When We Speak of Nothing

by Olumide Popoola

  ‘Watch this.’ She was looking at him.

  The news of riots, sparking in Tottenham and quickly spreading across the capital. Abu got it, Karl’s missed calls. Six of them. Eight texts. tell me waz goin on. wtf?! News was not on his programme schedule. He had no clue whatsoever, had missed the whole thing like proper because he had been tired of his new mates, who weren’t really friends at all. And Karl, who had disappeared from his radar altogether. And the adults, who were supposed to be fair and shit, and not dump everything on him.

  ‘You’re not going out.’ His mother was all authority, and released her tight grip on the twins. Mother and son stared at each other.

  ‘You are not going out Abubakar, I mean it.’

  The twins sat on the floor, eyes on their brother. His sister said, ‘Mom, why are you angry with Abu?’

  Mama Abu shook her head. No reply. Eyes on Abu. This wasn’t even telepathic communication any more. It was clear and straight. She went back into the kitchen. Abu sat down and changed channels. The twins were up on him.

  ‘Why is mom angry with you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The footage was changing but showed the same. It was everywhere. Mark Duggan, a black man, had been shot by police in Tottenham. The circumstances seeming like usual – dodgy. White police, young black man. Dead. Days later, anger was all out of control. Spread and spread, first across the city, then across the country. The twins were glued to the pictures, couldn’t look away.

  ‘Abu, why is she jumping?’

  ‘She’s trying to be safe innit. The building is burning.’

  ‘But why is it burning?’

  ‘Someone put it on fire.’

  ‘But she’ll hurt herself, Abu, right?’

  ‘It’s more dangerous to stay inside. The flames would get her first, for sure.’

  ‘Where is she going to live now?’

  ‘Don’t know, maybe relatives.’

  ‘Did she hurt herself?’

  His phone was beeping. There was force when he replied to the questions that kept coming like a broken tap.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not there, innit.’ He walked back to his bedroom and checked his mobile. man it’s like going on evrywhere. out of control. what u up 2? like rite now … ;)))

  One of his new mates. Shame Kyle and Mark weren’t around. At least they were decent. This lot was all group pressure and he didn’t even know half of the guys bouncing along when they met up. He looked at Karl’s messages and finally replied. only jus realised. all gud. what do u hear ova there? And Karl’s reply came seconds later. Omg. reply nxt time! where r u?!!!! It was a warm afternoon. Another text, another mate. He sat up, his face tense. Brain working. His mother was preparing dinner; he could hear the water running in the sink, the clonk of pots. It was only one large step to the wardrobe. Under a few T-shirts he found the sweater he was looking for and grabbed his older trainers that were stored away with his other shoes. The fabric was cool when he slipped the jumper over his head. The trainers felt a bit odd. Stiff, unfamiliar but after flexing his toes a few times they gave in and remembered his shape, his weight. The twins were running past the door.

  ‘You do, you do, you do!’ the boy shouted.

  ‘Never, never, never,’ the girl shot back.

  Abu sat back on the bed. He could hear his mother whistling. A song he knew from when he was just the twins’ age. She just couldn’t get over it, loved that tune to death.

  sorry been out of it. city jus killin me rite now, like proper. home bt leavin now. hackney. catch u l8r?

  16

  * * *

  To close

  is always so much more

  pronounced. With or without a bang.

  am linking wiv mates man. no time rite now.

  Karl was folding his clothes.

  don’t get involved Abu! Won’t end well.

  ‘We can leave now,’ John shouted from the living room.

  Karl jumped up and into the bathroom to check on his looks.

  how do u know? u here?

  Karl’s hair needed a crop. He pulled the vest down and tucked it into his trousers, the T-shirt loose.

  seriously? like this?! whats goin on with u?

  ‘I’m ready.’

  tired of cleaning up after u. all u do is disappear. whatevr. movin on

  After five weeks of being at John’s, Karl was going back to stay at his father’s house. There was finally news from the missing in action.

  not quite like it. Only been few wks

  my point

  is what?

