by Frank Achebe
‘What is the rationale?’
‘Those boys are not the mayor’s. I should’ve known if I were their mother. There are no guarantees. This is merely my own theory. More or less. You may kill me but you may not mock my intelligence.’
Out of respect for his boss, Hééb had gone to speak with him regarding this that Sunday evening. But the man was not listening. ‘I am not a pagan. I do not subscribe to such nonsense. Do not insult the memory of my boy. Do not mock me in my suffering. Do you understand that?’
He had left disappointed. Urged on by something more selfish this time, he had proceeded with doing it himself, for himself and by himself.
He could swim, as could everybody that had been raised in Nānti, and so finding such a spot, he had tethered the boy to a stone on the waterbed with a thick rope that he had brought along.
Next was to sit out and watch what happens. That evening passed into the night. He could not sleep through the night for he felt a strong presence about the river. It was one of those pitch-dark, starless and moonless nights. He was sure that he was going to run away the next morning if he could and if he could survive the dreadful night. But the morning had come and he had fallen into a deep sleep, one that lasted into the evening. He had walked the fields around the river and finding some garden eggs, he had helped himself with something to chew.
However, it was not his stomach that gave him the most anxiety. He was sure he was going to be mad with fear going into the dreadful nights. Then came the rains and even if he had plans of staking his pride and running back home to his mother like a frightened child, he could not have done so any more. Not to the rains and not to the darkness. He was now like a ship stuck in a tempest. He sat back down on the hillock.
He sat there with the rains pouring down in mad rage when he heard a loud rumbling in the distance. The river was moving with a swirl at the place where he had placed the boy. He did see it, although there were no light in the skies—and though he could not have been any closer to the river than the hillock. He later fancied that he had seen it in a vision, a dream more or less, than with his two physical eyes. For it did not seem that anything had indeed happened after all.
The whirl rose till it covered the skies with a thick fountain under which everything disappeared. There were thunder and thick lightning that shook the earth beneath him with a quake. There were voices, those of a woman rumbling through the cackles of thunder and lightning. But he could hardly make anything out of them.
Hééb had the vision for those two days that it rained. When he woke that Sunday evening, he was shaking both with fear and with the dread of the vision. He had managed to stand and get down into the river. The boy was gone. Only the rope was left.
He did not freak out. He was positive that something had happened to the boy after all. The next thing was to get home.
# # #
Zach woke with a start. The nightmare had returned after a few days away. Once again, it was vague except for the dark-skinned, dark-harried woman and the setting, which was recognizably the river where he used to hold his morning ritual.
He got into his coat that morning and headed to the river. The valley with the gardens was as it were in the nightmare—or ‘the vision’, ‘the dream’ as we would interchangeably use those terms henceforth as suits the occasion—. There were rocks lying still in the river as were in the nightmare. In the nightmare, one of the rocks had the woman seated on it.
When he got to the stream that was now swollen with the rains that had raised the water level, his idea first was to find that one rock and the one that sat on it. The line between the dream and reality had grown thin that he could no longer stand behind the lie, nor could he even see it.
He would have to assume that everything was real as they were unreal.
He was able to identify the rock in time. To his surprise, someone was seated on it. It was not the woman, however. The figure was that of a dark-skinned, dark-haired young man.
The face belonged to the boy with a dead face that once shared the hospital wardroom with Pûjó. A smile was registered on the face. The eyes sparkled with a faint green light just as they did in the nightmare.
# # #
‘Ma, we want you to be the chairperson at the reception,’ the man announced. He held a bottle of wine wrapped in gift wrapper. Beside him, the woman gave a fake smile.
Madam Békhtèn had standing before her in the veranda, an ‘about-to-wed’ couple. They looked odd to her if not comical. She rarely knew them as she was sure they would never have sent her a Christmas card at the least if there wasn’t something for them in it. She was familiar with people like that leveraging on her persona. They would not have invited her if they did not think that she would put money on her name as such occasion demanded of her.
