‘Good morin’, Ma,’ he panted. ‘Morin’, sah,’ he nodded to me. At close range he seemed nearer to sixty.
‘Good morning, Clement.’ Aunt Ama sat forward to inspect the flowers. There were alligator peppers and orchids and the yellow lilies I thought, as a child, were sprinkled with the blood of their victims. ‘Very nice indeed!’ She selected three alligator peppers for herself before Clement proceeded to the kitchen to arrange the displays.
‘There was some money left after everything was settled,’ Aunt Ama said, nodding to herself. She was searching for something on the tray, but could not find it. In the end she simply snapped each stem a few inches from the head of the flower. She drank her water until the glass was almost empty. ‘Your mother and father did not leave a will, but it was what they wanted – Matthew won the scholarship. He was going away; it was his wish to go. And we did not want to separate you.’ She placed the stunted flowers in the glass of water, then wiped her palms on the dressing gown. ‘I thought you understood. Maybe you were too young. I thought we had explained it properly. If it had been my choice, and your uncle’s, you would have stayed with us. You were always wanted. You shouldn’t say such things.’
I had been too young at the time; now I was too old to remember. It seemed a waste of a life, of an experience. What could I say? There was no longer justification for the anger. I had not expected to hear her words.
‘I …I didn’t understand,’ I said. ‘Or maybe I did, but it didn’t make any difference. I can’t remember.’ It was like an empty train pulling out of a station, this feeling. It had forgotten its passengers on the platform; there was nothing inside, but still it was heavy.
Clement returned. He was singing this time. He released the watering can and picked up the trowel and swung it from side to side as he moved. An ersatz conductor in the lush garden.
‘Claudia must be awake now,’ I said. I sat on the edge of the chair. ‘I think I’ll go in. She’ll be wondering where I am.’
Aunt Ama nodded again, but she did not speak. I shrugged and stood up and went back inside without another word.
25
THE DAYS PASSED. The hours limped by without incident. We drove to town, the museum, to the crumbling zoo. In the evenings we climbed the hill to the hotel where they served cold beer and dried bush meat. There were poor imitations of western fare: hamburgers and pizza served with French fries thick as thumbs. The children of the privileged swam in the pool overlooking the town, or played tennis and games on the tiered lawn in front of the adults. Asa was always excited to arrive, racing to the edge of the revelry. He nervously circled the other children, but didn’t join in and they did not encourage him. When he grew tired of this, sleep would usually overcome him. We never stayed long – the arrival of darkness heralded the reign of mosquitoes; it was more pleasant to return indoors.
It seemed as if we had been here for months, not days. The variety was endless: rain, sun, heat, the chill of evening and early morning, the sudden black clouds, the brilliant blue sky.
I slept late, and often when I rose, Claudia would already be dressed or reading. One morning I discovered her drinking tea on the patio with Aunt Ama and Peju. I stood behind the glass of the sliding doors, unseen, and wondered about their conversation. I thought of the balcony at Frau Schlegel’s apartment, how the women sat and talked there. My uncle and aunt had taken to Claudia in a way I hadn’t expected. The women laughed, and at one stage Claudia stood and wandered bare foot into the garden to pick flowers. As she returned a hand touched my shoulder.
‘Most of the time it’s only the two of us,’ Uncle Raymond said. ‘It’s good that you are all here. Now the house is full of life.’
Each time I saw him my breath fell away. I couldn’t believe how the years had reduced him, like a piece of stick whittled from a tree trunk. His eyes held mine.
‘You have your mother’s face,’ he said.
I smiled.
‘But still jumbo like your papa, eh?’ he laughed. Always giving and taking away in the same breath.
My anger rose, but I held it now, and felt it withdraw. He couldn’t change; there was no point in countering him. The old resentments would flare up repeatedly, but they were like candle flickers now rather than forest fires. Uncle Raymond had been older than my mother, by five years at least; now I wondered how she would have aged. I searched his face for a trace of recollection, a clue to how time might have moulded her.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.
