by Peter Akinti
It was cramped with all these really primitive furnishings and no seats except his, this massive wicker chair with bamboo carvings on it, and all around were these scary pictures.
'The fuck?' I said.
Ash laughed. 'Relax. They're Nigerian gods.'
He pointed out Shango and Obatala and Oshun. There were all these statues and mirrors with strange designs. Sheikh Ali wore this ragged white tunic and lifted his hands above our heads and started saying stuff that Ashvin thought was Arabic. He made us sit on this thick pile rug. We were laughing at first but he got all serious, like. He had a really deep voice and his beard was all patchy. I thought I was going to shit in my pants, I swear. He burned some stuff inside this glass contraption that was about twelve inches long and he made us smoke it. We started feeling sleepy as we watched him compiling numbers in this chart he had on the wall and then he was pulling out this book and then pulling out another. 'I've almost finished,' he said.
Ashvin and me looked at each other – we both felt weird.
'Don't fall asleep,' I said. 'And if I do, don't fucking leave me here.'
'I won't leave you, but you don't leave me,' Ash said and then we couldn't stop laughing. We laughed so much I started to cry because I couldn't stop and I was afraid of whatever it was we'd smoked.
I opened my eyes and I was in a place that I knew was home to millions of people, the sky was liquid gold. There were people everywhere, criss-crossing the sands and scrubs on camel-back – pilgrims performing the haj and merchants selling perfume, beads, essential oils and henna. I was in a market. A herbalist called me to his stall and told me about a poisonous desert plant that could be eaten in emergencies. He said I could eat the leaves if I boiled them. He said I would grow to love the taste and he said I should search for it. He made me a powerful charm to wear that took the shape of a small snake. It had alternating crystals and five blue beads. When I turned it to look underneath, I saw it had the word Ogun carved in red and it stung my eyes. The herbalist warned that I should never remove the charm. Then he left.
A cockerel crowed somewhere and I sensed evil in the herbalist and his words. I turned and continued to walk away from the market to the highway where I would get on a bus, where I would be free.
It was not yet dawn but the bus stop was overflowing when I arrived. It was where, at a rotary, six streets met helter-skelter. People shouted and shoved. I smelled the aromas of saffron, black cardamom spice, meat and incense; I looked at a box of old fruit, thought of festering mould and ripening, life and death. I didn't know where to focus my eyes until I heard the shrill voice of a woman sitting near a basket of carp. She was naked. I had seen her somewhere before. I concentrated on her severe face, and then I remembered. She was my schoolteacher, Miss Bukolov from Belarus.
I watched Miss Bukolov closely. She had a gun, a Baikal pistol. When she pointed it at me I noticed she had tiny flecks of blue lint in her hair.
'If you ever wank over me again I will shoot you in the head.'
'I'm sorry, don't shoot,' I said and I started to cry.
She laughed and spoke to herself. I listened carefully to her voice until I was sure it was in fact her.
'Look at my head and tell me which is bigger,' she said. 'What I carry in front of my head or what I carry behind it?'
I saw a bus and jumped on it and I felt relieved when it started to pull away.
'Hey, you, James,' shouted Miss Bukolov. 'You have grown into a fine-looking man but you forget the good manners I taught you.'
When I turned she was sitting in the seat directly behind me pointing the gun. 'I hate you,' she said.
'Miss Bukolov,' I said, 'I'm sorry, I won't ever wank again.'
She leaned back in her seat, still pointing the gun at me.
'Come closer' she said.
I stood up and leaned towards her. I stopped leaning over to her when I could feel the warmth of her mouth on the hairs on the back of my neck.
'Please,' I said.
'Look at my head and tell me which is bigger, what I carry in front of my head or what I carry behind it?'
I couldn't tell what she meant. I looked at her face, at the shape of her head.
It had a slight bulge at the back.
'Miss Bukolov, the one behind is bigger.'
She burst out laughing. 'Thank you, thank you, thank you.'
She asked the driver to stop and she jumped off the bus. I watched her crawling away on her hands and knees. The bus driver began to laugh too, loudly; I thought my ears would burst.
'James, you little wanker, I am magic and I can turn you into a trog,' he said and then he started laughing again.
