‘As I was saying,’ Dennis began. ‘Now, where was I?’
Jagua put the packet of trinkets in her bag. ‘I got to be goin’ now. I goin’ to take dis to de goldsmith an’ see what I kin do.’
Dennis frowned. ‘Jagua, I sorry about all de noise. Dat woman tryin’ to bring confusion for our business. She trying to drive we to do what we not ready for. Everythin’ person do in dis world got to be done with sense.’
‘Don’ worry,’ said Jagua.
‘You treat her well!’ Sabina giggled. She was sitting on the floor, Indian fashion. ‘You flog de okro soup out of her mout’. Nex’ time she mus’ know how to talk!’
Jagua said: ‘I goin’ now, Dennis. When you come to de house, I goin’ to tell you what de goldsmith say.’
She got out of the taxi, slid past the market that stank of decaying leaves and fish. Leaving the noise behind her, she entered the goldsmith’s shop, a dark alcove between a tailor and a barber. The goldsmith had been working for some time and now he got up as she entered. She produced the packet and handed it over, sitting in the musty office.
He unwrapped the packet with careful hands, and examined it. ‘Not gold!’ he said, folding it back and handing it to her. ‘Ordinary pan. Not gold at all.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Jagua, indignant. ‘Jus’ say you go’ no money to pay.’
‘Who say I got no money. All right, bring let me see.’
Jagua handed back the case. The goldsmith looked at it carelessly, then said: ‘I give you ten poun’.’
‘You think I need money so much? You don’ see de clothes I puttin’ on? If you don’t give me £50 I go with my thin’.’
The goldsmith went outside and consulted with three of his friends. Jagua saw that she had something valuable. She sat tight while the men talked. Then they took the trinkets indoors and were there a long time. Jagua knew that this was the best time to get a good sum for them because the ram festival was nearing and women would be looking for such jewellery. All the smith needed to do was melt them and bring them out in new designs.
She heard a murmur and they came into the shop. ‘All right,’ said the goldsmith. ‘Twenty pounds, last!’
Jagua did not so much as look at him. At one point they shouted abuses at each other. But two hours later when she left the shop, she had thirty-five pounds in her bag.
18
Jagua did not see Dennis till two days afterwards. As soon as he came into the room, Rosa slipped out. There was something terrifying about his looks that evening.
‘Wat happen, Dennis. Your face dark like you loss some big money – or person.’
‘Our taxi driver,’ Dennis said. ‘He go out las’ night. Dem kill him, throw way his body for gutter.’
Jagua held her head in her hands and shrieked. Rosa ran back into the room post-haste. ‘Why you cry so, Ma?’ She walked on tip-toe as if to still the noise she brought along with her. Jagua and Dennis were silent, looking at the carpet.
‘Wa’s wrong, Ma?’ Rosa asked again. She sat down. ‘Wa’s wrong, Ma? Somebody die? You cry like somebody die! …’
Dennis turned to her. ‘Dem kill our taxi driver.’
‘Lord a’ mercy!’ Rosa folded her arms over her bosom.
Dennis talked quietly, telling how it had all started with the taxi driver’s wife, nagging him about money. There was to be an outing for a dead relation, the end of the period of mourning for the widow. Custom demanded that a dress be prescribed for all the women. The widow’s relatives assembled and they chose an outfit costing one hundred pounds each. It consisted of damask and velvet, nylons and gold trinkets. The taxi driver had no money. His wife, who was the most important relation of the widow, would not hear of it. She threatened to leave him if he did not find the money within two days. One hundred pounds within two days. She was always threatening to leave him, anyhow. Always Dennis had to settle their quarrels. Jagua had seen him try to discipline her because the driver himself was so weak where she was concerned. She kept up her nagging the whole of that night and finally the taxi driver pressed Dennis to let them go and raid the shop where he had seen the woman stowing away £1000 in a strongbox; but Dennis did not feel like going, and finally they went without him. They did not know the woman employed armed men who slept inside the shop. The taxi driver was stabbed and thrown into the street-gutter with the open drain. And there they found him in the morning.
That was the story Dennis had to tell. Lagos was ‘hot’ for them now because the police were alert and hungering for an arrest, around Obanla.
‘Wat of de taxi-driver wife?’ Jagua asked.
‘She pack her thin’ and run, quick-quick.’ He smiled. ‘But Sabina tell me she know where de woman’s hiding. De two of dem be proper enemy.’