  6 wks of baby-sitting

  then leave the house, no one forcing u 2 stay inside

  thats what im doin

  not what i mean

  why not

  coz u goin 2 get caught. we always do. u know that

  different thing altogether

  really?

  evryone going

  since when r u evry1

  since im ur errand boy. always takin crap for u. and where r u?

  wtf abu if u can’t handle fship let me know. thought we were tight

  They arrived at the gated community and the security guard waved once he realised it was John in the back seat of the taxi.

  ‘How far?’ he tipped his head and leaned over to the window John had wound down.

  ‘I dey I dey.’ John replied, showing those teeth. He slid a little forward on the hot seat to come closer.

  where r u now?

  still here

  stay home. come on abu

  why? jus going 2 check it all out.

  cuz ur not rough like dat

  The taxi climbed over the speed bump, raised cement that covered the length of the street at the entrance to the community. They followed the curved street around once the wheels had carefully climbed over the second hump.

  tis evr1, evrywhere. all ur do gud. Is all pretend. all u do is leave others 2 clean after u

  wat u talkin bout?

  ur mum, godfrey, evry1

  It was getting hot in the car.

  who the fuck is evr1?

  mates school my parents. evryone

  waz ur problem?

  The security guard had reported that Adebanjo had returned in the afternoon. Uncle T had boarded the next flight back from Lagos to Port Harcourt.

  maybe im tired of getting it cause of you. U don’t even know how 2 be a frien

  No reply.

  im sorry man. its too much evry1 is on my case and u ain’t even here

  No reply.

  Karl

  No reply.

  man i’m sory!!!!!!!!!!!!.

  No reply.

  ‘For here,’ John instructed the driver. He got ready to leave the car. Karl didn’t move, did nothing, just sat. John turned to him.

  ‘You’re are not coming?’

  bbm me plz

  Karl

  ur my best mate. i know ur going thru stuff but fact is everone is. fact is ur mumm ain’t dead. you can spend time with her you know. rite here, rite now. she’s cool and u know it. ur father might never accept u. i have no clue what it’s like over there but u know the shit here. you lucky man. other kids might be dead just coz of bullying. i’ll fight anyone for you, any time. i will step in front if someone is coming for u. it’s my job. just like arsenal’s is 2 score. sure, they don’t always do so, yes i don’t always win but what i’m saying is: IM HERE. all the way. Something is happened man, like for real. call me ASAP. Abu

  17

  * * *

  Gestures. Opening and closing.

  To do both is saying

  quite loudly: no not now,

  not here, not you.

  John opened the door and stepped out of the car. Uncle T was shifting from one of his loafers to the other, white handkerchief in hand, wiping his shiny forehead, pulling on the other door so Karl could come out too. Karl didn’t. The front door opened. He could hear the excitement in John’s voice. It was all relief and shit. Greeting
s were exchanged. Words passed back and forth. Uncle T laughed. Happy, it seemed. John laughed too. A joke. Apparently. Karl remained in the taxi. The driver turned around. But John hadn’t paid him yet.

  ‘Excuse. Other business. You pay me.’

  Karl looked down at his shoes. The trainers were dusty. He would wipe them later. The taxi driver poked him. John turned around from the conversation at the front door. Came back to the driveway. Handed money to the driver. Karl looked back down at his trainers. He had checked the whole scene out. It was a clear view. A dark man stood on the other side of the door, on the inside bit. In the half-shadow, half inside the bungalow. His cheeks were sunken in as if he was sucking on a cough drop and he frowned like he needed to concentrate to get the juices out of the sweet.

  ‘Excuse!’ The taxi driver was getting angry.

  ‘Karl, the driver needs to go. We are not paying him to wait.’

