by Wole Soyinka
“Pour me one more.”
“Sure. Pour me one-more, one-more, one-more.” He flipped the curtain aside. “Yeah baby. Kill the damned runt.”
Aristo made a desperate gamble, flung open a rear door and plunged through the interior of the chariot, cracking his shins on the scattered instruments. He snatched open the door on the other side, tumbled almost at the feet of Iriyise who was too surprised to stamp on him more than once before he gathered himself and lunged for the sole exit out of the courtyard. A rain of missiles and curses pursued him.
Zaccheus wiped his mouth, and ran the scales up and down his saxophone. “I’ll just blow that last song for you so you’ll have an idea how it’s grown.”
Before he could complete the first bar Iriyise flung the door open. “The rat got away. And you Zaccheus, why did you bring it here? Bursting into my room like he’s the landlord or something.”
“Baby, blame me. But we’re late baby. When is your bath?”
“What about the rest of the boys. I only saw three in the car.”
“Getting breakfast. We’ll pick them up on the roadside.”
“Oh-oh, so now you want me to come along and play Bolekaja, picking up your early morning drunkards along the road….”
“Baby baby baby…”
“I am not your baby. Go and pick them up and come back for me.”
“Baby they know you. They know if they get here at noon you will still be in bed. So they insisted I drop them round the corner where they can booze until you choose to get ready. Nothing will shift them until they see you. Baby, it’s like it isn’t quite dawn for them. They don’t believe the sun is out until they see Celestial…”
“Don’t sweet-talk me….”
“Why not baby. You know it’s Aristo that’s got you so damned awkward. Why shouldn’t I sweet-talk you out of it. What’s Zacky running the damned bunch of genius for if…hey, and that’s something else. Dig this…” He blew a rapid phrase on the saxophone. “You know what that is?”
Her curiosity was aroused. “I haven’t heard that one.”
“Course you haven’t. Listen to some more. And you ain’t heard the words even so you don’t know nothing yet.”
“Who wrote it?”
“I ain’t telling. Seems to be about somebody’s mother. He’s flying man, flying. Handed me the song yesterday and I’ve been trying out a few arrangements. Maybe the band will let you hear it tonight maybe not.”
“Why should I care?” Flinging herself back on the bed.
“You would if you knew who wrote it.” Hardly stopping he began to intone,
Never again Mother-of-Dawn
Never o never again
Don’t ever leave the light again
The dwarfs are spitting on the sun…
“Yeah Ofeyi, that’s the line I want to tell you about. There’s trouble with that. You’ll have to give us different words or…”
“So it’s him.”
Zaccheus hit himself on the mouth and moaned, “Oh Papa Zacky!”
Iriyise turned idly on her side. “It’s a change anyway, judging from that little bit. Though one can never guess what he’s hidden inside it until they come for him.”
“Hey, you don’t think…” Zaccheus stopped dead, turned reproachful eyes on Ofeyi.
“Don’t you know him yet?” Iriyise threw at him, irritated.
Zaccheus shook his head. “No, it’s straightforward. You’re getting jittery Firebrand. I’ve read all the lines, you don’t get lyrics more straightforward than that.”
“You are simple. Ever known a straightforward number from him?”
“Ofeyi…”
“Oh shut up the pair of you. And you, get out and take that shower.”
“I’m dead.”
“I’ll count up to three. One…Two…”
“Oh damn you—man!”
She gathered her towel and sponge and flung out of the room. Opened the door and thrust her face at him. “They’ll get you yet, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Zaccheus poured another drink of cocoaine and gulped it. “Hey man, friend, comrade…”
“Shut up Zacchy. There is nothing wrong with the song.”
“If you are sure…”
“I said it’s straight. Now let’s hear the whole thing.”
Zaccheus looked relieved and abashed, began to adjust his mouthpiece. “It isn’t that we wouldn’t have done it anyway. But not up yonder, no siree, not up yonder. Man, they are not nice people those Cross-river Fatsies, they are not nice people at all. Here at least your friends will know what happened to you before things go too far.”