‘You mean Sabina and de taxi-driver wife? … So she won’ come back?’
‘No, she say she don’ want any trouble.’
Jagua sighed. ‘She born any child for him?’
‘Yes,’ said Dennis. ‘Dat woman born pickin’ like fowl. Every year she mus’ born one child. She already born three pickin’ for him. Before dat, she born anodder three pickin’ for odder men who she marry, or some lover man. But she no care for de pickin’, only to dress herself. She run away now and hide, but my gal kin fin’ her out. Anywhere she see clothes, money, and chop, she don’ mind. She will live there. When she an’ de taxi driver begin, de man use to make about £10 a day. She chop all him money finish and begin talk rot. Das why I vex las’ time and beat her. Am sure she mus’ go dis burial ceremony. She mus’ fin’ some man to give am de £100. Dat gal! She don’ care at all, for anythin’. Only to dress herself, fine! And to look man face.’
Jagua gave Rosa a meaning glance and Rosa left them alone. From under the pillow Jagua took out a bulging envelope and handed it to Dennis. ‘Count de money. Is £35; das all dem give me.’ He took the money from her and as he began counting, she looked at the determined and angry set of his brow.
Dennis, I wan’ to tell you somethin’. Dis kind of life dat you follow, you think is a good life.’
Dennis smiled. ‘What you wan’ me to do? To go an’ be clerk? Awright! I already try to find work. Dem ask me to bring bribe-money. I give one man ten pound, and he chop de money and he no fin’ work for me. How I go do? I mus’ chop. Myself and de taxi man who die, sometime we kin make one hundred pound by Saturday. Sometime, we don’ see anythin’. But we live happy. I got my gal, Sabina, and she love me well. She say dat any day de police catch me, she goin’ to kill herself. Before I meet her she never know man. I disvirgin’ her. She don’ believe any odder man live in dis worl’ only me. She love me. I got dat whole house. Me and de taxi man who die, and de boys, we rent de place and we pay our own rent, regular. We never look money in de face, an’ say “dis money is too much”. We jus’ spen’, to get anythin’ we want. Anythin’. So why I worry? De day dat de policeman catch we, we go. Is all de same, whedder we live in cell or outside de cell.’
Jagua watched his expressive hands. Somehow she felt that this young man’s philosophy was intricately bound up with hers. He lived for the moment, intensely, desperately. He had no use for conventional methods of thinking. ‘What you say is true,’ she told him. With her elderly woman’s heart, she could not bear to see this young boy who could well be her son, sacrificed on the altar of recklessness. For she was sure that he must die – and swifty too – if he kept this life up. ‘Wat you say, is true, Dennis. But I beg of you to stop dis business. Take de taxi driver case as warnin’, you hear me? Stop and go do hones’ work, so you kin live long and help your modder in her ol’ age. Is plenty work in Lagos, though de money not like de kind you use to. But suppose dem kill you one night, take knife open you belly so de breeze rush inside, what your modder goin’ to say?’
‘Is jus’ my bad luck, das all,’ Dennis said.
‘You been in de army before?’
‘Yes, I go for Burma campaign, but I desert.’ He gave a short laugh.
Jagua was staggered by his detachment. ‘Dennis, I beg you. Take dis as warning and stop. Plenty fine work for Lagos. I already tell you. My boy frien’ Freddie, is in England. He got no money, but is ambitious. Is an ordinary teacher. He try, try, till God give him luck and he fin’ way to go U.K. Is in England now. He soon return as lawyer. I like man who try to go forward in de worl’, by honest way. For de sake of dat gal Sabina who love you, you kin try to be good.’
Dennis smiled. ‘Sabina no min’ at all. She know everythin’ and she like de fas’ life. You ever seen her dance in de Tropicana? I don’ mean, in de house. Dat one is small thin’. I mean in de Tropicana. De white men use to crase for her. But I don’ let her mix her blood. Sabina love me, because of my ‘business’. She love me because I young and wild and I got no fear of anythin’. She too, she got no fear in her blood. She fear nobody; and she strong like leopard! God!’
He had been carried away, and now Jagua saw that it was useless trying to make him change his mind. ‘Is all right – O!’ she said in desperation. ‘We live to see.’
