Lightseekers

by Femi Kayode

  ‘My sickness is not something you can take care of.’

  ‘So why did you call for me?’ John Paul says rather harshly.

  My mother stares at him, frowning. The smile on her face disappears.

  ‘You’re not him,’ she says flatly.

  John Paul does not bother to deny it. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Your eyes. They’re dead. You’re the devil that takes over him. The one that killed his father.’

  ‘He was not his father.’

  ‘He was a good man who took us in when your father abandoned us.’

  ‘He was abusing your son.’

  ‘You lie!’

  Mama is getting agitated, and so am I, watching from the shadows. I want to scream at John Paul to stop this conversation, but his hold is too strong.

  ‘You know I’m not lying.’

  ‘He was a good man,’ my mother insists.

  ‘He was a rich man who used his money to blind you.’

  ‘He loved you … He was just being affectionate.’

  ‘He was raping me, Mama –’

  I stop reaching for the light. Did John Paul just say he is me? He can’t be. It happened to me! I was the one who needed saving, not him.

  ‘It’s the evil one in you that is saying these things. Call the nurse. You must leave. Don’t come back until you have my son.’

  Mama tries calling out for a nurse but her voice is too weak. John Paul stands and pulls the curtain, blocking her bed from the view of the nurses and other patients.

  ‘I want the nurse,’ Mama insists.

  ‘I showed you the bruises, the bleeding, but you refused to believe me.’ John Paul bends to her, his face twisted with anger. ‘You sacrificed me to your husband because he gave you a roof over your head and bought you expensive gifts.’

  ‘You had an active imagination. Always creating stories, drawing crazy things on every paper in the house. How was I to know it was not one of your stories?’

  ‘Did you ask him? Confront him?’

  ‘With what? I never saw him be anything other than a father to you and you killed him.’

  ‘And even after he died, you abandoned your child –’

  ‘You were with men of God!’

  ‘You know nothing of God!’ John Paul hisses. ‘They know nothing of God.’

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘I am my only god.’

  ‘You’re the devil.’ It’s like Mama has become filled with strength drawn from an unknown source because she grabs John Paul’s hand and lifts her head towards him. ‘But, it’s not too late. You can be saved.’

  ‘Saved?’

  ‘Look at me. I am dying of a disease that has no cure. This is my punishment. But it’s not too late for you. If you go to the police –’

  ‘No.’ John Paul’s answer is an echo of mine in the shadows.

  ‘You killed a man!’

  ‘He deserved to die, and if you were any kind of mother, you would have done it instead of me.’

  ‘Just confess, my son. I’ll call the police, and the priest, we will confess together –’

  As she speaks, John Paul stands to his full height, jerks his hand out of her grip.

  ‘We can even tell them it was self-defence,’ Mama says, her voice pleading, urging. ‘But we can’t commit our souls to hell by not confessing this mortal sin.’

  John Paul walks back to my mother. He checks the IV, looks at the machine monitoring her vitals, and then looks at her.

  Mama is still talking. ‘My son, please, even if we are punished on this earth, we will find peace in heaven. We have to con—’

  John Paul leans towards Mama, kisses her forehead gently.

  ‘That’s from your son,’ he whispers.

  He then pulls the pillow from under her head and puts it over her face.

  ‘This is from me.’

  ACT FOUR

  light waves change direction when passing through an opening or around a barrier

  AIR

  I try to breathe and it feels like a thousand knives are piercing my sides. The pain forces me to open my eyes.

  To chaos.

  People are speaking rapidly, but I can’t make out what they are saying.

  White is everywhere. Even the people are white, their faces blurring into their white clothes like a watercolour painting.

  A blurry face gets very close to me, and a ray of light pierces my vision.

  I flinch from the brightness, and the sharp, numbing pain in my sides threatens to pull me back under.

  – He’s with us. What’s your name! Tell me your name! –

  I want to say don’t shout but instead –

  Philip.

  – What number follows one? –

  Two.

  My voice seems to be coming from a far-off place. But it is me, answering.

  Breathing.