She gave them a drowsy look before asking: ‘When exactly?’
The lady took out an invitation card and handed to her with a bow.
‘2PM. Town Hall.’ She read aloud to them. ‘13th September.’
They answered a Yes in unison.
She dismissed them with a half-hearted promise that she would ‘be there.’ She fell into disappointment when she examined the wine. It was low grade and the thought of washing her hands with it flew across her mind. Instead, she sighed and let off her disappointment with: ‘The Lord have mercy on us fools and idiots.’
‘Babe,’ Daniel stepped in. He leaned over and kissed her. It felt good as if felt awkward. For goodness sake, he could have been her last son. But it did not matter. It fuelled her fantasies and that was why she paid him.
She could have asked: How was your night? But she already knew the answer. It had been a mountain-climbing experience for him. Trying to meet all of that woman’s vain sexual fantasies was like trying to empty the Atlantic with a spoon. But he was trying his best after all.
Then Ūö joined them. She was the one that got the ‘how was your night?’ question.
It was fine. She assured her.
‘Mother, I don’t know. I’m scared.’
‘The postman? The letter?’
She always woke up to that.
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t be silly. You should be talking about how to adapt to the environment and all of that. It’s going to happen. Relax. Come on.’
Daniel slipped in: ‘I think, sometimes the letters get to come even a year later.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. Not mine though. But I have friends whose letters came quite late. That’s an exception though. You know that in our country, things don’t quite work as they are meant to.’
‘You see. Just relax. Next month, I will take you there myself. When is the resumption date?’
‘8th October.’
‘That’s still a long way off. Come on, make your mother miss you.’
‘But mother, I am supposed to prepare ahead of the time.’
‘I suppose the adventure is one to die for.’ Daniel said. ‘It’s natural. In my own time, I had them drive back and forth to the post office.’
‘Of course it is.’ Madam Békhtèn added in dismay.
Ūö saw her chance and asked: ‘What does it feel like?’ She actually meant ‘What did it feel like for you?’ Many people had told her of what university life was like but they were mostly repeating words they had taken from other people’s mouths. It was her chance to hear from the horse’s mouth.
‘I don’t know. But for what it is, it’s a place where you encounter the world. Meet people of different background and different worldviews. I suppose that’s why they call it a universe-city. It always comes off like that, with all the initial excitement because it is an adventure. Really. But you need that excitement to take you through the whole adventure. And I suppose it comes handy. Such curiosity comes naturally with learning new things and meeting new people.’
She was hooked.
‘I made my best friends in my very first year. We still friends till today. So it goes tha
t way.’
Ūö was impressed. She wanted to hear more. But her mother was beginning to become jealous as she wanted to be the centre of attention. So she sent her off on some insignificant errand.
Daniel knew he was not allowed to have certain discussions, not one that was outside their relationship. So the horse bridled his mouth.
# # #
‘I suppose we have met before,’ the boy asked with a hand held out to Zach. He was dressed in black as was the woman from the nightmare.
Zach took the hand reluctantly. ‘At the health centre.’
‘Or elsewhere?’
Zach was sure that he was not in the nightmare but on the other side of it. At the same time, it did feel that he was in an unreal place. He was now not minding the line between there and then. It no longer seemed to matter.
‘I knew you were going to come.’
‘How did you know that?’
The boy had now stepped off the rock and was standing in the river with Zach still on the slope.
‘O’course, Mr Zachariah, I knew you would.’
‘How do you know my name?’
The boy smiled.
‘We have met before, haven’t we?’
Chapter Two: The Homecoming
The news of the return of the mayor’s boy spread across the town and beyond it at the speed of light. Into the excitement of his appearance disappeared every other thing. No one, the mayor and his daughter included, was concerned again with how. They were all taken by the boy’s return. Felicitations poured in from all around the world.
Nothing again was said about the fact that Hééb had taken him away. The mayor was not impressed. Kuniā herself no longer felt that it mattered. ‘Does it?’
