People of the City

by Cyprian Ekwensi

  In the distance, Sango saw a lorry bearing the colourful letters:

  TRAVEL TO GOLD COAST OVERLAND

  He sat up. It was Kofi. He ran into the street, waving. The lorry slid clumsily to the left side of the road and stopped. Kofi came down.

  ‘Sango, is that you?’

  ‘What’s wrong, Kofi? Where’s Beatrice? Why are your eyes so red?’

  He took out a handkerchief and pressed to his eyes. Sango was embarrassed. The poor man was weeping.

  ‘Dead . . . she died last week.’ He coughed and blew. ‘And what pains me most . . . she was buried as a pauper. No one to claim her. I – I —’ He could say no more.

  They crossed the street to the barber’s shop. Kofi found a seat. He was breathing deeply as though trying to compose his feelings.

  ‘I have often asked, why do girls leave their happy homes and come here on their own? No brothers, no knowledge of anything, no hope . . . They just come to the city, hoping that some man will pick them up and make them into something. Not just one man. You can’t find him at the right time. But many men. And some disease, something incurable picks them up. You see them dressed, and they are just shells. Hollow and sick . . .’ He did not lift his head as he talked.

  ‘But she was happy with you, Kofi! When I saw you on that day, you were just returning from the Gold Coast —’

  ‘That’s what you saw. We looked happy. You did not understand what was underneath. How could you? The girl was finished, man.’ He looked up and Sango could not bear to see his red eyes. ‘Finished, I say. I was trying to help her back. She was finished, I tell you; and I was the last man, and too late. The helping hand had come too late. Look, man to man, I have my own wife at home on the Gold Coast, and I rent a house here. And these your girls, I can’t resist them! They’re too beautiful. And I can’t bring my own wife here. Of course she does not know about Beatrice, how can she? But now I must stop all that nonsense; it is not sweet when you lose a woman you love. You know, I did not know I could love her. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple.’

  He stared into the street. A woman carrying oranges swung her hips and made eyes. She had balanced the oranges precariously and was peeling one. Kofi looked at her, then turned to Sango.

  ‘Tell me, why did she come to this city at all? Why did I have to know her?’

  ‘I’ll tell you why she came, Kofi. She was not content with poverty. Remember, not many people like to remain where fate has placed them. I have known the home of Beatrice. I can tell you. And if you have been there yourself, you would not condemn her actions. She was running away from it.’

  Kofi shook his head slowly, no less than a hundred times. The truth was sinking in. ‘But she threw her life away. The city eats many an innocent life like hers every year. It is a waste of our youth! It must stop.’

  Sango laughed. ‘Secret societies eat a lot more. But what do the People of the City care? Nothing whatever. They have created the flitter and they are content to live in it. Yes, yes. The irony of Fate. The strange turns of justice . . .’

  Kofi was weeping again. If he continued in this manner he would never be able to see the road for tears. He sat with Sango and they talked and talked and still he wanted to know why Beatrice had come to the city. He would never be satisfied with any answer because he was not really seeking an answer, only venting his bitterness at the loss.

  When Sango accompanied him across the street he was talking to himself like a man distracted. It was something very sad to see.

  •

  She rose when he entered; tied the cloth more firmly about her hips, swelling out her breasts as she did so. She walked vainly to the table, poured herself a glass of water. There was a time when Sango would have thought the dimples at the back of her knees nice and soft, but not now. When she turned and faced him he recognized her for what she was – the dark temptress who was such a threat to his happiness, especially now that his mother was here.

  ‘What are you doing here, Aina?’

  ‘No need to shout, Sango. I’ve come to rest. I’m short of money, so I came.’

  ‘Short of money? Is this the bank? And did I not give you some money a short time ago?’

  ‘Five pounds will not last for ever. I tried to manage it, but I have a lot of things to buy, to prepare myself for the coming baby—’

  ‘Quickly now! I don’t want you here again!’

  Nothing showed the condition she claimed to be in; in fact, if anything, she had grown more attractive. Sango admitted this grudgingly and at the same time decided what he must do. It must have shown in his eyes.

