Jagua Nana

by Cyprian Ekwensi

  ‘Shut up, Freddie! Got no business with you – yet!’ She turned to Nancy. ‘Dis is de poor bastard I got to teach a lesson so dat she will know next time about taking de man of her senior. Nancy, who tell you dat I goin’ with odder men?’ Her eyes were aflame and Freddie seeing them, went and shut the door. ‘Who tell you dat? Answer me!’

  ‘Yourself! Who tell you dat am in de room with Freddie? Why you hurryin’ to enter de room. Somebody tell you am here, das why you running and ramming de door with stone.’ Nancy was speaking with a spirit which made Freddie want to raise her by the arm and shout: ‘Champion! …’

  ‘I tell you, Jagwa! I love mah Freddie. He goin’ to England and when he coming back he will be my England man!’

  ‘Close you mout’, you small pickin’! Who born you to talk to me like dat?’

  Jagua sprang at her. ‘I goin’ to teach you pepper! And you kin go and call you Mama too an’ I will give am fire to chop!’ Freddie scarcely saw the flash of her hand but he heard the smack and saw Nancy wince and place a hand on her cheek. The two women clinched, and it was Nancy who screamed. ‘Oh! … Freddie, she bite me! De witch-woman bite me! …’

  ‘Bite her back! You got no teeth? Nancy, bite am back good and proper!’

  He saw Nancy butt into her and Jagua screamed. Freddie felt a sweet glow at Jagua’s humiliation and Nancy’s incredible nerve. Quickly he slid between the two women and tried to tear them apart. From both sides blows buffeted his skull and ribs. Jagua landed a good right on his cheek. He seized her by the wrists but with the enraged strength of a jaguar she wrested free.

  ‘Leave me, Freddie. You never gone England yet, and you done begin run after anodder woman! You tink am a fool?’

  ‘I don’ run after her, Jagua. What I goin’ to do when her modder sen’ her to me – an’ you run away with other man?’

  ‘What you goin’ to do? You done what you mus’! You slept with Nancy. Yes! What kin’ young man you be if you don’ sleep with such fine gal? You tink Ma Nancy don’ know what she doin’ to sen’ her alone to your room?’

  Freddie sneered. ‘When you and de three men ride away in de big car, where you go? What you wan’ me to do? Sit down and cry? I must to console myself! Das how poor man who no get long car kin console hisself.’

  ‘What concern you wit’ Mama Nancy, dat she sendin’ her only daughter to your bed?’ Jagua snapped at him. ‘So she sendin’ Nancy to you now, so you kin marry her? By de way, Freddie, who help you get passport? Who suffer and bribe de men till dem ’gree to give you passport? Or you don’ know about de Government control, how is hard for obtain passport? Why Mama Nancy don’ try for you? And who pay for your study and your room in de U.K.? Not me? Where Nancy and her modder hide when I doin’ all dis?’ She stood arms akimbo, half her blouse torn open, glaring at Freddie and Nancy so young and sweet.

  Freddie saw her make straight for one of his suitcases. ‘What you want dere, Jagua?’ He lunged forward to retrieve the case which contained his passport. ‘Jagua, be careful!’

  But the maddened woman only turned on him and he felt himself torn asunder as by a lioness. Jagua kicked open the suitcase, rummaged among the clothes till she found the precious document. She took it in her strong hands and tore it to shreds. The document that had cost more than six months of forgery and bribery. Freddie felt the tears tingling under his eyelids. He tried to intervene but she sprang at him, all claws and teeth. A Jagwa woman could be fire. He felt the scarification from the flames. She lifted the suitcase and threw it outside. It fell and split open and his things scattered. A penny rolled away and lodged under the stairs. Freddie started at that penny. ‘Go Englan’ now, let me see!’ She pointed at Nancy. ‘Go with her, and lef’ me in Lagos. I jus’ an old woman, and you got no use for me. So take your sweetheart Nancy and go!’ She took an axe and ran outside. She could wield it with dexterity. Nancy clung to Freddie while Jagua split the boxes open.

  All the tenants came down from their rooms but Jagua dared them to come within the range of the axe. She had now belted a cloth across her middle and stood like a fighter when the ‘seconds out’ bell has just been rung.

  ‘Ah will chop you head if you touch me!’ Her magnificent bosom heaved as she stood with eyes burning anger.

