Northern Nights

by Abeni Inks

  You could always trust Ifekunle to think about the details of how things worked. Awobiyi was unsoiled by the bitter void of death.

  His heart constricted and he couldn’t breathe till he thumped a palm above the hurting organ. He dragged deep breaths in. Exhaled. Blinked rapidly.

  When he could trust his voice once again, Awo Nla spoke.

  “Go home tonight.

  The house is empty and the walls will let you in. 9078; that’s your father’s safe key. 9078. Pounds and Euros are behind the stack of naira notes on the middle layer. Take enough to carry you far and keep you for three weeks.”

  He had rites to undertake.

  Rituals that would pave his nephew's path. Intimate his fathers on the fate of their son. Protect his soul from the corruption of emptiness.

  They would reconvene after then to figure who Ifekunle now was. What role he would play between the worlds.

  A child of the Awonla dynasty was never alone. Or unprotected. Or prey to the games of darkness.

  Who am I?

  What have I become?

  Am I no longer wanted by my own family? Oblivious of his Uncle's thoughts, pain swelled anew in Ifekunle's chest. Filled his eyes.

  He was to go home but not enter through the door. Then leave almost immediately, and for a long time. Nothing had been said about Lagbaja. Or anyone at all, for that matter.

  1Abo oro l'an so f'omo oluabi.

  He pulled at his shirt as the phrase echoed in his mind. As he tried to reject the suggestion his mind insisted upon.

  He was being exiled from his father’s house.

  Awo Nla saw fresh pain shake his nephew’s shoulders. Resigned to his inadequacy in the face of loss.

  That was what death did: stripped you and left you cold. Vulnerable. Helpless… Alone.

  It also let you be reborn.

  * * *

  1. Abo oro l'an so f'omo oluabi: A well bred child reads between the lines

  Chapter 10

  Have you ever heard of a dreamer girl

  Living in a world so far away...

  - Asa, Dreamer Girl (Beautiful Imperfection)

  Demilade hummed along. Stared at the unknown number flashing on her screen.

  Who could be calling?

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Ifekunle. Have you had lunch? I have a proposition for you”

  Demilade’s eyebrows raised.

  Had Ifekunle skipped class when 'taking things slow' was defined?

  She hadn't recovered from the events of the night before. Matter of fact, she could still feel the brand of his lips on hers from that good night kiss that had felt a lot more like come-to-bed-with-me.

  Did she trust herself to have any sort of one-on-one with him now? But what was he up to?

  “What’s the proposition?”

  "Have you had lunch?"

  “What if I want the proposition without lunch?”

  Ifekunle chuckled.

  Demilade's flighty heart beat against her ribcage so hard, breath was temporarily knocked out of her. She rolled her eyes in exaggerated irritation at herself.

  “I’m offering to feed you, Lade girl. Not eat you”

  Teasing laughter accompanied the words. Made them richer. Fuller. More... suggestive.

  Has his voice gone lower? Huskier?

  How is it his words feel like actual caresses?

  Her southern petals fluttered and goose bumps rose on her skin.

  Demilade bit her lips to find fading reality.

  The reactions he provoked were pubescent. Awkward. Irrational. She was too grown for them, wasn't she?

  “Lunch?”

  There was a breathless tremble in her voice.

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  Kisses. More of those knee-weakening, heart-racing, lip ravishing…

  Demilade caught the thoughts before they slid off her lips. If she couldn’t hold conversation over the phone without getting hot and distacted, wasn’t lunch a horrible idea? Could she make up an excuse to...

  "Or, don't worry your pretty self. Let’s go someplace they offer everything.”

  She made a sound of protest. He either didn't hear it or chose to pay it no mind.

  “Pick me in 10? I’m too hungry to discriminate. Anywhere you choose will be just fine”

  Demilade hmmmed agreement.

  Frustrated with herself and half-angry at Ifekunle. Why can't he just say the proposition over the phone?!

  Whoever knew hmmm could sound so... enthralling?

  On the other end of the call Ifekunle was roused.

  Images of intertwined limbs and arched backs flooded his mind and the gentleman in his briefs nodded appreciation.

  He pleaded that Demilade not leave him starving while she caked-on layers of make-up. Then hurriedly smuggled in a see you soon and dropped the call before she could respond with threats or a befitting retort.

  Back alone with the view, Demilade let out a long ragged breath. Across the car-park from her sat the children’s church with its artificially grassed playground.

