Chinelo Okparanta: "Benji": The New Yorker Now that his father was gone, and Benji was the only remaining male in the family, and having been bequeathed such an expansive estate, he'd do well to find himself a good woman, to marry her and take advantage of the family wealth, Mrs. Anyaogu explained to her guest. "A man must choose a wife and marry," she said. Even a man cannot go unmarried forever. People will begin to suspect. Mrs. Anyaogu was wearing a yellow-gold head scarf, tied in the shape of a flower blossom. Benji, her son, was sitting across from her at the mahogany table. Much of the furniture in the house was mahogany, Mrs. Anyaogu's choice of wood. Benji was not looking directly at his mother's face but, rather, staring at a point somewhere behind her elaborately decorated head. "Already he's pushing forty," his mother continued. "Past pushing," Benji said. Forty-two in a couple of days. Then suddenly he scowled, shaking his head in irritation. "Well, who am I supposed to marry, anyway?" he asked. "I don't see the reason for the scowl," his mother said. Benji carried on scowling. What else was there to do but scowl? Alare thought. A man his age, and with all his wealth . . .