by Ava Bleu
He sat down at the table, his head in his hands. He was useless. What was his purpose here if he could not help his beloved?
“Help yourself, Taka,” Ani said in his ear. Himself? He needed no help. He was perfect the way he was. Taka clamped his hands over his ears pointlessly as the sound of his friend’s laughter filled his head.
“Fine,” he ground out loud. “So I am not perfect. I am as close to perfect as you’ll ever get, angel man. You should be more appreciative.”
No response to that. Taka settled into his seat, grumpily. Maybe he was not perfect. What had he been accused of, again? Oh yes, arrogance, pride, unwillingness to accept change; those qualities had always been his weaknesses. And, of course, if past experience was anything to go by, the Almighty was still trying to teach him to overcome these qualities. Could anything he do have a positive effect on Zahara’s spirit? Could he, in any way, change the outcome of her routine by changing his own? He didn’t see how. In two days, how could he do anything that would make an impact on Violet that would free Zahara? He thought about the worm Violet had shared a bed with the night before and though his face twisted with disgust, he stayed focused long enough to think about what that Jerome-person had that he did not.
A job.
He put his cup down. If Jerome could do it, he could. He stood and took his coat from the hook, prepared to leave, when the telephone rang. He was torn about whether to attempt to communicate with the person on the other end when there was a click, then the sound of Violet’s voice in greeting, and another beep, followed by a man’s voice. Ah, it was a recorder of some sort, then?
“Look, Violet, if you’re there, pick up. It’s Skeeter. You know, from Skeeter’s Antiques: your favorite place to get good new old stuff? Okay, okay, you got me. I’ll give you five hunnert for the brooch. That’s half of a thousand, Violet; you’re not going to get a better deal than that! Look, call me.”
Then there was a click and a beep and Taka thought about the message. Someone asking about Zahara’s brooch? He didn’t know what the man was offering: 500 cowries, yen, pesos, drachma, dirham. Surely he wasn’t offering $500 American. That would be an insult. That brooch had cost a hundred times that amount 400 years ago. The ruby alone was the largest found in the world, at the time. The brooch was priceless.
He turned to leave and the phone rang again. This time after Violet’s greeting he heard Violet’s voice tinged with amusement. The sound of it was like a cold drink of water to a thirsty man.
“Listen, King, if you’re there, don’t worry about trying to figure out how to talk to me. I just thought you’d like to know I got a call from Harold down at Harold’s Hometown Eatery. Apparently you threatened to turn his kids upside down and shake the mischief out of them?” She broke up in pretty laughter and he could not help the upturn of his lips at the sound. “Devious munchkins, those two. The last time they delivered my food they lol-lygagged around for about an hour and a half. Of course my food was stone cold by the time I got it and you bet your behind I gave their daddy an earful that day. If the food came cold again save it for me and I’ll take it back to that raggedy restaurant and teach that whole family what a hot meal should be.”
Taka belched a habanero bubble; he was pretty sure they already knew.
“Don’t worry, King, I got your back. But you may want to hold off on the threats of bodily harm. In this day and age they’ll throw you in jail for that. And the clink ain’t no fun; don’t ask me how I know. Take care, King. I’ll see you later.”
Taka smiled at the talking machine, filled with unexpected warmth. Then, he left the apartment on foot and walked down the streets of the neighborhood, peering in storefronts as he passed. He walked until the terrain changed. The small shops gave way to larger strip malls and businesses. He was midstride when he caught a glimpse of the lobby of a company. Next to the front desk, behind which sat a guard, was a concrete lion. He had no particular affinity for the animal—it had killed plenty of his family’s pets and food in his childhood—but it was the first signpost he’d come across that reminded him of home. He squinted into the glass of the advertising agency, and then strode to the door opening it wide. The eyes of the security guard widened upon seeing him.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes,” Taka said definitively. “I would like a job in this place. What is the manner of business in this establishment? I have a great deal of experience in leadership. I would like a job where I can lead.”
