Karl went to the bathroom. He undressed and stood in the bathtub. Although he had only turned on the cold tap, the water was lukewarm. He could see himself in the mirror over the sink. His lanky body. The puberty blockers meant the breasts hadn’t developed. Tiniest buds. With a tight vest you couldn’t see anything. He didn’t even need to bind them. The day washed off him. The sweat, the panic, the newness, fled his body straight down past the triangle of hair, down his legs into the drain. He was glad for the quiet in the flat. It seemed like Uncle T had gone back to the living room.
The next morning, Karl woke to the sound of the generator. It worked itself into his dream and instead of the buzzing his mother said: But when will you be back? What is it you’re looking for, Karl? She was lying in the bed like when he had visited her on her last stint in hospital. Her voice was different, rhythmic and even, without any breaks and with authority that was unusual for her. Karl wasn’t sure if she could see him. He was looking at her from the ceiling, floating above her, his back scraping against it.
Some things can never be found. They are not what they seem.
The generator seemed to spurt. Then it was quiet.
The light rose, revealing a dull morning, the sun concealed by the clouds again. Karl was thirsty and warm. The sheet was tangled up in-between his legs. There was a strange quiet now that nothing was coming from the backside of the house.
10
* * *
What is being, anyway,
if not the way we are
measuring the absence?
Uncle T knocked. He wanted to take Karl along to a business meeting. They could talk then. Could he get ready?
Karl dressed in his loosest jeans and a plain grey T-shirt. What was the effing dress code?
John arrived, walking in with a plastic bag, leaving his worn-out slippers at the door. He waved and greeted Karl, who couldn’t follow the exchange. The words climbed, played some melody before they stayed open, then left.
‘Yes sah. Yes sah.’
The phone rang and Uncle T disappeared with another apologetic look.
‘We call him Blackberr y Plus.’ John winked. ‘Don’t tell him. Just a little fun, you understand. Because he carries so many phones.’
Karl laughed. ‘I noticed.’
‘His business is going well, so his phone is ringing. He works hard but he likes his phones too much. Each time he comes back, a new one. Blackberry, iPhone, Samsung. Everything. When a new model comes out, sah, he wants it.’
‘What does “sah” mean?’
John stopped mid-flow, startled for a second. Then the healthy teeth moved out of the mouth with his smile. The teeth were something one could hang on to. Very assuring.
‘You say it to a man, when you give respect.’
‘Oh. Just sir?’ Shit, how simple was that? Karl was losing his touch.
‘Yes. Nothing special. Just “sir”.’
John twisted the word so it sounded closer to how Karl had said it.
Karl’s skin scrounged up, like one of Abu’s T-shirts tossed into the back of the cupboard. Embarrassment.
‘I will bring you something to eat when we are at the office? Or, you are too hungry?’
Karl shook his head and sat down. John nodded, still smiling.
‘Just waiting for your uncle.’
‘Yes, I understand.’ He went back to the room and sat on the bed. His backpack was neatly placed in the corner by the window. The clothes from the day before hung on the back of the chair, trying to lose some of the panic-sweat smell. Karl would wash them out later. Once Uncle T told him where the washing machine was. Or washing powder. Karl could do it by hand. He had options. Uncle T called from the front of the house. Minutes later they were all on their way.
‘It’s one of my business partners. Friend, really. I often conduct meetings there when I’m in town.’
John weaved the car through the tight traffic. They were drowning in a sea of vehicles. They had to crawl forward bit by bit. It cleared once they made it to their exit and there was more to see. People were on their way to work. Obviously, it being morning and all. They passed a small shopping centre in terracotta. Karl wouldn’t have known it was one if he hadn’t caught the sign. A few metres past the wall that separated it from the street was a little congregation of people, a couple of battered minivans pulled in, young men hanging out, shouting. Some of the people responding, the congregation divided, everyone rushing in, filling the van to the max.
