Titan Race

by Edentu D Oroso

  The senior pupil had interrogated him over the fifty Rinai bill, disconcerting his inexperienced mind. When his answers became incoherent, the senior pupil knew he had stolen the money. A little boy of about nine could not afford a fifty Rinai bill in the early nineteen seventies. No sensible parent would have given his or her child of nine a fifty Rinai bill either. The senior pupil informed Netu’s mother and also returned the balance of the money he impounded from Netu while the latter relished as a spendthrift.

  After school hours Netu had rushed home nursing a battered conscience. He changed into a short and shirt in a hurry and disappeared like swift breeze before anyone noticed his presence. His mother had sent for him where he had gone to play with his peers. He came gasping to answer her call, presumptuous of her motive. She had smiled and cajoled until he was within her grasp. She then pounced on him and demanded with a stern voice, "Where’s your younger sister’s fifty Rinai bill, the one you took?"

  Netu almost called her bluff but sighting her fiery eyes, he told her the truth. "I spoilt somebody’s bicycle and was forced to repair it...” he had stammered while in her firm grip.

  "Is that why you took the money?" she fumed.

  "Yes."

  She held his two ears and pulled him up as if to increase his height and said, “Then I’ll teach you how not to steal next time! I was brought up clean - not a rogue, you get that? You must learn to be like me."

  She raised Netu up a little higher by the shoulders and smacked him real hard eliciting a shrill cry from him. He tried to escape from her clutch but to no avail. Until one of his elder brothers intervened, she continued with her smacking and did not let go.

  Netu learnt the lesson of that unfortunate step and the cause of itchy hands. It nipped his rearing bud for pilfering. Although his peer group influenced him in other harmless ways, which he concealed so well from his family, as long as he did not take part in any sinister game plan or implicated himself in theft of any kind, his mother gave him the freedom to soar as high as he could.

  His daily escapades or financial drives bordered on raising funds through menial jobs for some lazy married folks. This enabled him assuage his desire to see his heroes and heroines in the movies or the cinema houses. None of these had any adverse effect on his academic life. His intelligence made the family look up to him to hoist the bright lamp of intellectual power in the dimly lit tunnel of their aspirations.

  When at twelve Netu broke the jinx in Deo Baanu’s household to enter secondary school, the joy of his mother and the rest members of the family were boundless. They called him the “Jinx-breaker!” For over two decades it had seemed an impossible tangent to climb for the earlier generations of the Baanu household, most of whom had dropped out of school at the elementary level and taken to other vocations with lesser prospects of carrying the family’s torch onwards.

  The news of his admission then reached them like a well-orchestrated ruse, but they had cause to celebrate when the facts became clear. Happy her son had blazed the trail in the Baanu lineage, Dienloko knew Netu’s mark would take a length of time before any other family member eclipsed it.

  Years later, after Netu had experienced the luminous heights of secondary education through dint of hard work, Dienloko Deo would not begrudge her son much for throwing everything he had ever worked for down the drain in one of the most disconcerting decisions of his young life. He refocused his zeal and dogged pursuit of the Golden Fleece to the reality of the transcendental in the Brotherhood of Father Manu.

  Netu never would forget how she had encouraged him to stick to his vision and desire, ascetic lifestyle or not.

  "Son, don't let anybody push you around or tell you otherwise, it’s your life, just go ahead and make the most of it," she had said and he had thanked her wholeheartedly for understanding. He felt overjoyed she never thought like other family members he had become an eccentric who had wasted his prospects in vain spiritual pursuits.

  Now he had put behind him the experiences of the bigoted years with the Brotherhood of Father Manu, now he had begun to reintegrate himself into the mainstream of society. Now no longer the "despicable" pox infesting his healthy family, they had forgiven his spurious decision. Their remarkable change of attitude towards Netu surprised him.

  Ten long years it had been, all wrapped up in a minuscule time bag as if it were yesterday. Flakes of memory once again sparked in his mind’s eye. He looked back now, into the nudging heart of his mother during those moments of trial. It appeared as if he had lurched himself to a strange land where he had lost his way, surrounded by indeterminate forces toying with him.

