Goodbye Lucille

by Segun Afolabi

  A woman waved from the side of the pool. I stopped swimming and trod water as she approached. She held a small object in the palm of her hand, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Rolls of fat undulated beneath her black swimsuit, which seemed several sizes too small. Her thighs shuddered against each other as she drew closer, but she continued to stare.

  ‘You’ve dropped this,’ she said. She squatted and held out a stainless steel Seiko. ‘It was at the shallow end. You should be more careful.’

  I reached out to the ledge to steady myself. She could see my own watch on my wrist, but she didn’t seem to care. I wiped the water from my eyes.

  ‘It’s not mine,’ I said. ‘See?’

  She smiled and continued her gaze.

  I looked away, at the old woman just completing a length, then turned back. ‘I haven’t seen you here before.’

  ‘Never seen you.’ Her eyes glinted. ‘I’d remember.’

  I smiled back. I could feel the spark of arousal. I looked round the pool again. ‘Why don’t we meet afterwards?’ I said. ‘For coffee.’

  She grinned and looked up at the bathers at the shallow end, then turned towards the windows, to the blue sky, the sunlight. Her neck, stretched out, was wide and graceful. I wanted to reach out and stroke it, pull her into the water.

  ‘Coffee’d be nice,’ she said.

  ‘Good. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes, okay? At the entrance.’ I looked at my watch.

  She stood and walked away without responding, her thighs squelching against each other satisfactorily. I pushed against the ledge and swam four laps before leaving the pool.

  I couldn’t see her in the foyer so I went outside and found her leaning against the entrance wall. She was dressed in tight jeans, narrow at the ankles, which only emphasized her bulk, and a thin baggy white v-neck sweater rolled up at the sleeves. Her hair was thin with moisture, chestnut brown, almost pudding-bowl short around her head. Apart from the unflinching gaze, there was nothing attractive about her. Her eyes seemed so assured and sensual I didn’t think about anything else.

  ‘There’s the café inside,’ she suggested, but she was looking away from the leisure centre.

  She didn’t give her name and I did not ask. We were strangers. I wanted no more than that. We stood for a moment in silence. She glanced at her wrist, at the watch she had shown me in the pool. It was a quarter past four.

  ‘My place is ten minutes from here,’ I said. I let the words hang in the air. ‘We could have a drink there. The coffee here’s terrible.’

  She looked at me and squinted and smiled and we began to move away from the building without speaking. Her jeans chafed as she walked and then, after a moment, I noticed my own shorts doing the same.

  ‘Do you live near here?’ I asked, to break the silence.

  ‘Yeah, but that way.’ She waved in the opposite direction. ‘I’m moving soon. This area’s the pits. Me and a couple of girlfriends, we’re gonna share a place in Dahlem.’

  ‘Further out?’ I said. ‘Near the Americans?’

  ‘Yeah, you got it.’ She smiled and nodded as if I had understood something.

  Fortunately, there was no one on duty at Frau Lieser’s window. ‘Think I’m out of coffee,’ I said. I made a gesture of looking in the kitchen cupboards. I didn’t keep coffee; the search was only for show. ‘There’s tea or beer. I could run down and buy some if you like.’

  She shook her head and glanced round the apartment, disinterestedly. ‘Nah, not really thirsty,’ she said.

  She was firm, despite her size, and unrestrained, but we were both removed from the other. It was only sex after all. When it was over we lay apart, staring up at the ceiling. A chair or a stool – something sturdy – fell over in Dieter and Caroline’s apartment. After the fury of sex, the ensuing quiet only exacerbated sounds. We listened in silence to the thud of footsteps above. The woman’s stomach rose and fell, and then rose higher. She didn’t cover herself. She seemed unabashed at her nakedness. I became aroused again.

  ‘Party?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. They’re always like that. I never know how many people are up there.’ I reached across to caress her colossal breasts. I was ready for another round.

  ‘I’m meeting someone,’ she said and pushed my hand away and sat up. ‘I’ll be late if I don’t go.’

