Goodbye Lucille

by Segun Afolabi

  ‘Ray is on a committee of retired executives,’ Aunt Ama explained. ‘They’re trying to force the government to take action in order to reverse the environmental damage – the government and the companies concerned.’

  ‘But no one wants to listen.’ Uncle Raymond massaged his neck and turned to face the road ahead.

  The car swerved onto the Miango road and we began to feel every flaw on the surface, every pothole Aunt Ama failed to avoid.

  ‘Shagari’s government refused and now Buhari won’t listen. They’re telling us to join the War Against Indiscipline while all the time they’re lining their own pockets.’ The grind of the tyres against the road seemed to reflect Uncle Raymond’s emotions.

  ‘But why do the people put up with the corruption?’ Claudia asked.

  ‘Well, it’s not a government of choice,’ Uncle Raymond said. ‘It’s a military regime, even though everyone was glad to see the last lot go. There was no democracy in it.’

  ‘But people are growing restless again,’ Aunt Ama said. ‘Every day there are rumours of another coup.’

  ‘Coup, coup, coup!’ Peju complained from the back of the car. ‘Only God can save us from all this nonsense!’

  ‘Look at the aeroplane!’ Asa called from his half-slumber.

  In the scrub a third of a mile beyond the road, a small propeller plane had come to rest. It seemed improbable, this symbol of technology in the midst of this wilderness. As we drew closer we could make out figures: two or three white men and a clutch of herdsmen swathed in cloth. Cattle grazed in the scrub for hundreds of metres in all directions. A few lean cows had wandered onto the road.

  ‘What are they doing out there?’ Matty asked.

  ‘Evangelizing,’ Peju said. ‘Bringing Christianity to the people of the bush. You see them from time to time, but they don’t come to town so much any more.’

  ‘But it’s the Eighties,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know that still happened.’

  ‘No, it goes on quietly,’ Aunt Ama said. ‘And it will continue.’

  As we drove past, the missionaries glanced towards us, then looked back to their flock. Bessie sang The Oyster and the Deep Blue Sea. I remembered how tiny she was, a woman who hardly spoke, and now her rich voice filled the car.

  Single flame trees burst into view by the side of the road, their brilliant red flowers rivalling the intensity of the sun. As we climbed higher we could sketch out the pattern of the hills and the expanse of land in the distance.

  We passed through a village – a dozen mud-spattered buildings on either side of the road. There was no market visible, only a small wooden hut with soft-drink bottles and tubes of sweets displayed on its front ledge. I could see no vendor. Villagers appeared intermittently along the roadside. A woman carried a baby on her back held in place with a wrapper, a tray of produce balanced on her head. Her movements were steady and she did not seem burdened by her load. I remembered a moment when I was a child, playing with our neighbours in the garden of my parents’ house: a woman walking along the road, beside the garden, carrying a tray on her head, calling out ‘Fine bread, fine bread!’ in a shrill, tinny voice. After listening to her chant, the words began to lose their meaning for us. We started to taunt her as she passed. ‘Fine bread, fine bread!’ we called after her, mimicking her sharp nasal whine. My mother emerged from the house at the sound of our voices. She looked at the retreating figure carrying the bread loaves, then turned to us. ‘Be kind to her,’ she said, but without anger. I felt ashamed, more so than if she had been annoyed, had scolded us and told us to stop. She was wearing a pale yellow shift dress, bleached by the sun and repeated launderings. Her hair was wrapped in long straight plaits that rose from her head like a crown of black quills. She was smiling then. I could see her now as clearly as I had seen her then and it startled me. I had thought of the past as something that could be wiped, sluiced away by the wash of the present.

  In a moment – less than ten seconds – we had entered and left the village, a whole world in which people existed. They were born, they grew and then they departed. I thought of my own world, in Kreuzberg, of Frau Lieser and B, Tunde, Marie, Arî, Clariss, the others. How far apart life could be. The streets of Berlin were more familiar to me now than anything here, and it discomfited me.