  – Who’s the President of Nigeria? –

  It hurts to take in more air.

  Who cares?

  – Good. He’s with us. Prep surgery –

  I’m alive. But where’s Chika?

  I’m not sure I ask this before everything goes black again.

  RUDE AWAKENING

  The first time I open my eyes, it is to the blinding white ceiling. A fan rotates slowly, making it seem like the room is spinning. I close my eyes and everything stills. I decide to keep them like that for a while longer.

  The second time, it is to a blinding headache that forces me to press my eyes shut again. Even with my eyes closed, the persistent thudding in my head stays. A piercing sound fills the room, and I want to cover my ears but for all the wires attached to me. The shrill sound gets louder. I keep my eyes closed until the sound becomes a series of beeps and the thudding in my head goes flat.

  The next time I open my eyes, it’s because I hear voices.

  ‘He knows something –’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  I can’t decide if I’m dreaming or if Omereji and Salome are really at the foot of my bed, facing each other and talking animatedly.

  ‘They tried to kill my dad. Your uncle,’ Omereji says in a rushed whisper.

  Everything is coming back. The police station. The kidnap. Chika!

  ‘You can’t prove that –’ Salome is saying.

  ‘Guys,’ I call out weakly.

  Omereji and Salome turn towards me at the same time, but it’s Salome who comes to my side.

  ‘You’re awake!’

  ‘Who can sleep with all the noise?’ I attempt to joke while trying to lift myself to a sitting position.

  ‘Don’t move. You have a cracked rib and a concussion.’

  I touch my head and feel the bandage. That explains the headaches. And the tightness in my chest is not from lack of air, it’s because I am wrapped up like a mummy.

  ‘How long have I been here?’

  Salome looks at Mike, who has not taken his eyes off me since I spoke, then back at me.

  ‘Three days. They induced a coma because they were worried about a brain bleed.’

  ‘Three?’ I try to sit up sharply and regret it immediately. ‘Where is Chika?’

  ‘Your friend is fine,’ Omereji answers flatly. ‘He sustained minor injuries after inflicting quite a few more on your attackers.’

  I settle back down.

  ‘They didn’t shoot him?’

  ‘No, Philip,’ Salome answers. ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘But I heard gunshots –’

  ‘I think you should rest for now,’ Salome says. ‘Mike and I came by the hospital to see my uncle, so we thought we’d drop in on you.’

  ‘Your uncle, how is he?’

  ‘Out of ICU, he’s stable now.’

  ‘Thank God.’

  Omereji has a look on his face, and I sense what’s coming next. I suddenly feel bone-weary.

  ‘Do you suppose you can answer a few questions?’ he asks, coming closer. He still looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

  �
�Philip, you don’t have to do this –’ Salome protests.

  ‘What do you want to know that you didn’t ask when you wrongfully arrested me?’

  ‘Look, about that, you can understand my situation …’

  My attempt at a smile becomes a grimace because I feel a return of the headache with greater force.

  ‘That’s not an apology,’ I say to buy time and compose my mind.

  ‘An apology?’

  I would have laughed at the consternation on Inspector Omereji’s face if I wouldn’t hurt in every part of my body.

  ‘You arrested me on assumptions and personal –’

  ‘I had good reason!’ Omereji hisses.

  ‘You want to tell that to his lawyer?’ Salome retorts, a challenge on her face as she looks at her cousin.

  There’s a tense silence for quite a while. My head is now pounding and my heart is beating rather fast, but I know I have to stay calm.

  ‘Dr Taiwo, I would be lying to you if I said I am sorry for bringing you in. But I am sorry for not following protocol, for not providing you with protection in a town that I knew was antagonistic towards you, and well, I –’

  ‘It’s okay … really.’ It is painful to watch the proud officer admit fault and it would be ungracious of me to let him go on, knowing what I know. ‘I understand.’

  I plaster a proper smile on my face, while Salome beams like a kindergarten teacher who just averted a playground conflict.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ I ask.

