The music was tremendously rhythmic, coming from the bongo drums, and the bandleader, pointing his trumpet skywards blew till the blisters on his lips widened and he wiped his lips, and the sax snatched away the solo, distorting it. This was it, Jagua felt.
All the women wore dresses which were definitely undersize, so that buttocks and breasts jutted grotesquely above the general contours of the bodies. At the same time the midriffs shrunk to suffocation. A dress succeeded if it made men’s eyes ogle hungrily in this modern super sex-market. The dancers occupied a tiny floor, unlighted, so that they became silhouetted bodies without faces and the most unathletic man could be drawn out to attempt the improvisation which went by the name High-life.
Jagua saw them now as with white collars off they struck a different mood from the British Council: the ‘expatriate’ bank managers, the oil men and shipping agents, the brewers of beer and pumpers out of swamp water, the builders of Maternity Block, the healers of the flesh. German, English, Dutch, American, Nigerian, Ghanaian, they were all here, bound together in the common quest for diversion. Bouncing off the roofs, Jagua heard the trumpet choruses from the adjacent club, reaching out to the Tropicana with a kind of challenging virility.
She glanced round but could not get herself a seat among the dozens of empty chairs. She wanted most to dance. ‘Take me Freddie. Take me and dance me, quick!’ She put down her handbag on a chair and offered him her arms. He still moped.
The band was playing a new hit tune from Ghana, good enough to melt away all anger, something weepy but rocking, the kind she knew Freddie liked. She rubbed his hand caressingly. ‘You still vex wit’ me?’ she cooed at him. ‘You still wan’ to go back and lissen to de ol’ man lecture? Come on, man! Forget de lecture. You young man, enjoy yousself!’
Jimo Ladi and his Leopards always played well, though rather loudly, but dance High-life must be loud to fire the blood. White men and black men, they all rose, and crowded the floor. The black men chose the fat women with big hips: the white men clung to the slim girls with plenty of collar bone and little or no waists. There were girls here, and women, to suit all men’s tastes. Pure ebony, half-caste, Asiatic, even white. Each girl had the national characteristic that appealed to some male, and each man saw in his type of woman a quality which inspired his gallantry. So the women enticed their victims and the Tropicana profited.
Jagua clung to Freddie and they rubbed shoulders and bumped hips against softer hips and knocked down cigarette-ends in the compression chamber they called a dance floor.
After the dance, Freddie went over to the bar, leaving Jagua for barely a moment. A Syrian gentleman came to Jagua’s table at once and covered it with lavish drinks. He was not a young man and he had the unsober looks of one who came to the Tropicana every night. Jagua had often seen him in the company of Mama Nancy. But tonight Mama Nancy was not in the Tropicana and she wondered what the Syrian was planning. He was said to have a lot of money and to be quite lavish with it, and she would not mind taking him home. On his invitation she helped herself freely to his cigarettes. She felt flattered by his admiring smile.
Freddie came back and threw her an angry glance. ‘Get up, Jagua, an’ let’s go!’ he scowled. He was all tensed up.
‘Why now, Freddie? Siddown and greet de gentleman,’ she said lazily. ‘We only jus’ come and he dyin’ to meet you.’
‘Le’s go home, I said.’ He glared at the Syrian who calmly offered Jagua another cigarette. Jagua took it. This was her bread and butter, she told herself. The Syrian’s money would buy her that new dress from Kingsway. She had already pictured herself in it. She loved Freddie well, but his whole salary could not buy that dress. He must understand that taking money from the Syrian did not mean she loved him less.
With the match-light catching the points of his chin and etching out the bushy eyebrows, the Syrian squinted and puffed his cigarette alight, offering Jagua the flame. Jagua smiled at Freddie. The Syrian smiled too.
‘I waitin’ for you, Jagua.’
‘But you never dance me enough, Freddie.’
‘We done dance finish. Le’s go home.’
Jagua turned a smiling face at the Syrian. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Freddie’s fist tighten. Then, raving mad, he turned and walked out of the Tropicana. At that instant Jagua forced back a small spark of pity for her loved one. He should know by now that in the Tropicana, money always claimed the first loyalty.