At the office, Karl was introduced to everyone. It was painful. Uncle T’s business friend, a large man in crisp clothing, looked like he was modelling an African American Golfer’s Digest outfit. They were obviously a good match, friend-wise. It was good to have things in common. He shook Karl’s hand and asked him about the football season. Karl knew only that it was not on in July. Parked for the summer. Heads popped up from nowhere and multiplied like no man’s business. All curious, all smiling, all talking and shaking Karl’s hand, all eyeing him, enquiring, Uncle T showing him off. The vendors in front of the building smiled just as brightly as the office personnel, as the visitors and the office neighbours.
‘Welcome. You are welcome.’ He was very welcome. He smiled and smiled and spoke proper English. Some of his teachers would have missed a beat and stumbled if they could have heard him over-pronounce his very well indeed. How are you sir/madam?
Uncle T and his biz bro, aka fashion twin, excused themselves. They were heading for a quick meeting. Karl should remain; they would be back in no time whatsoever, and also he hadn’t had breakfast yet, which John would be getting for him, as soon as he finished some other, quick, very quick errand.
Karl sat down. No one had talked about his father. He was stuck in the stuffy office. The secretary gave him todayz paypazz. As if he had a clue about local affairs. The half hours that usually flew by in London swelled, attached to the heat, unwilling to move just the slightest bit. Each second passed over the fake gold hands on the clock that hung lopsided over the secretary’s desk. One by one they silently tick-ticked away, sometimes, Karl was sure, stopping altogether. Just like the MIA had stopped being mentioned. At lunch time the secretary brought red rice with meat. It was hot, like in burning-your-soul-straight-to-hell pepperish, but Karl polished it off in no time. Three glasses of water gulped down afterwards didn’t help with the burn but made him burp. The secretary nodded approvingly.
Uncle T returned in the late afternoon, in a rush and wanting to leave straight away. Double standards, hello! He was meeting someone at the house. Was he ready, Karl? Did he have good day? How did he like this Nigeria? And the food? Had it been too spicy? And they should/would/ (could) go tomorrow to buy material and make clothes. If Karl wanted to.
Karl tried to fake a smile and said nothing. Somebody would have to talk about his father. At some bloody point.
But his uncle had already climbed back into the waiting cab, and while nodding and smiling through the window reassuringly, waved for Karl to get in on the other side, the phone on the ear, talking to someone else, somewhere else. When they arrived at the house, Karl was shattered. Exhausted from all the nothing. He greeted the man who arrived as they did and made an excuse to freshen up. Change the sweaty T-shirt. The cold water that was only slightly cool was well nice on his clammy skin.
He went back to the room and lay on the bed. The phone was buzzing.
Hey! Update me. How are you? How is it? We’re missing you here. Be safe. G.
Another three from Abu. He replied to Godfrey: All safe, all good. Karl.
What to write to Abu? What to say? He lay on the bed and used the remote to switch on the aircon. His body slowly relaxed as the coolness dried off the water. Heaviness took over. It felt like it was in the middle of the night when Uncle T knocked on the door. Karl’s eyes were glued shut. For a moment he had no idea where he was.
‘Karl. Are you awake?’
The voice sounded familiar. It was warm, used to him, like they had alr
eady shared something. The door moved. Uncle T’s head stuck through the opening. Karl jumped, the thin fabric in hand, covering the length of his body. He landed on his feet in front of the bed. Uncle T tipped backwards, back against the wooden door and hit his head lightly on the frame.
‘Sorry. It’s just me.’ He looked at Karl. ‘Uncle T. Your uncle.’
‘Sorry,’ Karl mumbled and sat down on the bed, the fabric crunched up into a large ball, protective in front of his body.
‘I was sleeping. Must’ve been dreaming.’ He rubbed his eyes, the sleep that had collected there smeared on to his finger until it looked like it was gone.
‘It’s OK. Sorry it took so long. It was an important meeting. If you are awake … we should talk.’ And he grabbed the chair at the slim desk and sat himself down. No waiting, no courtesy of front-room gathering. Karl sensed another drop in time. A lapse, a spin, a funny angle.
