by Wole Soyinka
“Don’t you agree?”
“I…why?”
“Why? You ask me why?”
Karaun Karaun Karaun…
This must stop. Concentrate. Have all your wits about you. A lost hint, a lost signal to the sixth sense….
“It sounds an almost cheerful place.” That came out in spite of himself.
The little man laughed. Red teeth. Black gaps. You could tell a colanut addict. “People outside think that this is a kind of morgue—abandon hope all who enter, something like that. But it isn’t. A world of its own is what it is. A world of its own.”
“Ye-e-es…”
Clubfoot’s thoughts were as far from his words as Ofeyi’s—a realization that was slow to come. His dome of a head was filled with questions about the intruder. His eyes, mere slits behind ludicrously tiny lenses concealed some kind of warning. A quest that seemed ordinary enough though risky slowly filled with foreboding. And that sing-song response to a straightforward Missing Persons Inquiry….
Karaun Karaun Karaun
“Very interesting you should be interested.”
Karaun Karaun Karaun
“In that particular laydee…”
Karaun Karaun Karaun
Ofeyi tried to reassure himself—Damn it all! I have a citizen’s right to enquire! But even more concretely reassuring was the recollection that he had made Zaccheus remain outside the gates to await his return.
The outsize ant-egg had risen and was moving towards the window, dragging a reluctant left foot behind him. He was now all too clearly dimunitive, though nothing remotely like the unprepossessing figure of Aliyu. Short muscular arms pushed the window outwards and barked:
“Hey you there! Enough of that karaun-karaun-karaun. Take them away from here.”
In spite of the leisurely volition of the left foot he seemed capable of moving swiftly. Back on his seat he grinned. “I could see that the noise disturbed you. You were not paying full attention to our conversation.”
Conversation! Would that be the same word for tactical evasion? Ofe began to protest; no he wasn’t in the least disturbed by the gongs….
“It is quieter now” Clubfoot insisted. “We can hear ourselves think…Yes what is it?”
A man had come up to the door. He gave a smart salute.
“Yes, yes, what you want?”
“Sorry sir. I no hear the order wey you give me sir.”
“Take your squad away from here. Their karaun-karaun is disturbing us.”
“Yessir.” He saluted and marched off.
“He’s a liar” sighed Clubfoot. “He heard me.” He waved his arms about in a gesture of boredom. “It’s a joke they all enjoy at my expense. They think I don’t know about it but all they want to hear me say is karaun karaun. I don’t mind at all. I oblige them. Keeps them happy and consoles them when I discipline them—you know what karaun is?”
“Karaun…that’s shell isn’t it?”
He thumped the table. “Right! And that is just what they call me, the Boss! Karaun Igbin! A snail dragging its shell. I didn’t know I was giving myself a nickname the first day I shouted to the work-gang to stop their karaun-karaun. But I don’t mind it now.”
“But you did at the time?” Ofe felt he had to say something.
“No one likes to be laughed at. Our people consider it sinful to laugh at natural disabilities so why should they do it to me? But of course they are not our own people. Mostly aliens. I don’t mean to offend you but your people lack piety and respect, the way we understand the word. I thought at first they were merely laughing at the way I said the word. No, they just found it doubly funny that I should actually mouth their own insult to myself. We-ell, it doesn’t matter. I taught myself to get used to it. Have you ever been an object of ridicule Mr. Ofe?”
“O-ah er…well…of course. It happens all the time.”
“You are thinking of little jokes at one’s expense, the occasional incident which makes one feel a fool. No, I mean to be an object for ridicule. Like me. As you can imagine, right from childhood. Throughout school—well, while I remained in school anyway. I am mostly a self-taught man. No money to complete my education so I had to do it all myself while working. Not like privileged people like you eh? Rich parents and relatives. I had to do it all by correspondence courses—very costly. And I just don’t mean for exams only. All those pamphlets you see advertised—How to Make Friends and Win Confidence, Develop Your Sense of Humour, One Hundred and One Toasts and After-Dinner Speeches…not that I attend parties and things like that but, well, it all helped to get me where I am today.” He stopped abruptly. “Ah yes, where are we today? I must stop giving you my life history. Yes, yes-yes-yes yes! Where were we Mr. Ofeyi?”