  ‘Amusa, why do you look at me so? You frighten me with your eyes! Oh, let me go before you kill me!’

  ‘Quickly!

  ‘I beg you – let me tie my wrapper properly before entering the street.’ She was at the door.

  ‘Aina, come back! You silly fool.’

  He moved quickly and seized her garment from the rear. He heard it wrench. All the pent-up madness snapped in his brain and he slapped her face till his hands hurt.

  ‘Let me go!’ she cried.

  In her panic she was clawing and biting noisily, and as she wrenched herself free, Sango saw with alarm how she held her sides in pain. Her knees buckled . . . she collapsed and fell. Incredible! He had not hurt her, surely! A thousand fears raced through his brain. He was in real panic. Suppose she died in this room?

  When First Trumpet returned, Aina was still in a coma, and there was much water on the floor of the room. All the savagery had now died out of Sango and he wondered how she had provoked him into such brutality.

  ‘What have you done?’ First Trumpet moaned in dismay. ‘Now we’re both in the soup.’

  ‘My nerves! I must have lost my head.’

  ‘I know a private doctor,’ said First Trumpet. ‘I’m going to fetch some help.’

  Sango heard him later in the street, hailing a taxi.

  He could not decide whether to be pleased or sorry, for Aina was having a miscarriage. That she was in great pain he knew and did not like to contemplate the degree of her suffering. At the same time he did not completely forget the unsatisfied desire to avenge the injustice he had suffered at her hands. He was glad she might live, glad she had not involved him in a sensational accident.

  He prayed that Aina would live. If she did, he vowed once and for all to end this evil relationship with the temptress who always awakened the meanest traits in him. Ultimately everything would depend on Aina’s not passing away during this misfortune, because everything could easily be traced back to that quarrel. The lawyers (who had not been present) would describe in detail how Sango – ‘all six feet of him, and he’s not a weakling either’ – had brutally assaulted this girl of delicate and feeble build . . . No! A disheartening picture which he did not like to pursue. On the other hand, if she lived, her mother might want to claim damages. She was that kind of shrewd woman who pressed her rights to the very end.

  At visiting time he called at the shady little hospital accompanied by Beatrice the Second. They waited for a moment in the sitting-room overlooking a congested drain.

  ‘You’ve come to see Aina,’ said a nurse, opening the door. ‘Come in – but only for a few minutes. The patient must not be disturbed. Please do not wake her. I believe she’s asleep. Follow me.’

  She closed the door behind them. There was only one chair in the room. Beatrice sat on it. The air was close and antiseptic. There was so much white linen around that Aina looked like a saint. She was very pale.

  ‘Look,’ said Beatrice. ‘She’s stirring. We promised —’

  Aina’s eyes flickered open. ‘Sango, my love. Are you here? Hold my hand.’

  Beatrice looked awkwardly at them both. ‘Go on, Sango. Hold her hand.’

  ‘What have you brought me?’ Aina said, seizing Sango’s extended hand.

  ‘Fruits,’ said Beatrice. She raised the basket for Aina to see.

  ‘Sango, who is this girl? Your new
wife? The one you went to marry in the Eastern Greens?’

  ‘We’re not married – yet!’

  ‘You can marry now. What are you waiting for? You see, Amusa, we girls love you so much. I don’t know why. You do not treat us so well, but we love you. I wanted you to marry me. And this girl, it is in her eyes.’

  Sango found the room particularly hot at that moment. He did not know where to turn his gaze. ‘You’re weak, Aina. Don’t worry yourself too much —’

  Aina began to sob. ‘The women go for you, and you only hurt them as you hurt me . . .’ She was sobbing loudly now.

  The nurse came in. ‘You must leave now.’ She was angry. ‘Didn’t you promise not to wake her? Next time —’

  On the street, Beatrice held Sango’s hand. ‘You know something: what this girl said is true. The girls go for you. I am very worried myself. Recently, I have been feeling very lonely when you’re not with me. I can’t concentrate. I do things I have never done before – like telling lies to my father so that they don’t know I’ve come to see you . . .’

