The night mama lost the twins, it felt like the floods turned their course to our house.

It didn't hurt because they died. No. The pain was begotten from father's hand in it. 

" They are abomination," he barked that evening. 

Mama withdrew to the backyard. Her sobs were light, and her eyes were a strong fog.

I hoped for the day I would welcome my little brother. I have seen my neighbour's newborn. Her little hands and feet. The curly kink and rosebud lips. I like it. I wanted a brother like her.

Heavens must have heard me. Mama  welcomed a baby boy. Soon after the first cry, she entered labour again.

I heard there was a breech. I don't know what it is, but the gloom on the midwife's face was the warning bell.

Like a young cheetah, I breezed into papa's parlour. I expected a worried husband, pacing wearily. That is how our neighbour, Papa Arinze, hung like a granny's fallen breasts the day his daughter was born. The rage on papa's face contrasted the caring and doting husband and father I have known for twelve years now.

Before I could explain our crisis, he barked at me to keep shut. He was not alone. The men around him were as grating as he was.

I don't know where I erred. Nor how it was mama's fault. I returned and asked the midwife. She was just as complacent. 

Mama's scream was a cut into my heart. Having picked up the conversation of how the babies would end, I wanted her pain to end. I wanted my brother to leave her in peace. They were not welcomed. It was no fault of hers.

When the birth pangs ended, she withdrew from me. I wanted to tell her she still has me. I tried. 

By morning, the tale had spread through town. People talked. They whispered. I heard their tales, and so did mama.

For long, she was locked in the box she created in her mind. No one could reach her. Then one day, I returned from school, and met her humming happily while she cleaned the house.

I couldn't ask, but it soon got to my hearing that father had impregnated a younger woman from another village. She was getting married and wanted him to have his child. It was a boy. 

Maybe that was why mama was so happy. I imagined the boy relieved her pain. No matter how I wanted to hate papa for impregnating another woman while mama battled for her life, I couldn't hate the peace the baby brought to her.

The day came when he was left in my care. I had to change his wet clothes. It was then I saw the birth mark. A dark ring like a star. I had it as well. My brothers would have had it too.

" Is it him?" I asked Papa after setting his table and food that evening. He had just washed his hands. I repeated the question. He dawdled.  Then he nodded without looking my way. I went back to meet Mama in her room. 

" What about the other?" I asked, nervous, yet excited.

She looked at me and released the brightest rainbow smile I haven't seen in a long time. “ You will see him soon. He is being nursed away from home.”

I understood. The village shouldn't know. Twins were taboo. Even when it was a dying tradition. Some people took pleasure from the flame it left in other's homes.

Father had protected his sons the way anyone least expected. I was wrong to hate him. He was a difficult man. That notwithstanding, he was a devoted husband and a loving father.