“You’ve been drinking.” Mama’s voice was quiet. “You’ve been drinking palm wine.”
If there had been a breeze, it would have got lost. But the harmattan was a long way off, and the air was so still that even laughing, Ezikiel heard her.
He stopped laughing but continued to smile, and looked at Mama through his red-edged eyes. “I am a palm wine drinkard.”
I winced. It was Father’s favorite book.
Mama stood and walked toward Ezikiel. She looked as if she would step on his head, but she jumped down off the veranda and sat beside him.
“What’s the matter with you, Ezikiel?” She reached out and touched his hair.
He breathed out loudly enough for me to hear. Tears made his red eyes pink. My heart rested between beats. Seeing Mama touching Ezikiel’s hair felt like going home. She had forgiven him. Maybe he would go back to school now after all and repeat his exams. I prayed for time to stop.
Dan came back out of the house, rubbing his eyes, blinking in the angry light. His eyes searched for Mama. They found her and Ezikiel at the same time.
Ezikiel lifted himself up. He sneered at Dan. “What are you doing here?”
Dan smiled as usual, but his eyes darted to Mama’s and asked a question. He tried to answer Ezikiel but started to cough.
“I said,” repeated Ezikiel as he walked toward Dan, causing Dan to step back toward the house, “I said what are you doing here?” Ezikiel’s silhouette looked bigger than Ezikiel, like a shadow when the sun was setting. Dan’s shadow was bigger than Ezikiel’s. As it grew and grew, Ezikiel’s shrank, until all that remained was a long, thin line.
I watched Dan for signs of fear or anger, but all I saw was the smile fixed on his lips. It looked as if Mama had painted it there with her tiny paintbrush. His eyes smiled. I had no idea what Dan was thinking, even though I could see inside his body through his thin skin. “I came to visit your mother,” said Dan. “And you.”
He stepped forward; I thought he might give Ezikiel a chocolate bar. My legs shook. My heart fluttered again between beats.
It was worse than the chocolate bar. Dan tried to hug Ezikiel.
Ezikiel pushed Dan so far backward that he nearly fell into the doorway. He walked back out, hands up, and smiled again.
“It’s okay,” Dan said to Mama, who was rushing toward him.
“It’s not okay,” said Mama, grabbing Ezikiel’s arm and looking around. Her eyes rested on a large piece of wood. I moved Grandma’s bag, containing the birth knife, out of sight under the veranda. Mama slapped the back of Ezikiel’s head. The sound brought Alhaji running from the house, an old copy of the Guardian wedged under his arm. His head moved from Ezikiel to Mama, back to Ezikiel. “What is happening here?”
Ezikiel and Dan stepped forward. Ezikiel opened his mouth to speak, but Dan interrupted him and moved toward Alhaji.
Alhaji stepped away and looked at the others. His stare settled on me. I looked quickly at the oatmeal color of the veranda, focusing on the splashes of dirt in the wood. Ezikiel moved behind Dan and pushed him again.
“What?” asked Alhaji. “What are you doing, boy?” Alhaji was already removing his belt. I looked at the buckle.
“I pushed Dan, sir.”
“Why? Why did you do that? What do you think you are doing?”
“Because he deserves it.” Ezikiel pushed Dan again, harder, and Dan slid across the floor, almost losing his balance. “Do you know what kind of man he is?” Ezikiel was screaming then. Mama walked over to Ezikiel and raised her hand to slap his face, but he caught her arm before it could come down and twisted it behind her back.
“Please, let go of your mother.” Dan regained his balance and tried to remove Ezikiel’s arm from Mama, who was so shocked by Ezikiel’s behavior she could not speak. Alhaji was standing still with his hands on his hips. Eventually Mama regained her senses, reached across Ezikiel with her free arm, and slapped him. Hard.
Ezikiel let go of her twisted arm. He pulled Mama toward him and smacked her across the cheek and ear, leaving an instant red line across her face. One of Mama’s diamond earrings fell to the ground.
Ezikiel pulled Mama’s face even farther toward his.
Ezikiel kissed Mama on the mouth.
Like Father used to.
For a few seconds the world stopped turning and everything seemed to move away from the ground. I felt dizziness like I had never felt before, the kind that cannot be cured by falling over.