‘Better. Much better,’ he replied. ‘Some days the pain is more severe. The drugs they give me, eh, I don’t know whether they do more harm than good. I never took medicine until I was fifty. Even for a cold or a headache. Now they are pumping me full of drugs, enough to last several lifetimes.’ His laugh could not disguise his bitterness.
The women turned and called to us, their voices muted by the sliding doors. We waved, but didn’t venture outside, and they resumed their conversation.
‘What will you do when you finish in Germany?’ he asked. ‘Will you come home or return to London?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘What do you mean by “finish”? It’s where I live. I’ve made no plans to live anywhere else.’
He nodded slowly. ‘And the girl – you’re going to marry her?’ He was looking at Claudia through the glass.
‘No, we’re not serious. I haven’t known her very long. I don’t know how things will turn out.’ I was thinking of Lucille. Had I made a poor choice in Claudia, or Claudia in me? I remembered our meeting in the Atlantic, her mother steeped in alcohol, the secrecy. ‘It never turns out the way you expect.’
‘And how did you expect things to be?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Not like this. Different …I didn’t think. I just let it happen. Isn’t that the way it works?’
‘Perhaps. But you have to know what you want, otherwise you could be scattered to the wind. Look at Kayode now, he doesn’t know his left from his right. He’s a burden to his sister in New York. Law, accounts, graphic design – every time we speak to him it’s a different pursuit. I could get him a good job in the company even tomorrow morning, but he just turns his nose up.’
Uncle Raymond had made no reference to the fact that my cousin was struggling. He had raised his children to succeed without the grace of making necessary errors. It was no surprise they had all dispersed. I would write a letter to Bunmi and Kayode when I returned. I wasn’t sure whether I would send it.
* * *
We arrived downtown shortly after eleven, but already the marketplace was bustling. Matty manoeuvred Uncle Raymond’s Peugeot past vehicles parked on streets and paths hours ago. People traipsed along the side of the road and ran in front of the car, risking their lives in order to reach the centre stalls. Asa jumped up and down on the back seat while Claudia tried to calm him, but he only became more boisterous.
‘Daddy, look at that boy! Look at his teddy!’ he squealed. And in the same breath, ‘Daddy, where’s the video man? When will we stop? I’m thirsty!’
‘Asa, sit down and keep quiet,’ Matty warned. ‘If you don’t behave I’m not buying any videos, you hear?’
Asa was silent for a moment. Then his head started to sway from side to side and he was up on his feet again. ‘Daddy, look at that boy! Look at his funny teddy!’ He had dismissed the threat or it was already forgotten.
A boy sauntering beside the car was swinging a dead cat by the tail. It looked hard; rigor mortis had already set in, but that did not diminish his pleasure. He swung it as happily as a child might play with a favourite toy.
There was no available area of shade left in which to park so we left the car in the full glare of the sun. Asa wanted to see the dead animal again. He looked as if he might shoot across the road, but then seemed uncertain about separating from us.
‘Asa, I’m telling you now, you better behave,’ Matty said. ‘You don’t want to get lost in this place. Come and hold my hand.’
He ran back and held his father’s hand, then detached himself and clung to Claudia.
‘It’s hot today, Asa,’ she said. ‘Do you think it will rain?’
He looked up at her, then at the ground, giggling, then raced back to his father. He gazed at her from a distance, suspiciously. I laughed and Claudia reached for my hand instead.
She bought a cup of boiled peanuts as we wandered among stalls selling bags and shoes and batteries. Table fans vied for space with Chinese flip-flops and pineapple pyramids. In the alleyways and under cover of the main building the temperature was marginally cooler. We bought a gallon of groundnut oil for Aunt Ama, and bunches of green and yellow plantains. The stallholders assumed Claudia was from abroad and called out to her, but she did not respond until we came to the materials section.
‘I must buy some of this cloth for my mother,’ she said. ‘She’s good at designing clothes. When I was a girl, she made many of my dresses.’
The stallholder sat back and appraised us. He spoke in Hausa, then Yoruba, and when we didn’t respond, said, ‘Yes? Which one do you like? Best material. Choose any one.’
Matty and I had no grasp of the language. If Peju had not been feeling unwell or Aunt Ama had joined us, we would have been treated differently. Instead the stallholder considered us tourists.