Jagua said to him, ‘Dennis, you better go now. I jus’ remember de man keepin’ me soon come now.’ She was terrified of him now. He could easily contaminate her with his frightening life. She knew he could spoil her chances with men who mattered. ‘De man keepin’ me in dis house soon come, Dennis. He use to come here in de evenin’ time, like dis. So I beg you, no vex. You kin come anodder time.’
‘I see you again,’ Dennis said. But he was still standing there when ‘the man keeping her’ came into the room.
Jagua immediately bridled and swung her hips to delight him and winked at him intimately. Soon after she returned from Bagana Uncle Taiwo had become so taken with her ‘provincialness’ and marvellous skin that he spent first one night, then two nights with her and now she saw him daily in her room. He said he liked her because she was ‘not like Lagos women’.
‘I mus’ go now,’ said Dennis.
And when he had left: ‘Jagua, who’s de young man?’
‘Jus’ my brodder, Uncle Taiwo.’
‘Your brodder who sleep wit’ you on de same bed, not so?’ And he roared with laughter.
Uncle Taiwo was not a young man. He had seen life and in his fifty odd years he had developed a manner she liked. He was not stingy with money. She knew him as the Party Agent for O.P. 2, one of the big political parties in Lagos. He rode a Pontiac and lavished a lot of campaign money in the name of the Party. Although the elections were still far away, he told Jagua that this was the time to do all the groundwork; and therefore he gave himself little or no rest, save when he came ‘here’ to see her.
She came near and caressed his cheeks. ‘You too jealous, jus’ like young man. What I will do wit’ small boy like dat. Is my brodder, I swear. Don’t you trust me?’
‘I glad say he be your brodder. God save ’im if he’s not. I go jus’ kill am one time. Ah go make trouble for ’im till he ron away from dis Lagos. You tink I goin’ to pay rent and furnish dis house for small boy to come when I turn me back? No fear!’ And again he roared with laughter.
‘Is only me brodder, Uncle Taiwo. He come an’ tell me say our Senior Brodder done die for we country.’
Uncle Taiwo’s face did not soften and she knew he did not believe her. She was almost certain that men she picked up in Lagos usually knew nothing about her near or distant relations; but Uncle Taiwo knew about Freddie because it was he who had taken her to the airport when he left. At first when he began coming to her, he asked questions about him; whether she heard from him, how he was … but now Freddie’s name seldom came up for discussion. He was beginning to regard himself as the rightful lover, always jealous. She got around him by mothering him. She went over now and sat on his knee, rubbing her thinly clad hips into his thighs. She threw one arm over his shoulder, so that her left breast snuggled close to his lips. Presently she felt his thick, rough lips close on the nipple. ‘A dog with food in his mouth does not bark,’ went the proverb.
She felt the powerful arms binding her towards him, smelt the vapours from the voluminous robes that now swallowed her.
In the middle of the night she heard a knock on the door. She would not get up till the caller shifted to the window. She glanced at Uncle Taiwo. The weak blue bedroom light rested on the globular blobs of fat, the face like a baby’s unlined and innocent looking, the thick rough lips parted and snoring, revealing large front teeth. He was gone, transported to another land. She had mothered him well.
She slipped out in a single cloth tied under the arms and went to the door. Dennis Odoma was standing there. She placed a hand over her mouth to avoid shouting at him. He even tried to push past her into the room, but she pressed him back with her bosom.
‘Where you goin? You don’ know my man is in de bed?’ She was hissing like a cobra.
‘Always some man in de bed!’ Dennis growled. ‘Some man in de bed! You will die with some man in de bed one day. Look me!’ He raised his arm then, and her glance caught the silver bangle on his wrist. Jagua recognised the handcuffs.
‘Dennis! …’
‘De police catch me, an’ I ron away from dem. Das all. I come to warn you, sometime, dem will come here, come to ask you ’bout me. You mus’ tell dem, you know nothin’. You hear?’
‘God!’ breathed Jagua, not daring to raise her voice for fear of waking Uncle Taiwo. ‘You wound de policeman? Tell me true word, Dennis!’
‘Ah knock ’im down. I don’ know. Sometime he wound, or die. Not my lookout. All policeman be thief, so I don’t use to sorry for dem. If to say ah give am small money, he for lef’ me.’
‘Is officer of de law you wound, Dennis; das serious you know. De Government no go let you go free, however!’
