“I have to go,” she said to Kavita. “I have to make dinner for all these visitors.”
“Send them back to their houses,” laughed Kavita. “As if they don’t have food there.”
“I don’t mind. It’s nice to have them around, you know? The girls are turning into lovely young women.”
“And I’m sure Vivek is enjoying himself with them,” added Kavita. Part of her was hoping that he was like other boys—that he actually was up to something behind closed doors with the girls. She couldn’t contemplate another option.
“You know, sometimes I forget that he’s not one of the girls,” said Maja.
Kavita pressed her lips together and kept the annoyance out of her voice. “Of course. What with that hair. Let me let you go and handle them.”
She put the phone down. She’s only saying that because she’s jealous, she thought. Because her husband is ruining her life. Because she doesn’t have a son.
* * *
—
Meanwhile, up Agbai Road, Chika watched as Eloise scrambled up from her knees in his office, her cheeks flushed and red. She was smiling as she wiped her mouth, a smile that puzzled and annoyed him, as vacantly good-natured as if she’d just passed him the salt at dinner. He tucked himself back into his trousers and zipped them up, watching her adjust her blouse to cover her breasts.
“Do you think Kavita knows?” she asked, cutting a mischievous look at him.
“You’re her friend,” he said pointedly. “What do you think?”
Eloise pulled a brush out of her bag and used her reflection in a glass cabinet door to brush her hair into order. A few minutes ago, his hands had been clenched there, messing it up. “I thought maybe Rhatha said something to her after I ran into her the other day.”
Chika shook his head. “Kavita didn’t say anything.”
Eloise paused. “Well. That’s odd. I’m sure Rhatha would have told her. Why do you think she didn’t bring it up with you?”
“I don’t care,” he said. All he really cared about was getting Eloise out of his office. Of all the Nigerwives, she was the one he disliked the most—for how loud and brash she was at her parties, for the nondescript blandness of her face, for the fact that she even did this with him at all. The others would never. She has no morals, Chika thought; God knows what else she’s been doing under her husband’s nose, with none of her children there to occupy her. He hated himself a little for getting involved with her, but Kavita was so preoccupied with Vivek. He was the only thing she wanted to talk about, day or night. She all but dragged the boy into their bed, running her theories past Chika on what was wrong with him and how he could get better, droning into his ear and waving him away when he tried to touch her. Vivek was his son and he loved him, but Kavita was taking it to another level. Their marriage was suffering, yet their son was all she could see.
And that was how Eloise had entered the story. She’d been doing some consulting for his factory while their company doctor was traveling, so he’d asked her to lunch and she brought him some cake she’d made from home. Next thing Chika knew, he was kissing her thin lips and she was allowing it; then he was bending her over his desk like it was a dream, watching himself sink into her, her large pale buttocks rippling under his advances, his hand covering her mouth to keep her quiet. He’d just needed some relief, he told himself at home that night, his wife chattering away beside him in bed, still as beautiful as the rose garden. Chika reached for her, wanting to wipe away his memory of that afternoon, but she’d swatted his hands away.
“Are you even listening to me?” she said. “I still don’t think the boy is eating enough. He moves the food around his plate as if I’m not going to notice. . . .”
Chika flopped on his back and let her words drain around him. A few days later, when Eloise brought him a bit of shortbread, he closed the office door and did it again.
His coworkers pretended not to notice what was going on. He liked that Eloise didn’t even try to pretend to care about his family life. She never mentioned Vivek. She just brought whatever she’d baked, then unbuttoned her blouse or hiked up her skirt or opened her mouth or all of the above. She didn’t expect tenderness or small talk, and Chika was relieved because he had neither to offer. In fact, he liked being rough with her, seeing the blood rush up under her blued skin when he slapped it, sending her home with small marks and half hoping her husband would find out.
