When We Speak of Nothing

by Olumide Popoola

  The family friend looked at the aunt. Eyebrow raising, like alone, here, the two? But somehow Auntie did not notice. Distracted, she moved on to a big cardboard box in the corner. Inside were the special pieces she hid for special customers, as she explained to her friend. Or for special friends. The friend’s eyes were still a little puzzled, disapproving. When she found her words again she asked Karl how he liked their country and how he was dealing with the electricity cuts, the bad roads, the climate, the food. All the particulars she could think about.

  Auntie was going through her box. When she first met Karl, the night they dropped Janoma after the visit to the MOSOP office, she took his light brown face into her hand, turned it left and right, and said: ‘Ah, so they neva give you full colour? Dey finish de thing before they could drop de right amount eh? Dis one na too much Europe. Ahbeg where de colour from daddy? Where dem dey leave am?’

  Everyone laughed, a bit embarrassed for the shy boy, wanting to deflect from the situation as quickly as possible, although Karl had only been able to partially follow.

  ‘No problem. No be your fault eh. Everyone is different. No be so? Your eyes don cover am well well. And your face. Ah! Fine fine yellow boy.’

  Karl’s heart fluttered like a trapped pigeon. She was much too close for comfort, but somehow he withstood whatever internal test Auntie had thought to put him through. She let go of his face with a solid nod of approval. Yes, this was a good friend for Janoma. Good-looking, shy, well-behaved, and from the United Greats of Britain, as she liked to joke. She was the one who had suggested to Janoma’s father that a piece of material would be more authentic than anything nice from their much bigger and more fancy-pantsy clothing store.

  Auntie pulled out a heavy, roughly woven fabric. The colours sparkled. It looked expensive.

  ‘This one.’ She showed it to her friend. Janoma’s eyes widened; she looked like she wanted to grab the piece and run. Karl cleared his throat.

  ‘I better be getting back to John’s. They don’t like me coming late and I didn’t expect—’

  ‘Have you chosen anything, Karl?’ Auntie interrupted. Janoma rushed into the convo, anxious.

  ‘I’ll follow you. I can, yes Auntie?’

  Auntie’s friend raised her eyebrows again. Auntie was too distracted to notice, heaving herself back from the floor with the material in hand.

  ‘I could come back tomorrow.’

  Auntie’s friend was ah ah! These children. But she didn’t use words, just her face. Auntie ran her hands over the heavy fabric. There was much to feel. She liked it. A lot. No attention to her friend, whose eyebrows were stretching her skin. She was waiting for her friend to tell her how special this special cloth was.

  ‘You will be back in fifteen minutes, you hear? Tell the driver I don’t have time to wait.’

  Janoma and Karl slipped out before the friend could move her lips. They walked a little to the right, where the driver waited, but stopped before.

  ‘Can you come tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Aren’t you helping Nakale with something? He will be upset if you don’t.’

  ‘But I want to see you. We need to finish talking.’

  ‘I’ll speak to Nakale. You come at four?’

  She dropped him at the little stand in front of the building and waved when he walked up the first steps of the stairs. Janoma. He wanted to talk to Abu but it was too late to leave for the phone shop. John had one rule and that was no travelling in the dark, anywhere. Unless it was with trusted company. Someone who knew how to navigate PH.

  He washed carefully, slowly, remembering everywhere Janoma’s hands had grazed, where her mouth, her lips had been. He felt grown up, like proper, with a secret he couldn’t wait to share.

  Mate, u have 2 firgive me. U right i shud be there. I will b. 1 week. give me 1 more week. im in love

  22

  * * *

  The roads we travel on

  in the end have to get to

  one point or another,

  otherwise it would be levitating.

  Nalini was in the yard, at the fenced strip, giving the estate the illusion of outside space. The large bins – the obligatory recycled paper, cans and glasses, plus the general waste one – lined the metal bars. Her usual gang was there too.