‘I give you fine price,’ he said, curling his fingers theatrically.
‘This one.’ Claudia pointed. ‘And this one. How much is it?’
‘Twenty naira, taty naira,’ he said. He pulled down the two bales of cloth and stretched them out. Claudia touched the material and her eyes danced. He could see that. He had made a sale without the effort of enticement.
‘Nonsense,’ Matty snorted. ‘I no ’gree tourist price. Oya, oya. Ten, ten naira. Make we commot.’
But already it was futile. The stallholder sat back on his stool and sighed. He hitched up the sleeves of his agbada and scratched his biceps, and left his muscles on display.
‘Pickin!’ He spoke directly to Asa. ‘Come and eat sweet!’ He reached back and fetched a saucer of bonbons from the top of a bale of cloth.
Asa stepped forward, his eyes devouring the fluorescent colours.
‘You like?’ The stallholder pointed to the material again and laughed.
Claudia nodded. Behind us two women wearing wrappers and head ties stopped to glance at the stall. The stallholder folded the bales of cloth into two striped plastic bags and held them out. ‘Oya now, forty-five naira only. Special price. I get plenty-plenty customa.’
Asa had gobbled a couple of sweets and was working up the courage to request another.
‘Which one you like?’ the stallholder asked the two women.
They ignored him and continued to search for themselves.
Claudia handed the notes to the man, despite Matty’s protests, and Asa received a third bonbon. We left the concrete shelter of the main market and wandered among the outdoor stalls in search of videos.
‘He might not be here today,’ Matty said. He stopped and stared back in the direction we had come from.
Asa looked to where his father’s gaze fell and then screamed, ‘Noooo!’ as if he had witnessed some atrocity. ‘It’s there!’ He pointed towards the outdoor market, his arm wavering a hundred and eighty degrees.
The sun was almost at its zenith. The shopping grew heavier with each step.
‘We could go to the shop in town,’ I suggested. ‘Or try tomorrow.’
‘Noooo!’ came Asa’s cry again.
People stopped to stare at the wailing child.
‘Asa!’ Matty gave him a look. ‘That’s enough, you hear?’
The boy frowned and grew quieter and his body shuddered with unspent tears.
‘But we came for the video, yes?’ Claudia said. ‘We can try one more time, it’s okay.’
‘It’s okay,’ Asa mimicked and reached for her hand.
We trudged along the lanes and in a few minutes came across two separate video stalls.
‘Can I have two?’ Asa was shifting from anguish to high anxiety in his search, seduced by the images and colours on the boxes. ‘I like this one, and this one.’ He was skipping a little in his decision making.
‘Asa, just choose one,’ Matty said. ‘Don’t be greedy.’
‘This one, too?’ he asked, not hearing or choosing not to hear. He looked to Claudia for support, and then his eyes darted across the counter, wanting to scoop up the entire stock. His little fingers flapped back and forth, not making fists, but opening and closing as if his palms were on fire.
‘You want filim?’ the video seller goaded. The sight of Asa dancing and waving, intent on all the merchandise, amused him. ‘Come and take it. Choose any one.’
‘Really?’ Asa screeched. He didn’t wait for his father. He grabbed a cassette close to hand and began fingering others on display.
‘This one?’ the stallholder laughed. ‘You like Bombay filim?’
‘Noooo!’ Asa screamed. ‘Lassie!’ His breath was coming fast now and he was beginning to pant.
‘Pickin like filim,’ the stallholder chuckled, but his eyes had narrowed and he was looking closely at the boy.
‘Bugs Bunny, too!’ Asa pointed aimlessly at the whole display.
‘Okay, Asa. Time to go now,’ Matty said. The warning note in his voice had disappeared and he was now trying to guide him through the frenzy. ‘Which two do you want? Choose quickly and let’s go.’
But Asa’s fists clenched and unclenched as the hysteria grew. It had gone beyond the issue of videotapes. For a moment, when he opened his mouth there was only silence. Then a wail arrived with such force I flinched. Matty’s head seemed to sag and his shoulders slumped. He was so good, so attentive to Asa, it was a shock to see him fold in this manner. He picked up his son and carried him, the little legs jabbing downwards, his arms flailing. It wouldn’t be long before his energy unravelled. I paid for two videos and walked with Claudia towards the car.
