A Past That Breathes

by Noel Obiora

  Awakened by the cold morning air that seeped through the bottom of the door, she woke Kenneth and ushered him to her bedroom. Then she went and soaked herself in a hot bath. About half an hour afterward she joined him. He was peacefully asleep. Only then did she begin to ponder what she had just done, with him on her bed, in her bedroom, and not even in the guest room. Alana was right. Some invitations change the parameters of otherwise ordinary relationships, permanently, especially at such hours of the night. She could not see a way back to Thomas without disclosing this night to him, and she could not imagine herself ever doing so. Even as she pondered her swift but uncharacteristic descent into actual intimacy rather than mere carnality, she had no regrets.

  The clock affixed to the ceiling in her bedroom showed the early hours of Saturday morning. He turned in his sleep and held her, and on feeling her negligee, opened his eyes to see her grinning at him. And for the second time in less than a month, she found herself in breach of her Catholic compromise on premarital sex.

  26

  Love Thy Enemy

  Kenneth found himself alone in Amy’s bed when he woke up. The mid-morning sun cast its rays atop the duvet through a slight opening in the drapes, like a painter’s allusion to the way he felt.

  “Amy,” he called out, and listened for her, but heard no one.

  He looked around for his clothes. A house coat hung over the foot of the bed. Partially dressed and wearing the house coat, he went into the living room. There sat Amy, watching television on mute and drinking tea from a large cup.

  “I was wondering where you were, that’s why I called you.”

  “I know. It would have been too weird if I answered,” she said and feigned a shiver. “We are not there, yet. Please!”

  Kenneth bent over and reached for her tea cup, and she let him have it.

  “Sleep well?” she asked, turning on the volume on the television. He nodded as he drank her tea.

  “And you?”

  She shook her head, smiling mischievously. They sat down and watched television, discussing their plans for the day like it was something they had done on a thousand Saturday mornings. “I won’t see you again like this until after the hearing,” she said, referring to the preliminary hearing which was in about ten days.

  “We still have the rest of this weekend. Besides, Cassandra will be handling most of the preliminary hearing.”

  “If you are spending the night here, Kenneth, I’m moving to a hotel,” she said. It amused him that she was blushing so much as he looked at her. Embarrassed, she got up and went into the bedroom. “I’m serious, Ken,” she shouted from the bedroom.

  “Okay, so we can just have dinner tonight,” he said.

  “No,” she replied and came back to the living room. “No dinner; no more dinners for the foreseeable future. I need to regain my self-control around this…” she said, ending vaguely to avoid saying she lost self-control around him. She took her tea cup back from him.

  “How do you think I feel?”

  “Your problem,” she said.

  “Brunch tomorrow?” he asked. Despite her playfulness, he seemed to be asking seriously.

  “Brunch tomorrow, then,” she conceded.

  Nancy was not at home when Kenneth returned. Breakfast was on the dining table. He ate the food, leaving the music contract on the dining table, showered, and fell asleep. The second time he woke up on Saturday, he could hear voices and laughter and the aroma of Nancy’s cooking coming from the living room and kitchen area. He hurried into the living room to find Jo and Sister Ramatu visiting. Nancy gave him a look to say she had moved his documents for him, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

  They quickly wanted to know if he was really going to withdraw from the case because of what happened to his car. With a sly smile, Nancy again conveyed to him that she had nothing to do with how they came by this information. After the visit by Mallam Jackson’s followers, he had called Mallam Jackson on Nancy’s urging to say he could not come to see him because his car was vandalized, and he was in court on Thursday. The cleric could not see him on Friday, his day of prayer, and had scheduled a visit for him on Monday. He had planned to see Paul over the weekend to explain the circumstances of his withdrawal over the incident. Cassandra was fully in agreement, then Amy gave him the music contract.

  “No, I am not withdrawing,” he told them. “I have a meeting with Mallam Jackson on Monday to tell him.”

  “My dad told us he asked those boys if they had anything to do with what happened to your car that morning. They said they didn’t.” Kenneth seemed unconvinced. “I know. I don’t believe them either. That’s why I want you to add the cost of fixing your car to your bill for us,” Jo continued.

  “Don’t be crazy, Jo. I’m not blaming you.”

  “I know you are not, Ken. I am,” Jo persisted.

  “And I promise you we will pay every penny,” Sister Ramatu said.

  “You may not have to pay me a penny at all, Ma. And I might be returning what you gave me to begin with. I think I found the money that will pay all the legal fees for Paul.”

  Standing over the sink, Nancy dropped what she was doing.

  “Are you serious, son?”

  “We think the recording company has insurance that covers Goldie and her manager if they are charged with a crime. Paul was her manager. At least that’s what we’re arguing, and we’re going to ask their insurance to pay for his attorneys fees.”

  “And you think they’ll agree to it?” Nancy asked.

  “We don’t know yet, but usually when their lawyers get involved, they tell them that paying two hundred and fifty thousand is not as much trouble as a bad faith insurance case. So, they may just pay up.”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars!” Sister Ramatu said.

  “We think that’s what they’ll cover in attorney’s fees for each crime, but that doesn’t mean they’ll give it all to us.”