  Karl stepped out. He stopped at the car bonnet. It was warm, very warm. The heat and the driving. Lethal combination. Uncle T walked and motioned for John to come closer. They talked in a low voice. There were grooves in the dust on Karl’s trainers. The water must have splashed on them when he was washing earlier. John turned to talk to the taxi driver. Karl couldn’t hear anything. His ears were hissing. John’s voice seemed shrill. He was saying something. The colours were bright. They stung the eyes. The air blocked the ears. Uncle T was smiling. He walked towards him, placed a hand on his shoulder. It was gentler this time, no clap, no heavy-handed slap.

  ‘I think you will need some privacy. We will be back in one hour.’

  John hugged him. His smile wanted to blow up his face. ‘Finally!’

  They entered the taxi with a nod to the driver. Both smiled, so pleased. It was good when things came together. Karl stood in the cemented driveway.

  ‘I believe we have some catching up to do …’

  Stepping away from the entrance, the father entered the room, leaving the door wide open. He turned his head, scrutinised him, two deep lines furrowing the forehead, eyes a good stare in them. They were the opposite of Karl’s, no deflection whatsoever, no putting things at bay first, the processing in small bits, nothing at all, no fucking warmth as far as Karl was concerned, but all getting into your business, getting into you. Straightaway. No warm up.

  ‘… Carla.’

  It was musty inside. No one had bothered to open the windows when electricity failed in the morning. Uncle T doing business and in Lagos, Karl helping Nakale take care of business and sleeping at John’s as usual. It could have gone on like this, as far as Karl was concerned. Not quite forever but for a long time. It worked. Everyone was happy. So far.

  ‘Sit down.’ The eyes were looking from Karl to the couch he now knew well from watching TV in the evenings while Uncle T was still on his phone to this or that person. He sat at the edge. Where he never sat.

  ‘What do you want? Water, soft drink? Do you want to eat? I can send someone.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Karl replied. The thank you was stuck in his throat.

  There was a pause.

  ‘This is not what I’ve been expecting.’

  Things were funny like that. And this is not when I was expecting you.

  ‘Maybe some water.’ All was drying up. Karl’s thoughts felt slow and lumpy, a bad vacuum seal job. ‘Please,’ he added, ‘sah.’ John had said it so he would just copy him.

  The father studied him. In silence.

  Eventually, ‘How do you find Nigeria?’

  He walked to the small kitchen with a window that opened towards the lounge. The fridge made that typical release noise. His father took out an old plastic bottle. The label had been peeled off. It was foggy.

  ‘It should still be cold.’

  The sofa was different now. It felt a bit like King’s Cross. He knew it but any minute someone could spoil the fun. His father looked again. Piercing.

  ‘So?’ He handed him a full glass. The water swashed over the rim and made an uneven circle on the side table.

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘What do you think of our country so far,’ the father repeated with more emphasis. Was Karl included in the ‘our’?

  ‘I love it. Really. Brilliant visit so far.’

  He reached for the water and gulped enough to push down the lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have said that, should he? It was odd to call it brilliant when he was here to meet the man himself. The one in front of him. He should have kept it vague, like open, so the father could know that everyone was really upset that he had disappeared. He could see his father’s legs, ashy feet in leather sandals with a large flap covering the top of the foot, a small leather ring for the big toe. They were obviously different. Very different. Uncle T and him. No moisturisation on this front. At all. The father didn’t seem to believe in Uncle T’s shea butter products. Not for the feet at least.

  The seat cushion shifted. The father leaned back, arms crossed over his head, touching the wall, eyes looking straight ahead. Very delaying tactic for emphasis, for drama, as if rehearsed, but then again he’d had quite some time since Karl’s arrival in Nigeria, weeks of leaving everyone in limbo land, just so he could now come with effing heavy artillery.

  ‘I was expecting a daughter.’

  Karl wasn’t sure; was this for effect or was he for real?

