long, solid-looking stick. It looked like it was the kind that any man would just find laying around in the woods. Okonkwo stood over the child, then poked his arm with the stick.

"Eat," commanded Okonkwo in a deep and serious voice. Ikemefuna nodded weakly, terrified. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind as he reached for his spoon and began to scoop up one of his yams.

"Eat!" Okonkwo impatiently shouted, much louder than last time. Afraid, the boy brought the spoon to his mouth and took a bite out of the yams. Looking up, he saw Okonkwo still standing there, fingers tapping the brown stick. Ikemefuna nervously took another bite, then another.

Satisfied, Okonkwo left the trembling boy. Ikemefuna was sick to his stomach as he slowly stood up from the table.

"Thank you for the meal, ma'am. It was good," the boy murmured as he stumbled his way to the door of the obi. He wandered his way around back, hand on the red wall of the hut. Then, he fell sick everywhere.

As he was letting out his sorrows through bitter tears and his own sickness, Ikemefuna could only think of one thing. Only one thing, he thought to himself as Nwoye's mother placed her dainty hands on the boy's back and chest to soothe him.

"Never bite the hands that feed you, my son," murmured the faint memory of Ikemefuna's mother's voice in his mind. "Respect those who give you much and give them much in return." The boy closed his eyes, remembering one of the many proverbs his mother told him before he slept at night.

"I'm sorry I broke that rule, Mama," murmured Ikemefuna as he finally calmed down from his bout of sickness. He drearily looked up at Nwoye's mother, a frown on his face.

"I'm sorry," he murmured again as he closed his eyes and went fast to sleep in Nwoye's mother's arms.