  “When will you find out?” Jo asked.

  “I’ll send them a request this weekend, and we’ll have to see. Usually, they’ll say no or stonewall, and we have to file a separate lawsuit. So, we are looking at two months at least if they object.”

  “In the meantime, we’ll make sure you have the funds to fight the case until you get the money from them?” Jo asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Kenneth said.

  Jo went into her purse and brought out an envelope containing another installment of Kenneth’s fees.

  “I know I said we wouldn’t be able to get this to you until after the preliminary hearings, but when we heard what happened and how you had to go rent a car while they are fixing your car, we had to find what we can to make sure you don’t abandon us,” Jo said. Before Kenneth could answer, she was stuffing the envelope into his pocket. She patted the pocket after she was done and gave him a hug. Sister Ramatu assured him that he had nothing to fear from Mallam Jackson whatever the outcome of the trial, and Jo confirmed they would tell her father about this piece of good news.

  Kenneth left the three women to their meal and went to see Cassandra about the new development. Sister Ramatu assured him that he had nothing to fear from Mallam Jackson whatever the outcome of the trial, and Jo confirmed they would tell her father about this piece of good news.

  •••

  After Kenneth left them, the three women sat looking at each other without saying a word, as though each was hoping the other had the courage to speak what was on their minds. Then Jo spoke in a hushed voice: “you think she gave it to him?”

  Nancy and Sister Ramatu nodded confidently.

  “It is serious, then.” Jo said.

  Nancy covered her face with both hands.

  “Are you gonna get Rev. Brown to talk to him?” Sister Ramatu asked.

  “I don’t know what else to do—he won’t like it.” Nancy said.


  “Then don’t,” Jo said. “It has only helped us, right? Kenny won’t sell family out. Don’t.” Jo continued.

  Nancy uncovered her face and looked up at Jo, then as Sister Ramatu, with tears in her eyes.

  Mallam Jackson’s living room was a large space with no chairs. Oriental carpets that served for sitting lined the walls, with cushions and pillows leaning against the walls. A coffee table in front of Mallam Jackson held a tray with flasks of tea and coffee, and a man in a black suit and bow tie over a white shirt stood like a waiter, a white towel over his left forearm, which he held across his body. Kenneth was standing behind the Brother who announced him, as calm as Nancy had implored him to be. He sat on the floor in front of Mallam Jackson as directed, the coffee table between them. Mallam drank tea and read silently from a book he held open on the carpet without looking up at his guest.

  Still without raising his eyes from the book, Mallam Jackson asked if there was no rule barring him from seeing the woman who was trying to put his son in the electric chair. Kenneth explained that the rule required him to disclose the relationship to Paul or withdraw from the case, and he had made the disclosure.

  “You sleep with a man’s enemy after you take the man’s money to defend his family, and all you have to tell him is you can’t help it?”

  On asking him this question, he looked up at Kenneth for the first time, his eyes frozen in a stare and his body held still. Kenneth did not respond, and Mallam Jackson returned to his book.

  “How is it that you did not make the same disclosure to me? I am paying your fees, aren’t I?” Mallam Jackson asked.

  “I had to tell Paul first because he is the client.”

  “But you told his mother and his sister before you told him?”

  “I did not tell them, sir. I just admitted it when Jo asked me. I’m sorry, but I did not just meet this woman; we were in college together. I didn’t know she was involved in this case until I accepted the case.”

  “Did she tell you about the insurance policy they say you found to pay Paul’s attorney’s fees?” Mallam Jackson asked, catching Kenneth by surprise.

  “No,” Kenneth said after a short pause to consider how to answer him. Mallam Jackson looked up at him, and this time Kenneth had his attention.

  “How did you find out about it?”

  “I was fishing, sir. I wasn’t sure there was any policy, but I knew that if I was going to sign a talent in this business with all the problems they could get themselves into, there had to be a policy to protect the company. It’s standard industry practice.”

  “When will you get the money?”

  “I sent in a request, but I don’t know how long it will take.”

  “How much did you ask for?”

  “One hundred thousand dollars, as a starting position to negotiate…”

  “Are you stupid, son? You start your negotiation asking for the moon.”

  “The policy is for two hundred and fifty thousand. I couldn’t justify asking for more at this time, sir.”

  “She’s no good for you, son,” Mallam Jackson said after considering Kenneth a while. Kenneth massaged his hands and kept his eyes on them as he did so. “I know you have never been in jail. In there, you can’t sleep at night because you are worrying about your family outside or the gangs inside, or because some other jailbird took your bed. Sometimes the heat and stank alone won’t let you sleep. And that’s before they get a verdict against you, never mind all that talk about being innocent until proven guilty. America uses these jails to shape the future of our people. They put our young men all in there by the truckloads like animals and sooner or later they start behaving like animals.” He paused and raised his cup for the attendant to refill with tea, all the while keeping his eyes on Kenneth, who returned his gaze. Receiving his tea, he continued. “Now, a man that gets no sleep is going to be on the edge all the time. He starts to think that if the system’s going to treat him like an animal before it finds him guilty, then he hasn’t got a prayer in hell of beating his rap. The only thing that keeps him from going crazy in there is hope. He tries to keep hope alive any way he can. Imagine that you are that young man, and while you are in there trying to keep hope alive, your lawyer who is supposed to be looking out for you comes to tell you he is sleeping with the woman they sent to kill you; what’s that gonna do to you?”

