When We Speak of Nothing

by Olumide Popoola

  ‘I want to talk to you about Nigeria. Why I went, I mean, why I really went.’

  ‘Good,’ she replied. And meant it. ‘Good that you are finally ready.’

  Karl came in from a morning jog. He now called it that. Running was for avoiders. ‘To let you know which one is which.’

  Abu laughed. Who cared, like really? As long as you arrived somewhere you wanted to be, right? And if not? Well at least you got out of the house, fresh air and everything.

  ‘Just going to jump into the shower.’

  The water washed away the sweat that pooled on his back, at the neck and much lower, where his shorts started. He turned the tap to cool and held his face up. The pressure was strong enough to make his face tingle. He could feel the drops pushing out of the showerhead, collecting on his skin, sliding down the rest of his body.

  What to say today? About fathers and mothers. About how life was. All the things they left out and hoped either of them would manage, without explanations.

  His father had called four times. Each time Karl came up with excuses. The last one was no credit. Then he tried a trick he heard someone tell another person on the bus once. They both worked for a telephone marketing company but the second person had just started. The one who was there longer gave her friend some sound advice: ‘When they get too rude, and I tell you they will, just put some paper over the receiver and crumple it. Ask in your best voice, “Connection? Hello? Are you still there?” Then you hang up. No need to take shit you’re not getting paid for.’

  Abu and Karl had laughed about it, dying to try it out the next opportunity they got but they never did. It worked with his father, he hoped. He didn’t feel like having to explain what the strange noises were. And why he now even hung up, after seeking him out and making all that effort. Everyone needed time to process. Now Karl did. Something like that, if his father cared at all for such on-point conversation.

  He soaped his body from top to bottom, carefully leaning against the tiled wall, raising one foot to spread the toes and wash. Couldn’t hurt to give it an extra scrub. Abu and his new wisdom gave his own advice right back. ‘Just be Karl.’ The soap ran through the outlet in the enamel and he turned the water off.

  His mother waited in the living room. It was a little more cramped since they had re-arranged the flat. Godfrey was still due to come through with his promise of painting their ‘what do you call it – crib?’ He needed a language upgrade, urgently. It was too much trying to fit in.

  ‘Some juice?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He sat on the armchair facing the coffee table and the three-seater that was so small that Karl kept wondering if it had meant three-in-one, rather than for three people: you in the middle, bag on the left, phone on the right, full. They were opposite each other, Rebecca and Karl.

  ‘I guess there are many things we haven’t talked about.’

  ‘I know you’re trying your best. I ain’t complaining.’

  ‘No, let me finish. Nobody knew how badly or how quickly I would become ill. I didn’t, my parents didn’t. You tumble into it and react in the heat of the moment. You don’t always make the right decisions.’

  She was looking for the words, the ones she had tried to keep from Karl for all his life.

  ‘I wanted to protect you.’

  Wasn’t it always about that? Protecting someone you loved because if you didn’t you might see the pain in their eyes and that could break your heart, like proper.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘What do you mean, Karl?’

  ‘How come you’re telling me now?’

  ‘You found out more than you should by yourself.’

  ‘More than … I think—’

  ‘Karl, I just mean, I should have been the one to tell you. I let you go all the way to Nigeria.’

  ‘You didn’t know.’

  She was quiet. The evenness in the air smelled fishy. Like when you’ve been made a fool.

  ‘You knew all along.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Karl?’

  ‘Nigeria. You just said you let me go. So, you knew. Godfrey probably told you and you both thought I needed this so I can gain independence and find my own way.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Then what?’

  Karl stretched his feet, flexing his toes. The tan lines were still visible, showing clearly where the flip-flops had been, where the sun had warmed his feet.

  ‘I meant in the scheme of things, Karl. It had to come to you going off because I didn’t tell you the things you needed to know.’

  She got his attention.

  ‘The things you deserve to know.’

  ‘He didn’t even know I existed!’

  It burst out. Just be yourself, whatever that means, whatever that would be. Rebecca looked at him, carefully examining his face.

  ‘He keeps calling. First he wanted nothing to do with me, when I wasn’t the daughter he was now expecting. Now he can’t stop wanting to “get to know me and learn more”. Whatever. ’Cause his wife has a little more sense and made him come back to see me. But I’m not interested any more. I just want my peace back.’

  ‘Well, you went to seek him out. It also means something to him.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him you were pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me anything about him?’

  The questions. The answers. The sense that sometimes eludes them. The forgiveness one must ask for.

  ‘I thought it would be easier. You were unplanned. A lucky accident. The best part of my short relationship with him.’

  ‘What’s so awful about him that you couldn’t tell him, or me?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  She looked down at the worn carpet, then out the window. There wasn’t anything to see there. Nothing to latch on to.

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘You’re not a Facebook status!’

  He vowed that he would be calm, would not let feelings run away. Just find out how it had all happened. He had been surprised that she hadn’t been more outraged at his disappearance. The therapy sessions, yes, but they seemed to ‘break through’ in no time.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about meeting him?’

  Then what?

  ‘I already did. I arrived, he saw me after some disappearing act, then didn’t like the look of my gender and told me to eff off in other, more carefully chosen words. That’s it.’