“Are you going to play the damned thing?”
“Coming boss coming. Man, you and Celestial are real touchy this morning.”
He blew softly, lingering over each phrase and caressing the notes. At the end he took the instrument slowly from his mouth, let it hang from his neck and rocked his head from side to side.
“I don’t know why I let Celestial give me that scare. There is no thorn in it man, not with a melody like that. Just ambrosia man, nectar and ambrosia like you name it in that other number.”
Ofeyi laughed. “You want me to change the words round.”
“What? Oh no. That’s mere words and spikes—not that the tune isn’t sweet and seductive and all that. But this…! Hey man, why don’t you just stay with us. I mean instead of being also against them, just be with us. Leave them alone to go to hell where they’re heading anyway.”
Shaking his head regretfully Ofeyi told him, “It is not that simple Zack. There is no such easy division.”
“You can keep it simple if you want to. B Sharp is B Sharp. Call it C if you like but when Zack says B Sharp that’s what it is. And if you want you can keep things clear and simple like I do. Man, you’re just too fond of sniping. You and Spyhole, you’re twin brothers. Snipers. You got telescoping lenses stuck in your eyes all day long.”
“We all share the same air Zaccheus. When they breathe in it, they foul it no matter the distance.”
“To hell with you man. Let’s get down to business.” He broke off suddenly and dashed outside, returned a moment later with Iriyise in tow. “I want you to hear this right. Celestial, you sing it best as you can.”
“What about my bath?”
“Later baby, later. Right now we’ve got a problem.”
“What other problem now?”
“No, wait till you hear it.” He fussed around the sheets and came up with a page. “Line’s gone, can’t find it. Aha, got him. I’ll blow you the line and you sing to it—Never in the fettered dark. Got it? Never in the fettered dark.” She repeated the words. “Good, here goes.”
She sang the words, he playing along with her.
“Once more Celestial, just one more time.”
When they had finished he folded his hands and looked at Ofeyi.
Ofeyi stared back, then gave an idiot grin. “Don’t get it maestro.”
“What do you mean, don’t get it? I’m asking you what it sounded like. How did the words hit you?”
“Look man, say what you’ve got against it?”
“Got against it? Who said I’ve got anything against it? Did I say I got anything against it. Celestial…”
“All right” Ofeyi sighed. “Why do you like to beat around the bush? Too literary?”
“No no, who said it was too literary. I don’t say anything about that. But who is going to sing it? Fettered dark! Man, that mouth ain’t built yet that can sing that and make me believe it. I mean man, is it opera…?”
Ofeyi leant over and took the bottle, poured him a drink. “Zack, I’ll change it. I’ll think of something else.”
“Before we leave? I want to launch it on this tour. Man, it will knock th
em.”
“This very minute. If you can manage to shut up.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Whew! If you’d only stop beating around the bush. You and your elephantine notions of tact.”
“Who is talking now?” Zaccheus protested to the world in general.
“You men want breakfast?” Iriyise asked. “Because I’m taking that bath right now and I won’t go in the kitchen afterwards.”
“Who wants breakfast? Me, I’ve been up since I left the club, teasing out that damned tune and the words. Why not? I don’t mind. I know a work of love when I hear one and if music be the food of love, I’ve breakfasted.”
“Two eggs or three? Or shall I send the driver for some akara from the next street?”
“Coffee dear lady, just coffee to go with some ninepence akara. If you happen to be frying eggs for yourself I’ll keep you company to the tune of two. Otherwise no breakfast ma’am.” He helped her into her slippers and opened the door for her. “Baby, until you said it I just didn’t know how hungry I was.” He shut the door when she had left and rested against it, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow.
“Man, you never knows whether that lady is on your side or not. Did you hear her? She offered to make breakfast.”
“But she always makes breakfast.”