‘I don’ care.’ He came nearer. ‘Lissen, Jagua. Since dem arrest me, I don’ see Sabina and she take de gun.’
Jagua recoiled. ‘De gun?’
‘Only small revolver dat we tief from army barrack. I hide am for some place an’ when I go look, is gone. Only Sabina know de place.’ He frowned, then began talking intensely. ‘I know dat gal goin’ to do somethin’, das why I fear. She tell me dat if ever dem catch me she goin’ to take her life. Lissen, Jagua. I beg you if she reach here to ask of me, tell am not to worry ’bout me. Try to keep am happy. De gal never reach nineteen year. She too young to die.’
He turned and was off into the darkness. She broke down then. The tears came. She leaned against the doorpost and let them flow. Then, with her cloth, she wiped her tears and went back to the bed, bolting the door firmly behind her. Uncle Taiwo made some protest, and Jagua told him she had gone to ease herself. But she was unable to sleep any more that night for worry. If the police came, what would they ask her? Would they want to take her to the station? What had really happened between Dennis and the police officer? Had she not warned him to give up this reckless kind of life? Now it was too late. An officer of the law! The Government would never rest till they had got Dennis. He could never escape with this one because the Government must protect the policemen who never carry arms.
She had been sure all along that it was coming to this. Why, why had she got her fortunes entwined with those of this dashing but tragic young man? She knew now. She knew that if a girl went to Tropicana every day, that girl was a pawn; a pawn in the hands of criminals, Senior Service men, contractors, thieves, detectives, liars, cheats, the rabble, the scum of the country’s grasping hands and headlong rush to ‘civilisation’, ‘sophistication’, and all the falsehood it implied. She turned over in her bed, and every time she turned it seemed to her that the meshes twined even more remorselessly. Dennis. Jagwa. Rolled into a ball of steel and nylon cords, inseparable, confused.
Uncle Taiwo had left in the morning when the police called. Jagua’s room with the unopened windows smelt a man smell with erotic odours.
‘Where’s Dennis Odoma?’
‘Why you askin’ me, you tink I know where he live. Go find him in his own house!’
/> ‘We gone there, we don’t see him. Tell us where we kin fin’ him. We got information he use to sleep here.’
‘He don’ sleep here. But what happen? Why you findin’ him so hot-hot?’
‘Dem go tief. When dem reach there, policeman catch Dennis. We been findin’ him for long time now. At las’ de policeman catch him and know him; to make sure he don’ ron away, de police handcuff him to hisself. Dennis wound de policeman and run away with handcuff. The policeman is in hospital now, on danger list.’
They brushed past her into the room as if the picture of the law officer in hospital had awakened a new flood of vengeance against the thieves. Jagua watched them turn up the carpet and shift the radiogram. Then they stamped out.
Jagua flung after them. ‘Go an’ ask Sabina; she mus’ know.’
‘Sabina?’
‘Him gal frien’.’ Jagua felt no qualms of conscience in betraying the girl she envied so much. ‘Dem live togedder for de same house. Sabina’s de name.’
The policeman laughed. ‘So you never hear?’
‘No, what happen?’
‘Why you think we lookin’ for Dennis so hot-hot? Sabina take revolver. She go to de place where dem makin’ some ceremony for somebody who die. She shoot one woman dere, den shoot herself. She say is de woman who make Dennis thief. I think dat Sabina crase. Such fine gal, an’ so young: go waste her life for nothin’ sake!’
‘Sabina, kill … woman – and kill herself, for Dennis?’
This is a dream, Jagua told herself. A mad dream, a nightmare. She saw Sabina again in her jeans with the pendulous buttocks, the face overlaid with too much cold cream, the lips sensuously kissable, with a blot of too-bright lipstick. A girl who was content to live her life among bed-springs, surrounded by fast drinks and chains of cigarettes. Sabina arriving at the funeral ceremony, incongruously dressed. The other women would be in their deckings of gold and gossamer nylon, winking from made-up eyes, holding the cocktail glasses with the tips of their nails. Then the one she sought, coming in – the ex-beauty queen. A momentary exchange of words, and then ‘Have it, now! …’ The recoil of the gun, the sudden diving for safety. And Sabina, alone with the overturned chair and tables and the writhing wife of the dead taxi driver, standing in that wreckage like a messenger from Lucifer’s fold. And the next instant turning the little weapon on her breast.
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