‘It’s not so healthy for them to be in the sun too long, without their own agenda, just waiting,’ Claudia said in German. ‘It builds up tension when they’re hyperactive. They need release.’
I looked at her. ‘How do you know about it?’
‘It’s part of my training,’ she said. ‘Child psychology. But I’m not an expert, by any means. I still have a long way to go.’
‘I didn’t know what you did,’ I said. ‘Your work, I mean. Your studies.’
‘You didn’t ask. Anyway, I haven’t qualified yet.’
‘What else don’t I know about you?’ I asked.
She looked at me and smiled and was quiet for a moment. ‘Well, when I was maybe four or five, there was another child. A brother. Mum had a baby boy. But he was sick, right from the beginning. In the end he died. He wasn’t even a year old.’
We waited for a lorry to trundle past before crossing the road.
‘I didn’t mean for you to tell me that,’ I said. ‘Or anything. I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t mind telling you. It’s in the past now. Besides, I don’t remember it well.’ She waved away the memory as if it didn’t mean a thing.
The car doors had been flung wide open. There was still no breeze and the sun had magnified the heat inside. Asa lay dazed on the back seat, his shirt unbuttoned and his sandals removed, sucking at a bottle of water. Matty leaned against the bonnet, a lit cigarette in his hand.
‘I thought you’d given up?’ I asked, leaning beside him.
He glanced at the cigarette as if it did not belong to him, then tossed it into the ditch. ‘I have,’ he said. ‘We should go now. They’ll be waiting for us.’ But he didn’t move.
26
I WOKE EARLY the next morning and watched Claudia as she slept. There were times when she was still for so long I was afraid she wouldn’t breathe again. It seemed at one moment she was in deep sleep and the next she was watching me. We gazed at each other and then my hand began to rove.
‘I have no prote
ction,’ I said. ‘We’ve used it all. I should have thought of it yesterday.’
‘It’s okay,’ she replied. ‘But you’ll be careful?’
We lay side by side with the temperature of our bodies raised by the friction of our slow movements. I watched her watching me. We kissed and held each other, then relaxed, hardly moving at all. It seemed to go on in a kind of dream, making us drowsy and careless. The moment was unexpected and too intense and it was over before I withdrew.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry.’
Claudia didn’t speak and because I thought she was upset, I said again, ‘I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have trusted me. Why did you trust me when you know how I am?’
‘How you are?’ she said. ‘It was an accident. It’s okay. I’m not blaming you. Look, I’m here as well. You’re a funny one.’
I rested on my elbow and looked at her and wondered whether there was ever a time when she was mean and selfish.
‘We should go back,’ I said. ‘There’s no point in me staying here any longer than you. My uncle’s not going to die tomorrow, and I’ll be bored.’
‘Bored if he doesn’t die?’
‘No!’ I said, but we were both laughing.
We piled into the station wagon with Aunt Ama behind the wheel. It felt like the excursions we had made in childhood, but now the only child was Asa. We were travelling out of Jos in search of a site not marked on any map. Uncle Raymond and Aunt Ama had discovered it by accident years ago and had not been able to locate it since. Asa slept between Claudia and me, while Peju and Matty sat in the rear. I passed Uncle Raymond my complimentary Bessie Corday cassette.
‘The landscape … it is very unusual,’ Claudia said. Out of town the land was largely devoid of trees, encrusted with bare rocks and gorges.
‘We used to be one of the main producers of tin,’ Uncle Raymond said, turning to talk to us, ‘in all of Africa. In the world, for that matter. Until the Seventies people from overseas used to mine the land. After they left no one bothered to clear up the mess.’ He looked out of Aunt Ama’s window and pointed. ‘You see those hills there? Those are man-made. The craters around them – they’re the result of years of careless tin mining. They took what they wanted, and left, but they did not clean up; neither the overseas companies nor our government. The abandoned mines should have been filled and closed down. Now they’re polluting the rivers and streams everywhere.’
Goodbye Lucille Page 22