by Kwei Quartey
“When the plantain and cassava are ready,” Miriam instructed her, “start making the fufui.”
“Yes, madam.”
“Okay, let’s go and join the men,” Miriam said to Araba.
Miriam sat between her husband and son on the sofa, which left Araba to sit facing them in one of the two twin chairs in the room. They were the base of the triangle, and Araba the apex. Now she knew it was serious because Miriam rarely sat on the sofa. She was doing this so she could be opposite Araba, and Araba was certain Fifi had told Miriam to sit there.
They had turned the TV off now. The silence in the room was dense and uncomfortable. Fifi’s chin was up, but his eyes were down, the pose he struck just before launching into a sermon.
“Araba,” he began, “I have called this meeting out of our collective concern. Your mother, Oko, and I are worried about what is going on in your life. Yes, you are a grown woman who can make your own decisions, but as a family, when we see one of our own destroying his or her life, it’s time for us to step in. I hope you understand that.”
“Not really,” Araba said without much energy. “What’s causing you this concern?”
“Your involvement with Augustus Seeza,” Fifi said. “This is a poisonous relationship for you. We hear stories—we even see pictures here and there—about his behavior in town. The drunkenness, the womanizing. This is not the correct environment or relationship for you.”
Araba was silent.
“What do you see in that man?” Oko chipped in.
“He’s an intelligent, talented person,” Araba said, and realized at the same time how weak her defense sounded. She decided to go on the attack. “These reports you’re hearing, you don’t even know if they’re true or not. Most of them are gross exaggerations at best. People are jealous of his success.”
“You’re telling us that Mr. Seeza does not drink to the point of inebriation?” Fifi said.
“Augustus likes to have his fun,” Araba said evasively, like swerving around a pothole.
“And what about his finances?” Fifi demanded, glancing at Oko.
“What about them?” Araba asked.
“We’ve heard he’s broke,” Oko said.
“Augustus makes good money,” Araba responded. “You know that.”
“He also spends good money,” Fifi shot back. “Who bought that red Jaguar he’s been riding around in?”
Araba’s face grew hot. They had her now. Fifi and Oko looked at her, waiting for her answer, but Miriam kept her gaze down, brushing away an imaginary loose thread on her skirt.
“Araba?” Fifi said. “Who bought the Jaguar?”
“I did,” she said, facing them bravely.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Miriam said softly.
Fifi sat back in his chair in disbelief. “You bought it.”
“He’s going to pay me back,” Araba said.
“Come on, Araba,” Fifi said sharply.
“Even you don’t believe that,” Oko added.
“Why are you attacking me like this?” Araba said, her voice rising.
“We’re not,” Miriam said. “Sweetheart, we’re trying to protect you. The man is using you; don’t you see? He’s broke because he’s frittered away all his money, and now you are his bank.”
“And his cigars?” Oko asked.
“What cigars?” Araba said, feeling sick.
“He enjoys cigars,” Oko said. “Who buys them for him?”
Araba was shocked, but tried not to show it. “Who told you about the cigars?”
“So, it’s true, then,” Oko said.
“Answer the question, Araba,” Fifi said.
She shook her head. “No, I will not. Who told you about the cigars?”
“You don’t need to know that,” Oko replied.
His tone irked Araba. “Then I don’t need to answer you either.”
They all stared at her, and she stared straight back. It was a standoff.
“You also support his two children from his wife,” Fifi said finally. “They are not yet divorced. What is the eighth commandment?”
Araba stubbornly kept her mouth shut.
“I’m talking to you,” Fifi said to her, his voice keen and brimming with frustration.
Araba blinked her eyes slowly and looked to the side, a dismissive gesture she knew drove her father to distraction.
“Araba,” Miriam chided. “Please don’t disrespect your father like that.”
“Don’t mind her,” Fifi said, curling his lip. “She knows the eighth commandment, ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery,’ because I taught her to recite all ten by heart. And First Corinthians says, ‘Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers.’”
“Amen,” Miriam said. “Sinfulness.”
Oko cleared his throat and shot a glance at his parents. “Okay, look, I’m not sure the sinfulness thing is going to get us anywhere. Araba, we’re proud of what you’ve made of yourself, but you’re still family, and family cares when one of its members is going wrong. You’re an amazing woman in so many ways, but here, you have stumbled. Yes, you have pride in your work and career, and rightfully so, but don’t let your arrogance take over.”
Araba’s eyebrows shot up. “Arrogance? Are you seriously telling me that? In what way am I arrogant?”
“You can’t see it,” Oko said, “but we can. Look at you—scorn is written all over your face right now. Being rich doesn’t make you the wisest person on earth, which is what you seem to think.”
That last jab stung Araba. She felt tears rising but she wasn’t going to let them see her cry. She stood up. “I’m leaving. You called me here just so you could tear me to shreds. You say a family must care when one of its members is going wrong, but this isn’t about that at all, is it? It’s only about your feelings, your fear of looking bad in the public eye, your false piety—”
“Sit down!” Fifi bellowed. “You will not leave this house before I say so.”