  Abu checked them from the corner of his eyes. What should he do? Stroll over, talk to her directly, interrupting her friends? Hang about sheepishly hoping she’d get the hint and break away from the cluster?

  Her hair looked like she’d recently done something to it, maybe blow-dried; Abu had no clue what went into the creation of Nalini magic but it was new, that much he could tell. Two of the other girls were busy with it, one trying out different clips, pinning bits of it back, although Abu thought it needed no help whatsoever, really, totally unnecessary. The other was stroking the stray strands of hair out of her face. Organic again, a mechanism; they belonged together, functioned well. It was painful. How was he going to get her attention? He needed to talk to her. All was different now.

  ‘OMG Abu. Here, we’re here. Come over.’

  The one working with the hair clips, Mel, spotted him. Her hands waved, her smile matching her excitement. He looked around, his face giving away his relief and excitement, just for a second, then back to composure.

  ‘So how are you enjoying the summer? Not that there is much of it. The heat the other day was probably all we gonna get this year.’

  They all hello-ed and gave their input on the fact that, as usual, there were no long summer holidays simply because there was no long summer, no bloody relying on the sun.

  Afsana looked him up and down as if she was checking for something.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re also one of those that went to the riots?’

  Why did she have to go straight for the jugular, no warm up at all? Abu’s armpits started producing. Sweat. Discomfort. He didn’t want to talk about the bloody riots. Nalini hadn’t said much but hello. The smile.

  ‘Tell me you were not involved,’ Afsana repeated.

  ‘Not really my thing.’ What business of hers was it anyway?

  She wasn’t convinced. She wanted to know precise stuff, not a trying to get out of it version with shuffling feet, and a face that looked like it needed some help in putting it back together. It was all a bit too much eyes for a certain someone.

  ‘The people watching are just as bad, you know.’

  ‘Why?’

  Nalini still smiled. So quiet all of sudden. He could have sworn she had been in the middle of a story just before he came over. ‘Should I not know what’s going on in my city?’

  ‘Some of the things that are going on are really bad.’

  ‘What’s so bad? People get hurt all the time. Right here. No one gets offended. You can’t make a move without being wrong. I can’t even walk along the street without someone following me around because I look like a terrorist in the making. No one gave a shit about that guy in Tottenham. The one the police shot. No one cared. Now they are all upset because someone is burning a bin somewhere.’

  He was getting emotional now. He thought of the hurt he had carried away and no one had cried how unfair. Where were they? Every day. When he could need backup?

  ‘Abu, it ain’t even about that guy, though. People are just, like, stealing stuff, stuff that’s not theirs, you get me. Not like these shops are all from rich people.’

  ‘Some of them are.’

  ‘In Hackney?’

  Why were the girls always so quick with the details when the whole world was busy with a Croydon carpet shop on fire? But Abu wasn’t sure if these people were rich either. What was rich anyway? Was the fact of a shop enough? He knew a schoolmate’s relatives who owned a corner shop. They weren’t any better off. But they always had fresh milk in the back. That’s what he thought. At least there was milk. And cigarettes and snacks. He didn’t smoke but it was about the point of it. That you had shit available.


  ‘The whole bank thing you know, they are stealing from us, the little man.’

  ‘You don’t even work.’

  ‘Come on, like our fathers. OK yours is sick now but before. My father. All who work all the time, thinking they get something. And they put a bit in the bank and think that one day it’s gonna be better. Better for us, like their children, innit. You know the youth programmes we used to do? Some were bare fun, going away and doing things. Now all the money, going straight to the bankers. Nothing left for us. All closed down.’ It had looked like he was digging himself further and further into a hole he wouldn’t be able to crawl out of, but he knew what he knew.

  ‘If you stand at the side, what are you doing to change it?’

  ‘Why do I have to change anything? I didn’t make this mess.’

  He could see the way she was processing. Her friend had stopped the hair-playing thing.