Would Kavita even notice if he came back with lovebites covering his neck? he wondered. The more he thought about it, the angrier he grew. He started asking Eloise to come by, started meeting her in hotels, even once met her at her house when her husband was at work. That one was too much for him, though—seeing the pictures of their sons on the shelves, smelling the man’s cologne. He fucked her in the parlor, wiped himself on her dress, and left.
* * *
—
After Maja got off the phone with Kavita, she fed the children dinner and told Vivek to walk Somto and Olunne to the main road so they could get home before the curfew. They caught an okada and left, turning to wave at him. Vivek waved back, then dropped his arm to his side. The evening was cool and he knew he should go home, but the air was clear so he decided to take a walk.
He stopped at a kiosk near where the okada drivers gathered and spent ten naira on two packets of Speedy biscuits. One he tucked into his pocket and the other he ripped open, crunching them into his mouth. His slippers dragged over the ground as he strolled, and a few people cast quick looks at him. His hair flowed off his head in waves now, past his collar and down his back, but his shorts and T-shirt were clean and untorn, so he looked a little normal at least.
He walked past the new Mr. Biggs store that had opened just a month before, now filled with people buying their meat pies and sausage rolls. A girl with bright blue eye shadow and shiny lip gloss was sitting at the window, holding an ice cream cone—chocolate and vanilla soft-serve swirled together and curving into a point at the top. She licked it with singular focus, and Vivek wondered why she was alone. He walked past the building, past the banks next to it, up until he reached the supermarket. He pocketed the packet of biscuits and stepped inside. He needed to pick up some Nasco wafers to replace the chocolate ones Juju had finished when she came to his house last week. Maybe this time he’d go for strawberry or vanilla—she didn’t like those as much and would leave them alone.
Vivek wandered through the aisles, goods stacked heavily on either side of him, cartons up to the ceiling. There were packets of dried beans, lengths of stockfish, boxes of cornflakes, sacks of rice. Vivek pulled the wafers from the biscuit shelves, next to the Digestive and Rich Tea biscuits. As he pulled his money out from under the biscuits jammed into his pocket, he heard a commotion outside, voices raised and shouting. He looked up to see a few people running past; others had stopped outside, staring toward where the runners were coming from.
Vivek thanked the cashier and took his wafers, then came outside and looked down the road. A small mob had gathered a few blocks down, too far away for him to see exactly what was going on. The girl from Mr. Biggs hurried past him, eye shadow shining on her scared face.
“Wait! What happened?” he asked, stepping into her path.
She flicked her eyes at him impatiently. “They’re saying that they’ve caught a thief. They’re going to take him down to the junction.”
A young boy holding a tire—it looked as heavy as he was—ran past them, shouting excitedly, his body jerking as he lugged the weight down the road. Another boy followed him, holding a small jerry-can in each hand. They had no covers, so when the liquid sloshed out of them and spilled on the ground, Vivek could smell the sharpness of the petrol. The girl flagged down an okada and pushed past him to hop on it. She didn’t look back as the motorcycle roared down the road away from the noise and people. He stood and watched, adrenaline surging through him. He didn’t know what
he was waiting for. As the mob drew closer, the road cleared, onlookers scrambling into nearby shops to get out of the way. Vivek stood where he was, feeling as if things were draining out of him. The cashier from the supermarket poked her head out of the door.
“My friend, pụọ n’ụzọ!” she shouted, waving at him to get out of the way.
Vivek didn’t hear her. People had spilled into the road and cars were diverting impatiently. A taxi pulled up next to Vivek, brakes screeching, and a young man jumped out. He slapped Vivek hard on the back of his head. Vivek reeled as the guy grabbed him and dragged him toward the taxi.
“Tobechukwu?” he said.
Their neighbor’s son glared at him. “Sharrap and enter this car,” he said. “Useless idiot.” He shoved Vivek into the backseat and climbed in after him, slamming the door. “Oya, dey go!” he shouted at the driver, and the car pulled away. Vivek twisted to stare out of the back window and Tobechukwu hit his arm. “Face your front!”