  Salome jumps in. ‘Philip, you really don’t have to –’

  Omereji speaks over her protests. ‘We’ve done a ballistics test on the bullet that hit my dad. It’s from a sniper rifle. It’s not standard. It’s expensive and quite rare to find in these parts. I believe it was an assassination attempt.’

  ‘And you still think I know something about it?’ I ask calmly, even as my headache worsens and my heart beats fast.

  Salome sighs. ‘Mike has no proof, but he suspects Chika was the one who shot my uncle.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  Omereji answers. ‘Because he was in town right after those boys were killed. Snooping around, asking questions and trailing people. Including my father.’

  ‘Why didn’t you pick him up then?’ I ask with a wince. I see Salome touch Mike, as if asking him to go easy.

  ‘I would have, if I was here then, but even so, on what grounds?’ Omereji answers. ‘At first, people thought he was a journalist, then when he didn’t leave, some thought he was writing a book. After some time, he just disappeared, and everyone forgot about him and they barely recognised him when he came back with you.’

  ‘That was when we found out that you were hired by Emeka Nwamadi,’ Salome says.

  ‘Which means,’ Omereji adds, ‘Nwamadi hired your Chika too.’

  I look from Salome to him. She’ll know I’m lying, so I tell the truth. ‘I guarantee you, if Chika shot the Chief, he wouldn’t miss.’

  Salome and Omereji look at each other. He gives a resigned shrug. Salome looks down at me. Her make-up is smudged around her eyes, and I suspect, like her cousin, she’s been having difficulty sleeping.

  ‘We’ll go and see my uncle,’ she says. ‘You’re on the same floor, but he is in the West Wing with 24-hour care because of his age. But I’ll see if I can check in on you again.’ She pats my hand and turns to Omereji who’s fixed me with an unblinking gaze.

  ‘Mike, let’s go.’

  ‘It was a Brügger & Thomet.’

  ‘Pardon?’ My voice wavers.

  ‘The rifle used to shoot my father. A Brügger & Thomet. Let me know if you come across one.’

  ‘Let me know when you arrest the people who attacked Chika and me.’

  ‘He has,’ Salome says. ‘Mike rounded them up the same day you were brought here.’

  ‘You’ll have to make some identification and do an interview before we lay formal charges, but, yes, we have ten local youths in custody.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say to Omereji, a bit ashamed.

  ‘Let me know if you come across that assault rifle, Dr Taiwo. Get well soon.’

  He turns and leaves. Salome sighs, waves at me and follows him.

  AN UNFORESEEN KINDNESS

  Knowing what I know, I’m not sure who I’d rather see first: Chika or Emeka. But the decision is made for me when Emeka walks into my hospital room in the company of the man I recognise from my disastrous visit to the State Psychiatric Hospital.

  ‘Dr Taiwo.’

  ‘Emeka,’ I answer guardedly, my eyes on Mercy’s father.

  ‘I brought you a visitor. Elechi Opara, meet Dr Philip Taiwo.’

  Elechi Opara steps to the foot of my bed, his smile bright and warm. I feel ashamed anew.

  ‘I’m really sorry about –’ I begin but he holds up a hand.

  ‘It’s okay, Dr Taiwo,’ he says kindly. ‘I hold no grudge. Emeka explained the pressure he was putting on you.’

  ‘Nevertheless, sir, I’m very sorry. How is Mercy?’

  ‘She’s better and back at home. We’re hoping she’ll stay like this for a long time.’

  Emeka steps forward. ‘I brought Elechi here so we can both formally thank him –’

  I frown at the two men, confused. Emeka is smiling broadly, and even puts his arms around Elechi Opara’s shoulders.

  ‘Thank him?’

  ‘They’ve not told you?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘Elechi was the one who saved you from those hooligans.’

  This is totally unexpected.

  ‘How … did you –?’ I stutter, unsure what to say or ask.

  ‘It was pure luck that I found myself not too far from where you were being attacked when Emeka called me –’

  ‘You called him?’

  Emeka nods. ‘I could hear the danger you were in when Chika called. I had to act fast and there was no one in the area I could call but Elechi.’