“Yeah, sure, sure enough. But not after a scene like that. Not after a blowup with a rat like Aristo. She’s changed I tell you man. Changed. Ask around if you don’t believe me. Until you packed her off into the bathroom I didn’t dare believe we’d set off before tomorrow. You’re modest man, you’re real humble if you think that was nothing.”
“Do you want this verse changed or don’t you?”
Zaccheus tiptoed to a chair, pressing both lips together with his fingers. He poured out the last drops of the wine and sank into a corner, hoisting his short plump legs onto the leather pouff. Raising the glass against the light from the window he began to hum:
Hail, Golden mammary
Healer of memory
Make me a child again
Suckled on sweet cocoaine
He went into a delighted chuckle, “I don’t care what they say man. You have the genius. I say—did those Gboròlu cats deliver the goods?”
“It’s under the bed. I’m taking some with me to Aiyéró.”
Zaccheus sat up sharply. “What!”
“Shut up and sit down. I have bad news for them so I must sweeten it with something.”
Zaccheus moaned. “Oh God, oh God. Ofe, promise me there’ll be something left when we get over there. Promise you won’t let those savage adopted ancestors of yours get the damned lot down their throats.”
“There’ll be something left.”
“One look Ofe. Just one peep.”
Ofeyi shrugged. “But if you let it out it’s here before you leave town you know what will happen.”
“Don’t I know it” and he whipped up the bedspread. “Oh God Ofe, oh God oh God oh God. I can’t think all these demijohns are loaded with the stuff.”
“Smell it if you don’t believe it.”
“Ofe man, this will really turn a corpse over. Not even the schnapps-weaned ancients down that village can demolish all of it in one week. We could call there on our way back and give a show.”
“That’s what I keep telling you. Now shut up or you’ll leave one verse short.”
“Sorry sorry I forgot. You can’t blame me for getting carried away.” He shot back into his seat and did not move again until Ofeyi threw a scrap of paper at him.
“Man that’s quick…hey, do you see what I see?”
The window was sill-level with the floor of the courtyard. Aristo’s face showed suddenly, crouch-form through a gap in the curtains, arms free swinging, orang-utan. He scratched softly on the bars. Zaccheus shook his head in disbelief. “Do you see him? Hey what’s the matter with you Aristo? Can’t you use the door instead of playing monkey at the window?”
“She’s locked the door.”
“So?”
“Let me talk to Ofeyi maybe he can simmer her down. I have to come with you on the trip so I’ve got to straighten myself out with her can’t you see?”
“Who says?”
“Let me talk to Ofeyi.”
“Get lost Aristo.” He pulled the curtains shut and picked up his saxophone. “Read the new version when I get to the spot man.” Aristo rapped on the bars again and Zaccheus pulled back the curtain. “Look man, you’ve got business with Iriyise, so you come in and you settle your business with her. Don’t interrupt this conference once more or I’ll shove this tube down your throat.”
“Will you open the door for me?”
“Goddamn you man aren’t you the one who boasts how tough you are? I thought you liked irate lovers for breakfast.”
“Woman is different. I don’t backchat an angry dame. Not if she is called Iriyise.”
“Look Mr. Loose-mouth, I got business. Either you shut your big mouth now or you point your yellow feather backwards and beat Jesse Owens. Or knock on the door and try your sales talk with her. You’re the big sales shot aren’t you? We’ll see how you get on with the one person who can muck up your record on this trip.”
Ofeyi laughed. “Now you’ve got him really worried.”
“Hell has no fury says the Good Book. Celestial will snarl all his lines on this tour I know that. He’s going to come back with a blank order book. Eleven of us cramped in that beat-down Chevrolet, the damned Corporation wouldn’t even lend us a van though we promised we’d foot petrol and repairs. But he gets a damned big Mercedes all to his little self. You know Ofe, I ask the runt if he could give a lift to a couple of the boys, just to ease us out you know. You know what he tells me?” He switched to a ludicrous falsetto. “We-ell, it’s this way Zack, say it happens I get to pick up a chick on the way. An extra body in the car would cramp my style see? Two is company, three is a crowd eh? Yah, that’s what he tells me.”