  No longer in the Brotherhood now, he found it difficult to rationalize if his mother had been justified by her belief in his decision to opt for the Brotherhood. If Dienloko had the slightest doubt regarding his future on his return home, she did not show it in her hearty welcome just as his father, Deo Baanu. He guessed from his father’s momentous remarks that he had seen the hand of providence in his son’s exit and return.

  The bus conductor had called Netu’s destination for the third consecutive time before the latter returned from the alluring planes of memory to indicate his intention to alight.

  "Were you asleep all this while? I’ve been shouting Pedumo bus stop all along," snarled the conductor at Netu.

  “Pardon me,” Netu replied politely. “I was deep in thought.”

  The conductor calmed down. "All right, you can alight now," he said as the driver braked at the edge of the road.

  A warm breeze teased Netu as he alighted from the bus. The sun had risen in glory and the breeze had embraced its light remarkably. He waited by the roadside for a car to pass, crossed to the other side and walked straight on for about forty metres. He then veered to the slope on the left that led to the path to Joan Price’s home.

  As he had envisaged, Joan Price was still indoors. Clad in maroon short and black T-shirt, Joan looked athletic in his mid-thirties. He exuded a sunny mood, which masked his unpredictable temperament and astounding frankness as they shook hands.

  "I almost forgot we had a date. But you’re damn lucky I had little doing this morning. Please, do have a seat," Joan said, waving to a couch on the left wing of the compact living room.

  Netu could not conceal his surprise. "I would’ve felt bad if I hadn’t met you at home," he said, evaluating Joan’s statement. "Perhaps my spirit kept you glued indoors."

  Joan shrugged cheerfully and said, “Likely. Most likely.”

  “I knew you agreed to call back but it just slipped my mind we had it fixed for today,” Joan apologized and sat opposite Netu on an armless chair. “My fault though. When a man’s thoughts are hinged on how to spin more money, you know what to expect." He grinned.

  “That’s okay," Netu said. He had no grouse to settle insofar as Joan knew the visit had been mutually scheduled.

  "What’s your weekend like?" Joan prodded, his curious black eyes piercing through Netu’s mind field like the cold, calculated gaze of a ravenous owl at a prey.

  Netu shrugged. "Drab. The usual penurious circle of being. I wish it were better."

  "Same sad story everywhere," John lamented.

  In Netu’s obvious elegance and sly reference to poverty, contradiction glared. Months ago he would have accepted Netu’s inference to the rough side of things because it was rightly so. Not after all the rumors he had heard about Netu benefiting from Father Manu's largesse. Though he was not the envious type, it did hurt his feelings to note some people had all the luck. While their efforts were aided and garnished, spurring them higher and faster, he found himself toiling all alone, thriving only on the account of his guts.

  “That's the way it is,” he said on a note of self-pity. "You have to be on your toes all the time to beat the crushing impact of living these days. My brother, if anyone ever told you, life is easy, he’s the greatest liar that ever lived."<
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  "No doubt about that. We all feel it – it’s a tough world meant only for tough people," Netu said. "We ought to learn to toughen our damn hides to survive the hard times."

  "You don’t even need to learn that, you just get toughened with the unexpected punches you get on your psyche daily - financially, socially and otherwise." Joan laughed.

  "That is true, of course." Netu had seen all manner of punches in his lifetime. He had to admit their varied import toughened him. "Yes, with every new punch your hide thickens each day."

  "Like a mason's lay of solid bricks - one upon the other," Joan said, laughing. He got up from the armless chair, changed the television channel with the remote control and turned affably toward his guest. "What do I offer you, my brother?"

  Netu feigned disinterest. "You want to bother about that?"

  "Come off it Netu. You are my guest, remember?" Joan reckoned with Netu’s refusal as coy. "I was just going to have my breakfast, there’s something I’m preparing for breakfast. I hope you wouldn’t mind boiled yam and sauce at this hour of day?"