There was silence for some time, the kind you get after someone has just told some terrible news: Father is leaving. Ezikiel is shot. Dan is arriving.
“Ezikiel,” I said. “Ezikiel. What is happening to you?”
My heart lifted into my mouth. I ran at Ezikiel, turned my back to Mama, Dan, and Alhaji. I fell into Ezikiel, clutched him, held his face between my hands, kissed his tears. He tasted of kerosene.
TWENTY-FIVE
One evening, after Mama had left for work, I heard more shouting. My heart became frightened. Alhaji had wanted to throw Ezikiel out onto the street after what happened with Mama and Dan. But Dan had said that Ezikiel was only a boy, who was missing his father and was confused. Dan said that Ezikiel needed Alhaji more than ever. Alhaji had agreed that Ezikiel could stay, but he had joined Mama in not speaking to him. When I heard the shouting, I thought that maybe Alhaji had changed his mind. But I could not hear Ezikiel’s voice. Maybe it was fighting, or maybe killing. Since Ezikiel had been shot we had heard only faraway shouting and clapping gunfire. But as my ears listened, they heard a voice that I knew. Celestine. She was shouting at Alhaji. Her voice was far louder than the gangs of boys. She was in Alhaji’s room at the back of the house, but Celestine was shouting so loudly that every word could soon be heard from the veranda where I was sitting with Grandma and Ezikiel. Her voice was slipping in and out of Izon and in and out of the pidgin English that Alhaji did not like her to speak.
“Na you suppose provide for your family. Where is the money? Only oyibo support this family! Wey de money? Petroleum engineer! Ha! Where is your job? Wey de job? You say you fit handle two wives! Ha! You cannot even support me! Do you think I am happy mourning, going to someone’s death, shouting till my lung is empty and I cannot speak? Or to dey waka through the town, sometimes for many hours until my leg go dey start to bleed? And that nonsense driver, him be idiot, bloody fool man keep having children like that all over the place and no money to feed them. If my parents knew what man they sent me to!
“Me and Grandma get to work morning till night so you fit carry our money go throwaway for ashewo and brandy for that Executive Club! You have no job! You think we don’t know? Ashewo! You think we are stupid women who will be your slaves? Be your bloody slaves? Well, I am not stupid bloody woman! And the money you give to the imam for what? So that other people can come to use the mosque and not pay a single bloody penny. And that man is wearing gold. Gold! And we have nothing to drink, not even safe water. What would my family say to come and live with such a man? I get university degree and for go far with am. I could have gone to anyplace. I for even go America! Here I am no water no food no generator. University degree!”
My heart was thumping loud enough to be heard on the outside. Grandma bent her head as if she was praying. She did not attempt to speak, but slumped her shoulders. I had never seen her slouch. Why did she not say anything? Ezikiel had his mouth open and his eyes closed. Still, Celestine continued. I imagined the sound that would surely come any minute, of Alhaji’s belt cracking down on Celestine’s back.
We ran toward the shouting. When Alhaji stepped aside to let me and Grandma in, I felt his body shaking. I had never before imagined Alhaji scared. Grandma knelt next to Celestine and whispered in her ear. Her face was concentrating on Celestine. It was as though she could not see or hear Alhaji at all.
“This is witchcraft,” said Alhaji, looking at the back of Grandma’s head.
“Yes,” Celestine shouted. “Oh God!” She panted and
rolled onto her side.
“She is having the babies,” Grandma said.
“But it is too early.” Alhaji stepped backward. Nobody answered him. “It is too early, you see?” He looked at Grandma. His face crumpled, folded.
I ran straight to the kitchen and fetched the birth bag and some palm wine, my heart beating loudly in my ears; I could not hear my own footsteps. When I returned, Alhaji and Ezikiel had already left. Grandma worked quickly. I looked at her for signs of fear, but there were none. She opened the bag and set out the contents on the floor.
Celestine’s parts were all there, even the button, and she was covered in hair, which had grown since I had seen it when she had first arrived and now ran down her legs like creeping bougainvillea. Grandma washed her with water and soap before shaving some of her hair with Alhaji’s razor. She then stuck one hand on top of Celestine and one inside. Celestine screamed. It was as though, after all the months of acting as Professional Town Mourner, she had been waiting for this moment.