“Forget it. Want to try out that line?”
“Sure sure, don’t know why I let myself get het up about a punk like him.”
The door opened to the sound of sizzling and Iriyise entered with a loaded pan in one hand and a tray in the other. Zaccheus rushed to her aid, made space on the table by knocking his instrument case to the floor and cursing the emptied bottle.
“Try not to spill the coffee” Iriyise warned.
Ofeyi glanced up at her and marvelled again at her changes of mood. She caught his eyes, smiled and went out to the bathroom. Gone, wiped out in entirety were all traces of the morning’s apprehensions, the clairvoyant intensity that went into her fevered utterances. As for the hatred in her eyes when she chased Aristo out of the house—and he knew that in those moments it was real; threats to Ofeyi she felt as menaces to her own life—even that hate was gone. Aristo could walk into the house now and would be met by a cold contempt—that of course she would retain. She would not once open her mouth to him on the trip or acknowledge his existence. And she did possess this gift, she could speak through the most strident, most assertive being without efforts or seeming contrivance. He smiled inside of him, plunged into the eggs.
Breakfast was long finished, Zaccheus was purring satisfaction through his saxophone when the door opened, noiselessly. Iriyise passed through the music and ordered him to turn around while she changed. Zaccheus without a break in the notes chuckled and changed his position, Ofeyi folded his hands behind his head, marvelling at the apparition of a goddess bathed in a purple curtain-filtered light. It seemed to him that the room was mysteriously still, that the moment was frozen and replete. On Iriyise’s head the shower protection, white crimped rubber became a bowl of husked milky grains, a tumulus of icing. Her eyes no longer acknowledged their presence, they had turned inwards, into her rites of transformation. She slipped a bronzed l
imb behind a mahogany-and-glass panel of the wardrobe, there were quiet, supple movements as she selected robes and jewels, then her face emerged to test the choice against her skin, expressionless. She moved behind a folding screen but her presence still filled the room and held it tranquil. The mound of grain floated briefly in air, was replaced by a sheen of hair, black silken corn tassels through which she ran her ivory comb. She teased the fringes, pressed them into place and shook them out again. Emerging at last, sheathed in a spadix mould of home weave, she stood between the mirrors of the wardrobe doors and receded into infinity with myriad duplications.
“Well?” She had turned to the two men, her arms hanging down and the palms turned outwards to them, joining them in a casual intimacy.
Conjurer, incantatory words floated through Ofeyi’s lips. He got up from the bed at last, wrapping the bedsheet around him and walked towards her. Zaccheus, the mouthpiece merely wetted by his lips fought for definition of the sight that now confronted him: Iriyise, still, except for her eyes which followed Ofeyi’s motions, and Ofeyi in the loose white wrap, sanctified by love-stains, prowling her on cat’s feet, priest and vestal in mutual adoration. And why not, thought Ofeyi? Vision is eternally of man’s own creating. The woman’s acceptance, her collaboration in man’s vision of life results time and time again in just such periodic embodiments of earth and ideal. It was not a question of beauty, or of perfection. It was simply that however briefly, with that transience that was a seal of truth on its own nature, Iriyise would reveal within her person a harrowing vision of the unattainable.
Zaccheus wetted his lips, conceding to the general air his ultimate accolade, “Madammadonna…madammadonna…”
“He’s right” Ofeyi said, his eyes unwavering from the presence.
3
TENTACLES
VI
“The child who swears his mother will not sleep, he must also pass a sleepless night.” Thus Batoki, tunesmith of proverbs. He summed up the resolution of the Cartel and turned over to sleep. Stung, crazed by months of insomnia, the Cartel had at last identified its tormentors and organized a return harassment.