Vivek stared at him. “What are you doing?”
The mob receded behind them and Tobechukwu sucked his teeth loudly, stretching the sound to show his contempt. Clumps of his beard stuck out from his clenched jaw. They rode back to their street, where Tobechukwu pushed Vivek out of the car. He paid the taxi driver, and when Vivek tried to thank him, Tobechukwu glared at him.
“Go home to your mother,” he said, “and make sure you don’t tell her how stupid you were today.” He walked into his compound, the metal of the gate clanking behind him.
Vivek stood in front of the gate for a few minutes, wondering what would have happened if he’d been swallowed by the mob. Would he have run with them down to the junction, just to see what it was like to be part of a whole? Or if someone had seen him for what he was immediately, a piece that didn’t match anything else, would they have just thrown out an arm to remove him from the road, maybe pushing him into a gutter? Why had Tobechukwu stopped for him? They barely spoke to each other, not since their secondary school fights, even after all these years of growing up with only a fence between them.
Vivek slid his hand through the bars of the gate and maneuvered the padlock on the inside bolt. Both his parents were in their room when he entered the house.
“Vivek? Beta, is that you?” Kavita called out.
“Yes, Amma,” he replied.
“Is it not after curfew?” said his father, looking up from his book.
Vivek looked at the clock. “Only five minutes,” he called back.
“There’s food in the kitchen,” his mother said.
Lowering her voice, she added to Chika, “At least he’s home and he’s safe.”
“For how long?” replied Chika.
His wife patted his arm. “Relax,” she said.
Kavita changed into her nightgown. Together, she and Chika listened to the small sounds of Vivek in the kitchen—his footsteps into his room, the click of his door.
Outside, smoke rose from the junction, but it was swallowed by the night.
Twelve
Vivek
The girls dragged me out. I don’t think they meant to. I knew my mother was behind their visit; it was one of the few times a plan of hers actually worked.
I was drowning. Not quickly, not enough for panic, but a slow and inexorable sinking, when you know where you’re going to end up, so you stop fighting and you wait for it to all be over. I had looked for ways to break out of it—sleeping outside, trying to tap life from other things, from the bright rambunctiousness of the dogs, from the air at the top of the plumeria tree—but none of it had really made any difference. So I was giving up; I had decided to give up. That afternoon, Somto and Olunne burst into my room and spoiled my whole plan.
They knocked first, but I ignored it. Then they knocked again and I heard a flutter of quick conversation before one of them turned the handle and opened the door. It would have been Somto; she always made the decisions because she was older, because she was never afraid. I sat up in bed as they came in, in time to see Olunne close the door, a slight sorry across her face. I’d drawn the curtains, but Somto switched on the light. She looked at me, shirtless in pyjama trousers, lying in bed in the middle of the afternoon.
“So,” she said, tilting her head so her ponytail swung behind her shoulders. “What’s wrong with you?” Her sister nudged her but Somto ignored it.
I blinked at the intrusion of the light. “Many things,” I said.
“I can see that,” said Somto, making a face. She put the cupcakes on my desk and plopped herself on my bed. “You look terrible.”
I drew back with a frown. They were acting entirely too familiar, entering my room and sitting on my bed as if they knew me. Whatever had happened a childhood ago didn’t make us friends now; we hadn’t even seen each other since secondary school. Olunne glanced at her sister, then sat on the bed with me.
“I think you look pretty,” she said, and that surprised me enough to knock the frown off my face.
“What?” I said.
Olunne reached out and pulled at my hair gently, just enough to make it stretch and spring back, then touched her fingers to the silver Ganesh I wore around my neck. “I said, I think you look pretty. Your hair is beautiful. You’ve lost too much weight—that’s why Somto is saying you look bad. But you don’t, not really.”
I looked from one of them to the other.