  ‘Jealous mad woman!’ Freddie hissed. ‘You done gone craze with jealousy.’

  Everyone watched her in utter silence. She stamped upstairs, locked her front door and caught a taxi, driving furiously away in the direction of Central Lagos. Just then a policeman showed up within the compound but finding no one to answer his questions and confronted by hastily retreating backs and rapidly closing doors, he swore under his breath and went back to his beat.

  Freddie turned to Nancy. ‘I beg you, ’bout all dis. Is me own fault. Das de kind of Jagua woman who love your Freddie. Love done turn to sickness! She gone crazy and she kin kill anybody now. God ’ave mercy!’

  ‘No worry, Freddie! I goin’ back home. I leave de passel wit’ you?’

  ‘Yes. If everythin’ spoil and I don’ go, I kin return de parcel. She already tear de passport now, so I wonder.’

  Nancy slipped away. Freddie sat on his bed. People came to the door, but seeing his thinking attitude, slipped back. He heard them mumbling and talking about him and his heart was heavy. Some of the things they said, Nancy had already said more pleasantly.

  The thought of not going to England any more was most unwelcome: after all those noisy send-offs! Though he had applied for a Government Scholarship what chance had he of winning one of the three hundred being offered? Thousands of people must have applied and it would be foolish to deceive himself.

  He went to the Passport Office with the fragments of his passport. As always the office was crowded and after considerable jostling with housewives wanting to join their husbands in England, a Lebanese who had naturalized as a Nigerian, Freddie found himself seated opposite the Immigration Officer.

  The polished brass buttons on the khaki uniform did not put him off, but when he saw the disarming smile, the greasy weapon of men in key positions, his heart sank.

  The officer rubbed his hands. ‘Bring me Freddie Namme’s file!’ A police constable clicked his heels and disappeared.

  When he came back he was carrying a file marked POLICE DEPARTMENT. The officer thumbed through it, shouted some more and a pile of forms arrived.

  ‘Fill these!’ he said.

  Freddie took them. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He took the forms home and filled them. He continued to go to the Immigration Office and when he had gone one hundred times he could have drawn an accurate map of the officer’s moustache set against the bare walls of the office. Nothing had developed. They were ‘looking into’ his case. If Freddie had only heard this once, it would have meant something; but now he was beginning to hear it in his dreams, and Jagua was in the centre of those dreams.

  On his way out one evening, Freddie again saw one of the three ‘.been-tos’ with whom Jagua had gone away for one night. He had parked the car outside and was asking Mike where ‘she’ had gone. Freddie hung around. Mike said he did not know when ‘she’ would return; she had left no word. He pointed at a notebook hanging against the door and invited ‘been-to’ to use it but he would not consent to scribble his name in Jagua’s Visitors’ Book. He left, muttering something about coming back later. Freddie guessed that Jagua must have gone to live with some man – probably one of the other two ‘been-tos’. She must be very comfortable where she was and might not even be thinking of coming back.

  He was torn by wild imaginings. Jagua had grown into some essential element in his make-up. He saw now that he enjoyed being molested by her. He missed her violent fits of temper and impulsive actions. Just as the Tropicana had become a drug in her blood, so also she had become his daily dose of anguish, lust, degradation and weakness of will. Under all manner of pretexts he went to her room and stared at the heavy Union lock on the door. He avoided the peop
le who lived in the same compound because he knew they would ask him questions he would not like to answer.

  At night he dreamt. His eye had become enormous and it could see through the keyhole and into the room. She lay among the disorderly lingerie, pouring perfume on her breast. Her face was no longer old, but had become a mask – like the idealized female dancing masquerades of the Ibo country. It was not a smiling face or a serious face: just a face – small nose, pointed like a Greek’s, thin lips, cheeks so fair as to be non-African. As this huge eye focused Jagua, she turned and gazed back at the keyhole. Apparently she did not see the eye for she rose and walked towards the wardrobe. She stood in half-shadow and her eyes became luminous black, focusing with suspicion on the keyhole. On her lips a smile lingered but the eyes never wavered. He saw her lips move.

