by John Ukah
I observed that Nagoth’s behaviour towards me had become friendlier, especially since I fell down the stairs. He asked after my health, quite frequently. In my eyes, he actually increased in stature, especially as he had moved on beyond the initial annoyance that marred our first meeting.
He also began trying to paint. He no longer carried the white, silk handkerchief. His new attitude seemed to say, ‘If you can’t stand the sight of my hand, then you can stand on your head!’
I often saw him sketching on his canvas. At first, he was quite awkward in the way he held the brush with his three fingers and made his strokes. At such times, the frustration on his boyish face would be clear to anyone who was watching. But with time he gained confidence; his strokes became bolder and more assured. Quite often, some of the guests would gather around him and compliment him on his work. Maria showed more enthusiasm than anyone else over his paintings. On one occasion, I even saw her sitting for him to paint a picture of her.
Mrs. Marshall, to the best of my knowledge, never went to where he was painting. But Nagoth often took the paintings to show her, and her face would light up with pride whenever she saw his work.
“Didn’t I tell you that you had it in you? That you could do it?” she would ask and Nagoth would smile.
I was sitting in the lounge one cool Saturday evening with the unbearable Tonye Briggs, who was recounting a story that he had already told me a hundred times. But I forced myself to laugh at the appropriate junctures, just to be nice. Mrs. Marshall sat at another table with John. She knitted, while John nursed a drink and stared disapprovingly at the television set. Philip was by himself, reading a magazine, which had the picture of a naked woman on the cover. Nagoth was also by himself at another table, totally engrossed in the programme being aired on the television.
Just then, Maria sashayed into the lounge. Apart from her mother and John, we all turned to stare at her. I had no doubt that Mrs. Marshall was aware of who had just walked in. John's eyes were glued to the television.
Maria Marshall was not into conservative clothing. She was wearing a white, body-hugging top with tight, black jeans that showed off her figure. Her long, dark hair was pinned up, so that the nape of her neck showed. She swung her hips provocatively and smiled like a temptress, as she walked over to the bar and asked for a Coca Cola. She sat on one of the high stools, as Ayuba served her. She was pouring some into a tumbler, when I observed that Philip had closed his magazine. Then, he walked over to join her. He sat on a stool to her right and began speaking in a low voice; I could not hear their conversation. From time to time, Maria would smile at what Philip was saying. She even laughed out loud at one point.
Suddenly, her countenance changed and she threw her drink in Philip’s face. Then, she stormed out of the lounge into the garden. Philip Newman sat there, looking humiliated and dejected. Ayuba fetched him a handkerchief to clean his face. Mrs. Marshall looked up before returning to her knitting, as though nothing unusual had happened. The statue called John Brad remained as it was. Nagoth and Tonye were smiling.
“Did you see what happened?” asked Tonye, looking excited. Before I could respond, he began to narrate the entire story of what had just transpired, as if none of us had been present when it happened.
Nagoth got up and went in the same direction that Maria had gone. I was curious to know what would happen when he caught up with her. So, I excused myself, leaving Mr. Briggs to continue telling his story, and I headed for my room. I would be able to see the garden in the grounds of the Lodge through my window.
But just as I got to the corridor, I saw Willie coming out of Nagoth’s room. I was surprised. He looked up and saw me.
“Oh, Mr. Simpson, how is the day?” he asked with a guilty start.
“Quite fine,” I replied. “Is that not Nagoth’s room that you just came out from?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Simpson,” he replied. “You’re quite right.” Then, he walked right past me. I was curious about what I had just seen, but I put that aside for the moment and hurried into my room. I opened the windows quietly and parted the curtains. Maria was seated on one of the wooden chairs and Nagoth stood behind her. It was easy for me to see their faces and catch their words, as they were just below my window.
“I love you so much,” said Nagoth, and Maria smiled. He walked around to stand in front of her chair, then pulled her up. He looked like her kid brother because of his small stature, as they held onto each other. Then, he raised himself on his toes and kissed her on the lips, while she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I love you, too,” she said.
“Why did you pour the drink in his face?”
“He said something I didn’t like,” she replied, still locked in his embrace.
“I hear footsteps,” said Nagoth, and they quickly put some distance between themselves.
“One second, you pour a drink in one man’s face. The next second, you are embracing and kissing another,” said Mrs. Marshall, as she limped up to them. She sighed, shook her head and hobbled past them, turning the corner of the Lodge, her crutches leaving a trail on the sand behind her.
“How did she know that we kissed?” asked Nagoth, looking surprised.
“You looked guilty enough!” replied Mrs. Marshall, her voice coming from a long way off. Even I was surprised.
“Your mother is telepathic,” whispered Nagoth, smiling.
“I know. Some people actually call her a witch. And she can probably still hear us,” replied Maria.