The security guard looked confused for a moment, and then hesitantly moved a clipboard toward Taka. “Sign in please, sir. Now, who did you want to see?”
Taka frowned and the guard moved back a little. Ah, the man was intimidated and Taka had not even done anything. People today were easily spooked. “Did you not hear me? Do you have some difficulty with the English language? I would like to find out what jobs you have in leadership. To whom may I speak?”
“Sir, I . . . I can’t help you. I’m just the security guard. You have to know who you want to talk to or call the job line in human resources.”
“I have to use a telephone to find the information that is already in this building? Even though I am here, now?”
“That’s right, sir. That or the Internet. Here, I’ll write down the number.”
Taka suspected the writing of the number served two purposes: to satisfy his request and to get Taka out of the building. Taka could sense discomfort in lesser men as easily as he could breathe. The guard was scribbling furiously when another man stepped up to the desk. Taka looked at this new man, sizing up the white skin and balding scalp. He looked too young to lose hair, but Taka had seen younger man lose an entire head of hair after a particularly traumatic battle. He wondered what battle this man had lost his hair to.
“May I help you?” He was a smaller man but he had a firm voice and his eyes did not dip, even though Taka towered over him by about a foot. Taka liked this man. Perhaps he was one of the special people.
“Yes. I would like a job.”
“A job?”
“Yes. I am a natural leader and organizer. And I am a hard worker.”
The man seemed to weigh his words carefully. “Well, normally people apply for particular positions, but . . .” He crossed his arms and looked at Taka carefully. “What kind of experience do you have?”
“I have years of managing. I am very good at putting ideas into action.”
“Thinking outside the box?”
“Outside the box?” Taka thought of his home and the many years he’d been forced to live with only his imagination able to escape, sustaining himself on the promise of a future with the wife he loved. “Peculiar term, but accurate. Yes. That’s it.”
“Well, I have to say, your approach is refreshing. You seem like a go-getter. Do you have a resume?”
“What is a . . . resume?”
A frown sprung up between the man’s eyes but then nodded as an idea came to him. “I hear an accent in your voice. Where are you from?”
“Africa.”
“So you’re bilingual?”
“I know seven languages.”
“An educated man, then?”
“I have put philosophers to silence.”
“Hard worker?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Team player?”
“I am more familiar with being the team leader.”
“Any marketing experience?”
“I do not understand the term.”
“Can you get people to buy things from you they didn’t think they wanted?”
“In my experience they called that persuasion. If a king—I mean, man—cannot persuade others to follow his lead he will soon lose all himself. Persuasion is a skill I have well mastered.”
“That’s impressive,” the man said. He seemed a very friendly man. In this time Taka had not run across many. “Well, Mr. . . .”
“Olufemi. Taka Olufemi.”
“Mr. Olufemi, if you’d
like to fill out an application we might have a position for you. We’ll just need to check your references and look at your prior experience. And, of course, a work visa if you are not a citizen.”
Taka stiffened. References he could get the gist of, but how would he fill out an application? He had no valid work experience. And he had not even thought of citizenship. He’d come to this country through a precious gem; no papers came with that. His dilemma must have showed on his face because the man blushed.
“Look,” he went behind the desk and pulled out a sheet of paper to hand to Taka. “Here’s an application. Go home and think about it. When, if, you become able to work in the U.S. come back. Or, maybe if we can verify your references from home we can sponsor you to work here. You’d have to go through proper immigration channels, but it can be done.”
“And what type of job might I qualify for, Mr. . . .”
“Bellows. Jimmy Bellows. It depends on your experience.” Again, Taka’s expression tipped him off. He went on hurriedly. “But certainly we can find something. Customer service, maybe. We have some jobs in shipping. A large man like you wouldn’t have a problem loading a box or two.”