  I leaned on my elbow and stared as she squeezed into the jeans and pulled on her sweater. It was simple: no bra, no make-up, no clip for her hair. A woman unencumbered by things. She had kept the watch on throughout.

  ‘Will I see you again?’ I asked as she made for the door. ‘At the pool perhaps?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I’m moving, remember.’ She didn’t smile. She left the room without a word or a touch.

  I lay on my back and heard the door slam, listened to the tread of footsteps as she descended the stairs. There were voices again from above. A man shouted – not Dieter – and there was laughter, then quiet again. I was overcome by a feeling of despair. I could feel myself moving from predicament to predicament without the benefit of a lull. I didn’t understand this life, the way it ran ahead of you – no beginning and no end – only a shapeless, ragged road with turnings, random as a game of chance.

  I lay without moving for several minutes and then pulled on my shorts and T-shirt and went upstairs. Caroline came to the door, her smile skewed and dreamy.

  ‘Hello, Vincent,’ she said. She looked behind her as if she were afraid of something.

  ‘Hi, Caroline,’ I said. ‘Is Dieter in?’ I didn’t know what I was going to say.

  She glanced behind again, her eyes wild and unfocused. But for the candlelight, the apartment would have been pitch black. A woman in a long black skirt and vest crossed the room, and then a man – also in black – followed after her. I couldn’t see their faces.

  ‘No, I don’t know where he is,’ Caroline yawned. ‘You could try downstairs: that Zimmerman bitch, or the queer. Dieter thinks I don’t know. If you see him, tell him he can screw whoever he likes. I don’t care.’ She could have been talking about the laundry.

  ‘Are you all right, Caroline?’ I asked.

  ‘Me? Yeah, I’m fine.’ She blushed unexpectedly and scratched her bald head. ‘I have to get back inside now.’

  I nodded and she shut the door before I had time to move. I trudged downstairs and looked at the Zimmermans’ door for a moment before returning to my apartment. The phone was ringing and I ran for it without thinking.

  22

  CLAUDIA’S MOTHER GOT sick, fast. She had been vomiting blood and had been taken to hospital. I went to the Immanuel where Claudia, Sylvie and a bearded blond man in a suit and spectacles hovered around Frau Schlegel’s bed.

  ‘This is my Uncle Julius,’ Claudia said. ‘He flew in from Frankfurt this morning.’

  Julius nodded and looked at me for a moment. A pale, pinched woman tiptoed into the room. She drew him to one side, then left seconds later.

  ‘My wife can’t stand hospitals,’ Julius snorted, without humour. ‘I don’t like them myself. Claudi, I’ll be just a moment.’

  She nodded distractedly and I thought she hadn’t heard what he had said.

  ‘I don’t know why she bothered to come,’ Sylvie grumbled, after Julius had left the room. ‘Looks as if she needs more care than anyone in here.’

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t mind Sylvie’s caustic attitude for once. She walked to the window and stood with her back to us. I watched the imperceptible rise and fall of Frau Schlegel’s breathing. She seemed at peace in her sleep, even with the drip attached.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  Claudia shook her head. ‘This isn’t the first time, apparently. The blood. I didn’t know. She wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t seen it for myself.’

  As early evening approached, a nurse arrived to check on Frau Schlegel, followed minutes later by a doctor. The doctor looked from Claudia to me and back again. ‘Who is this
?’ she asked.

  I wasn’t prepared for the bluntness.

  ‘He’s … he’s a friend,’ Claudia replied.

  The doctor nodded. Julius returned. Sylvie came away from the window. The doctor looked at her notes and then at Frau Schlegel. She spoke with the nurse.

  ‘What we’re going to do is this,’ she said, folding her hands behind her back. ‘We’re going to keep her in overnight. Monitor her. There’s no real danger at present. There’s nothing else we can really do now. If she continues to consume alcohol, though …’ She hunched her shoulders and pouted. ‘There’s only so much abuse the body can withstand. After a point it’s only a question of time. Some people can continue for decades. Others are not so strong. Or so lucky. But there are a number of options we have here; there are places that have a good success rate, but they usually come at a price.’