  ‘Why are you going then?’

  ‘Did I say I went?’

  ‘So you didn’t?’

  She had him locked. Probably hadn’t meant to. She was impressed by his speech. All of them were.

  A lot of youngsters migrated to the affected areas for a bit of fieldwork. Most of them came back with new outfits and new swag. It wasn’t all that convincing because it deflated in no time once they entered their respective gates and met their parents, all apologetic stories and hiding clothes. Abu was exhausted. Nalini hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t wanted to go but what the fuck was wrong with it? At least he hadn’t done anything.

  It was just, it was just … the city out of control because the country was out of control because the whole banking thing had gone like, way mad. Because none of them had much to be good for. So what?

  ‘For the record: I didn’t do anything wrong.’

  Afsana looked at him. ‘I just don’t want you to get into trouble. That’s all.’

  Her concern was genuine. He didn’t know she was that thoughtful. Didn’t know the young women noticed him like that. It felt good and he felt the heat inside him cooling.

  ‘Where’s Karl? When is he coming back?’

  Abu smiled. Nalini looked at him, they both looked away.

  ‘Bit more than a week.’

  ‘Been away long.’

  And Nalini added, ‘You must really miss him.’

  Abu laughed. Blud, he drove him up the wall. His whole sensitive understanding, yet no understanding when Abu needed it. His disappearing. Fastest running reflex in the borough. But homie had a few things going for him. More than a few.

  ‘I do. He drives me crazy but he’s my best mate, innit. We belong together.’

  And the girls went all aw bless, which made him feel all good about their friendship.

  ‘Hey, I’m gonna see you around. Need to go.’ He bounced across the street, around the corner and into his own heaven of brick, mortar and a whole load of cement. In front of the door to the building he stopped and pulled out his mobile.

  me too man, me too! call me.

  When something else needed to not happen. To not be too present. Deflection. For Abu. If only there was the right amount of deflection. This time there wasn’t anything Abu could concentrate on.

  He arrived at the gate to the estate. Then it happened. It went something like this:

  ‘So you think you’re too good for us now?’

  ‘No man, was just chilling.’

  ‘We have an arrangement.’

  And this is where Abu felt times were never going to be different if nothing changed right then, right there. Big mouth, like it was said before, trying to prove something. That day, the world wasn’t having it. His world, unfortunately, cared less than a gourmet chef for school dinners.

  ‘I have no arrangement at all, you get me.’

  He went out. Just out. Quiet, no sound, like Karl, ages before. Only there was no one to witness it.

  * * *

  The blouse was coral and low-cut in front. It went well with the dark jeans Janoma wore. She was sitting outside the shop on the same sort of low wooden stool Karl saw his little friend Emmanuel sit on, outside the Internet cafe.

  Abu hadn’t replied to his latest text. tried 2 call u. wher u at? update! ;-)))) details!

  Nalini had really got to him. Abu saying he was in love? What were they talking about now that the whole project-week, slavery-trail thing was over? Abu was a big mouth but he only ever had real convos with Karl, really. Karl was mad sometimes because Abu didn’t even try. Had left them each time any of the young women in their year came over to them. Karl was the one who ended up getting close. But Abu hadn’t changed anything about it and kept fading away as soon as he could. What were the odds? Both of them in love, first time. Karl was pleased. His flip-flops slowly picked up dust.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hi.’ Heart in overdrive. He wore black trousers, fitted, not loose like usual. A red, chequered shirt and thin black braces. Square sunglasses with a thick plastic frame. Red as well.

  Janoma picked up the book that fell next to the little stool.

  ‘Thought you were lost.’ She turned around. ‘Are you attached to the road outside, or are you coming in already?’ The cheekiness returned to her smile.

  ‘I’m just like, sensitive. I attach to things.’ Karl was glad. His brain still produced decent responses.

  ‘A lot of things it seems.’