When the bus driver turned to face me, I had to look twice, but I recognised him. It was Mr Shilton, my biology teacher.
'Trog!' I said and my heart raced.
'I hate you,' he said.
'Me or all of us?' I asked.
'Every one of you,' he said and he laughed.
'So who is my brother's keeper?'
'Your brother's what?' he said, and he laughed uncontrollably. 'I hate all of you. Everyone does. There are no men among you, no leaders. You're all lying in filthy beds with envy and malice, squabbling on pavements and in one-pound chicken shops, talking loudly, saying nothing. Your women hate you, your mothers don't believe in you, you'll never get jobs because nobody trusts you. Your children don't respect you and they paint their bodies with meaningless words and symbols. Your brothers think you're a wimp because you don't have a gun. Your fathers run out on you, no religion claims you, the echoes of your ancestors have been drowned out by rhyming treachery, and all the world governments think you're a joke. I am your teacher and I hate you and don't you ever call me Trog.' He let go of the steering wheel and gave me a hard push.
'Who is your leader?' he asked.
'I don't have one,' I said and I started to cry again when Trog thumped me on the nose.
'Sir, what are you doing? Let me off, I wanna get off.'
'Listen to me, kid, you've got no chance, stay on the bus, enjoy yourself.'
The bus stopped and I ran and kept running.
Ash and I woke up sweating. Sheikh Ali was still collating numbers on this wall chart thing.
'Why do you both fill your minds with so many negative thoughts?' he asked. 'Let them go before they consume you.'
Sheikh Ali said he had had a vision of death, that we were both smeared with blood. That was when your brother went crazy. He looked so much taller when he stood over Sheikh Ali, his face screwed up in anger.
'What did you give me?' Ash said.
'You some sort of nonce?' I said.
'Sit down. Keep your voices down,' said the sheikh.
'What did you give me?' Ashvin gritted his teeth.
'Ashvin, what's going on?' I had never seen him like that before.
He punched Sheikh Ali squarely on the top of his head.
'Let us out,' he said and he grabbed the glass thing and hurled it against the wall. There were splinters of glass everywhere and for a second the room froze. Sheikh Ali was rooted to the spot. He looked Ashvin straight in the eye and then started thumping the walls, blind with rage.
'How dare you?' he screamed, waving his arms frantically, trying to gather the bits and pieces together. It was intense. The sheikh was cursing with the anguished expression on his face growing more and more acute. He pulled at his hair and looked at Ashvin and then he didn't seem to know what to do – he just stood there motionless, without saying anything. Then he screamed: 'That belonged to my father. Damn you. You are damned.'
Ashvin laughed. 'Damned? Is that all? I thought you were supposed to tell me something I didn't know already.'
We ran off. When we got out of the flat it was already dark. We had been in there the whole day, which was weird because it didn't feel that way. We got on the number 25 bus, both reeking of this incense stuff. Ashvin was acting weird. He brought out this little bottle of vodka and a small tin of Vaseline. He didn'
t drink from the bottle, he just gargled.
'What are you doing? I thought you didn't drink.'
'It numbs the pain,' he said.
He brought out a packet of razor blades, rubbed them with Vaseline, and started putting them in his mouth. He put four in his mouth. Don't ask me how. One under his tongue, one on the roof of his mouth and one in both his cheeks.
'The fuck, Ash. What you doing?'
He took another mouthful of alcohol and spat blood behind his seat. Nobody saw. When he opened his mouth, he had four blades positioned neatly inside.
'What's that for?'
'The Vaseline makes them easier to spit out. It's a Somali gangster thing. Women use it as protection against rape.'
I shook my head. 'That's some crazy Third World ghetto shit.'
Ash laughed.
We got off in Forest Gate, outside the Nkrumah estate, and we were just hanging out – we went to the Internet cafe and I ate the chicken and chips we got for a pound. I wasn't really thinking anything of it at first but then Nalma Kamal pulled up in his blue Fiat Punto. He parked, slammed the car door when he got out and gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. I felt a plum-sized ball in my throat. It felt like being tied inside a plastic bag. Your brother knew exactly what he was doing, like he had it all planned.