  Aunt Ama slowed down beside an old couple walking towards the village we had passed. They did not pay attention to us as we stopped, but when Uncle Raymond called to them, they hurried to the car. He spoke to them in English, then in Hausa and Yoruba, but they didn’t understand. The old man’s eyes were clouded with cataracts; the old woman held on to his elbow. Aunt Ama leaned across and mentioned a name. The old woman shook her head, but the man began to mutter and argue with her. His companion motioned for us to continue in the same direction, flinging her arm at the road ahead. She spoke, but her words were lost to all of us.

  ‘When we were young engineering graduates,’ Uncle Raymond said. ‘We used to travel all over the country, working on different projects. These people here, they were completely cut off from the rest of the land. All over Nigeria there were people, communities like this. They had no idea they were part of something larger. Their world was only where they lived.’

  I looked behind at the old couple as the car sped away. The woman was still holding on to the man, but it wasn’t clear who was supporting whom.

  ‘There was no road as such,’ Uncle Raymond continued. ‘They used to live below the ground; in dug-out caves. Naked. And it was cold then. Not like it is now, with global warming or whatever. You would see them walking by, completely naked, with ashy skin. The children too. We didn’t know what language they spoke.’

  ‘Who’s naked?’ Asa asked, rousing now. He had been leaning against me, and now my shirt creases were outlined on his face.

  ‘No one’s naked,’ Matty said. ‘We were only talking.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Asa asked.

  ‘Over there.’ Aunt Ama pointed. A boulder the size of an apartment block lay a few hundred metres off the right-hand side of the road. She turned and drove along a dusty track, bordered by wispy bushes, until we came to a clearing. There were no signs of life: no cars, no sounds, no litter.

  ‘Time to walk,’ Uncle Raymond announced.

  ‘Walk? Where to?’ Matty frowned. ‘Up there?’

  ‘It’s not far,’ Uncle Raymond replied. ‘I will be seventy-one this year. If I can climb, then anyone can.’

  Matty looked across at Peju, who only patted her stomach and said, ‘Oya now, let’s go.’

  We shared out the bags of food and drink between us and began the gradual ascent. The sun disappeared for a moment and returned. Then minutes later, it was replaced by vengeful clouds. Asa raced forward, then ran back to meet us. He asked, ‘Is it night-time now?’ looking up at the sky, and ran on before awaiting a reply.

  ‘We should take shelter,’ Aunt Ama said. ‘It will rain soon, I’m sure of it.’

  We waited beneath an overhang of rock for several minutes. Peju had found the climb straightforward, but Uncle Raymond leaned against the stone, breathless, and closed his eyes.

  ‘We should go back,’ Matty said.

  ‘Go back? For what?’ Uncle Raymond’s eyelids flicked open. ‘We’re going to the top, isn’t it, Asa?’

  ‘Yes, Grandy.’ He reached out for the old man’s hand. The uncle, the nephew, the nephew’s child. My brother had clung to Uncle Raymond as if our father had never been. It had appalled and moved me in the same breath, this need.

  The crash and sparkle of the storm drew near and when we thought it must surely rain, no rain fell. The first stones bounced playfully on the outskirts of our shelter. Asa reached out to retrieve them before they melted, and cried when they disappeared. Then, as if a pillow of sky had split, the hail came down without the deliberation of rain. It simply poured as if it had been tipped out. Claudia shouted at me, but I could only see the movements of her mouth. Asa fled to his father, looking away from the tumult
. We all shrank back. The noise was in everything and everywhere. In less than five minutes it was over and the storm had moved on.

  We edged out, away from the protection of the rock. All around us – the granite boulders, the cinnamon earth, the sparse vegetation – the land had blanched, blanketed in a thick layer of hailstones. For a moment we could only stand and survey the white landscape before the hailstones began to melt. As the clouds retreated, the intensity of the sun and the warmth of the earth removed all trace of the storm. By the time we reached the summit of the hill, the granite surface was almost dry.

  ‘We made it!’ Aunt Ama cried. ‘I thought we would never find this place again.’

  ‘We discovered it by accident years ago,’ Uncle Raymond explained. He inhaled deeply and let out the air in degrees. ‘We’ve tried to return here before, but we always get lost.’ He looked round, his hands resting on his stomach. The incline had not been far or steep, but the short walk had exhausted him, even with the interlude of hail.