“I am dying! I dey die oh!” Celestine thrashed around as if she were on fire and trying to put herself out. She fell against the wall so suddenly that a part fell open, and bright outside light came into the darkness of the room, cutting patterns across her body.
Alhaji and Ezikiel stayed away, but every few minutes I saw Alhaji’s shadow at the other side of the window. The shadow rocked back and forth.
A foot first. A tiny foot first. I recognized the color of the dead baby, like the inside of a boiled egg when the yellow was turning gray. I felt vomit in my mouth. I looked at Grandma, but Grandma was concentrating on trying to free the other leg. I could not control the tears from falling down my face. Please don’t die, I prayed. Please don’t die. Please don’t die.
“Silly little one,” Grandma said under her breath.
Celestine had stopped screaming and was panting with her tongue hanging out. She was still throwing herself around, making it difficult for Grandma to get hold of the baby’s other leg. “Keep still,” Grandma said repeatedly, but Celestine looked far away, she could not have heard. She was not enclosed by her body. She had spilled out and filled the room, the air, and my head. She was everywhere. Between worlds. The spirit world was definitely calling her that day.
I didn’t even ask if I could help. I just held Celestine as tightly as possible, closing my body around hers, trying to keep her from spilling out any more. I passed Grandma the knife. I wanted Celestine to start screaming again, loudly, leaving no doubt which world she was in.
The other leg finally came. Twin One was born blue and floppy. Grandma gave him to me while she tried to stem the blood that followed. The blood did not look real. It overflowed from Celestine as though she had too much.
“It’s a boy,” I said to Celestine, but even then, she did not smile. Her face did not change at all.
He was warm and sticky, and small enough to fit in one of my hands. I could feel his heart beating on my finger. My own heart was pounding. I checked it wasn’t a pulse from my fingertip by putting my ear against his little chest. His heart was beating but his chest was completely still. I rubbed him hard with the small kitchen blanket and smacked his tiny back. I blew in his face and rubbed him again. He was not breathing. He was going to die and it would be my fault. I was useless. I could not even save my own uncle. He would die. I had wasted my prayers on electricity.
I looked at the baby, but my hand had stopped working. The world around me swirled and blurred. It felt as though the room was melting.
“Keep going. Smack him,” Grandma said. “You can do it, Blessing.”
I snapped back to life. I rubbed and smacked and rubbed and smacked. I prayed. I concentrated on pushing life through my fingertips into his tiny body. I pushed from deep inside my stomach and held my teeth together. My head was empty of bad thoughts. I would not let my uncle die. I held my breath. Then, from silence, he gasped and opened his little mouth. He let out a noise like a hiccup, followed by a high-pitched scream so loud that even Celestine stopped screaming. I looked at my tiny uncle, life rushing through his body, his mouth open. And I thought, I did that. I felt myself breathe again, and the air tasted better.
I picked him up and put his head near my mouth. And then I whispered the call to prayer into his little ear. Grandma watched me and said, “I am proud of you,” without using any words at all.
Celestine rolled her eyes into the back of her head and began to shake all over. The shaking became violent; I thought it might be the devil himself.
Grandma slapped her hard across the face.
“What?” Celestine was back in the room and began to shout again. “Is it over?” She spoke with a voice that sounded years older than hers.
“Nearly,” said Grandma, “just one more.”
Minutes later a head appeared. Even smaller and covered with matted black hair. Grandma touched the soft spot of the baby’s head. She leaned forward to Celestine and spoke in a clear voice, pausing between each word. “Listen to me, my sister. This baby needs to come out now. Push. Now.”
“I can’t do no more pushing. I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can. I am your sister, and I am with you. I am telling you what to do. I will keep you safe. Listen to my voice. Only my voice. Now push. Push!”
I could not believe that Grandma had called Celestine her sister.
Celestine grasped Grandma’s hand. She pushed until tiny red veins crawled over her face. She pushed until the veins became a spider’s web on her cheek. She screamed, making Twin One in my arms jump and open his eyes wide and let out an even bigger scream.