4
Freddie stood at the door of the Tropicana, shaking his shoulders to the bright High-Life which Jimo Ladi and his Leopards were weaving within. He toyed with the idea of returning but resisted it. Jagua’s behaviour within the Tropicana was one reason why he never liked bringing her here. Once inside, the lights, the influential people, the drinks, the flattery, the voluptuous stimulations, the music, all combined together to change her into something beyond his reach.
He became aware of a girl’s young body brushing against him, squeezing tight against the passage. Her voice excited him too. ‘Freddie, you seen me mother inside?’
He looked at her. ‘Nancy, what you doin’ here?’
‘Lookin’ for me mother,’ said Nancy sweetly.
‘I don’ see her inside. Wait! Don’ go yet! I wan’ somebody I kin talk to.’ He seized her wrist.
Nancy looked at him in surprise. Freddie knew why, but now he had no time to worry about that. He had always treated girls with indifference, and someone like Nancy must believe he was not interested in her.
She twisted free. ‘You done gone mad, Freddie? Look you eye like you wan’ to eat me.’
‘Yes, sometime I kin eat you.’
In that tight little passage leading into the Tropicana Freddie was confronted with this mere slip of a girl: slim and bright in the manner of the young Nigerian girls of the day. Hair matted and boyish and glistening wet with too much pomade; a sky-blue blouse that exposed a bare graceful neck; slender arms and shoulders; hard breasts, upright.
Her complexion glowed livelier than the twinkling lights of the Tropicana, her ever-smiling teeth, the ripeness of her lips, charged Freddie with a boundless thirst for her. This to him was a discovery. It was the tearing away of a veil from his eyes. She walked out with him, smelling faintly of Miraba, squeezing her way deftly through the taxis which were now piling on both banks of the road while white men, coatless, were paying-off their taxi drivers and hurrying to the Tropicana.
Soon the noise became a murmur.
Nancy said, ‘Freddie, I sure my mother’s in there!’
‘No, Nancy; I should’ve seen ’er.’ He took her arm, and now that it was not so bright she let it be. He felt a sweet thrill run through his veins and he quickly began to tell her sweet words, any words that would keep her from wondering where they were heading for and why.
He himself was driven partly by impulse and partly by instinct. He only felt that he must be with Nancy, must confide in her. It was all rather vague to him and he knew she must be thinking now about the friendship between her mother and Jagua. Sometimes when her mother Mama Nancy came to see Jagua, Nancy came along too and they often found Freddie in Jagua’s rooms. They had all come to accept Freddie as Jagua’s young man, one who had no interest in girls like her. Often they teased him, telling him what a pity it was that he Freddie – young, studious and ambitious, should be the lover of the ageing and experienced woman of the city, Jagua; and though Freddie always spoke up loyally for his mistress he knew that they were genuinely concerned that he had ‘fallen into her clutches’ and were afraid that he could never get out of her control.
‘Freddie, where you takin’ me?’ Nancy asked, as they cut away from the motor road.
Her voice, the female cry of distress, fired his blood. He felt a hot surge towards his eyes. Her hand was slipping back from his and he gripped it firmly: silky and smooth, it warmed the inside of his palm. Her body smelt so different from Jagua’s. Why, Freddie told himself, she was just turned twenty, and Jagua must be we
ll over forty.
‘Siddown, Nancy. I beg you. Sit on de tree. Ah goin’ to tell you everythin’.’
She glanced at the fallen tree over which the ferns grew, matty and damp. ‘What you goin’ to tell me? I can’t sit here, Freddie. I fear for snake.’
‘Snake?’ Though he tried to sound casual and reassuring Freddie remembered going on a car drive with a friend and seeing a mamba lying in the middle of the tarmac, warming its belly. They were standing now in the woods, well away from the motor road. Occasionally distant headlights etched out the trees and lit up her face, but Freddie was sure the shadows concealed them both from passers-by on the main road.
Impulsively he reached out and circled Nancy’s waist and drew her to him. ‘Freddie!’ she whispered. Her sweet breath beat warmly against his lips. The hard slim bust strained closer to his shirt. In that brief contact when her body rubbed against his and she struggled to get free, Freddie experienced a rare elation. Was sex not a monopoly of sophisticates like Jagua? Jagua with her arty make-up, seductive bosom and hips? He felt his heart aglow with the new pleasure. Sweat sprang to his pores and soaked his clothes.