Araba didn’t leave, but she didn’t sit, either.
“This is what you will do,” Fifi said. “You will break off your relationship with Augustus. You will stop supporting him and any of his family members with immediate effect.”
“Daddy, what happened to the love you preach about every Sunday?” Araba asked, finally looking at him again. “What if I love Augustus? Does that count for nothing?”
“This isn’t love,” Fifi retorted. “This is simply foolishness.”
Araba’s eyes locked with his. Then what is love, Daddy? What you did to me when I was a little girl?
For just a moment, her father’s glare faltered. Araba snatched up her Gucci clutch and walked out.
ELEVEN
Two years before
Augustus had been up late drinking Wednesday night. On Thursday morning, he awoke with a sledgehammer of a headache. To get rid of it, he swigged down a bottle of beer and went back to bed.
His mind, heavy as lead, was drowned in alcohol and bewilderment. The previous evening, Araba had called him. He’d instantly felt something was wrong.
“Gus.” Her voice shook. “We need to talk.”
That was never good. “What’s wrong?” he asked, terrified of what he knew was coming.
“I can’t continue this with you,” she said.
“What do you mean? Continue what?”
“It can’t work—you and me.”
“What do you mean, ‘can’t’? Don’t say that. There’s no such thing as ‘can’t.’ We can make anything work as long as we really want it.”
“I used to want it, but I don’t anymore.”
“Why?” he lashed out, his voice rising.
There was a short silence before Araba said, “The drinking
has gone too far.”
“But I can stop,” he protested. “You know I can.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Are you calling me some kind of helpless alcoholic?”
“Not helpless—”
“It’s your goddamn family, isn’t it?” he said, furious.
“It’s not.”
“They’ve convinced you to dump me. That’s what it is. I know them and I know you. If you think I’m going to just disappear from your life, you’re mistaken.”
“Goodbye, Gus.”
After she’d hung up, he tried calling and texting her multiple times to no avail. Then he’d begun to drink. It was almost noon now, so he had a few hours before he was due at work. He weighed his options. He had enough time to sober up before the show, even if he had just a couple more beers.
At 5 p.m., Augustus walked into the Metro TV studios feeling a little unsteady, but he didn’t think it was enough for anyone to notice. Tonight, he was to interview Chief Justice Angela Waters, Ghana’s second woman to occupy the elevated position. She would be in at seven, and in the meantime, Augustus was to go over the approach to the discussion with Bob Agyekum, Metro TV’s general manager. Waters was known for her unflappable personality and acerbic tongue, so Augustus would need to be on point, which, given his experience, shouldn’t be too difficult.
Bob was a small man who moved in darts and stops—like a cockroach, Augustus always thought, but he was far from a pest. He was a good man. He looked up as Augustus came into the office.
“Hi, Gus.”
“Boss, how goes it?” Augustus said, sitting heavily in one of the chairs in the room. He didn’t feel so good. The headache was back.
“Fine,” Agyekum said. “I wanted to go over some things with you before the interview. This one is important.”
The two men sat next to each other to go over talking points. The issue was the alleged rampant corruption in the justice system: judges at all levels being bribed to delay or frustrate court prosecutions, sometimes to dismiss cases outright. It was almost impossible to successfully sue a judge, because he or she would simply get the suit annulled by one of his or her colleagues.
Augustus was finding it difficult to focus on Agyekum’s train of thought, or his own, for that matter. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the table, dabbed his moist forehead, and loosened his tie somewhat.
“Are you okay, Gus?” Agyekum said.
“What? Yes, I’m fine.”
“So, what do you think of this approach to that particular question?” Agyekum asked.
Augustus panicked as he realized he didn’t know what question Agyekum was referencing. “What’s your own take?” he asked, playing for time.
“I think that rather than appearing to make our own allegations,” Agyekum said, “we can quote the other sources of the accusations against the judicial system.”
Augustus nodded enthusiastically. “I think that’s good. Do you have some water in your fridge?”
“Yes,” Agyekum said. “I’ll get one for you.”
In the short space of time that the producer’s back was turned, Augustus allowed his eyes to close and he drifted away on a brief journey somewhere.
“Here you are.”
Augustus started. Agyekum was in front of him, holding out a bottle of Voltic water.
“Thanks,” Augustus said.
“You sure you’re okay?” Agyekum asked him again, squinting at him.
“Yes, yes.”
Agyekum went on to review Waters’s history of judgments, suggesting there was a pattern favorable to the present government in power. “We should hammer that point home.”
Augustus agreed and took a sip of water.
“I think we’re all set, then,” Agyekum said.
Augustus’s father and mother, Julius and Caroline, sat down in front of the TV set to watch Tough Talk. This episode was of great interest to Julius, since it was to examine—and probably attack—the judiciary system of which he had been a part for over four decades.
Chief Justice Waters looked like a combination of favorite aunt and stern university professor. She was highly respected among her peers and subordinates. Augustus began the interview with his usual direct style. After about ten minutes, however, his parents noticed something odd.