  Sango was beside himself with joy. There was hope for him, then! He did not want to dwell on it because he did not see how Beatrice could ever be his – with all that family matchmaking her father had talked about.

  ‘Have courage, Amusa. All will be well for you – and for me!’

  ‘Good night, dear B.’

  He stood on the street corner until she climbed the steps of her father’s house.

  •

  Sango was told by a nurse in a white mask and rubber gloves that visitors were not allowed anywhere near the theatre. Everything would be all right, she said, and he need not worry.

  He walked in the hospital garden among the mango trees. If only he could go in there and see his mother. No. That would not do. It would make Soye too self-conscious. Soye had said. ‘I’ll do my best for you,’ and that was good enough. Soye was a brilliant surgeon, one of the few select Africans with an F.R.C.S. to his name. Still, he was no god. He could still be handicapped by lack of facilities.

  He went back to the waiting-room. There was a girl in a pale blue frock sitting at the other end of the bench. It was no time to notice girls, but Sango’s heart began to race much faster. And when the girl turned her face, he was sure.

  ‘Beatrice! Beatrice the Second!’

  ‘Oh, Amusa! How’s your mother?’

  He could not believe his eyes. Beatrice the Second had a sad tale to tell. Her fiancé, around whom she had built all her plans, had been flown back home from England. His condition was critical. He had been found in a gas-filled chamber at the hostel soon after the results of his examination had been announced. Of course he had always been of a brooding temperament, taking things far too seriously. Beatrice told how his greatest ambition had always been to be a doctor and how he had worked far too hard with far too little success. Beatrice was too distressed to speak about her problems in full. Nor did Sango question her too closely. It was enough to know that they were partners in sorrow. A nurse called Beatrice into one of the wards.

  Hours later, it seemed, Dr Soye came out. One glance at his face and Sango knew the worst. The doctor pressed his hand.

  ‘Very sorry; she was getting so well before the relapse.’

  Relapse . . . relapse . . . the ugly word again. He could not make out exactly what was happening in the tottering world around him. Everybody was having a relapse. The nurse in spotless white was smilingly telling him how sorry she was. Beatrice was holding his hand, leaning close to him.

  ‘Had you come when you got the message?’ said the nurse.

  ‘What message? This is just a routine visit. Nobody told me anything.’

  ‘Your mother wanted to see you,’ said the nurse. ‘Of course, that was shortly after the woman left her bedside.’

  ‘I know of no woman. Can you describe her?’

  The world began to reel round in circles. Sango put the pieces together as she spoke and the pieces made only one picture: Aina’s mother. The blackmailing woman of the tempting daughter. God alone knew what she had told the poor woman to bring about the relapse that killed her.

  Hand in hand, he and Beatrice walked down the corridor. ‘Who was the woman, I mean the visitor?’

  ‘Later on, Beatrice. Later on.’ Before they parted he said, ‘I’m going to be busy with arrangements. Can you come to the funeral? Tomorrow at four.’

  He saw the tears in her eyes and did not wait for an answer.

  •

  Sango had no pretext on which to enter Twenty Molomo Street. Not now, after all that had happened. All he could do in his off moments was to go there and sit in the barber’s shop. It was always restful and anyone who sat there saw the city unroll before his eyes, a cinema show that never ended, that no producer could ever capture – the very soul of man.

  It was his old boy Sam who told him that Lajide had drunk himself to death. ‘Yes sah! He die wonderful death. Everybody wonder how he die . . . they don’ know what ah know. The man drink too much! Gin – every time. O.H.M.S. – illicit gin, the one they make in the bus.’

  Lajide’s end had come suddenly. Like this – he got up in the morning, put on some clothes. He was to go to court that morning. Then he complained that he felt queer. He stretched himself on the bed, fell into a coma and was taken to hospital. There he passed peacefully away without ever recovering consciousness.