‘Freddie, what you tryin’ to do?’ she breathed. Her secretive voice excited him.
‘Now lissen to me, Nancy.’
‘No, Freddie, is dangerous.’ She drew back.
‘Wha’s dangerous? I done anything to you?’ His hand slid beneath the blouse and grasped the nipple of her breast. It was a hard little breast, fitting into the cup of his hand and bouncing restively within the cup.
‘What you tryin’ to do, Freddie? Is not right.’
‘Nancy, I can’t let you go. I wan’ to tell you somethin’. Stay a little.’
‘No! Le’s go. You kin tell me in de house.’ Her voice was weak and she leaned against him. ‘I afraid, Freddie. I don’ know why. I just fear in my mind.’
‘I feel all hot inside me, Nancy. You know what you doin’ to me?’
‘Go ’way!’ But she was leaning on his arm and holding it dearly. ‘Am a decent gal, Freddie,’ she whispered.
‘But ah love you, Nancy. True!’
‘So you say to every gal. What about Jagua? If she know, she will kill me.’
‘Know what? We done nothin’,’ Freddie cried. ‘What we done?’
‘You soun’ like you vex with me. Because I don’ give you myself quick-quick, like Jagua. Not so? You disappointed wit’ me?’ He detected the note of pleading in her voice. ‘Er? Because we done nothin’?’
‘Lissen, Nancy! Me an’ Jagua, is different from this!’
‘Different?’
‘Yes.’ How could he explain it to her? He had suddenly discovered that she was young but mature. She was clean, sweet, desirable. Jagua was not young. She was beyond awakening his finer feelings, no matter what she might do. ‘She too ol’ for me, you understan’? I can’t marry her.’
She looked at him with interest, but still the distrust was visible in her eyes. He said to her, ‘Nancy, I want young gal like you who understan’ love, not money. If a person have somebody he love, I mean – really love – everythin’ mus’ come right in de worl’.’
She said, ‘Somebody like me?’
‘Sometime! Nancy I not tryin’ to deceive you or do you anythin’ bad. You young and I young. Is right for me to love you and plan for tomorrow. And—’
‘At firs’ I fear, Freddie. All de young men in Lagos dem talk sweet sweet – like you doin’ now, Freddie. But when dem get a gal on de bed, you never see dem again. And if dem give de gal belly, she mus’ carry de belly alone, and dem will run and lef’ her. Is very bad of de young men. So I use to fear.’
He smiled. ‘No! I not tryin’ to give you belly to carry, Nancy. Tha’s what I tryin’ to tell you.’ Could she sense the voice of truth in him, he wondered.
She sighed. ‘If Jagua know—’
‘Don’ worry ’bout Jagua. You got you own life, Nancy.’ He knew that in her own way Jagua loved him and he owed her a world of gratitude for her sweetness, the physical satisfaction she gave him; but was there not something else besides physical satisfaction? Nancy, he felt, could supply both the physical satisfaction and the ‘something else’ he needed. She was young and still not yet set in her ways. ‘Look, Nancy! Is only I can’t help myself. I don’ want to hurt Jagua. She fine and she have some money an’ she know how to dress smart and hook all de men in Lagos. Das why we call her Jag-wa. But she’s not for me. She too high up in de sky. You know, de woman take a fancy to me because she say I young and handsome. But she take money from de other men, and sleep wit’ dem. And she tryin’ to keep me for marriage when she get older, like I’m somethin’ from de museum. ‘I too young to sell my life like dat.’
‘Freddie, you very handsome.’ She tucked herself close to him and he kissed her. ‘Freddie!’
‘Nancy!’
‘Kiss me, Freddie! Why you so blin’ all de time?’
He kissed her and her mouth tasted young and her body was all afire with an electric fire he had never felt before, sending voltages of passion through his veins.
‘You very beautiful, Nancy; and sweet!’
‘No!’ she breathed, as his fingertips slid beneath her skirt and down her belly. ‘Not today, Freddie. Another day, I promise you, Freddie. Is too sudden.’
She disengaged herself and started walking quickly to the motor road, straightening her dress. He called out to her: ‘Nancy, come now!’ But she did not turn her head. He stood there waiting, and when he could not get her obedience, he left the woods and came and joined her.