  When you close something, something that could have been an opening, the manner is always more defined, more punctuated than any question you could have asked. It ends up hanging on the hinges, only for effect.

  body /ˈbɒdɪ/

  noun pl bodies

  The entire physical structure of a human being.

  adjective

  Versatile.

  ‘I was standing at the airport waiting for you. I left. I wasn’t in the position to come back.’

  It was a strange conversation. Stranger than any of Abu’s ramblings, which were well strange at times.

  ‘Uncle T said you disappeared the day before.’

  ‘Yes indeed, something happened.’

  What effing sense did that make? Karl thought he had been kidnapped. Had he come to the airport or not? What was going on?

  ‘How is your mother?’

  ‘Very ill.’ Another adult who couldn’t stay with the topic.

  ‘Tunde told me. What is it?’

  ‘Multiple Sclerosis. Degenerative. She gets a lot of pain. Loses her mobility.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. She was very active when I … knew her.’

  ‘Yes, she used to do lots of things.’

  Points need to be connected or made here, man. You couldn’t just keep it all casual like this. Because it would fall through the cracks otherwise, become meaningless, nothing at all. Then what’s the point? What’s the fucking point?

  ‘How long has she been ill?’

  ‘For long, but it got worse the last four or five years.’

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear.’

  That made two of them. Sorry. About a lot of things. Karl was getting restless.

  ‘And your injury?’

  It was Adebanjo’s turn to be surprised.

  ‘I thought it all started because of your injury. That is how Uncle T came to talk about me. Or my mum. Rebecca.’

  He looked at him. The father. Karl wasn’t focusing on his face but even with lowered lids he could scan the body. All seemed fine now, no cast or bandage, nothing. But of course it had been months since. Since Uncle T’s letter arrived in London.

  ‘I caught a bad infection. It was serious for a few days but the antibiotics worked. There are some very good doctors here.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Karl wasn’t sure what he imagined. The good doctors? The leg injury? The hospital stay? A softer version of the cold man in front of him? One that matched the phone conversations they had had. We look forward to welcoming you, Karl. That person. Where was he?

  A mosquito was buzzing around, amplifying the silence. You couldn’t not look. Karl followe
d it with his eyes, thinking about the inevitable, the having to strip so that some stranger in front of you could decide whether you were good enough for them. Or not. Might as well get it over and done with.

  ‘Being trans … I always knew. As long as I can remember. Mum always let me be myself. When I was eleven I just said I wouldn’t pretend to be a girl no more. She understood. She knew. I had never been one.’

  It was hot, no fan or air-conditioning to separate the time from the weight that crushed down. For some reason they hadn’t been turned on. Karl knew for a fact that the generator had enough fuel. They had topped it up only last night. His father was looking at him. Then back on the floor in front of him.

  ‘Is it the reason you disappeared?’

  What difference did it make, right? The falling, the running, the leaving? When you open to something it gives the illusion of boundless possibility. But you know how these things are, it is difficult to say what, when and how qualifies as being a beginning. Or possibility.

  The mosquito buzzed and buzzed like there was no bloody tomorrow.

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘About me being trans? Uncle T should have known but I think he doesn’t. He never mentions anything. Maybe he’s just cool like that. In fact …’

  Karl thought about how cool he actually was. Uncle T. He pushed the glass, only slightly, on the table. It slid over the bit of water that had spilled. At last something went smooth.

  ‘Tunde doesn’t know. Your mother never told him.’

  The father leaned back further, as if that were possible, really, but once you are making dramatic statements with your body, you have to go there, all the way.

  ‘When he told me about you I asked him. Naturally I wanted to know. Is it a boy or a girl? He didn’t know. All he knew was that there was a child.’

  Funny how life foreshadows better than spoiler alerts on Internet gossip magazines. He was his mother’s baby. Nothing else. No drama. It had been like that when he had started on puberty blockers. Rebecca hadn’t made a big thing of it. Most kids in his support group had had a much more difficult time with their parents’ consent.