Nagoth pulled her into his arms again and resumed kissing her. She responded passionately to his kisses and caresses.
For some reason, I did not approve of their relationship. And it was not just about the absurd height difference between them. I sat down to analyse my feelings and realised with a jolt that I was actually jealous of Nagoth, because I wanted Maria for myself!
The next morning, I felt inclined to write a business proposal that I had been too lazy to tackle for a while. So, still in my pyjamas, I went downtown to get some writing materials from Ayuba. I was feeling quite merry, which was surprising to me after yesterday's realisation.
To my surprise, Tonye almost fell into the room when I opened the door. He however quickly regained his balance. He had been leaning on my door and listening in!
“Who were you talking to, Mr. Simpson?” he asked me with a lift of his bushy eyebrows. “I heard you talking inside.”
“You were eavesdropping?” I asked him, getting annoyed and irritated. He looked over my shoulder into the room, by raising himself on his toes.
“Were you talking to yourself, Mr. Simpson?” he asked, drawing his brows together.
“Tonye, I was not talking with anybody or to myself. I was singing. I hope you know that there is such a thing as singing?” I asked him. But I could see that he did not believe me. He had made up his mind that I had gone off my rocker and had been talking to myself. Nothing I could say would change his mind. He slowly shook his big head from side to side and made his way to his own room.
“Just take things easy, Mr. Simpson,” he advised, smiling mischievously, as he went in. The imbecile! I hoped he wouldn't start rumours that I had gone mad!
When I got downstairs, Ayuba was sitting behind the bar and polishing some drinking glasses. Maria was standing in the lounge. She was wearing a beautiful, yellow flowery dress that matched her handbag. She seemed to be waiting for someone. When she saw me, she flashed me a smile that sent my heart racing. She was beautiful!
“Good morning, Mr. Simpson,” she said cheerfully.
“Good morning, Maria,” I replied. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, thank you,” she said. I walked over to Ayuba.
“Please, can I get some writing materials, Ayuba? I have some letters to write.”
“No problem,” replied Ayuba and he made his way over to a chest of drawers behind him.
At that moment, Nagoth came into the lounge from upstairs. He looked dapper in
denim jeans and a white shirt. His round face beamed as he walked towards Maria, who I now realised had been waiting for him. I felt jealous all over again.
“You’re set?” Maria asked him, reaching out her manicured, left hand to adjust his shirt collar. That simple act affected me more than I could ever have imagined possible. I wished it was my collar that was being adjusted by her fingers.
“Yes,” replied Nagoth.
“Let’s go then,” said Maria. “But I’m walking with you only part of the way. I have some other things planned for today.”
“Okay,” replied Nagoth. Hand in hand, still talking, they walked out of the lounge into the morning sunshine. Like a married couple.
I took the writing materials back to my room and settled down to begin writing. About an hour later, I heard hushed voices coming from under the shady trees. It was Maria and her mother. At first, I did not pay any attention to what they were saying. Their voices gradually rose as their tempers flared. That was when I realised that they were actually quarrelling. So, I got up and peered through the curtain.
“I forbid you to see that man!” said Mrs. Marshall, in a stern voice.
“You cannot do that,” replied Maria, rising to her feet in anger. “I’m a grown woman and I have a right to see whomever I wish to!”
“That man is no good for you!” shouted Mrs. Marshall. “I can see through his charade. He is a fraudster!”
“What do you know about him?” asked Maria. “I like him and I will see him every second of the day if I want to!” Maria's temper matched her mother's.
“He is no good for you! I’m ordering you to stop going to his room.”
“I’ll not have you talk to me like this. I’m not a child.”
“You’re still a child to me. I’m your mother and I’ll tell you what is right for you. I can see things from afar while sitting, which you can’t see even standing. I will have a word with him when he comes back.”
“If you say anything to him, I’ll never speak to you again! You’re not my mother! You are nothing to me! I hate you!” screamed Maria and she ran off, down the path.
“Come back here!” shouted Mrs. Marshall. “I said come back here, you! I have a mind to kill you! Worthless child!” she tried to rise to her feet but heavily sat back again. She had a murderous glint in her eyes.
She suddenly looked up at my window. I was not sure if she could see me. I hastily retreated into the room.
“Good morning, Mr. Simpson,” she called out. “Nice view from up there, isn’t it?”
I did not answer her. The woman was truly a witch. But I could not help wondering which man she did not want Maria to hang out with. Was it Nagoth whom she treated almost like a son? Or some other man?
CHAPTER FOUR
A HYPOTHETICAL STORY
It was a Friday afternoon. A dusty haze hung heavily over Obudu. I was in my room and had almost finished reading the novel I'd borrowed from John. I felt a cool, soothing breeze making its way into the room, through the open windows. I could also hear Mrs. Marshall and John talking below, on the wooden chairs.