  ‘Freddie … I seen you … Freddie …’ She scarcely opened her lips but the voice was rising and swelling into an echo that filled the room and hit back at her. ‘Freddie, so you cheatin’ me? You choosin’ anodder woman, because Jagua done old? … Jagua done old? … Awright, Freddie … I goin’ to borrow anodder face …’

  The eye, inexorable, riveted her nakedness in that half shadow, studying every detail. Her body had been caught in a greenish spotlight and she did not care to move away from it. She took out a luminescent brassiere and fixed it over her breasts. But her hand could not reach the clip at the back. She flung it away, threw back her head and laughed. Then she took out a knicker and got into it, raising her legs to the top of the wardrobe and gyrating her hips to force in the knicker. The eye photographed her. Then Freddie felt his whole body melting and flowing upwards into nothing else but the eye, greedy, peering, inquisitive, jealous.

  With a sudden effort, he tore himself away and fell against the cement floor. The eye burst and the juice squelched against the door. Freddie sat up in his bed, trembling and wet. The clothes felt damp and gummed to his body. He realized he had been asleep all the time and this was one of his nightmares. He reached under the pillow and produced his torchlight. He shone it on the clock. The time was 2 a.m. Since Jagua left, this new habit of going to bed early had not ensured trouble-free sleep. Could it really be – as Nancy had suggested – that Jagua was resorting to black magic to torture him? Was she a witch with black powers over his soul? Only that morning he had been telling the pupils at the College that there was no such thing as black magic or witchery, only the imagination. Scientific facts, he held, could be demonstrated; but these extrasensory qualities depended too much on vague circumstances and conditions.

  He listened to the night sounds. At this time a mysterious hushed stillness lay over Lagos. Only in the distance could he hear the faint note of a saxophone, a melody in the wilderness. The Tropicana must be busy now: 2 a.m. – their brightest hour. Would Jagua be there, he wondered? He sighed and lay back in his bed but could not sleep because of the ache in his head, lashing out at his temples. He pressed his fingertips to his brow.

  ‘Freddie …’ came the low voice. ‘Anyone in de room wit’ you?’ He looked about him in the darkness. ‘Answer me, my loving Freddie! … Anyone in de room wit’ you?’ Could it be Jagua, calling out to him from the other side of Devil’s Island, bewitching him with all her magic? This woman had become a bug in his veins. He felt the terror running through his bones. He remained still, he wished he could shrivel up and shrink and disappear into nothingness.

  ‘Freddie … Anyone in de—’

  He became instantly awake and suspicious. He must still be dreaming. He tried his voice. ‘No one in de—’ but only a croak issued from his lips.

  ‘I beg you; I want to come inside, Freddie. Is Jagua here – your woman.’

  He thought it over. ‘You come to fight me or to make frien’ with me, or to kill me?’ He was sure now. His voice was coming back. This was his Jagua. Violent and crazy one moment; calm and repentant the next.

  ‘Open firs’, Freddie! I beg you open firs’. I standin’ at de door an’ is late.’

  She may have come to kill me this time, Freddie thought. But what was the sense in being afraid? He found a stool in the dark and placed it against the door. He climbed up and peered down on Jagua. She was alone, standing against the door in a white cocktail dress. A dark mantle was thrown over her shoulders. He felt a sudden twinge of pity for her.

  As soon as he let her in, she began to cry. He could never stand her tears and he sat on his bed, lonely and confused. He let her weep for some time, gazing at the rising and falling bosom inside the low-cut blouse, at the eyes, heavy and puffed and red; at the hair, glamorous and, no doubt, specially done up to please him. He saw then that in some way Jagua lived for him. She was bright and full of verve when they loved, but when they quarrelled the light went out.

  ‘You forgive me, Freddie? I sorry for everythin’.’

  He yawned. ‘But Jagua, you surprise me as you act. You take axe, you wan’ chop off my head – like craze woman. Suppose de polis catch you again? Anodder big case.’

  ‘Is love, Freddie.’ She dabbed a handkerchief against her eyes. ‘I tink about all dis and it pain me.’

  Freddie remembered all the trouble he had been taking at the passport office and he became angry. ‘Me who hear about you behavin’ in de Tropicana and in de street I never chop you head off with axe.’ In spite of all his need of her, Freddie found himself getting more and more angry now that she was before him.

  ‘You hear story? What kin’ story? Tell me – quick!’

  ‘Ah hear dat you use to walka on de road for night time. Den white man will pick you up and you follow him an’ sleep. Is not de firs’ time ah hear de story, but ah never try chop you head off wit’ axe.’