  They reached the inside of the little shop. The space familiar and as clean and tidy as the day before. He closed the door behind him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘It’s a little stuck, I know.’

  Her laughter reminded him of the way her mouth had tasted. Fresh. She turned around and came back up the three stairs.

  ‘This time I think we better lock it.’ And without missing a beat she added: ‘I love the outfit.’

  And pulled him into the room.

  Their mouths found each other easily this time. Karl was still shy but not so scared any more. She hadn’t pushed him anywhere.

  ‘So, did you know or not?’

  ‘I didn’t. How? I’ve only known you for a few days.’

  ‘But you didn’t seem surprised.’

  She laughed again. It was a different laugh. Thoughtful. Slow. ‘I like you. I have a quick mouth, I know, but I was just waiting for you to do something. You were driving me crazy! I wasn’t surprised, I was relieved, relieved that this was … is going somewhere.’

  Now he was laughing. ‘You want me that bad—’

  ‘Ha! Mister I’ve done stuff.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And what exactly does that mean? Tell me everything about doing stuff.’ She looked at him, hand on her hip. ‘Please.’

  He laughed again, not even embarrassed. She was playing and it felt good. ‘Don’t torture me. You’ve won. I’m an apprenticeship still waiting to happen. I’m in your hands.’

  She looked at the floor, then at him again. Her voice was quiet. ‘No Karl, I’m in yours.’

  ‘Then we are in the same boat.’

  The hands went everywhere. The lips, the mouth. Their clothes piled around them. Their naked skin touched the cement. It helped. It helped cool the heat that rose from the skin. It was strange to have his body all exposed. To show everything. Stranger even to have hers like that, close up. She was so soft it tickled him each time her skin touched his body. Especially when her hands travelled down his arms or up his legs, worst at the back, up the spine. The hairs stood, but it felt good.

  Her hand took his and guided it until he was inside her. Moved it, so that he could feel what felt best to her.

  Janoma opened, leaning her back against the wall of the shack and reached with her hand between Karl’s legs. Karl knelt, his hand deeper, his face between her thighs now until her stickiness spread past his lips, all over his chin, and she moaned, trying to hide the sounds from the outside world. The heat seemed trapped inside their bodies, spreading and trying to push out. Pushed and pushed until her legs clamped his face and
she moved her head. Opened her eyes to look at him. He was panting. When he leaned back her hand slid out between his legs.

  ‘Not bad, your stuff.’ Janoma’s breath was still rhythmic, trying to quieten down.

  ‘Yours neither.’ And both giggled, rolling on to the patches of clothing that protected them from the bare concrete. Karl stroked her hair along the lines of the even rows. It smelled of shampoo, hair oil and sweat. She leaned on her forearm and looked at him. Her voice was closer than before, different. There was a them-ness about it.

  ‘You’re buzzing.’

  ‘I know,’ he replied. ‘What you do to me—’

  ‘No, I mean your phone.’

  The moments that are not savoured in full because they stop sooner than they unfold. Then the phone keeps ringing. You know how it is.

  23

  * * *

  If we could see everything,

  we would be beside ourselves.

  Abu had gone out like tail lights in fog. The real beauty of a knockout is that you drop without doing too much damage. If you’re unconscious before you hit the pavement, the fall might not hurt much, your body all floppy and receptive, embracing the hard cement. Of course if you had been kicked by a number of opponents, somebodies who really wanted you to feel it when you woke up, well, then the damage would be well ready for when you bloody did wake up, whether you did or not.

  * * *

  ‘Karl.’

  ‘Godfrey, I will call you back. I told you it costs me to take calls, wait till I …’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Chilling with a friend.’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’ Karl could hear him breathe. ‘Now.’

  ‘What happened? Is mum worse again?’

  There was that pause, the slope, the gap. Open, trip, descent.

  ‘What happened to Abu? Tell me what’s going on! Godfrey?’