‘No problem. I mean with the waiting. The heat knocked me out anyways. As you can tell.’ And he pointed to the crumpled up sheet that served as his blanket.
‘Let me just wash my face. Wake up properly.’
When he returned Uncle T was still on his spot on the chair, remote in hand. He had lowered the temperature and it was getting colder here. Or maybe it only seemed like that. Uncle T was slouched over, didn’t see Karl coming straight away. Comfort was slipping out of the room.
Battles. You didn’t even get to choose them. They just descended on you like jet fighters. Every time. No prep whatsoever before another bomb went hailing full speed into your brain. Mash up the whole thing.
Uncle T’s face had crashed to the floor and was looking for some way to make itself proper sparse. His moisturised skin split like torn paper. His eyes looked like they hadn’t closed at all the night before. Proper catastrophe like. Karl hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t got enough face time to notice. Uncle T motioned for him to sit. Worry in his face, all let me diffuse this before I get on with it.
Karl felt spikes attack his stomach. Mind racing, he wanted out, out of this situation, out of this stupid, stupid being here waiting for a man who wasn’t.
‘He died right?’ He was still at the door. That way you could run, you could fucking leave this small bedroom that had nothing inside to distract you. ‘I’d rather just know.’
And Uncle T jumping up from his chair now, suddenly, just like Karl minutes before. One large stride towards the door. Arm flung around the youngster, pulling him close while Karl tried to resist, tried to bloody keep the distance between them, between things. Both struggling. Karl inching out into the small hallway in front of the bathroom. Uncle T trying to reach, trying to keep bonding, physically, you know how that goes, the contact, trying, just trying to keep Karl, keeping his feet on the floor. Put. And level.
‘I need to … I mean do you mind if I go out for a minute? Just outside. It’s too cold in here.’ Karl still trying to pull loose, his feet already making towards the living room.
‘I need to go. Please.’ His voice like a whisper, almost not there if it hadn’t been shaking like proper, heavy from tears that wanted to press out of the eyes and spray all over.
‘He didn’t die! Karl, he didn’t die o.’ Uncle T let loose and Karl stumbled forward but his hand grabbed the doorframe. He turned around, angry now. You really don’t want your new never-knew-you uncle to see you cry. It doesn’t go that quick, the trusting, the opening. Those tears were supposed to not happen. At all.
‘What then? Why is he not here? Why hasn’t he called or spoken to me? Where is he?’
‘Karl,’ Uncle T had pulled himself together. Tiniest bit of a front, he was defo putting it on. His face went back to smiling for the nephew default and he straightened his trousers. Cocked his face to the side, doing the thinking about the right words thing. As if it wasn’t better to just say it already, get it over and done with. Quick exhale, one of those sorry-ass laughs. Resigned.
‘Your father. He has disappeared.’
You could hear it here. The way it went all flatline, tone not dropping out but going on and on and on. High-pitched and screeching, attacking your effing brain.
‘He had come back. Had not been here since he contracted the infection. He had taken time out to be with the family in Lagos. But he was here for two nights. The house help came to prepare for your visit. He was here when she came.’
There are gaps and there are cliffs. There are sudden changes to the ground, whether for real or in your panic.
‘But where … why … what’s going on?’
‘I don’t know. Karl, the truth is we don’t know where he is.’
That exhaling thing happened again. Quick shove of air out of the nose.
‘At the moment, I don’t know anything but that he isn’t here.’
11
* * *
To convince a fire to stop burning
you have to make sure
it ceases to rise.
There is news that strikes us boldly, head on, pushes us violently off our feet. Hits us unshielded, unexpected, and then finds us responding unguarded, wailing. This was not such an occasion. Of course not. This was nothing yet.
Karl jerked in a funny way. You could see it. Inside, thoughts speeding, mind flying all over. Like major fast.
‘What do you mean, disappeared?’
‘Karl.’