  He deserved to make his own decisions, to ask the questions he now knew his mother had been lying about. There wasn’t anything his father had done to match that. He didn’t matter.

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Mum, I don’t think it’s fair. Why?’

  ‘Karl, sometimes you are young and stupid and—’

  ‘For starters, you never told me about Nigeria. That you went there.’

  ‘It was one short visit.’

  ‘It wasn’t short! You volunteered for months. And the only way I know is because Uncle T told me. You never even thought it was important for me to know.’

  Her eyes were tired, weary. Not as pain-filled as usual, when she was losing her energy. It felt like Karl was the parent, the one asking questions while the teenager avoided eye contact, answers, anything that made real sense. Her foot scraped along the carpet, tracing its tiny patterns with her toes. Her skin glowed.

  Karl was impatient.

  ‘How come we don’t speak about this?’

  They both knew it. Stress triggered relapses. Karl had taken that on. Like proper. As in way over the top. She would break, he thought, so he ran longer and faster until the choking stopped and he could breathe again. But he no longer ran, he no longer left things behind to shut them out. He stayed now. In therapy they talked about the network. The ‘who called the shots, made decisions’, Karl-wise. They had talked about that Godfrey had taken liberties. Rebecca was still the mum, whether she had a depression from time to time or not. That depression didn’t mean she couldn’t be there for Karl. It had never me
ant that.

  ‘Nobody ever asks what I want. Not properly. Not even you.’

  ‘I ask all the time.’

  ‘Mum.’ Karl was calm again. ‘Really?’

  It was quiet. You couldn’t say everything in one go but it still had to come out. Sometime.

  ‘There was nowhere to breathe here for me. Yes, all of you are very understanding. Abu is like the best. Ever. Like ever ever. His family … I would die for them. They have done so much. The lot. Godfrey … But where am I? Where am I in all of this, really?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There is no wholeness. Nowhere I really am. With all of you I am the problem that needs to be taken care of, that needs to be protected. On the streets, I am the freak. I was not here. I didn’t exist.’

  His mother’s mouth was open but her eyes were looking into nothingness. Not at him, not at anything in particular. She was ready to avoid this, deflect from the words that made a lot of sense.

  ‘You don’t really have the space for all that’s going on in my life. Or maybe I think you don’t. I run so I don’t have to scream, so I don’t say things that will upset anyone. So I don’t say: I want to know. What it’s like to be me. What it’s like to be a young man. Without the baggage, without a helping hand that makes sure I land soft because surely someone will trip me up. I want to know those things. What it’s like to not take care of you—’

  ‘I never asked you to—’

  ‘I know that. But I do it anyway. How do you think it is to see your mother in pain? Like all the time. How do you go and say Hey, I think it’s time we move on up and bring in a bit more normality into the mix. Not just support groups and support people and support whatever. Just a young person who is going to be a man. Let us find out who that is. Not, he was always so sensitive but he’s making it anyway.’

  ‘We can do that—’

  ‘We will do that! I need it. I don’t need you or anyone to protect me from things by keeping them away. All I need is to know that you are with me. That I can trust you. That I can talk to you and get an answer when I need to.’

  Her eyes were starting to focus again. Karl was catching up with his breath. It had been calm, or at least calm-ish, his outburst. Still, that was a whole lot of getting it out.

  ‘You were always smart.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘No but. It’s just that you’re even clearer now.’

  ‘I stayed in Nigeria, I stayed longer because I was being myself. I wasn’t a problem. I could see who I was, from the outside. Because other people saw me for who I was, not how hard I had fought to get there.’

  The how to say everything and find the right words, the right sentiments.

  ‘I think I understand.’ She stopped. Her chest was moving up and down quick now. ‘You don’t deserve to see how I struggle sometimes. Just to be free of the heaviness that consumes me in those times. Not often, but when it gets that bad I’m knocked out. I didn’t know how to keep that from you.’

  The flat was breathing now too, they could hear the fridge humming in the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t keep it.’

  She looked up.

  ‘Don’t pretend it’s not there. It doesn’t make it any better. Or easier. Not for me.’

  Karl’s pocket lit up. The sound made them both jumpy. ‘Just my phone.’ He looked at Rebecca. Her body had relaxed, her shoulders were easing down. Karl’s eyes brightened.

  ‘A friend of yours?’

  ‘What?’

  Janoma texted that Nakale’s aunt had agreed. She might even be OK with Janoma spending some time with her ‘study mate’.

  ‘Perfect.’ Karl looked up. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, you just seem so happy. Is this a friend of yours?’

  He looked at his mother.

  ‘You seem to have grown estranged,’ the therapist had said. There had been major sobs at that point, as you can imagine. ‘Maybe you just have to restart from zero?’

  Those lovely insightful declarations. Where were they now? At a hundred? A hundred and five? At sixteen? That was the problem with categories: how to fill them.

  ‘My girlfriend, mum. I met somebody in Nigeria. She is coming to London for a visit. With Uncle T. She studies textiles and fashion so she can help him out.’

  It was out, in one go.