“You must be tired of them talking about you,” Olunne added.
“Everyone is talking about you,” her sister said. “They’re saying you’ve gone mad.”
“Yet here you are, entering my room to talk about it,” I snapped.
Somto shrugged. “I think there’s probably something more interesting going on,” she said. “Why not just come and ask you?”
“It’s none of your business,” I said. I didn’t know why their kindness was making me so spiky.
Olunne put a hand on my knee. “Don’t mind her,” she said. “You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want. We just thought that maybe, if you felt like talking, it would be nice to have someone who was ready to listen. Actually listen. Not like how they like to say they’re listening.”
Somto scoffed in agreement.
I was, I must admit, taken aback. Alone is a feeling you can get used to, and it’s hard to believe in a better alternative. Besides, it was true that all of us used to be friends, even though it was years ago, when we and our lives were simpler. And now they were being nicer to me than anyone had bothered to be in a while, so I tried to relax.
“Are those cupcakes?” I asked, and Olunne smiled, hopping off the bed to get the tray. I picked up one and peeled back the wrapper, biting into it mostly out of politeness. True to form, it was sickly-sweet, as Aunty Rhatha’s cupcakes always were. “Jesus,” I said, making a face.
Somto swiped a fingerful of icing from another and licked it. “You don’t have to eat the whole thing,” she said. “She still hasn’t learned how to put a normal amount of sugar in them.”
I put the cupcake down and shook my head. “I can feel my teeth rotting already.”
Olunne leaned over and picked the sugar dragonfly off the cupcake, popping it into her mouth. That was how we found each other again, in a blocked-off room filled with yellowing light: two bubblegum fairies there to drag me out of my cave, carrying oversweet wands. I don’t know how deep I would have sunk if not for them. I wish I’d told them more often how much that mattered to me.
I wish I’d told Tobechukwu, too, how often I thought about how he stepped in for me. We’d fought a lot when we were younger, but that was nothing special: I fought with almost everyone because I was slim and some suspicion of delicacy clung to me and it made boys aggressive, for whatever reason. Some people can’t see softness without wanting to hurt it. But after I came back, after growing out my hair, Tobechukwu didn’t react like other guys in the area did�
�calling out insults and sometimes hurling empty bottles my way so they could laugh and watch me dance to avoid the spray of broken glass. It couldn’t be because we were neighbors, because our mothers liked to have tea together. Aunty Osinachi always came, brought some biscuits, stayed for about forty-five minutes chatting, then left, but this hadn’t stopped me and Tobechukwu from fighting back when we were in secondary school.
I didn’t understand him, not until one night when he showed up at the boys’ quarters, where I was smoking out on the landing, and sat down next to me.
“I can smell that from over the fence,” he said, and held out his hand. I passed the joint to him and watched him hiss in a long, crackling breath. He handed it back to me as he exhaled, smoke spinning out of his mouth in a thin swirl.
“It’s your first time dropping by,” I noted, and Tobechukwu nodded without saying anything. We sat there in silence for a while until I turned to him.
“Why?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what exactly I meant. Why was he there? Why had he helped me that day? Why hadn’t he come before? I didn’t know which question I was asking or which one he thought I was asking. But he didn’t answer; he just turned his head and watched me pull in another smoked-up breath, watched me exhale and pass the joint back to him.
He stood up and stepped in front of me, tilting his head back as he inhaled. The moonlight fell over his throat and I could smell the old salt of his sweat. He handed it back to me and my fingers brushed against his, my head buzzing from the high. He blew the smoke down into my face gently, looking at me with a careful blankness. I realized how close he was standing to me, the proximity of his thighs under his cargo shorts, the subtle forward thrust of his hips. I smiled to myself and set the joint aside on the milk tin cover I’d been using as an ashtray. Hunger radiated the same everywhere, throbbing and loud even without words. I didn’t mind it.
The Death of Vivek Oji Page 9