  "Why, no. Anytime, my brother."

  "Austere times, austere meals, you know."

  "You can say that again!"

  "No kidding. We should be talking about something more exotic."

  "In good time."

  "In good time?" Joan puffed, surprised. "How long are you going to wait for that? For eternity? The good time is now."

  "Perch where your guts will take you."

  "Cut the damn joke, my brother. Don’t let your pretty arse be a non-mover. You get it?" Joan cockeyed and made to leave. "Let me see what’s going on in the kitchen."

  "Soothe yourself," Netu said.

  Joan hurtled off to the kitchen, whistled and crinkled pot covers there. Above the television's din, the strident clatter of utensils from Joan’s rather late breakfast preparations, made Netu’s entrails churn with hunger. Netu knew he needed Joan’s food in spite of his earlier pretence. His fast wheeling mind tried to understand the past events, which had led him to the present predicament. The more he tried to piece the facts together, the more confusing it became. This continued until Joan returned from the kitchen.

  "Butter fried milk cakes in fine sauce and boiled yam - not a bad combination, won’t you say?" Joan declared, playing the caring host. "It’ll be ready in a second," he exaggerated further.

  "Really?"

  "Yes."

  "I haven’t tasted those delicacies in a long while. You bring back Brotherhood memories in Soloj city. Their kinds of milk cakes are unbeatable."

  "I remember well. How can I forget their sumptuous treat?”

  “Uhmn, my mouth is watering already. I just want to savor those sweet little things again.”

  "You will, in a few minutes." Joan lowered his bulk onto the armless chair; it creaked a bit. He fixed his gaze at the glass top of the center table, a brooding frown knotting his face. Something seemed to rile his mind. "Have you been to the Brotherhood of Father Manu lately?" he asked with a clinical undertone, disconcerting Netu for a moment.

  There had been a desperate, impatient attitude Netu had observed about Joan’s non-stop fidgeting. He had no iota of doubt Joan would, regardless of the bond of friendship, attempt to clear the air surrounding the gossip that he had benefited from Father Manu’s patronage. About time he put Joan’s prying little tricks to rest.

  “Yes, not long ago,” Netu said. Nobody’s business if I bask in the largesse of Father Manu.

  So the rumors were true after all, Joan acknowledged. He had become quite cynical about friends who still maintained strong links with the Brotherhood despite his fanatic leaning to the course in the past. He would rather forget that part of him. He saw it now only in the light of a fine beginning, an inescapable school where he had learned some lessons as part of a fundamental spiritual journey. It registered in his conscience now as doctrinal germs that did not fit any more into his new belief pattern. He needed to be rid of the tendency amongst his Brotherhood friends, the idea of trying to drag him close to a shadow he wanted to elude. In spite of it, he respected Netu as an individual and would need to handle him with the greatest diplomacy.

  "And how are they?" Joan responded, trying not to be antagonistic from the onset.

  Netu hesitated, chewing a corner of his lip, and then shrugged. "Well, I guess they are doing well. The usual people we left behind and few new entrants. Same old structures, new buildings here and there. Not the magnificent splash you so often imagine. You know how it was like," he said furtively, avoiding the core of the matter. He added as an afterthought, "Well, Father Manu sent for me through Dini - and I went to answer his call reluctantly. But there were other people I wanted to see and the opportunity availed itself."

  "Father Manu sent for you?" Joan edged forward on his seat. He saw a new angle to the rumors, which interested him.

  "He did."

  "What for?"

  "Nothing much really. He said he wanted to see me because he missed me. You know, he said I’d created a vacuum no one else could fill, and such cajoling stuff."

  Joan huffed in disbelief. “He missed you?” he asked with contempt. “Missed you indeed! I suppose you didn’t abscond from the Brotherhood like many others?”