  Kenneth did not answer but looked down at his hands again, eager to be done with this meeting.

  “He takes away all the hope you’ve got left. And that’s when your mind really starts to turn on you,” Mallam Jackson said, suddenly raising his voice in anger to answer his own question, but quickly stopping to collect himself. “Get him a cup for tea,” he said to the man standing there with him.

  “No, no, thanks, I don’t want any,” Kenneth protested lightly. Mallam Jackson nodded to his messenger and the man left the room. He watched the man leave, and as soon as the man closed the door behind him, Mallam Jackson started speaking.

  “I tell these young men it is better to die sometimes than to take their judgment on Earth, because they go in there and never come out the same. The charge is trumped up from the start, the sentence is disproportionate to the crime, the prison sells your soul to the Devil, and the damage is permanent. Son, you have upset a lot of people in my family by seeing this woman; but you are like family, so I’ll give you another chance to make things right. Don’t you ever see that woman again until this case is over, you hear me?” Kenneth thought through what he was going to say and what he should say. As he often advised witnesses before they took the stand to testify, he chose brevity.

  “I will see what I can do,” he said in a barely audible voice, which was not deliberate, but because his throat and mouth felt dry.

  “That’s not good enough!” Mallam Jackson said.

  “I don’t want to lie to you, sir,” Kenneth replied.

  “Then you better get Mr. Jones back on this case, every minute of every day that woman is in it,” he said standing up.

  “Paul won’t let me do that because my partner would leave the case, too, sir.”

  “Then you convince both of them,” Mallam Jackson said loudly.

  Sister Ramatu came into the room.

  “Jackson, he is not breaking any laws, and he told Paul already,” Sister Ramatu said.

  “So, I should let him be?” Mallam Jackson asked.

  “Just give him some time. Let’s see how things go. Wait until the trial starts. Give him time.”

  Mallam Jackson stood up, looked at his wife quietly for a while, again with a frozen stare. Then he walked out of the room. Sister Ramatu took a deep breath, then went on her knees as she sat on the ground. She looked up and managed to smile at Kenneth.

  “It’s alright, son. Why don’t you go ahead back to work and leave me with the Mallam, you hear?” Sister Ramatu said to Kenneth.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Kenneth said. She patted him on the back as he got up.

  “I’ll come see you later,” she said.

  When Kenneth was leaving the compound, he saw the four men who had come to bring him to Mallam Jackson the week before.

  “Did you buy a new car?” their spokesman asked him, pointing to Kenneth’s rental car, and the rest were beside themselves with laughter. One bent over holding his stomach, his face contorted in the joyful grimace of his own laughter, another buried his face on the hood of a car. Only their spokesman, the Brother who appeared to be their leader, seemed more in control of his amusement, barely grinning. But each time the others looked at him, they laughed even louder. Kenneth said it was a rental car he was using temporarily. For a moment no one said a word, as though each was trying to keep from laughing before he had to, until they saw their leader break out a cynical grin, chuckling, and the rest just about fell over with laughter.

  Nancy was anxiously waiting for a report fro
m him when he got home. There was not much to report, he told her. Mallam Jackson had just ordered him to stop seeing Amy, he explained.

  “Are you going to do it? Stop seeing her?” Nancy asked. Kenneth slowly sat down next to his mother.

  “No,” Kenneth said. “I don’t wanna have to give up my life because I’m handling their case.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “No!” Kenneth exclaimed.

  “Then let me talk to Sister Ramatu.”

  “No, don’t do that either.”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways, son. Look how God brought you the fees to fight this case. Can you at least take the time to cool off and seek God’s guidance about it?”

  “Yeah, Ma…” Kenneth started to say, but he stopped himself because there was nothing his mother considered more offensive than the sarcastic derision of her faith. Instead, he walked away.

  27

  Preliminary Hearing

  On the morning of the preliminary hearing in People v. Jackson, Amy woke up with knots in her stomach. She felt her body was making excuses to get out of seeing Kenneth. She had not taken his calls since the Monday after they had brunch together. Every time she thought of him or that weekend, she felt these knots and she felt humbled. They had spent the entire Sunday together.

  Returning home from work the following Tuesday, the attendant at her apartment complex pointed out a tall African American man in a black suit and tie over a white shirt who was standing by the doorway.

  “He’s been standing there for over an hour,” the doorman said. “He said he has an envelope he needs to deliver to you personally.” When Amy met the man, he would not immediately introduce himself. Rather, he inquired if there was a place he could talk to Amy privately, preferably a coffee shop.

  “What about?” Amy had asked.

  “Kenneth,” the man said. Only then did Amy begin to notice the resemblance the man had to Kenneth and relaxed. “He’s not likely to win this case he has with you, and it’s putting his life in danger. They’ll blame your relationship for him losing and they’ll hurt him or, worse still, kill him like a snitch. That is the way of the streets.”