“Then tell him to come here himself.”
“He can’t come—they put him ground already.”
“D’you mean he’s dead?”
“Yes, master—him dead now ’bout three month.”
“Then what d’you mean by coming here? Get out of this.”
“Master, I want the med’cine for sick foot same as I tell you. I want to give him my fader, he no get med’cine since he put in ground. I know him foot plenty sick now.”
“Well, I’ll give you some if you pay for it.”
“I no get money, master.”
“Then you won’t get any medicine.”
The filial affection of these people is not such that they will expend coin of the realm in the purchase of medicine or drink for their dead parents. They do not give them rum for instance. The ancestral clay only gets moistened with palm wine or water, while the more exhilarating beverage goes down their own throats. Perhaps they think that ghosts have weak heads and cannot stand mundane spirits.