  ‘It’s further than I remember,’ Aunt Ama said.

  ‘I can’t recall driving so far last time,’ Uncle Raymond concurred. ‘Maybe we took a wrong turning, eh? Anyway, let us sit and rest.’

  What seemed like a precipice from a distance was merely a change of direction; the rock continued at a downward gradient, rolling gently to a meagre lake at the bottom.

  We sat looking down at the water, at the hills on one side, the undulating land stretching out on the other. A few clouds skittered by, but we were soothed by the warmth of the sun. Asa skipped down the boulder towards the lake, then seemed to lose confidence and pattered back. Peju and Claudia dished out fried rice and peppered chicken, while Matty and Aunt Ama leaned back against the rock.

  Uncle Raymond kept an eye on Asa as he fled down the slope again, then called out when he thought he had gone too far. Uncle Raymond had softened with age or perhaps the change was in me? I had tried to get away, but where was I going? Was there sense in any of it? Aunt Ama and Uncle Raymond were older now, more fragile with age. I had hardened my heart for too long.

  ‘How did you find this place?’ Claudia asked. ‘It’s so far – in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘Well, you know, I can’t remember,’ Aunt Ama replied. ‘I don’t know what it was we were doing in this area then. We discovered it by accident, isn’t it Ray?’

  ‘Actually … no – it wasn’t completely by accident. It was your father’s discovery,’ Uncle Raymond said. He was looking at me. ‘He brought your mother here before you or Matthew were born. I can’t even remember whether they were already married that first time, but they came several times in their lives. Oh, yes. It wasn’t so accessible in those days – we didn’t have proper roads – but there was a way from Jos. It was a long, long journey in those days.’

  I drew closer then because, after all, I was greedy for more.

  ‘That’s right!’ Aunt Ama said. ‘We came one time. Later. A group – about eight of us. Kunle was three or so, Matthew – you were just a baby. I always thought that was somewhere else.’ She was remembering something that was half forgotten, with the surprise fresh news brings.

  ‘There was very little water – like today – when we came that time,’ Uncle Raymond said. ‘In the rainy season, the lake stretches all around, even to where we parked the car. We were afraid to enter the water, except for Kunle – and your father, of course. Only the two of them swam. We were sitting further down there. We watched them, but we didn’t even get our feet wet, remember?’

  ‘I don’t remember any swimming,’ Aunt Ama laughed. ‘Who would swim in that dirty water?’

  ‘Exactly what we said then,’ her husband continued. ‘But my sister said that they might not see this place again, that they would regret it if they didn’t swim. So they went ahead and swam. And she was right.’

  No one spoke for a while. I could see him then, Raymond as a boy, his little sister, hand in hand, fiercely protective. I saw how much he still missed my mother. I wondered whether the landscape had altered at all since my parents were here, whether it recorded the passage of time. It was strange and comforting to know I was seeing what they had seen, sitting on the same rock, viewing everything that lay between here and the horizon.

  ‘Are we going swimming?’ Asa asked. He looked from his father to Peju to Uncle Raymond.

  ‘No, not today,’ Matty replied. I was sure he was about to say ‘the water’s dirty’, but he did not say anything else.

  Asa stood up and looked shyly at Claudia, avoiding his parents’ eyes. He began to edge away from them.

  ‘You want me to come with you?’ Claudia asked.

  He nodded, but didn’t speak. I pointed towards the lake with my chin, and Claudia and I walked down the boulder while Asa darted ahead. He stopped halfway and waited for us to catch up before resuming his sprint. The distance between us grew shorter as we reached the water’s edge. By the time we arrived at the lake, he was standing behind us.

  ‘You won’t swim?’ Claudia asked. ‘I thought you wanted to go in the water?’

  Asa shook his head. He picked up a pebble and threw it as far as he was able. It fell, at most, two metres away from him, making a dull splash.

  ‘Asa’s afraid of water,’ I explained. ‘Wild horses couldn’t drag him in there.’

  ‘It does not look so clean,’ Claudia said. ‘Perhaps it’s not safe.’