Taka fought the tremor in his hand. He was a king, an educated leader. This was an insult. And yet, looking at Mr. Bellows it was obvious the man was trying to do good. Then why did he feel so bad?
“Thank you, Mr. Bellows,” Taka said, raising his chin and holding out his hand to shake the other man’s. “Thank you for your time.”
“Mr. Olufemi, whatever you need to do, do it. You carry yourself with a demeanor that is just not common these days. You have a forceful and determined personality, a born executive. You could go far with us.”
“In shipping?” Taka asked, with distaste.
“It’s a start. It’s a great way to learn the company from the ground up. Mr. Olufemi, I wish we could give you something more from the beginning but something also tells me there are some things you need to tie up. I was in the lobby and watched you walk in. Call it providence or coincidence, but something told me to give you a chance. I tend to try to listen to that little voice in my head, Mr. Olufemi. It rarely steers me wrong. Today, that voice told me to give you an application.”
Taka knew it was his Father showing him that there was a way and if he chose, it would be possible. If he wanted to try this new life with Violet, it would be hard, but it would be possible. “Thank you.”
Jimmy Bellows nodded and then headed back his way while Taka left. As he stalked down the street he became angrier and angrier. How was it that a king should have to beg for a job like a common man? How was it that he should be penniless when he and his warriors had procured countless bounties for the good of their people and their village? How was it that the Almighty could allow such a travesty? The treasures of his nation had not simply vanished from the earth; someone had plundered them just as surely as that man who lived next to Violet plundered her newspaper every morning. Theft, pure and simple. It had to stop!
He was striding down the street when he saw the familiar yellow of a book sitting on a metal shelf in the midst of a glass box. He remembered such a book in Violet’s apartment; it held phone numbers and addresses of business establishments. Only just this morning a man had called from a shop wanting to buy Zahara’s brooch, which meant he knew its value, despite the fact that he was attempting to cheat Violet out of it. The thought of the man trying to steal the brooch—her very own brooch—from Zahara was enough to make him want to pound the man into the concrete. He was merely a modern-day thief, a thief who might have other pieces of Jahanian jewelry and art.
He went to the glass box and fiddled with the handle until the door opened, and then stepped inside to open the book. It was a shop. What category of shop was it? Some sort of art shop? But he knew art from the past was no longer called art. Artifacts and antiquities. He looked up “artifacts” and came up empty but stopped at “antiques.” He browsed the page. They were listed by names. And what was the name again. Skittle? Screcter? Oh yes. He spied a name three-quarters down. Skeeter. It said to look at the ad on the next page and he turned it. SKEETER’S ANTIQUES: THE BEST NEW OLD STUFF AROUND.
Thief.
He tore out the page and stepped out of the box. A young woman gave him directions to Skeeter’s shop. He did as she suggested and hopped on a bus, was told he needed to pay or else the police would be called, and hopped back off. He took off on foot. By the time he got to the store he was winded, but refreshed. His anger had dulled, which was a good thing. Anger only dulled deductive reasoning skills and he needed to be sharp.
The bell tinkled signaling his arrival and he stepped inside the small, quiet space. He looked around, immediately realizing most of the articles in this place were junk. Counterfeit pieces, some not even good replicas, some made of inferior materials and shoddy workmanship. But here and there was a decent piece or two. A scarf made of real Chinese silk. A lamp that was indeed Victorian, as it claimed. He was surveying the items with a sharp eye when a man shuffled from the back.
The old man squinting at him stepped back, reflexively. Taka groaned inside; yet another mouse disguising himself as a man. He stepped forward, not at all concerned about being intimidating. He looked him over, found him lacking, and then went back to perusing the items while he spoke, clasping one hand behind his back to keep from prematurely strangling the wrong man.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Are you Skeeter, the owner of this place?”
“Why, yes, yes, I am. Can I help you with something?”
“Just looking at your treasures. You have quite a collection.”
“The best new, old stuff around,” Skeeter said weakly. “Can I help you find anything?”
