The Golden Master
Act I The weight of bronze is a lie that only the dead believe. I am Efua Bello, and in three days the temple granary requires the mask, but my hands, which have held the night watch for twelve years, now tremble like the reeds in the Niger delta when the wind shifts. The fragments of my mother’s face lie scattered on the workbench, shifting their positions when I look away, a subtle betrayal...
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