  "No. I left on his instructions," Netu said with hinted nostalgia. These issues they had talked about before. He would be too glad to banish them forever. "Why should I abscond when I entered the Brotherhood legally? You know I’m not cut out for rash decisions. My exit was legal and timely too.” Netu said in a cold voice, his manner somewhat despondent.

  It gave Joan the clue he looked for. "Since your exit was legal as you said, there’s just one way of looking at it. I suppose he wanted to compensate your efforts while there. He had done this for others before, and you happen to be lucky. And since you were so indispensable, I presume your pay-off was fat!" he said, laughing.

  Netu squirmed, embarrassed by Joan’s unabashed joke. "How can you say a thing like that?" he chided. His lips pouted in fleeting thought.

  "Ah, we heard all those who backpedalled came back with bags of money," Joan went on leering.

  "He took care of my transport fare back if that’s the way you see it,” Netu said frankly. “But I don’t buy that stuff."

  Joan sniggered. "And how much was it?"

  Damn Joan and his leer. What a blunt way to be envious, Netu thought. Joan’s artlessness annoyed him.

  He flailed his hands in an impatient gesture. "Transport fare."

  Joan cackled like the tongues of excited fire."Of course, transport fare. But why so little? If he’s got so much dough to fling around, he should give me the call and I’ll be glad to invest some of it," he said with a lingering smile. "Some people have all the luck. I wish I was that lucky!"

  Supercilious bastard, Netu cursed under his breath. He had never thought Joan could be so derisive. Netu could feel an air of revulsion about it all as he looked at Joan and his mocking gestures. Why would anyone think time had softened him to the point of compromising? And what compromise in a system he had not by any means dissociated himself from? Would I ever understand these cross-carpeting faggots, he thought.

  "Dini you said came to fetch you?" Joan asked as a diversionary move.

  "Yes, it was Dini," Netu said coldly.

  "And how’s she?"

  "Doing well, I guess."

  “I can’t imagine how she persuaded you to get along.”

  "I went because I had nothing to hide."

  Joan laughed, the insinuation backfired. "Sure you have nothing to hide - like everybody. Tell me about Dini."

  "Dini Nuke?"

  "Yes."

  “What’s there to tell?”

  "I still can’t reconcile the fact that someone like Dini would continue to hang on there without thinking of what she would do with h
er life. It’s a strange kind of complacence. It bothers me."

  "Are you that miffed?"

  "You’re damn wrong. How can I be miffed? Perhaps you don’t bloody well see it the way I see it. Tell me, what future have any of those cranks got there? What?" A hint of anger was evident in Joan's voice.

  Netu thought there were better ways to unravelling things than casting aspersions. "You had your own reasons for going there I suppose?"

  With his cynicism blazing like fire that refused to be doused, Joan gazed suspiciously at Netu. "I went there because I had a conviction I was doing the right thing. I had all kinds of perceptions about the future of the Brotherhood. While I was there, I felt it was the ultimate dream. I don’t feel the same pulse anymore. Now my energy is dissipated in a different direction. I think I’m a lot more circumspect, cynical even about my own beliefs then," he said.

  Netu purred to the remark about conviction ignoring the bitterness perceptible in Joan’s dark emotion which tried to shroud his objectivity.

  "Don’t you see it is the same hypnotic emotion? Conviction! What keeps the likes of Dini there is conviction. They never see anything wrong with the Brotherhood just as you never saw anything wrong with the enclave while you were there. For them, we are the prodigal sons and daughters. We are the ones the pity is on. We appear to them as people who have lost track and must get back before we get mired in our own filth."

  "But Father Manu is toying with them - the ladies - and that’s the most worrisome part of the whole story," Joan remonstrated.

  "How do you mean?" Netu countered, loathing being disrespectful.

  Joan’s gaze drooped. “Well, there are stories....”

  "Stories?”

  "Stories. Incredible stories of foul-play."

  "Mere speculations. Frivolous at best."

  “Don’t tell me you are that dumb.”

  “Well, no one has been able to prove a damn thing. So I take it as campaigns of calumny from envious courts.”