They walked in silence, for this new discovery was too all-consuming; something deeper than a promise had been born this night. If it would last, this new feeling would weld them together. He could feel that; and he could feel too, that this meeting was going to be their special secret. Jagua would never know, and therein lay its savour.
They came to the roundabout that blazed with lights. Indian Almond trees threw shadows which concealed the lovers nestling on the benches. All roads from the city and into the city met at this point, a good hunting ground for the Tropicana girls who liked street work. Freddie saw some of them now, moving so that the beam thrown by approaching car lamps would pick them out. They walked self-consciously, wiggling their hips extravagantly like stunt women.
Near the bus stop Freddie paused and looked at Nancy’s youthful profile. ‘Don’ pay any attention to Jagua, Nancy. You hear me?’ He had never before felt the real difference between pure love such as was exalting him now, and the casual encounters with the Tropicana girls.
The bus, a long affair in red and cream, swung to the stop with the conductor hanging out in his khaki shirt and shorts and yelling, ‘Are you goin’?’
‘Goodnight, lovely one,’ said Freddie. ‘You will dream of me?’
‘Yes, Freddie. I don’ know how I kin sleep dis night.’
The bus was already swinging away, and he watched the lights, and the well-groomed head of the girl whose world must be nearer his.
As he stood waiting for his bus he remembered the carefree days. Mama Nancy would come up to Jagua in her room with Freddie lounging in a chair.
‘You got chance to do me hair, Jagua?’ she would ask. ‘Or you boy frien’ need you?’
Jagua would not look at Freddie’s face, but would say: ‘Siddown, Ma Nancy. Me house be you house. Sure, I goin’ to do your hair – in de latest style, too. I sure Freddie won’ mind.’
Nancy would sit through it all, the Junior Miss, miles removed from their adult world. In those days it never occurred to Freddie that here was a girl, full of feeling. She was simply Ma Nancy’s daughter. To him she was just a monument. He did not even associate a bed with her.
He would sit by, reading his correspondence course on law, or – more often – he would leave the women and go downstairs to his room. Mama Nancy and Nancy had never been to his room. They only met him in Jagua’s. Often they came to Jagua’s room and played discs and danced to her collection o
f jazz, High-life and rhumba music.
They had been good friends but now, with this new taste of Nancy on his lips, Freddie felt fortified to face Jagua’s possessive love for him.
5
The bus put him down at Skylark Avenue where he bought a loaf of bread and lingered for a while. At this time of night Skylark Avenue exploded into life in a manner to attract even those who lived on it. Above the noise he could identify the High-life rhythm gushing from a record-dealer’s loudspeaker. On the opposite side of the street cars were gliding into the petrol-filling station where the girls in their spaceman cloaks lunged about like red dervishes charging one car after the other with power.
A hundred yards from his room he recognized Mike – Jagua’s houseboy – standing on the steps, wringing his hands.
‘Sir! Tenk God you return! Madam, she say make you come quick.’
‘Madam? But ah lef’ her in de Tropicana.’
‘No, sah. She sen’ message from police station, sir. She say make you come bail am.’
‘Bail – what? Police station?’
‘Dem fight in de Tropicana. She and Mama Nancy, dem broke all de table, them wound themself with bottle.’
‘Hold on! What you talkin’? Jagua fighting Mama Nancy?’
‘Yes, sah! She say make you come and bail am. Dem arres’ de two and lock dem up in de guardroom.’
Freddie knitted his brows. No self-respecting teacher would like to be mixed up with Charge Offices, certainly not he. When he had changed he had a quick bath, and like a man running away from his own shadow, Freddie got into bed and switched off the light.
In the darkness he could see nothing at first, and then the accusing face of Jagua began staring at him. ‘So you treat me, Freddie?’ There was a twisted smile on her face, cold, unforgiving. ‘When trouble meet you woman, you turn into de bed and sleep. You lef’ her to suffer?’ The face was so real that he could not stand the terrifying judgement contained in the eyes. He found himself getting quickly out of bed and switching on the light. He took a law book from the locker, put it under his arm and set out for the Charge Office.
Jagua Nana Page 2