John said something that I did not quite catch and Mrs. Marshall laughed. I think it was the first time I had heard her laugh. Her laughter was rich, deep and quite infectious. She seemed happy. Leaving the novel on the table, I walked over to look down at them. Mrs. Marshall was knitting and had balls of thread of different colours. John was sitting close to her and holding one of her crutches in his hands.
Just then, Philip came down the path towards them. He was whistling. He had both hands in his pockets and his dark glasses on.
“Ma’am,” he said coming to where they sat. “How come you never give those fingers a break?”
“I don’t hear them complaining,” replied Mrs. Marshall with a smile, as she continued knitting.
“I’ll be damned!” said Philip. “But is this the same cap that you have been making all this time?”
“No, I have finished two already.”
“But what’s the lowdown with the caps?” asked Philip.
Mrs. Marshall stared at him, her round eyes puzzled.
“I mean, what do you do with the caps?” explained Philip.
“Well,” said Mrs. Marshall. “The low down is that knitting keeps me busy and if anyone is interested in buying, of course, I will sell. But most times I just give them out.”
“I get the scope,” said Philip nodding his head. “Alright, I'm off.” He turned to go.
“Where exactly are you off to?” inquired Mrs. Marshall.
“Oh, I’m just going to circulate the neighbourhood,” replied Philip. I could not help smiling at his jaunty steps.
“Quite a character,” said John. “That pair of jeans could do with some washing, though.”
“Oh yes, he is quite a character,” agreed Mrs. Marshall. “I heard he spent two years in a drug rehabilitation centre. He was into hard drugs and they made him suffer sudden, violent outbursts. During the episodes, he would attack those around him. He was discharged some months ago.”
“A pity,” said John. “But how did you get to hear of this, Mrs. Marshall?”
“I always keep my ears open, John.”
“You seem to have something on your mind, Mr. Simpson,” Mrs. Marshall remarked that evening, as I walked past the wooden chairs.
“Good evening, Mrs. Marshall,” I said.
To be frank, I had so much on my mind, that I would have passed without noticing that she was there. I was thinking of Maria and her budding relationship with Nagoth. I still felt bad about it.
“I’ve nothing on my mind,” I replied.
“Is that so?” She was staring at me with those owlish eyes, which now looked amused. “But you seem distant these days and you keep staring at my daughter in a funny way.” I was startled.
“I’ve no idea what you are talking about,” I said as I stumbled over an exposed root on the ground and just managed to avoid falling.
“Your eyes, Mr. Simpson, light up like a Christmas tree when you see Maria. But just as suddenly, you become morose. Tell me,” she said, lowering her head and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you falling in love with her?”
I saw the futility in lying to Mrs. Marshall. She was telepathic, for sure.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Marshall. I feel a certain tenderness towards her, but it seems that she is in love with someone else.”
“With who?” asked Mrs. Marshall her eyes, narrowing to slits.
“But you must know of her relationship with Nagoth,” I said.
“Oh, Nagoth,” said Mrs. Marshall looking relieved and relaxed. “She is just flirting with him, Mr. Simpson. My daughter does not really know what love is. She can tell ten men that she loves them all in one day, and none mean anything to her.”
“I see,” I said slowly, but was not quite sure if I did see.
“You could try your luck with her, Mr. Simpson. You could be the man to teach her what love really is,” said Mrs. Marshall smiling. “You never know.”
“That’s quite an idea,” I said. “Good night.” She had certainly thrown a new light on her daughter, but it had actually left me more in the dark. And as I groped my way to my room more mystified, I was surprised, to say the least, to see Maria standing by my door.
“Good evening, Mr. Simpson,” she said, cheerfully. “I have been knocking on your door. I thought you were in.”
“No, I was out,” I said in a voice that was a pitch higher than usual.
She gave me a curious glance from under her beautiful lashes.
“What was it that you wanted?” I asked, opening the door.
“I need some advice,” she said. “You seem to be the only level-headed person around here.” And she followed me in. To say that I was flattered by her compliment, would be the understatement of the year.
“What of your mother?” I asked her, as she sat down on one of the armchairs in the room.
“My mother talks too much,” she rep
lied.
“She does talk a lot, but she speaks the truth and makes sense,” I said.
“Are you saying you don’t want to advise me?” she asked, pouting and looking ready to leave.
“No, not at all,” I said quickly. “I’ll be glad to. Shoot.”
“Actually, it is because you are an ex-policeman and you know the law and all that …”
“All that?” I asked.
“Well, actually, Mr. Simpson, you’re a gentleman. You’re actually the only male guest here who has not made a pass at me,” she explained.
“Oh!” I said, wondering what she would say if she could read my mind, or had heard my earlier discussion with her mother. “What of John?” I asked. But she made a dismissive gesture with a wave of her hand.