Homecoming of the gods

by Frank Achebe

  With a nod, she let him into the neat but modest compound with the small bungalow in the corner. There were untrimmed and dull flowers, an orange tree and water pots that lined the fence wall. The fence was bare and overgrown with rough patches of algae in places. The general air about the place was one of cold withdrawal and loneliness.

  She led him into the sitting room past a veranda that had clothes hanging from ropes tied to the columns that arched the veranda at its top. They were men’s clothes that assured Zach that his prize was not very far away. The sitting room was modest as every other thing it. The cushion was worn in many places and when Zach sat, the spring under the cushion sank under him and so he sat out on the edge. There was among the wall photos that lined the wall a faded portrait of the Christ on the cross, a woodcut of John 3 verse 16 and another, a larger one, of the Ten Commandments. One of the framed family photos had a man dressed in military suits with the woman that Zach had just met by his right, a young and sad girl on a wheelchair, and Silas holding her shoulders with a wide smile. He looked fourteen or so in that photo. And apart from the rest of them, he was the only one with a real smile on his face.

  There was something cruel about that photo and the other photos, something viciously unfortunate and cruel that made Zach shudder pitifully.

  Zach’s mind registered all of those in an instant. The room did not particularly smell well. It was damp. It smelt of dotage and lack of ventilation. The TV set was older than every other thing in the room and it sure looked like something that had not been used in centuries. There was a small radio on the centre table. It was turned on though the volume was low. The music coming from it was somewhat like the inaudible one he had heard as he rode in the taxi through the inner city.

  He waited and hoped. But then the question that he had neither asked nor answered came to mind. What was he going to tell the young man? There had to be something though what exactly it was, he could not yet tell. He would have to try to be open and honest and be hopeful that it would rescue him as it always did.

  He sat there not sure how much longer he would have to sit when voices started coming from past a small passageway that led from the sitting room, the voice of a woman rising and that of a man rising higher.

  He listened, not sure what to make of it.

  He listened but then his break came when the woman walked out into the sitting room. ‘He is just waking from sleep. He will be joining you in a moment.’

  The woman did not leave rather she sat down in another couch opposite Zach and began her routine of observations. It gave Zach a chance for his own observation of her though nothing was revealed until the woman spoke up.

  ‘So, are you a newsman or something?’

  Zach shook his head frantically. ‘No, ma.’ Zach was not sure what he would add and so he left it at that.

  The woman observed him again, warmth appearing in her eyes. She nodded as if to reassure him. But the nod was more or less, to reassure herself. She felt grace in the stranger’s presence, unlike she’d ever did and that seemed to be enough.

  The woman observed him further before continuing. ‘He’s changed a lot. He drinks now. In short, he is going mad. He keeps talking of how he loves life.’ She said with a great deal of feeling and anxiety in her voice.

  Zach looked on and listened. It became obvious to her that she had finally eased into his presence on account of something which was unknown to him, whatever it was.

  ‘Gimme a minute. I’ll be right back.’

  She walked away into the passageway that was covered by an old and worn grey curtain that had wiped many a hand.

  It did not take the woman a lot more time to return this time. When she did, Zach saw the resignation in her eyes. He understood that the young man did not want to see him when she shook her head and lowered it. When she raised it up again, its original paleness had returned and Zach saw that she was in anguish almost to the point of tears. ‘Please,’ she began, her Southern floating edgy accent getting stronger in her voice. ‘You have to help him. He has been saying that he loves life. He loves life and I don’t know what to make of it… Do you have any idea what he means by that?’

  Zach shook his head. He didn’t.

  It was from here that the woman went on to tell her story in which was sandwiched part of Silas’ story. Her husband had served in the army and had fought in the war of ’74 rising to the rank of colonel. He was a good man – as she had put it and according to her definition of ‘good’ – till after the War when everything changed. That was the true mark of war and conflict—they change everything or in other cases, reveal the ‘changes’ that lay deep within us. On returning from the war, he had joined the elite soldiers who won the war for the South in overthrowing the civilian government. He became a minster in the government.

  That was the beginning of her sufferings. He started sleeping with other women and even bringing some home that by the end of ’79, he had six other children from other women minus those whom he had denied and those whom he had aborted. The man became a degenerate overnight. In the summer of ’79, he had them out of the house and in ’81, he was shot dead during in a counter-coup.

  Silas was born in ‘73 and his sister in ’72. But the sister died in ’85 from complications from an accident in her childhood which had confined her in a wheelchair for all her life.

  The woman had taken the young boy who was the only thing she had left in her little world and raised him from the crumbs that had fallen out of his father’s table, chief of which was the house.

  ‘That was the only thing that came to me though he had millions,’ she had told Zach. ‘I found a little room somewhere outside this neighbourhood and rented this place. The rent was enough to pay his fees and feed him. You see, I look very old but I am only a poor woman of fifty-one. I still wonder why the world was so cruel to me. And now, the only thing I have left in this world will be taken from me.’