How about helping me find my people? he wanted to say. How about helping me find my dignity and self-respect, maybe coughing up my village’s legacy? He wanted to say those things, but settled on, “I was looking for something a woman might enjoy.”
“Woman?”
“Yes. You’ve heard of them? Female persuasion, opposite of male, shapely, sweet-smelling creatures who are God’s gift to men? This woman is one of noble bearing. A woman of grace and intelligence. A woman above all women.” He was curious to see if the old man would pull out another of his murdered wife’s stolen precious jewels, the swine. Perhaps he would whip out the earrings Taka had given her pounded from gold as a gift for their first anniversary, or perhaps the striking sapphire wrist bauble he’d given her as a thank-you for all the things she did tirelessly on behalf of the townspeople. Perhaps the silks that had draped her cold, dead body. He had to force himself not to pounce.
He heard the old man swallow before croaking, “You mean like a necklace or something?”
Taka whirled and glared at him, anger making him tense. He was about to tell the man, “No, not like a necklace, like a brooch!” when something caught his eye. He turned quickly and spied a bowl. It was hand-carved wood, an intricate design that simulated lace, a design as familiar to him as his own name. Some of the women in Jaha had taken to carving special bowls such as this for celebration and libation. It was a sacred bowl. It was an honored tool. It was on sale for $1.99.
Taka’s blood took fire again and the heat threatened to consume him, but he fought to keep his fury to himself. Taka had always been unaware of his effect on others but he knew of the legend. When King Taka went to battle, men dropped dead first from the fury of his presence before a sword or knife ever lanced their bodies. It had been said that armies could feel him coming before he was ever seen by their eyes. Young warriors would often run in fear of him, willing to face their villages as cowards rather than look upon the angry face of King Taka.
Of course, Taka never understood what the fuss was about. He did not actively seek to take advantage of this natural ability, but he could no more suppress his exceptional maleness than he could expect other men to stand up to it. Some things were just impossible. And apparently he still held his
power even centuries later if the way the old man began to shake in his feeble bones was any indication.
Alas, this old man did have a stroke of rebellious courage and seemed to gather it at that moment. “Look, whatchu want? We don’t want no trouble in here!”
“Who said anything about trouble?” Taka returned, annoyed. “Silence your senseless babbling and tell me, where did you get this bowl?”
“You want it, take it! Just take what you want and leave.”
Taka’s eyes narrowed as the implication struck him. Who did he think he was talking to?
Taka was a king. His reputation was beyond reproach. How dare he suggest otherwise?
“I am no thief, old man. Not like some people,” he ground out, picking up the bowl to run his fingers along the pattern. “No, I would not defile the purpose of such an item by stealing it, even from a thief.”
“Why you call me a thief, mister?” Skeeter said, indignant. “I ain’t steal nothing.”
“How is it you can sell such an item for such a price? It is ludicrous. This is a sacred piece of art.”
“What you know about that?” Skeeter asked, his greed outdistancing his fear. “Guy who sold it to me was certain it was one of those they mass produce over in India for tourists and such.”
“This is not Indian and most certainly not mass produced.”
“I didn’t think . . .” Skeeter trailed off, his eyes now glued to the art. “I thought maybe it come from someplace else, but he told me he knew for sure and I couldn’t place it, myself.”
Taka turned and placed the bowl on the counter in front of the man. “Ah, another thief. What a surprise. I will take it.”
“Well, okay. It’s . . .” he hesitated and Taka watched greed war with his cataracts. “It’s $199.”
“It says $1.99,” Taka growled. He didn’t know why he was asking. He hadn’t a cent to his name. Perhaps he could bargain. Surely the buttons of his coat were worth something? Maybe the coat itself, certainly worth at least $2.50? He began to shrug it off.
“That’s a mistake,” Skeeter said, licking his lips like the mangy cur he was. “The decimal point’s in the wrong place, is all.”