This time the telephone interrupted.
“Yes? Hallo…Hallo…” He covered the mouthpiece with a stubby hand, grinned abruptly and nodded to Ofe. “Those white men who were here before, this was something they admired—ingenuity. I was a very ingenious young man. I am not boasting, it is just a gift from heaven. You either have it or you don’t….My fellow trainees could not understand why I was chosen to go for a specialist course in the U.K. There were only four places offered for our department throughout the country but I got one of them…yes yes, is that Headquarters? This is the Acting S.S. Office. I said Acting Senior Superintendent office. Yes? I asked for Headquarters, Headquarters! Waterworks?” He rattled the telephone rest in fury. “Who is on duty there? Hallo! hallo. You! Why have you got me the Waterworks? I asked for Headquarters nearly an hour ago. Don’t Yessir me just get me the damned place.”
Slapping down the receiver he took off his glasses and wiped them, squinting hard from near-blindness. “It is disgraceful. The Russians and Americans can speak to each other across the moon but we can’t make a simple telephone call within the country.” Then the abrupt grin, “I bet that officer is telling the others that Karaun has blown his top again.”
Ofeyi grinned in sympathy, glanced at the wall as he saw a literal image of that cannonball head exploding and spattering grey matter in every direction. The head remained intact. Ofeyi could anticipate his next utterance when the glasses were back in position.
“And now what were we saying?”
“I am looking for…”
“Ah yes, that particular laydee…”
“If you could just check your records and tell me…”
“Records? Ah, but I had not got round to explaining. I have instructions about that very lady. Yes yes, that is why I found it very interesting that you should come so soon after my directives.”
“Directives?”
“Anything about the lady, anything at all I must report to headquarters.” He tapped one of the tiers of paper. “Several memoirs on the subject. Ha, ha, she must be a most important laydee.”
“She is here then.”
He wagged a playful finger and grinned. “Ha, I didn’t say that no no no. You mustn’t put words into my mouth.”
“It is obvious. Why should you be sent instructions on someone who is not in your charge?”
“My friend, that is what is known as a mathematical fallacy. One thing does not necessarily follow the other. Really. I think I ought to lend you my course on Clear and Logical Thinking. Now I shall offer you the following alternative. One, that she has been here and then was transferred. Two, she has never been here but in another of our places. Since enquiries are expected it would be natural for headquarters to send circulars to all sections, generally. Three, she has never even been in any of our institutions but if she is missing or reported missing we would receive notifications just like other institutions—hospitals, railway stations, airports and what have you. Four…”
Ofe raised his hands in surrender. “All right sir. Is she here?”
“A-ah, now that is one question I cannot answer.�
�
“Who can?”
“Headquarters.”
Ofeyi made to rise but the telephone trilled suddenly.
“Yes? I don’t want a progress report. Do you think I want to listen all day to your Graan-graan every two-two minutes just to tell me you have not yet succeeded? And—hallo, hallo—were you going to cut me off? How often must I tell you to wait until you’re dismissed. Don’t sorry-sir me. Send me Suberu. Right, Dismissed.”
For such a thin slit, even with the aid of the powerful lens, what came next was a massive wink. The head made up for the rest. “I vary it for them you see. I say graan-graan for the telephone but karaun-karaun for when the gang-gong is going on in the yard…” He cocked his head at that, grinned. Suddenly he pulled out a drawer, withdrew a notebook and wrote laboriously…“gang-gong is going on…hm…I wish you could hear me when I slip that in at the next parade. I have to address them every morning on parade. Give them the day’s instructions and all that. It’s good for general morale when I give them something like that to throw around for the rest of the day. Firmness with humour, yes, firmness with humour, that’s the secret of discipline.”