  The little girl from the primary school was there. Dressed in a cotton, lace-frilled, full-flare 1mama-tie-me-for-back; curly hair packed in two buns atop her head. She hopped in a circle with other 3-foot humans; voice high and happy, chanting ring-a-roses.

  Demilade smiled. All was fine here.

  She should leave before someone recognised her.

  * * *

  1. Mama tie me for back: (slang) A cinderella gown with belts extended to and tied at the back.

  Chapter 11

  “Leave my life and travel? With you?!”

  Two plates of 1amala sat curved and smooth on the plastic table, smoking hot. They winked at their paired bowls of 2ewedu and 3gbegiri, chunky goat meat and crunchy peppered snails.

  They were oblivious to the debate of their patrons overhead.

  “You’ll tell your body to watch TV and be a good girl while your mind goes traipsing the Nigerian countryside? You must teach me how to do that sometime. I didn’t know it was possible.”

  His tone was mocking and his lips rose leftward in suppressed humour, but his eyes were smouldering.

  Demilade’s heart raced with fear. Or excitement.

  She wasn’t sure which and feared it was a dangerous mix of both.

  “Don’t be silly”

  His signature smile widened.

  Ifekunle leaned back. Assessed Demilade with openly questioning, heat-emitting eyes.

  He had liked her from the moment his eyes clapped on her. The very first day of secondary school. In the innocent way of boys who befriended particular girls more than others, they had been pals.

  Then some other boy had touched her dark curls in class.

  Curls that he himself always resisted the urge to touch so she didn’t feel disrespected!

  He had immediately known the first selfish fingers of fiery, hot possessiveness.

  Luckily he had caught himself scowling and stomping toward them just in time, and turned away. Eventually he had attributed the nouvelle clenching of his chest to his protectiveness of Demilade.

  That boy had been disrespectful after all, and Demilade was his neighbour. His to protect.

  As the years went by his voice broke and hairs covered him. It became routine that the mornings he woke with the stiffest woodie were those he had dreamt of Demilade.

  Many times he caught himself thinking about her. Many times his thoughts echoed:

  I want her to be my girlfriend

  He had spent endless minutes in front of mirrors practising:

  What he should say, how he would stand, how he could keep his hair sleek all through the I-want-you-to-be-mine toasting.

  Then one day they were on the school field being congratulated as graduands. He had never chalked up the courage to actually tell her any of how he felt. And his parents had presented him with a plane ticket that night when he got home. Germany.

  He had thrown a tantrum. Said
he couldn't go. And no, they would not understand. Puzzled, they had told Awo Nla. His Uncle and confidant. The only other human in the universe who had watched him rehearse words he never said to the one they were meant for.

  Awo Nla had travelled to Lagos to stitch up the teenager's breaking heart. And a week later he had touched down in Frankfurt.

  Her number in the alumni directory never went through

  I heard that they relocated

  I think she travelled

  7 years later, back in Nigeria, and Demilade Ajayi seemed to have disappeared. If she hadn't graced his dreams nearly everytime, he might have given up. But she had. So he hadn't. And now...

  Now is probably the worst time in the history of bad timings to find her.

  But, maybe... what if it isn't?

  If he had found her earlier they would have spent too little time together. His official demise the day before would have forced them apart.

  In the many stories Uncle had told, Akudaaya could love and be loved back. They could even have families of their own. They simply had to keep their first life secret... And apart from the second.

  It wasn’t the way he’d dreamt it, true.

  But he could share the life he had with Demilade. He simply needed her to want him so bad she couldn’t consider living without him.

  Resolved, Ifekunle smiled.

  Under the heat of Ifekunle's gaze the fine hairs on Demilade’s neck had risen. His smile electrified air and breathing became laboured. Her breasts, heavier.

  “The amala shouldn’t be made to go cold.”

  Hunh?!

  Demilade had forgotten where they were.

  She had also forgotten the tantalizing spread between them. She had certainly spared no thought for the crowd of random, could-be-observing eyes in the highly patronised bukateria.

  In less than 24 hours she had been completely engrossed in Ifekunle twice. Two times in less than 1 day, she had lost all sense of time, place... everything else.

  For someone usually on her guard, the thought was disquieting.

  Chapter 12

  “So why not?”

  It’s crazy! Makes no sense! Why would you even…?!

  But Demilade said none of the things screaming in her head. She wasn’t ready for another intense stare. Perhaps if she could…

  “You had a crazy yesterday and ended up on the Island”

  “Yes”

  “You went to the club to chill the crazy out”

  “Lounge, Demilade. But yes.”