Twin Two came into the world with his eyes open. He was even tinier, but alive. He cried even before his whole head was out, put his thumb in his mouth, and sucked. The blood must have been running out. It still flowed but became watery. The placenta came quickly, and Celestine passed out before looking at her sons.
Alhaji was pacing up and down the veranda. I had been sent to tell him the news. Ezikiel was sitting on the veranda chair. Alhaji paced up and down in front of Ezikiel as though he was not sitting there.
“Congratulations, sir,” I said, kneeling. “You have two sons.” My voice sounded young and shaky and unsure. The words did not sound real.
Ezikiel jumped in the air and punched the sky. He held out his hand to Alhaji. He smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but Alhaji just pushed him aside and bounded toward the house.
“I have canceled the prayers today,” said Alhaji. He waved his arms; his eyes were sparkling. “I declare today, my twin sons’ birthday, a day of rest.” He looked around the garden. “A celebration day.”
Everyone clapped hard and for a long time.
I held the twins in my arms. An arm each. Everyone looked at them and then at me.
“Look at this junior Grandma who helped to bring my sons into the world!” Alhaji pointed at my face.
I smiled. I looked at my little uncles. They felt so light in my arms. They looked back up at me with wide eyes.
Remember this forever, I told myself.
“Youseff, take this money, my emergency money, and buy plenty of minerals, while I take care of my junior wife, who has given me twin sons!” I wondered where Alhaji’s emergency money had come from. Did he have it when Ezikiel needed school fees? If Ezikiel had not missed so much school, maybe he would have passed his exams.
Alhaji could not stop smiling. He carried a twin in each arm and started to sing.
“You were lucky not to die,” Grandma said. We had gone to wash and turn Celestine in Alhaji’s room where she had stayed since the birth. “Allah must have been watching over you.”
“Ha! I would be better dead. Better to die than go through that!” Celestine began to cry. “It was not worth it!”
Grandma flicked her eyes at me, before placing the twins on each of Celestine’s breasts.
Celestine looked at the boys. “It was not worth it,” she said again.
I imagined Mama looking at me, a
fter I had been born, the words she must have said.
“Don’t speak like that,” said Grandma. “Even small ears can hear you. These sons are pieces of your own soul that have broken off. You are split into three now, Celestine. If you are hurting them, then you will hurt yourself.” Grandma spoke the words so quickly, I was not sure I had heard them correctly. “Your soul is divided,” she continued. “That is why childbirth hurts so much.”
Sometimes I wonder if Grandma knew everything.
Nobody mentioned the words that fell out of Celestine’s mouth before the twins were born. Nobody except Grandma mentioned Celestine’s lack of interest in them. And nobody mentioned that twins were bad luck and used to be thrown away in the evil forest. Bad luck was not discussed at all. I tried not to think about Grandma seeing Celestine’s parts, the button and hood all there. I tried not to think about the noises Celestine made during the nights when Alhaji visited her room. I pushed the thoughts as far down as I could. I felt like pulling a scarf tightly on to my head.
Day seven was naming day. Grandma put a weave on Celestine and powdered her face, before helping her to get in a wrapper and tying it loosely, pulling a T-shirt over her head. A puffed-out picture was printed on the front of the T-shirt of a woman smiling and wearing a large scarf wrapped high around her head. She looked like Twin Two when he arrived, all squashed upward in the shape of a cone. Underneath the picture, large black writing said, “God Bless You, for Celebrating My Wife’s 40th Birthday. Folashade Abiodun Congratulations and Many Happy Returns. 40 Years. Produced by Ade Abiodun.” Grandma stood looking at the T-shirt for a few seconds, rubbing her chin. Then she smiled and brushed the ground-dust from Celestine’s hair weave. Celestine dropped on her knees to Grandma and collected more ground-dust, and the whole process had to be repeated.
Mama picked up the twins for the first time. She had been smiling widely since Dan had sponsored the celebrations with what Mama called a “stack of naira.” She held her arms straight out and curled her hands around the twins’ legs. They rested on the muscles at the tops of her arms, which must have been uncomfortable on the twins’ heads. She looked at both of them before her smile fell away and a frown between her eyebrows cut her face in two.
Tiny Sunbirds, Far Away Page 22