  ‘Freddie, you come again! Make we forget dat one. We awready go into dat matter an’ I tell you is a lie. De Lagos people keep on poke nose. So you no wan’ to see me back?’ She rose. ‘I goin’ back, den.’

  Freddie held her hand. ‘Wait, Jagua.’

  ‘No. Ah see dat you still vex wit’ me, Freddie.’

  ‘Not so, Jagua. Awright, jus’ leave de matter, siddown.’

  She sat on the bed, and he sat beside her. His anger was still there and that meant that pride had seized his hands and rendered them heavier than an elephant. He sat awkwardly not looking at her, unable to touch her.

  ‘What you waitin’ for, Freddie? You just a proud boy who got spoil by woman.’

  She put out the light and folded him in her arms kissing him. ‘Freddie, when I get de chance I will visit your hometown. You never one day take me to Bagana, because your fear say Jagwa too old. Your Papa won’t ’gree for you to marry me. I want to go and know dat Bagana and see your modder and fadder. You will take me before you go Englan’?’

  ‘If I still goin’,’ Freddie said. He remembered Nancy telling him that she too would be visiting Bagana. No doubt his parents would be astonished to receive two successive visits from two strikingly beautiful women, one just over nineteen and the other nearly forty-five.

  She began to unbutton her dress. ‘So you will take me to Bagana?’ She could be good, sweet, loving, delicious and satisfying, this mad woman. In spite of himself the tightness of his anger began to slacken. He felt an agreeable warmth creeping up his spine. She put her clothes over the arm of a chair and came and knelt beside him, looking up into his face, seeking a smile in the half-light. She smelt sweet.

  ‘Since I lef’ dis place, I never sleep one night.’

  ‘Yes. Because you always go to Tropicana.’

  ‘Not so, Freddie! Because I thinkin’ about you. I keep dreamin’ day an’ night.’ The expert fingers were feeling him intimately. The low vibrant voice struck chords in his very fibres. He felt her fingers on his cheeks and the warm flesh on his face. He was engulfed. He was sinking into the soft abyss of this erotic woman. He hated himself but her breast was pushing against his face and he reached out and seized the nipple with his lips.

  In the morning the tenants saw Jagua emerge from Freddie’s room af
ter her long absence. They saw her go up to her room which had remained locked up all the time. No one showed any surprise or asked any questions. There was a law about Jagua and Freddie which was too big for them to understand, and this was it – operating before their eyes.

  9

  It was one of those nights when the Tropicana was poor company, and Jagua was bored. The chairs were empty. The girls sat still as anthills, their eyes trained on a gate that brought in no customers. For many of them it was going to be a lonely night without a man, and a hungry day without a pound in the purse. It was just past midnight when Jagua decided to walk home.

  She walked up the road between the waiting taxis and the lustful eyes that leered after her dancing hips. The noise of passing traffic surprised her at this hour of the night. She was forced to pick her way on the edge of the road among the petty traders selling bread, matches, cigarettes, tea, fried bean cakes. She felt not merely on the edge of the road but on the edge of a world totally different from the Tropicana, the real Lagos, noisy and confused, speaking the after-midnight language. She was more preoccupied with the tiny naked lights set on little tables than with the big moon-shaped glares from the cars and lorries. The woman sitting behind the tables flashed her white teeth and beckoned at Jagua. Some of these traders must know her now – as Jagwa. She heard the growling trumpet floating above the noise and hesitated. If she had gone back then, what happened that night would have been avoided. But she walked on because she knew that nothing had changed since she left the Tropicana. Nobody had arrived. The trumpet was merely warming the air.

  She walked consciously, dangling the bait. The women in the Club had told her that if ‘trade’ was bad, all she needed to do was walk along this road and the men would stop their cars and start up some conversation. This night would be the third time she had tried and failed. It was the wrong time of the month. Payday was usually on the twenty-sixth. By the twentieth of the month, no Lagos man had any more spending money. This was the time when the men resorted to credit buying and the women trekked across the bridge instead of going by bus. There was no more question of rushing to the big Department Store; instead, everyone sought out the cut-price markets and bought tinned foods from dubious sources. Jagua knew all this, and yet she walked. She passed the roundabout and for some reason, she suddenly remembered Freddie lying in his bed but quickly dismissed the picture from her mind.