  Zach listened as the woman poured out the contents of her heart to him. She was not in tears, she was calculated as she did not want to create any pretentious effect on her listener. In fact, she was not at all ‘begging’ him; it was something far more profound, that unknown sensibility, that urged her on.

  ‘There is something you must know…,’ she began on another beat.

  Then she paused almost abruptly and Zach heard the change in her voice as it had also appeared in her face. ‘My greatest fear is that he is like his father, somehow. Somehow, I did not see it coming. It was my fault. I should have stopped him.’

  As to why she felt that it was all her fault, she had continued: ‘I should not have let him. He is only a child. But he really loved God. He kept saying that God had called him to be a preacher. I thought that maybe if there had been money for college, he would not have thought of being a preacher.’

  Zach nodded.

  ‘Now he keeps talking about how he loves life. I don’t even understand that. Has he gone mental?’

  Zach shook his head. ‘He’s okay. I’ll see what I can do to help.’

  As to helping, Zach was more than willing but where to begin, he did not know. He had begun actually, but how to proceed was the challenge of the promise of helping.

  There are a lot more to Silas’s story that is yet to be revealed which I shall in due time. But a creative reader will already have made something of the little that has been said. The young man’s vision of himself had been hurt as that of God and of the world that seemed not to have a reason to forgive him. The scars were rather too deep that they reached to the depth of his being. Time sure does heal certain wounds but there are wounds that time can’t heal and the wound in Silas’ heart was one of such. His situation demanded more than mere forgiveness but something in a miracle.

  It was not entirely that he did not want to face and fix his mistake. Nay, it was just that – as I shall come to reveal in the course of the story – there was something more epic to the whole incident that eluded him and many others. As to f
acing his mistake, he was more than willing. Though he could in no way, undo what had been done, he had already accepted it as his fate and himself as a true son of his father. However, the situation was far bigger than the pitiful story of his sleeping with a woman and getting her pregnant on the very first night. The story as it shall unfold was not anything about him. He was the rook rather than the king. Even as the rook, he had moves to make for the king. To make such moves was the reason he had been sent to the town of Nānti, which became notorious in the tail of ’96. His healing lay in his seeing that and in accepting it. But he was very much like the rest of us: full of himself, too short-sighted, too self-conscious, too insecure, too much in love with life to face the dark abyss of death.

  This is not to trivialise the pain he felt and the grief and scandal that he dealt with in the confines of his soul. But if time had anything to contribute to his healing, it was precisely in helping him see.

  For the sake of sympathy, I shall do well to remind you, my dear reader, that it is men and not angels that God has called to be His witnesses. This should humble both those who are called to co-labour with God and those who make tales out of their failures. But if it fails to humble us, it shall certainly not fail to judge us.

  Chapter Five: The Hair

  A few more things passed between the two. Zach did not particularly know what to say. But he was sure that his presence was good enough help.

  Zach did not know how to proceed. As he sat looking at the woman in silence, a novel thought streamed into his mind. It was rather intense and disturbing. He looked at the wall clock that was somewhere in the living room and the time was pushing towards nine. He would have to go to that town. That was just it and very much like the first impression that had been made on him to come to Mōia and then Rumōia, he could not explain why he had to. Unlike the most of us, he had learnt to wait at the very end of the journey for explanations. He had learnt to dance to the rhythm of distant drums. He had grown to trust such impressions though this one was far more urgent and pressing than any other that he’d had before. Even though trusting and waiting on such impressions was not entirely an easy thing, he made it easy simply by trusting not by haggling within himself the whys and the hows and the ifs and the buts and the maybes—and every other thing to those.

  —Would that help?

  He was not sure of anything. The only thing he was dead sure at that moment was that he would be going to that town.

  Zach had not had certain experiences but he had something to say to the woman for her son. ‘The world doesn’t forgive but God does forgive. We can receive God’s forgiveness and move on with life. He has to understand that.’ Mrs Ańgō nodded sheepishly. ‘I am not sure exactly how to help but he has my prayers. I don’t have much money but I will mail an order in the coming days no matter how small.’

  The woman was delighted. ‘Your coming is enough help.’

  Zach was standing by now.

  ‘He will get over himself. He’s still a kid, you know. Thanks though. My greetings to your wife.’ She said with a smile that spoke more of her gratitude than her words.

  It was with these words and a few more that they parted ways. It was a few months later that they saw each other again.

  In the other room, Silas listened to all of those – and a little more – with his ears held against the thin wall.

  # # #

  Zach walked out of that bungalow with two things on his mind. The first was how to help; the second was how to get to Nānti. Both were in no way easy. But then, the choice was not between that which was easy and that which was difficult. The choice was between life and death. That was his assessment of it from the very beginning. And that would be our assessment of it.

  They put the taxi in the direction of where they could get a payphone. They got there in a few minutes.