Nalma was tall, big. His neck was like a bull's. He was wearing baggy jeans and Timberland boots.
'Whass gwaning?' he said. He patted the sides of his hair, and rubbed at the two or three hairs that he'd twisted into a pointy beard on his chin. Then he stiffened and readied himself for what he probably imagined could be the worst. I knew a little bit about Nalma. He'd lived in Africa in varying states of terror for most of his childhood. He too had seen many things that others might not see in a lifetime. His family was from Ethiopia and everyone said he'd seen his father killed in their backyard when Ethiopia went to war with Eritrea or some shit. He'd lost contact with his mother and his sister when the family went into exile. He got asylum into Britain in 2001. Before he got his own place on Nkrumah, he lived in a hostel in Walthamstow and joined the Scare Dem Crew about two years ago.
He wasn't afraid. The three of us just stood there looking at each other. They were both smiling. I wanted to run.
'Two against one, yeah?' said Nalma. 'How you gonna come to my manor and jump me? Didn't anyone tell you how I roll?' He spoke as if he was doing all he could to make himself angry.
Slowly, as if he had arrived at a painful and difficult decision, he used his right hand to pull his gun from under his white shirt. He pointed it at me. He didn't look like he was afraid to shoot me.
'Wait,' I said.
'Oh, so you wanna talk now? But I thought you was supposed to be a bad man.'
'No. Wait,' I said. But I didn't know what else to say.
Nalma just laughed.
Your brother raised his hands and said, 'I just want a fair fight.
Just me and you, no knives, no guns.'
To this day, I wonder why Nalma put his gun down. He just stood there for a while looking into your brother's eyes, thinking his own thoughts. Ash's stare was like smouldering embers. And then Nalma lowered the gun, tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He smiled, but I could see he was nervous. It was really weird. After that we all got into his Punto as though we were three friends and Ashvin directed him to drive west to a spot in Forest Gate where the old Percy Ingle's cake factory is, behind the dark fields, you know, where all the empty garages are?
As he drove, Nalma kept looking at me in the rear-view mirror and when he pulled up he rested his head against the glass and closed his eyes for a moment like he understood what was going to happen. He was breathing heavily and there was sweat at his temples. I think he was praying. When he was done he turned the ignition off and we got out.
Before I knew it they rushed at each other, they pounded each other, dodging and ducking each other's heavy blows. Soon they were both on the ground, clinging to each other, then exchanging punches to the face, to the head and to the chest the whole time. They stopped for only an instant and then they smashed into each other again. I couldn't tell who was winning at first but then Nalma got on top. The gun fell from his waistband. That was when Ash started spitting razor blades. I had never seen shit like that before. Nalma staggered backwards as the first blade sliced near his eye. The second, third and fourth didn't miss. It was disgusting. Ash started shouting at me.
'Get the gun. Get the gun.'
I kicked it and it slid over to near Ash's thigh.
Ash picked up the gun as Nalma was bent over trying to support himself with the palms of his hands. Ash did this crazy wrestling move and tripped him over. There was this loud thud as Ashvin smashed the butt of Nalma's gun into his nose. 'How do you like it?' he said and he smashed it over and over again. It was terrifying. And then Ash laughed. It was a strange laugh, unfamiliar. We were inseparable; we sat next to each other in class – not talking much but always together. Outside school we talked about everything: what was on television, the state of the world. Sometimes we'd be together and we wouldn't feel the need to exchange words at all but I wouldn't be bored. Ashvin was always intense but in that moment I got really scared because I'd never heard him laugh like that before. Nalma collapsed to the ground and thrashed about. He stopped moving for a moment but I knew he was still OK at that point because he was breathing heavily and spitting out teeth and stuff. But then Ashvin turned him around, slammed a knee into his ribs and started tugging at his belt. Nalma was screaming, and his screams got louder when he saw the amount of blood there was on his hands. I couldn't understand why Ash was crying, but tears streamed down his face. I was behind them. I edged closer to be sure of what I was seeing. Ash pulled Nalma's jeans and underwear off and I thought Nalma was in for a whipping. He was trying frantically to work his body against Ashvin's grasp but a sudden blow made him lurch to the side and then his legs buckled. Then your brother dropped his own trousers as if he was going to piss but he spat on his hand and started to rub his dick. Ash grabbed Nalma's shoulder, pulled him up. Nalma tried to kick him but the rest of his body was limp. Ash grabbed his neck from behind with his left arm and smashed the point of his right elbow into Nalma's back. Then he crooked his own back and straightened his dick and then he squeezed it in, penetrating him.