  ‘Money is not a problem,’ Julius put in quickly.

  ‘Well, that’s just a small part of it,’ the doctor continued. ‘The main stumbling block is often a reluctance to seek help, to even admit there’s a problem. If your mother doesn’t want to get well, there’s no amount of money or goodwill that will change things. You understand?’

  Claudia stared at her mother’s sleeping face and would not look away.

  ‘We’ll talk again in the morning,’ the doctor said. ‘For now it’s best just to let her rest, get her strength back.’

  Julius steered Claudia out of the room with a hand under her elbow. ‘There’s no point staying any longer,’ he said. ‘We’ll come back first thing tomorrow. We should all get some sleep.’

  Sylvie and I trailed behind Claudia, her aunt and uncle. She said, ‘It’s a fine time to act concerned now that she’s sick. They stay away most of the time. The family never got to grips with the fact that she married a black man.’

  ‘How long were they married?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know – but he didn’t stay long. Went back to America, just like that. They never divorced, but she didn’t keep his name. He tried to come back when he heard she was a big shot, but it didn’t work out. There was another family in America. Debts. All sorts of things. A real mess. He checked out four or five years ago.’ There were no frills with Sylvie. She spoke her mind. She couldn’t help herself. What I had mistaken for contempt was an inability not to speak plainly, no matter the circumstances.

  When I returned home there was a message from Matty. He said to call back immediately. I retreated to the kitchen. I was famished and had grown weary of bad news.

  There was an old tin of beef and dumpling soup at the back of the cupboard. I chopped up some cabbage and parboiled it and added the soup to the pan. I tore off a chunk of bread loaf to use as a mop. Before the soup had begun to simmer the phone trilled. I let it ring until my nerves could stand it no longer.

  ‘Uncle Raymond’s getting worse. Aunt Ama wants us to come as quickly as possible,’ Matty said. No hello, how are you? ‘Why didn’t you answer the phone?’

  ‘Worse? What’s the matter with him?’ I wondered when I would ever get a chance to eat.

  ‘She … she didn’t say exactly. Old age. She just wants us to come home. Now.’

  ‘Old age?’ In my mind he was as irritable and fierce as ever, with a clout that could knock a horse on its side. I didn’t want to go back.

  I ate the dumplings and the cabbage, but couldn’t finish the chunks of beef. My stomach had been filled with other people’s illnesses and my appetite had diminished.

  Claudia phoned to say her mother had returned home. They would be leaving for a clinic the next morning. I explained about Uncle Raymond.

  ‘I didn’t know you had an uncle,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t know you had one either. I haven’t seen my aunt and uncle in years. I’m nervous about it.’ I hadn’t realized I was nervous until I had said it. I couldn’t pinpoint the source of my anxiety: Uncle Raymond’s illness; seeing them after so long; returning home after an absence of over two-thirds of my life?

  ‘How long will you be gone?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘Two, three weeks,’ I said. ‘Maybe a month. It depends. You could come too.’ The words seemed to arrive of their own volition. ‘Well … if you want.’

  ‘I …I can’t go anywhere at the moment. Not with Mum the way she is.’

  ‘Yeah – you’re right. She needs you. I won’t be gone for long, anyway.’

  I went out for a curry with B, Angelika and Tunde a few days before I was due to leave.

  Tunde said, ‘Seventeen years!’ and whistled as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. ‘Small pickin wey commot fo ovaseas, come retorn – dey fo sell you, fine, fine!’ He laughed and B laughed with him. Angelika looked bemused.

  ‘So exciting to go home,’ she said, rubbing her hands together. ‘All that sunshine and seeing your relatives again.’

  After our freak summer the thought of more intense heat was hardly welcoming, but I said, ‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it. I can’t imagine how things have changed.’

  ‘Yaoundé too must be very different now,’ B said. He had only been away from home two years.

  ‘Yes, dear. Don’t forget we’re going soon.’ Angelika smiled. She turned to me. ‘We go in January, to escape the cold.’ She looked down and patted her stomach. ‘Before I start to show.’

  ‘To show what?’ I looked at her blankly.