  She frowned.

  There was an actual difference between lounges and clubs?

  Oh well! No one taught that in any English classes.

  Not the least shaken or embarrassed, she continued.

  “By coincidence I was at the same lounge."

  "Yes"

  "I recognized you and it was our first meeting in twelve years”

  His eyes had taken that humorous hue again but he answered her.

  “Yes”

  Demilade released a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. This was going very well. A smile lit her eyes. Relaxed her lips.

  “So why did you take your leave today? And why should I dump my leave to come on a vacation with you?”

  Ifekunle’s smile broke into laughter then.

  Demilade tensed. Then the music of his joy stole through the cracks in her soul and she smiled.

  Cotton rippled over his chest like dancing waves and she stared. Transfixed. White teeth bit into his pliant lower lip to stem the raucous roar of his laughter and her eyes popped.

  Sweet gods in all heavens! Isn’t it a sin to be so effortlessly seductive?

  When Ifekunle finally calmed down Demilade was drooling like a besotted sixteen years old. And chewing on her lips to uphold a facade of displeasure.

  “You always aced summaries, didn’t you?”

  Demilade shrugged. Ifekunle leaned forward. Demilade found herself lured forward too. Involuntarily.

  “I’m the comprehensive kind of guy, Demilade”

  “You are?”

  “Hmm hmm. And I remember my lips tasting yours yesterday.”

  Demilade felt heat rush up her face but could neither look nor move away.

  “You took pleasure from my fingers too. Inside you.”

  She gasped.

  Gods! Was she bewitched? Why couldn’t she take her eyes off the lust so brazen in his eyes? And why did her eyes follow his downwards when he looked at his palms splayed between them?

  “You left your musk between my fingers, you know? Perfume so delicious a brother can’t think straight”

  Ifekunle raised his right hand to his nose... inhaled deeply. And his lashes fluttered shut.

  When his lashes rose his eyes were laden with desire and Demilade squirmed. Then his mid-finger disappeared very slowly into his mouth and Demilade darn near expired.

  Her pussy started to pulse in memory.

  Oh gods! How can he sit there and talk about...

  Say these... these things so unashamedly?

  It had gotten hot. Very hot.

  Demilade undid a button. Fanned herself with her hand.

  She wanted to stop Ifekunle but she was hypnotized. Transfixed by the outlandishness he calmly displayed for her. Worse, her brain was scrambled.

  She had neither words to say nor wit to find them.

  “I’ve wanted you for years, Oluwademilade. Many, many, many years. And now you’re here. Somehow. And on leave."

  His gaze stole to her eyes. Held them.

  "You said you want me, luckily.”

  Finally, words!

  “That was…”

  In the heat of the moment. Under the influence of sweet, sinful, oh-so-delicious kisses...

  But she dared not say those.

  Her eyes dropped to stare at the square designs on the table top and ringed watermarks that had been left by their chilled bottles.

  Doesn’t everyone know that things said under the influence of seduction aren’t admissible in actual sensible conversation?

  She stole a look up at him.

  He was watching her. Waiting.

  She shrugged.

  Did he heave a sigh of relief or was that her imagination?

  “I thought you’d like to go somewhere new, so I took my leave too. Ifekunle Awonla is offering to be your handbag for a week. 7 whole days! Free of all charges. Wherever you want to go.”

  Demilade would have laughed, but she was still caught in the haze of what his words did to her.

  Gods!

  She had forgotten how dramatic he could be.

  Flattering as his words had been, he too had skimmed over crucial details. Gratefully she found her voice, however shaky.

  “So we’d be travelling as… Friends? Strangers? What’s in it for you?”

  He seemed to critically examine what either entailed; corking his head to the side and repeating the words slowly. Contemplatively.

  “We could just be travellers. Two people on... new landscapes.”

  She thought something more weighed in his voice. But he caught her gaze and the look in his eyes was so intense, her breath caught.

  How am I going to survive seven days of him looking at me like... that?

  Wait! Am I actually considering travelling with someone I haven’t seen in twelve years? Especially considering how lusty said someone makes her feel? And, in Nigeria; of all places to play 4Babe la risqué?!

  She must have frowned or displayed her thoughts like a signboard on her face because Ifekunle whispered into their shared silence.

  “I’m Ifekunle Awonla. The boy who claimed that the class bully Gbolahan picked on you because he, in fact, liked you. Then double dared him to leave you alone to prove it wasn’t true. Remember?”

  Demilade smiled.