'What are you doing?' I moved towards him. I was going to drag him away. But he didn't answer. Whatever it was I saw in Ash, Nalma sensed it too. He tilted his head slightly to look at me and I saw terror start in his eyes and then run across his face. He couldn't move because Ashvin held him firmly around his waist. Nalma, gritting his teeth and grimacing with pain, had no energy left, his mouth gaped in shock. For an instant he gathered strength from somewhere and shook Ash off but Ash smashed an elbow into the side of his face. Nalma was ready to drop, but he kept trying to spin round, to shoot his right hand up to reach Ashvin's forearm but Ash bent his other arm behind his back and held his neck down so he couldn't reach. Nalma's desperate screams echoed and then became muffled. His breathing laboured, the fight in him crawled away. Then he submitted. His head smashed into the ground and stayed there. I was glad when he turned his face away from me because I didn't want to see the cuts around his eyes. There was nothing I could do. I squinted down the street. Behind them in the distance shone the pulsing lights of Forest Gate. Panic spread through me. I was there but I also felt separated. I felt a sense of shame. It was all so animalistic and brutal. My blood was pounding and I was frightened and also sort of excited by my own fear or adrenaline or whatever.
Ashvin grabbed Nalma's hands and put them behind his back; he dragged his legs apart and pulled him up into a doggy position, still forcing him to look down. Ash spat in his palm again, somehow got himself erect and then, bending Nalma forward, he fucked him again, slowly inch by inch. His eyes were half closed. Nalma tried to move but Ash kept squeezing his neck and telling him to keep his eyes fixed on the ground. If Nalma tried to get up, Ashvin bent hi
s knees by force. I'll never forget the way Ashvin looked when he penetrated Nalma, the way he started off moving his hips really slowly, unsteadily, but then he got really rough. With each thrust I heard a sickeningly dull thud and a smack as Ashvin's stomach connected with Nalma's buttocks. Both their angry cries split the night. Ashvin was crying and breathing hard at the same time. Blood trickled down the back of Nalma's legs. I looked up at the stars in the dead sky. They didn't twinkle. Nothing moved. The air was pungent with blood and faeces. My heart felt out of sync, beating in a way I had never felt it beat before. Ashvin had one hand on Nalma's hip, the other he used to press down on his neck. Nalma was yelping, clawing at the ground like a dog. Ashvin was ramming him, he tore him and scratched him and beat him until Nalma was totally limp. When he was done he whispered something into Nalma's ear. He didn't think I heard him but I did. I could see the moon between the trees and I just wanted to run, to get away. But I just sat there and I was ashamed because I was hard.
He said, 'Your countrymen gave me a gift and now it is my birthday and I give it to you.'
Nalma was alive when we left him but just after we reached the garages I thought I heard a gunshot; the roar of the traffic hid it so I couldn't be sure.
We didn't pull the trigger but it was our fault.
TEN
MEINA
JAMES STOPPED TALKING AND sat there staring at the bedroom wall, rubbing his palms across his thighs. I walked over to the chest of drawers, opened the top drawer and pulled out a small tub of pills. I handed them to James.
'What are these?'
'They are antiretroviral drugs for HIV. I found them in Ash's room. He never told me. But I saw a letter from the hospital when an immigration officer at Heathrow Airport was interviewing us. My guardian had to show his supporting paperwork – bank statements, proof of address and confirmation letters from our schools – just before our new passports were stamped "Permission to enter".'
'What did the letter say?'
'Nothing much. It had his name on it and I saw "HIV-positive". Mr Bloom gave me a strange look at the time – he knew I saw – and when I glanced at Ash he froze and the flesh on his cheeks was trembling. I wanted to say something but I didn't. I was angry with Ash at first for not telling me and then I felt guilty.'