  B’s eyes darted about, not settling on anything.

  ‘We will have a baby, of course,’ she said.

  Tunde coughed into his beer.

  ‘Ah – we’ve known for two weeks now,’ she continued. ‘The strain to keep a secret, I cannot tell you.’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Congrats!’ Tunde announced, raising his glass.

  ‘Yes, congratulations!’ I said.

  ‘April baby,’ B said, recovering some of his composure.

  Angelika put her palms together, as if in prayer, and clapped softly to herself.

  It seemed strange to focus on something so far in advance when I hardly considered the next day.

  ‘We must find somewhere to live,’ Angelika said. ‘My place is too small.’

  ‘And we will marry,’ B croaked. He took off his glasses and breathed on them and watched as the fog evaporated.

  I put down my beer for fear of dropping it. Tunde gulped at his as if he were dehydrated. B had been married before he arrived in Berlin, in the Cameroon, in his mid-twenties. He hadn’t divorced his wife for all I knew, but as far as he was concerned the marriage was never official to begin with.

  In the evening I phoned Claudia to find out how her mother was.

  ‘She’s not drinking at least,’ she said. ‘I can only visit on Sundays. I phoned her, but they’ve got a strict programme. It’s never convenient.’ She sounded at a loss; she had been too used to caring for her mother.

  ‘Julius was saying – I told him that you were going away – maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, to take a vacation. Just for a week or so. He thinks I should go away.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ I said. ‘How do you feel about it?’

  ‘I think I could go for a few days or a week. Only if you want me to come. I mean, he wants me to stay with them in Frankfurt, but I’d rather go away. Really far away. Some friends are going to Greece. I could go with them. Julius is staying at Mum’s for a couple of days.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be much of a holiday,’ I said.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I just need a change. And only if you want me to come.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. But I wasn’t at all sure. I wasn’t sure of anything any more.

  23

  THE AIR SHIFTED in thick sheets of moisture the moment the doors of the aircraft fell open. It was still morning. There was no air-conditioned tunnel to help us acclimatize to the heat. We scuttled across the broiling tarmac to reclaim our bags in the little airport building. An official said, ‘Welcome to Nigeria,’ but the sun was in my eyes
, and when I shaded them I saw he was looking at Claudia.

  The staff at the baggage reclamation area were suddenly roused from a heat-induced stupor. The sight of the lone aircraft on the shimmering runway, and its pampered passengers, seemed incongruous in the barren atmosphere.

  Claudia snatched her suitcase from a pile left on a concrete bank, but an official demanded she open it before we left.

  ‘Why is he doing that?’ she asked.

  ‘Security check, I guess.’ Already I was irritated.

  He peered at her underwear, her magazines, the translation of Baldwin’s If Beale Street Could Talk, with the air of a man with time on his hands. At one point, he started a conversation with the officer next to him, still holding on to a cassette from Claudia’s suitcase – something about blue lights by Roberta Flack, I saw. With his other hand, he began to scratch his belly through a gap in his shirt where a button should have been. Bullets of sweat raced down both sides of his pockmarked face, towards the finishing line of the concrete floor.

  When he had ended his discussion he looked back at us and blinked, almost surprised to see us still there. He flashed a perfect set of incisors, as if in apology, and hurriedly closed the suitcase. It wouldn’t shut. He pushed hard and Claudia shouted, ‘Stop! I do it!’ and re-arranged her belongings while the officer looked on. He seemed to be waiting for something, but I only returned his smile, suppressing my anger. In a moment he waved us away.

  I changed some money outside, near the airport car park, as Peju had advised. We chose a taxi from an array of competing drivers and drove to the centre of Kano – past the dusty offices and mosques, the emir’s palace – until we reached the taxi rank that served the rest of the country. Claudia tried to manoeuvre her suitcase on the untarred road, but, with its wheels manufactured for smooth surfaces, it dragged like a carcass across the ground. I had brought only a rucksack and a sports bag. I hadn’t advised her. She stopped and tied her hair back and adjusted her grip on the suitcase. There was a small sweat stain on the back of her dress.