As she stared at them, Waringa noted that their skins were indeed red, like that of pigs or like the skin of a black person who has been scalded with boiling water or who has burned himself with acid creams. Even the hair in their arms and necks stood out stiff and straight like the bristle of an aging hog.
NgÅ©gÄ© wa Thiong'o
You sound as if you question the authority and the decision of the Oracle, who said he should die.""I do not. Why should I? But the Oracle did not ask me to carry out its decision." [...]"The Earth cannot punish me for obeying her mesenger," Okonkwo said. "A child's fingers are not scalded by a piece of hot yam which its mother puts into its palm.
I remember, in hot floods, the way he slept, still as death, with his face washed flat, stony as a carved tomb and exquisite. His weakness and his ravening bitter needs were terrible, and beautiful, and irresistible as an earthquake. He scalded or smothered anyone he needed, but his needing and the hurt that it caused me were the most life I have ever had. Remember what a poor thing I have always been and forgive me.
No, " he said, "look, it's very, very simple... all I want... is a cup of tea. You are going to make one for me. Keep quiet and listen." And he sat. He told the Nutri-Matic about India, he told it about China, he told it about Ceylon. He told it about broad leaves drying in the sun. He told it about silver teapots. He told it about summer afternoons on the lawn. He told it about putting in the milk before the tea so it wouldn't get scalded. He even told it (briefly) about the history of the East India Company. "So that's it, is it?" said the Nutri-Matic when he had finished. "Yes, " said Arthur, "that is what I want." "You want the taste of dried leaves in boiled water?" "Er, yes. With milk." "Squirted out of a cow?" "Well, in a manner of speaking I suppose...
She smiled as she poured tea into his cup. 'I hope you find your rooms comfortable?' 'Quite.' He took a too-hasty sip of tea and scalded his tongue. 'The view is to your liking?' He had a view of a brick wall. 'Indeed.' She fluttered her eyelashes at him over the rim of her teacup. 'And the bed. Is it soft and... yielding?' He nearly choked on the bite of cake he'd just taken. 'Or do you prefer a firmer bed?' she asked sweetly. 'One that refuses to yield too soon?' 'I think'-he narrowed his eyes at her-'whatever mattress I have on the bed you gave me is perfect. But tell me, my lady, what sort of mattress do you prefer? All soft goose down or one that's a bit... harder?' It was very fast, but he saw it: Her gaze flashed down to the juncture of his thighs and then up again. If there hadn't been anything to see there before, there certainly was now. 'Oh, I like a nice stiff mattress, ' she purred. 'Well warmed and ready for a long ride.