Ofe stood up. “I think I shall pay a visit to your headquarters.”
“Oh dear oh dear. You mean we cannot help you at all? That is a pity. It’s these useless telephones…”
“It doesn’t matter. You have your directives.”
“I knew you would understand. There is nothing like an intelligent man I always say. You can talk to him. I have really enjoyed our conversation you know. Most stimulating to talk to someone like you. This can be a dull place. Sometimes I think my brain is getting fat, getting very fat. I still keep up with my correspondence courses but what’s the use of that if you can’t put them to use against people of your own calibre….”
As Ofe extricated his hand a shadow fell in the doorway. He heard the stamp and muscle creak of a salute.
“Yes?”
“Telephone sir.”
“Well put it through. Why do you have to march here to tell me?”
“It’s on the direct line to S.S. office, sir. From Headquarters, sir.”
“Headquarters? Perhaps you are lucky after all Mr. Ofeyi. Wait for me while I take the call.”
“All right.”
“Have something while you are waiting. Hey, bring the visitor a cup of cocoa. You like cocoa I hope. It is now the official beverage.”
Ofe smiled. “I know.”
“Good.” He was already on his way out. “I shall not keep you long.”
A brisk drag. It was the only way to describe his strange walk. Ofe glanced round the walls of the office, paused at the familiar poster for the Cocoa Campaign. A buxom hostess held out a “cup of patriotism” to a smiling foreigner. He thought again of the band who had gone on the last fatal tour. And Iriyise?
It was an old friend who brought the steaming cup. The same one who had acted more bodyguard than trusty when Ofeyi was first ushered into the governor’s office. Hung at his back and watched him so steadfastly that Ofe grew uncomfortable and shifted in his chair to half face him. Karaun’s miss-nothing eyes saw it and flung out the faithful dog. “Why do you have to stand there like the war memorial at Idumota. Go and supervise something!” Then the rambling apology after the giant’s seemingly reluctant salute and exit. “He doesn’t know what it is to think but he is first class. Very dependable man—as long as you give him precise orders. Not like my paid staff. They can’t distinguish between initiative and contravention of orders. Especially this new breed they are recruiting fresh from school. They think they know everything. Too-know, that’s the trouble with them. Suberu now, he has no education and he is supposed to be a prisoner, but he is my right-hand man. He can run the whole place single-handed if I am suddenly taken ill.”
Ofeyi now watched Suberu, in his shapelessly ambiguous uniform fiddle with a jug and quickly stopped him. “No milk, thanks.” Surprise all over Suberu’s face. He waved his hands about in a language which plainly said, How is that possible? Ofe stared at the hands, fascinated. The fingers were gnarled blackened roots knobbed and knotted into place. He had no palms to speak of. Fingers and wrists seemed welded together into a weird flagellating contraption. As he straightened from setting down the tray Ofeyi thought that his head would hit the ceiling. He smiled and nodded thanks.
The man’s facial muscles moved. Cicatrice or muscle, it was not possible to distinguish. Cicatrices or furrows between black muscle ridges, bunched skin and foot-glazed furrows, they all ran into one another in unending whorls. And the face matched his body. Large and long, thick cicatrices, glazed red eyes. Ofe stirred his cup, watched the man resume his favourite position by the door.
Ofeyi’s eyes roamed across the yard to a distant barbed-wire topped wall. Was that the legendary wall? There was an unbroken roll of barbed wire held in position by evenly spaced bars, V-shaped on the top of that wall. The wires thus formed a V-tunnel. Perhaps it was the wall, it fitted the description he had heard that day when the pattern of unsanctioned traffic had been reversed and the world was trying to break into a citadel of ostracism. They beat on Temoko’s gates as soon as other flood-gates were opened to terror and death. The animal noise of fear, the cowed whimper when the last exit is tried and that also is sealed…a sound so tangible he felt he could touch it.
A new sound appeared to come from the ceiling fan, a mixture of asthmatic wheeze and a panting dog…Ofe turned round. It was only Suberu’s unique way of breathing. Ofeyi stirred his cocoa aimlessly and sipped the tepid mixture.