“What’s going on with Augustus?” Julius muttered.
“I was about to ask the same thing,” Caroline said, frowning. “Why is he leaving big gaps in the conversation?”
Julius frowned with puzzlement. “Like he’s not all there.”
As the program went on, Augustus appeared absent with intervals of the old lucidity. He made one comment that was in poor taste, and the cameras instantly snapped away from Justice Waters as her face registered consternation.
“Jules,” Caroline said, turning to her husband in dismay, “is he drunk? You know he’s had trouble in the past.”
“But he got over it,” Julius said, flipping a palm up. “He stopped drinking.”
“It’s an addiction,” Caroline reminded him. “You never really get over it.”
Julius blew out his breath in exasperation. “Okay, well . . . I don’t know, then. I can barely watch this. If Bob is seeing it right now, he’ll explode.”
Judge Julius’s prediction was accurate. It was a little past eleven o’clock the morning after the program when Agyekum called Augustus in. That was unusually early, so Augustus knew it wasn’t good, but he wasn’t sure exactly what it was about.
Agyekum got straight to the point. “Your interview with the chief justice last night should have been one of your best,” he said. “Instead, it was the worst I’ve ever seen.”
Augustus recalled snatches of the exchange, but not everything. He was unnerved. Had there been an issue? “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sir,” he said soberly.
“You don’t understand?” Agyekum asked. “Or you don’t recall?”
“Just tell me,” Augustus said, going on the offensive, “what are you referring to?”
“To this,” the boss said, bringing out his phone. He took a few seconds to bring up a video of the interview and passed the phone to Augustus, who began watching. Before long, it became apparent what Agyekum was talking about. It jarred Augustus to see himself so disjointed. It became so excruciating he handed the phone back. How should he handle this? Soldier through with blunt force, or apologize? He decided on a mixture.
“It’s true, boss,” Augustus said, “that I wasn’t on point. One or two complicated problems have come up in the family, so I’ve been a little distracted of late. But, trust me, it won’t happen again.”
“I received a complaint from Madam Waters,” Agyekum went on, “about your line of questioning—particularly the point at which you made a crass joke about the judges’ white ceremonial wigs.”
If anything warranted a joke, Augustus thought wryly, the wigs were it.
“I apologize,” he said. “That was uncalled for.”
“Last night, people detected a strong odor of alcohol on your breath,” Agyekum said abruptly.
Augustus’s eyes narrowed. “What? That’s a lie! It’s pure jealousy. People trying to bring me down because of my success.”
“No one is trying to do that in any way, shape, or form,” Agyekum said firmly. “Look, Augustus, I’ll have to bring this matter to the Board of Trustees.”
Anything to do with the board was usually bad, and an unexpected fear washed over Augustus. “So, what does that mean?”
Agyekum looked both frustrated and regretful. “I have to suspend you. Pending the board’s decision. I’m sorry.”
Augustus felt as if the ground had caved beneath him, plunging him into an abyss. He heard himself stammering feeble objections as his boss sat resolutely shaking his head to Augustus’s every e
xcuse.
“That’s all,” Agyekum said. “Go home to await the final decision.”
At 7:32 p.m., Araba’s phone rang. She hesitated to pick it up when she saw Gus’s name. Though she suspected she was inviting trouble, she did nevertheless. For a second, the voice was unrecognizable. “Gus? Is that you?” she asked.
“I’m suspended,” he said, slurring his words. “Till further notice.”
“Suspended?” Araba said. “Suspended from what?”
“My job, what else?”
“Why?”
“Did you see my interview on TV last night?”
“No,” she said. “I missed it.”
“I fucked it up,” he said, sounding like he was about to cry. “It was a mess, and people said I was drunk.”
“Were you?”
“I did have a little something—just some beer. But that doesn’t mean I was drunk.”
Well, if he hadn’t been drunk then, he was now, Araba thought.
“Please help me,” Augustus said. “I need you. Can you come over? Or I can come to you.”
She stiffened in alarm. “No, no—please, don’t do that. Stay at home; I’ll drive to you.”
Augustus was a mess. Eyes bloodshot, hair uncombed, clothes disheveled, and he smelled awful. Araba sat on the sofa with him and he cried into her lap. When he was quiet, she shook him and urged him to get up. “Go take a shower and you’ll feel better. Then we’ll talk.”
While Augustus was in the shower, Araba scoured his cupboards and the fridge for any alcohol. He had mostly beer, but she found a couple of bottles of Hennessy and Jameson. She poured everything into the sink and dropped the containers into the trash can.
Looking somber but clean, Augustus emerged from the bedroom in a white silk dressing gown. He sat down heavily in a red leather swivel chair—his favorite in the lavishly decorated sitting room—and rested the side of his face in his palm.
Araba sat opposite him. “I’ve gotten rid of all your booze.”
He nodded. “Good. Thank you.”
“You need professional help, Gus,” she said.
“I know. And I’m going to get it. But Araba, I need you in my life. You give me the strength to carry on. Please come back to me. Please.”