  The thought of death terrified him. I must see Aina tonight at that address. The words hammered in his brain. Tonight, at that address. Who knows – perhaps she’s dead! There’s too much death now among the people of the city. It is as if they have all played at the big cinema show and are coming to its conclusion. After seeing Aina, if she’s still alive, I must play at that wretched Club. They’ll now pay only seventeen and six a night. Still, I must recover my funeral expenses.

  Sam was telling him about a brother of Lajide’s – a farmer who had a limp and rode a bicycle. A bicycle – when Lajide changed cars once a year. The whole compound was locked and bolted and all the wives had gone home to their mothers. With a sly wink Sam explained how the wives had refused to be taken over by the limping brother.

  ‘Ha, ha! He take all his brother’s things; but he no fit to take the wives!’

  As they spoke a man riding a bicycle dismounted and began to limp towards the entrance.

  ‘Tha’s him, sah. Tha’s Lajide’s brother.’

  Not long after that, a car which looked like Zamil’s drew up. A Lebanese in dark glasses strode towards Number Twenty, brought out a bundle of keys and let himself in, followed by Lajide’s brother.

  ‘Them say he done sell him brother house,’ Sam whispered. All the people in the street seemed to have gathered, and though it was no business of theirs they were whispering and pointing and watching every move.

  Sango would always love Molomo Street. Nothing could ever be secret here, and it made nonsense of taking life too seriously. They were all – each and every one of them – members of one family, and what concerned one concerned all the others.

  16

  Because Beatrice the Second had lost her fiancé, because she had tried once – unsuccessfully – to run away from home, because her mother thought the girl was old enough at twenty-two to marry whom she chose and her father could not bear the thought of his illustrious name soiled by a scandal, because the name ‘Amusa Sango’ had rung in the ears of father and mother every minute for the last six months (banned though it had been), because of all this and much more, it was decided that the wedding should take place as quietly as possible.

  Sango did not waste much time. The old man’s whims were unpredictable and he could withdraw his consent at any moment. Beatrice had again affirmed her desire that her life be Sango’s with no further delay.

  They took a special licence at Sant Amko’s magistrate’s court, and the reception was held at Jogun Lane, where Beatrice’s parents lived.

  Sango’s old friends came in their remaining force: the bar
ber, limping as usual, casting curious eyes at Aina and her mother. ‘Ah-ah! But Mr Sango,’ he whispered in an aside. ‘Why you don’ marry Aina? The gal like you too much. Why you don’ marry her?’

  Sango merely smiled. If only the barber knew the depth and complications of their relationships! If only he knew what Sango had escaped by that fleeting love affair begun under the shadows of Molomo Street!

  But God must be praised for bringing back Aina’s life. The private doctor had done his bit, of course, and had got his pay. But it had been precarious. That borderline between life and death: Aina had hovered on it threateningly for many a soul-searing night. If she had crossed, who would have believed that he never meant to harm her in the first place? Or that the child she had, belonged to another man? Who – in this wide city?

  He looked at her. She was smiling. Still pale, her coming here showed that she was a sport, a good loser. Perhaps life had taught her that: perhaps she still hoped . . . The gramophone was playing and those who felt happier than Sango were dancing and drinking beer.

  These did not include the father of Beatrice, who sat like a statue, apparently moaning his loss. Now and again he eyed Sango challengingly – a challenge Sango vowed in his young heart to accept in the smallest detail. It was not only those who were born into high society who became somebody. Sure, they began with a bigger advantage, but that did not mean they ended with their breasts against the winning tape.

  ‘I’ll show him. Or rather – we’ll show him!’

  And he looked at the face of Beatrice and from it drew all the courage he desired. At his request she had put on a cool blue frock – simple, without frills. He knew her preference for native wear which added a little more fullness to her figure and with it a little more dignity.

  Elina and her mother must be far away now. They had caught the first train to the Eastern Greens and would probably almost be there. Sango wondered why he thought of them at this moment. And he wondered too, what it would have been like to see Elina sitting at a sewing-machine in that room with the lace curtains, idly making a dress while around her sat her friends, sipping lime-juice and eating chicken, a mixture of bashfulness, joy and sorrow.