* * *
—
There were a few who escaped the first whirlpool of blood. They were sucked gratefully into the next, a quiet limbo of the mind where nothing happened and time stood still. The youth who walked as if eternally trapped in the tunnel of spikes…anything was welcome with that weight of fear behind. They impaled themselves on the broken-glass tops of the walls and battered the metal-studded gates. A mother took her child by the legs and swung it over the walls. It fell short, was hooked in the fanged tunnel. It lacked the sense to lay still. Last vision of the mother before the mob got her…the soft flesh of the child and the metal barbs sinking deeper…
Karaun ordered that the gates be flung open. It was the end of the peaceful kingdom over which he presided. They came in without forms, without inspection, registration, classification, filled the compound from wall to wall trampling the neat flower-beds and scattering the whitewashed stones. They pulled up the KEEP OFF THE GRASS signs in the last desperate effort to face the attackers. They hurled the whitewashed stones and stained them red. A squad of guards now fought to lock back the gates on their assailants, the bars were wrenched into place and the bolts forced home, and then the fugitives lay down and wept.
But some could not rise again.
Day after day, a trickle, a flood. The wicket door in the gate opened and shut, sucked in anxious little groups with ever backward glances. The clerks moved up and down, taking names. Food contractors came and went. Somehow, if only a crumb of bread, a handful of groundnuts or a fruit, they were fed. Karaun sent his clerks to the market. He ordered the nurse to buy dressings from non-existent budgets. They tore up sheets for bandages and created lint from wrapping paper. An emergency burial-ground was created next to the hanging yard….
There was no precedent for the invasion. Nothing in the General Orders anticipated such an event. Nothing in the regulations allowed for a disruption in ordered traffic in and out of Temoko. Karaun found that he was ultimately on his own. He flourished under the imposition. And even when the pace had slowed, when a form of control had been established from without and Karaun was again a bureaucrat fulfilling quotas of exit and admittance as requested by the scraps of paper and the voices on the telephone it still fell to him to decide who would go first and who could be kept to the last, who shall be evacuated as
a group and who as individuals. And there were those reports to be filled out and demands put forward by him on L.P.O.s and retrospective approval of excess spending which he dared anyone even in that overglorified headquarters to question….
Then there was this new thing. Just when it seemed Temoko must sink once more into the backwaters of obscurity, up came this new affair.
The humdrum days were over. No, he did not yet fully understand the affair, but he had a nose for the “tide in the affairs of men.” He had had that same feeling just before his selection for the break in his career—the restricted course…four places only and he took one of them. It was the same feeling now. Of all the possible hideouts at their disposal the Cartel had picked on Temoko! If this wasn’t the tide-in-the-affairs so constantly stressed by his pamphlet on The Moment of Opportunity, then he had wasted his entire spending on the correspondence tuition and he should retire.
“I am counting on your discretion,” the voice had said. “I am informed that you are thoroughly trustworthy and can be relied upon.”
Whoever it was had spoken after Karaun’s own boss had called and promised him a “confidential directive” which he was to carry out to the letter. Then the telephone was transferred to the anonymous one and he had received those directives direct. He was not curious, so he filed the voice away as Very High Up. From then on he only thought of the entire business in terms of—the V.H.U. affair. All calls from V.H.U. came to him on the direct line to the office of the S.S. Karaun was only acting S.S. But he knew that his acting days were nearly over.
* * *
—
Karaun came back from the telephone call beaming. At the doorway a black pillar, a black marble capital on fluted khaki column appeared to wobble yet retain its form as if it was only a trick of light on shimmering skin, reared suddenly to a yet astonishing height and saluted.
“At ease Suberu.”
As he came past him by the doorway he was already speaking. “I have news for you Suberu. I need not let you out on remission just yet even though you’ve more than earned it. Things are not settling back into routine as we hoped. We have a slight crisis on our hands. I still need you while that crisis is on.”