It was sad. This name-calling thing everyone seemed to do. Was it a grown-up thing, like a proper issue, or just a way of stalling time?
‘I don’t know exactly what to tell you. We don’t have the details.’
No details, no/know nothing.
‘He came back to Port Harcourt a few days before your arrival.’
‘But then what? I talked to him the day before I left!’
‘Exactly. He was ready, he had prepared everything. Then on the day of your arrival …’
Uncle T gestured for Karl to come to the living room. John was sitting on an armchair close to the front door. He flashed a smile (without the teeth thing, didn’t open his mouth enough). The man Uncle T had been meeting with was still on the couch. He rose and shook Karl’s hand. He was a business partner of Uncle T’s. More importantly, he was a close family friend, a close friend of Adebanjo. Karl sunk into the armchair right next to the couch, facing the man, Mr. Layeni. Uncle T poured water in a glass and placed it on the little side table next to the armchair. Karl’s glass. A weak attempt of keeping a rising fire in check. Fear, such a powerful accelerator. No need for fuel.
They had thought he would be back by now. Hoped so anyway.
The security guard emerged from the dark spot by the entrance, positioned himself close to the armchair John was sitting in. Hands clasped in front.
John came to the bungalow on the day of Karl’s arrival and found the house quiet. The door locked. The car in the driveway. The man himself gone. The security guard said he left early that morning, long before John came. That it seemed like he had gone out to service the other car. The one he hardly used. Nothing suspicious really; he sometimes left that early. Traffic. To beat it. Before the morning rush hour.
The other car. An old one. ‘Na de small one,’ the security guard said. One that was parked on the other side, where there was another driveway, a narrower one, and another gate but that one was just locked shut and never in use. Unless the car was moved. Which was not often. Not often at all.
When John had come, ready to drive to the airport, to pick up Karl, there was no father. The security guard looked uncomfortable.
‘Him neva come back. We wait small but sah neva come.’
‘I couldn’t call anyone. It was too late. It was time to get you.’ John’s teeth were in competition. Which one could make it out first? John used the car keys he had. Made sure there was a welcoming committee at the other side when Karl came through the gates at the airport. Only without the main man there was no committee at all. Totally unspecial.
Uncle T had been on the phone to John when he left the pla
ne. Had raced ahead so he could catch him first. Find out what the heck was going on. Grateful that John had made an executive decision and come to pick them up.
‘And nothing has been found out? No word at all?’
‘Nothing Karl. Nothing.’ Uncle T looked deflated. The entire facade crashed.
Mr. Layeni’s eyes were narrow, piercing. ‘I’ve called his work. They are not expecting him back yet. I didn’t want to alarm them so I couldn’t ask too much. It is best to keep this between us.’
Karl thought about the secrets of this story. The father who required so much silence. It had been a bad idea. It was, like, so clear now. Out of control, knee-jerk reaction, so totally romcom it wasn’t even funny.
Mr. Layeni cleared his throat. ‘I saw him on Monday, the day he returned. All was well.’ He exchanged glances with Uncle T. ‘He had called the mechanic the day before. To service the other car. So it would be ready for you. Karl …’ And he shot another glance at Uncle T. ‘He worked for the oil company.’
It was supposed to be an answer for something. Give a clue about the situation. Like hello!, say what you have to say or leave it, right?
‘Yes?’
‘Sometimes there are complications. Usually it involves foreign workers.’
Karl’s trousers buzzed. He put his hand into his pocket and grasped the phone. How comforting that gadget could be. Direct line to sanity. All you had to do was treat it right, give it juice, keep it charged, and it would recharge you.
‘I don’t understand.’
Mr. Layeni shifted in his seat. Uncle T got up from the couch.
‘We are making some more calls, waiting to see whether your father will get in touch. The country … many things happen here, Karl.’
‘You think something happened?’
And Karl’s face went from one to another. Uncle T, Mr. Layeni, John, the security guard.
When We Speak of Nothing Page 8