  The driver helped him with a coin and he dialled home. The phone rang and rang again but was dead cold except for the sound of the dial tones. In ’96, mobile phones were already in the market but then it was for those who could afford it. And the Bādu’s were certainly not in that number as the price of one was far beyond them. The telephones did serve their pockets well and vice versa.

  After waiting a few more minutes, he tried again but nothing. He then walked back to the taxi where the driver was waiting. ‘Let’s go get something for lunch.’

  The man obliged him and in a few more minutes, they were in a tavern. Twenty-minutes later, they were done with their meals mostly in silence. Zach fancied that he was in a meeting with Thaddy and he wished to talk with the man.

  The man on the other hand had sensed something unusual in his passenger that he could not understand. It was there in the air about him. It made him feel awkward haven talked about something as silly as public hair.

  ‘So who are you really?’ he asked.

  ‘Zachariah Bādu.’

  ‘Oh, so what brings you around these parts?’

  Zach went on and told him. The man was impressed and alarmed at the same time.

  ‘I want to help him. That’s all.’

  ‘How do you intend to do that?’

  Zach was not sure and he told him so.

  ‘You know I’ve never been a man to judge other men.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Zach asked.

  ‘Are you an angel, Mr Zachariah?’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Then we are even, aren’t we?’

  Zach smiled. He was not sure anything good would come out of the discussion but he felt he could pass the time on its account.

  Zach hesitated as his eyes caught sight of a twelve-year old girl walk into the tavern in the hand of an elderly man who they supposed to be her grandfather. As he returned his face to the man’s, he saw that the driver had seen the same sight and that it had an effect on him.

  By now, the man’s face had softened into a grin. ‘I know I’m the bad guy…I am the bad guy really.’ He said in abundance of guilt, then paused, leaned forward in a serious manner and asked ‘What do you think about the hair?’ He asked more politely this time.

  It was at this moment that the waiter returned with their bill. Zach paid and they returned to the cab.

  There were many things that made that one question very awkward both for the asker and for Zach. But then, at the same time, he now felt obliged to say something to the man, something that soothed his curiosity.

  It was obvious that it was not just the hair that interested the man. He was concealing a malevolence.

  # # #

  Back at the payphone, Zach dialled again and the voice of his wife greeted him. He then went on and told her everything leaving nothing out of the debrief. When he was done with the narrative, he announced to her that he would be going to the town. He had no explanations, he just felt drawn to it. That was all. He would spend the weekend in the town.

  When he was done, a familiar feeling welled up from within. He felt angry at himself. If she had resisted him, then he would have had an excuse but her unconditional acceptance of his proposal left him disappointed.

  Zach knew that she was going through the same motions as he was as if she was a step ahead of him. She obliged him without demanding further clarification of purpose and intent.

  Nothing more was said and both of them know instantly that it would last for more than a weekend.

  ‘I will keep in touch.’ Zach promised.

  As he put the receiver of the phone back into its cradle, he felt peace, mixed with rage to an equal measure, at himself.

  # # #

  Mr Shergie, the taxi driver, does not feature much in our story but then it was through his eyes that Zach came to know the world in a different way unlike he had before. So it is only fair to our present story to run a background check on him.

  Shergie Peters had served the most of his adult life as a cop. He never made it to the top of the ladder precisely because he was not very smart. He was a most simple-hearted and simple-minded fellow.
From first sight, and following the abandonment with which he spoke about something as trivial and almost disgusting as pubic hair with a total stranger, we would not be doing justice to smartness to ascribe smartness to him. In addition to smartness, other things that aided ascension to the top corners of the society like ambitiousness and shrewdness were certainly not qualities he possessed. He had very little in luck too.

  Like every police officer, he did his own shit. There is no policeman that does not do ‘shit’ especially around this part of the world, but part of the shit was to be smart and not get caught in the lights like a jackrabbit. This is not to say that there are no real good cops anyway.

  He did his own shit and had gone to jail for it when others had ascended the ladder for it. Suffer me to say that it was not merely his own idiocy that drove him down the hole, he was rather unlucky to be the guy that was made an example to the world of how the police was trying to ‘purge from its ranks criminals who had missed their road and had ended up in the force’. In jail, he was converted to a Catholic, a devoted one and tomorrow was Friday and Friday was Confession day. As to the hair thing, he was of the generation that had not seen much of those things on women’s bodies. Coming out of jail after a decade was like walking into a whole new world, a naked world, which left him with a perpetual erection. He had been in the cab-driving job for about a year and he still felt a stranger in the world about him—on account of the hair.

  However, there is something more to the hair anyway and I shall come to it in a moment.

  Well, the shitty part of the job involved ‘moving’ evidences, I wouldn’t say ‘selling’ anyway, if you understand what I mean. But then sometimes it sure did involve actual selling—if you like it that way. Drugs especially. I mean, there are things that can’t be stopped and more than their employer, they knew this. The deal was to control them, keep them from getting into the wrong hands. Decide who gets what.