  We walked along the perimeter of the lake, skimming stones across the water.

  ‘Is it hurting them?’ Asa asked.

  ‘Hurting who?’ I said.

  ‘The dead boys, in the water?’

  ‘The dead boys?’ Claudia frowned.

  I had to think for a moment before I remembered the afternoon at the Serpentine. ‘No, Asa,’ I said. ‘There aren’t any dead children in the water. I was just joking. Do you understand?’

  ‘But where did they go?’ he asked. ‘Did someone take them away?’

  ‘No, Asa. I was only joking. I was telling lies. Like the boy in the film – Pinocchio. Remember? It isn’t true.’ I had a fear the lie would haunt him for the rest of his childhood.

  ‘No children are in the water, Asa,’ Claudia said. ‘There is nothing here. You must not be afraid. Look!’ She kicked off her slippers and waded into the lake ankle deep. She scooped up a handful of pebbles and skimmed them, one by one, across the water. ‘Now you try.’

  Asa drew back his arm and threw. The stone soared higher this time and fell heavily into the water near the edge of the shore.

  ‘You see,’ Claudia shrugged. ‘No one is here. No one gets hurt.’

  ‘No one gets hurt,’ Asa echoed.

  We ambled along the shoreline and when we could walk no further, turned back to the hill. Asa grew tired halfway up the slope, so I carried him piggyback to the summit. As we approached I examined their shapes: my aunt, my uncle, my brother, Peju lying back against the rock. I thought, as my mother had once thought, that I might never return here. But I would remember it.

  27

  I HAD EXPECTED things to change, but life remained much the same as always. Frau Bowker scowled at me, forgetting who I was, until Frau Lieser, in a rust-coloured cardigan, called out a muted, ‘Hallo!’ from behind her closed windows. It was cooler now. Summer was fading fast.

  ‘Can’t stop to talk.’ Clariss strode past wearing white flannel trousers, a cream silk blouse and an ivory headscarf. Her plimsolls slapped clumsily against the pavement.

  ‘Jogging’s no good,’ she said. ‘My legs are too long. They’re too beautiful to be ruined. Next week, I’m taking up karate.’

  ‘You could come swimming with me,’ I suggested.

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ she grimaced. ‘Naked bodies, kids, old folks, freaks – all in the same tub. Uh, uh. Hell, no. Not me, sweetpea.’

  ‘Why all this exercise all of a sudden?’

  ‘This isn’t exercise, sugar. This is self-preservation. A girl has to protect herself. Look what happened to
Henkelmann.’

  ‘What happened?’

  She gave me a look. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ She was all lips and legs and flailing arms. Her bright pink lipstick seemed manufactured for a child.

  ‘No, really, Clariss. I’ve been away.’

  ‘Well, hon,’ she began. She took on the self-important air of a person with news. ‘Someone came forward – the killer’s wife or the girlfriend, some lady. Anyway, she wanted the reward. And who can blame a girl – a whole bag of cash or a psycho boyfriend? Not a difficult choice. Turns out he’d been visiting the lanes in Lübars. Car cruising, apparently. Supposed to be big out there. News to me, and I know everything.’

  ‘Clariss, what happened to Henkelmann?’

  ‘Well, hold on honey. I’m getting to that. As I said, Henk’s in his car. He meets someone. They go into a field to do the nasty, and bingo – the guy’s some psycho killer. Splits Henkelmann’s head wide open with some sort of machine.’

  ‘A machine? I thought it was a wheel lock?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. How d’you know?’

  ‘It was in the papers …just after he died.’

  ‘It was? But if they knew …’

  ‘They didn’t know who did it. Only how.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said.

  ‘But … why?’ I asked. ‘People don’t go round killing for no reason whatsoever.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Clariss sighed. ‘Me, I’m sick of hearing it day in, day out, like there’s nothing going on in the rest of the world. He was out cruising, he picks up a maniac, and now he’s dead. Shit happens. “Wicked ’ole world”, my grandma used to say.’

  She glanced at her fingernails and winced as if they were no longer there, then looked up and waved to Frau Bowker who was still standing guard at the window.