  ‘OK, wow, that’s a lot.’

  His mother’s bafflement matched his excitement. Both were well beyond hundred and twenty.

  ‘Where would she stay?’

  ‘In my room? She has an aunt here so she’ll probably be there most of the time. But if she lets her, can she stay here?’

  The phone buzzed again. call me asap. Developments … Abu.

  ‘Yes?’ He looked at his mother. He needed to make phone calls.

  ‘This is all a bit quick. How old is she?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it more but in principle it is OK. I want to speak to her parents though, and her aunt when she’s here.’

  The kiss landed on her face as the arms wrapped around her neck.

  ‘You’re the best.’

  Her smile was weak, like in, totally caught off-guard. Karl’s fingers were typing replies already. He was walking to the hallway.

  ‘Karl, I didn’t know what to do. Your father, he just changed so quickly. Tunde had warned me.’ It wasn’t a happy soul-bearing; it was laboured. Every word had to be forced out. ‘I had much more in common with him. Tunde. We ended up spending much more time together.’

  Karl nearly fell over as he changed direction. He had almost made it out of the room but life didn’t always wait until you were safe on the other side.

  ‘Not like that.’

  There was cement in the air. It wanted to crush you. But Karl pushed back.

  ‘Tunde wanted but I said no. Chose your father but he seemed to forget about me the minute I left. I didn’t think he would stick around for you. I didn’t want him to disappear on you. He was supposed to come for me in London. I called and called, never got a hold of him. He let Tunde make excuses. Finally he confessed that your father had moved on. Straight away. Met his wife. Her family were well off; they had opportunities for him. I don’t know if it was that, or if it was just one of those things. We were young.’ She laughed. ‘Everyone wants opportunities. I had none. I was a working class girl. Ran away from my family to some country in West Africa they had never heard of. And I had taken it all so serious.’

  The sun was hitting through the closed window, warming the room up.

  ‘I just fell pregnant. Totally unexpected. I was embarrassed, Karl. That your father wasn’t reliable. That I had fallen for it. That Tunde had been right.’

  36

  * * *

  We could all come running

  and speak about the world.

  Karl was so proud he was no longer touching the ground with his feet. Abu was busy walking in a funny way, to get glimpses of Nalini and to show Janoma that they were like, totally in control. They owned the streets, practically. He knew Janoma knew better but he couldn’t help himself. A visitor from Nigeria? He would polish the pavement if he could. You had to show proper hospitality; this wasn’t a happens all the time thing. Karl hadn’t said very much since they had all met up with Nalini, Afsana and a couple of the other young women who had been around that time when Abu went all deep on the economy and the riots. Then Mark had texted – he must have heard somewhere – and Kyle and him had joined too. They had taken her to Giraffe at the Brunswick. World Kitchen. It seemed appropriate. Had taken over the restaurant and driven the waiter up the wall with their changes to the menu. Abu had organised it this time because Karl had become useless. Couldn’t talk properly, couldn’t think properly and certainly couldn’t organise shit. All he could do was smile at her, hold her hand, and nod along when she spoke. Abu knew they were speaking when it was just the two of them but with others Karl seemed to find it hard to keep his cool. Janoma.

  Sh
e had brought Abu music. ‘I’m so excited to meet you. The Abu!’ She had hugged him. Abu thought Karl must have had a hand in that but Karl said it was all her. She had done the same when he was in Nigeria. ‘Education,’ she called it. ‘You know we have the tightest beats. You don’t even have any idea yet.’

  They left the restaurant and turned into Judd Street. Nalini and Afsana had taken Janoma in the middle and were telling her about the neighbourhood.

  ‘It’s famous really for the Bloomsbury Group. A bunch of writers and whatnot. But then there is this other history. People who were involved in enslaving others lived here.’

  Behind them, Kyle was telling Abu a joke. Karl was staring ahead. Mel and Tammy, the other two young women, were trailing behind with Mark.

  Tell her about Mary Prince, Nalini.’ Afsana turned around to smile at Kyle.

  ‘She wrote a book about her experiences of being a slave. The History of Mary Prince. A West Indian slave. They had brought her from Antigua. It was the first book about a black woman in the UK. Can you imagine? All she went through and then she wrote a book when nobody wrote books!’

  The fire in Nalini was obvious. Janoma nodded. They had stopped at the traffic light across from the new fancy hotel.

  ‘Powerful!’

  ‘You also write? Karl told me you’re part of a magazine or newspaper.’ Nalini pointed down the road. ‘You see there is the train station we told you about earlier. The Eurostar goes to Paris and stuff.’

  Janoma followed her hand with her eyes. Karl and the others had caught up and they were all crowded around the traffic light post.

  ‘I just go along to some of their bigger meetings. My friends write for the paper. I’m useless at writing. All I can do has to do with the sewing machine and the drawing board.’

  Afsana touched Janoma’s jacket. It was navy, tight fitting with strips of African cloth sewn on. They fanned out from one point on the lower back. ‘Did you make this?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wow.’

  Janoma smiled. ‘You just need a bit of patience.’

  ‘And inspiration!’

  ‘I’m sure you could come up with something. Once you sit down.’