  ‘It was not hard to find you. When I saw the direction some of the youths were going, already making noises, I knew they must be headed towards you, so I hailed a motorbike and followed them.’

  ‘Even after what I did,’ I shake my head in wonder, ‘you still helped us –’

  ‘What else could I do?’ Elechi Opara says.

  ‘I apologised on our behalf to Elechi and explained how I was pushing you to finish the report,’ Emeka explains. ‘He was really the only one I could think of, because there was no way I could have gotten there in time, before those boys did real damage.’

  I look towards Elechi. ‘You were the one who shot at them?’

  ‘In the air, not at them. It was the only way to get their attention.’

  ‘Lucky you were armed.’ It is both a question and statement. Even in the States, I could never understand how people carry guns around like an accessory. I have seen more guns here in less than two weeks than during a whole year of working in the San Francisco Police Department.

  ‘My townspeople killed my daughter’s friend and even attacked her when she tried to save Kevin. I’ve been carrying a gun around ever since.’

  ‘And even luckier for us you were carrying it with you when Dr Taiwo was attacked,’ Emeka says, thumping Elechi on the shoulder, in an overly jolly manner that I sense is to mask his pain every time Kevin’s name comes up.

  ‘And Chika,’ I say quietly.

  Emeka’s face becomes implacable. ‘Of course. And Chika.’

  ‘Where is he?’ I ask, disappointed that he has not come to see me, if indeed he is fine.

  ‘He’s sorting out some things for me in Port Harcourt. He’ll come by soon. For now, regain your strength. We need you on your feet asap.’ He looks at Elechi. ‘Let’s allow him to rest.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Opara,’ I say sincerely.

  ‘I couldn’t have done less, Dr Taiwo.’

  We exchange a feeble handshake because every slight movement causes me pain.

  ‘I don’t know how I can repay yo
u, sir,’ I say.

  Elechi looks to Emeka, and the latter nods.

  ‘Emeka told me you’re a psychologist,’ Elechi starts awkwardly. ‘I don’t want to take advantage and I know the doctors at the psychiatric hospital are doing their best for Mercy …’

  His voice trails away as I am trying to grasp what he is saying. When the penny drops, I immediately start to shake my head and Emeka jumps in.

  ‘I explained to Elechi that you’re not that kind of psychologist, but all he is asking for is a second opinion.’

  ‘Yes. Nothing more than that. I am hoping you may see something our Nigerian doctors can’t see …’ Elechi smiles at me, but there is a sadness in his eyes that reminds me of Emeka’s own when he speaks of Kevin.

  ‘But, sir, I am not that kind of psychologist. I am not a clinician.’

  Elechi’s face falls and I look towards Emeka for help, but he just shrugs as if to say I am on my own.

  ‘I am a researcher at best, sir.’

  ‘But a psychologist …’ Elechi insists.

  ‘Yes, but not the kind that can diagnose or prescribe medicine.’

  ‘But you can give an opinion? Maybe even advise where we can go for help?’

  ‘I specialise in crime and –’

  I stop my well-rehearsed speech because I can see Elechi will not understand my reluctance. As far as he is concerned, I am a psychologist. Any explanation about my expertise will come off as an excuse or, worse, a refusal. Besides, I owe the man my life.

  ‘I can only say what I think, and maybe give you some names of clinicians …’ I say.

  ‘That’s all I want.’ Elechi Opara smiles widely. ‘As soon as you’re better, I can come and pick you up in Port Harcourt –’

  I want to say Elechi is moving too fast, but I can’t dampen the relief on his face.

  ‘In fact,’ Elechi turns to Emeka, ‘what about the thanksgiving?’

  ‘Thanksgiving?’ I ask. The thudding in my head is a clear indication that this is not something that I would like to attend but which I might be unable to refuse.

  ‘Elechi is having a thanksgiving lunch at his house for Mercy’s return home,’ Emeka says.

  ‘Mercy’s godparents are organising a small service at their church on that day and we’ll eat at our place afterwards. If you can join us, you can observe Mercy and talk to her –’