Zach did not know what to answer. The boy was alive, and that was all that mattered to those to whom his life mean t something. He did not want to be the killjoy and could not afford to be one. But he was certain of one thing as he was of many others—that boy came from the land of the dead.
By evening, the house was packed with well-wishers and random people, talking, jabbering, eating, and drinking and of course, throwing affection at the boy and his father. Hééb was back into the household as if he never left. Zach knew without being told that his days in the mayor’s home were counted.
Hééb himself was in an ecstasy, one which he tried to hide behind his professional manners while on his duties. Apparently, he had ‘fulfilled his own destiny’ and now, as his mother had told him, he was to watch and see what happens from here. Zach’s presence no longer threatened him.
In Madam Békhtèn’s hall, everyone was surprised at his recent generosity. ‘A plate of soup for everybody. All on me. All on me.’ Some were taking more than one though.
‘He’s happy for his boss,’ was the consensus. However, Brim was in a mood. He did not think that everything was right. But his brother’s eyes kept grazing his. He would see the warning there and try to act as normal as possible. He knew how it would go down, just as it always went down: Money did not trust him and so he would not allow him a moment off his sight. He was now in jail more or less.
He was sure his brother loved him. He was certain that he saw in him someone he could live for and he respected him for that. But he just did not know.
His only option was to keep his mouth shut and his demeanour as normal as normal could be. Perhaps if he could convince his brother that everything was under control, he would let him off the hook.
But did it matter? Being off the hook? It did not seem to matter, not when he had protected him, had provided for him, had done menial jobs just to give him a life that he never had himself. He would have to pay all of that back by respecting his brother’s desire for his silence.
A faint impression flashed across his mind: would it matter after all if Hééb had some conspiracy behind the boy’s return? Would anyone even believe him? And what was even this conspiracy? He was left with no other choice but to follow his brother.
# # #
That night, Zach went to see the nurse. He had looked for the hunter but he was nowhere in sight. She was the only one with whom he could share his concerns.
She gave him a meal of yam porridge, as prepared by her sister. It was top of the shelf considering that more in raw human skill went into the making of the food than what money could buy.
‘I wouldn’t go about poking my nose into affairs that do not concern me.’ She advised him as they ate.
‘No, you don’t understand. I am in the centre of the conspiracy.’ He answered her and then proceeded to tell her of the nightmare and the meeting at the river. ‘Whoever this is wanted me to be here from the very start. It’s like a well-thought out scheme. I find that I am in the middle of it all and I cannot walk away from it. Not now that I have gone the distance.’ Zach spoke in a flurry that he almost choked on the pieces of yam as they covered the distance between plate and mouth.
‘Who could that be?’
‘I don’t know and I’m sure that Hééb himself does not know as well. He’s been played in the game though he thinks he is the one with the lead.’
‘You know you are a man with sharp sensibilities. Truthfully, I do find it rather hard to trust my judgements on issues. My own judgements at the least. It’s like, I can’t even give credibility to my own judgments. And it gets hard for me to trust others. That’s how it goes. But Zach, I trust you.’
It did seem to comfort him that he was not sure that his sensibilities were that strong. But this one was unmistakable.
‘I really don’t know what to do. I don’t want to appear a killjoy. But there are other things I’d rather have them be prepared for.’
Zach did not want to return to the mayor’s place that evening. He could have slept on the bench outside the nurse’s door. He wished the rains hadn’t taken the shack. He would have managed with the darkness. Now he had no other choice and he started on his way back to that mansion.
It got even worse as the days came and left. The attention had moved fully from him to the boy. Kuniā herself no longer paid him the slightest attention. Zach did not think he should blame her for anything, except of course, for her naivety. He had disappeared into the buzz that went on in the house. He no longer mattered.
Chapter Three: A Phone Call Away
Nothing eventful happened that night. The next morning, Zach reported at the river. The line between reality and nightmare no longer existed. He was standing between two worlds now, one dissolved into the other in equal measures.
He was not surprised to find the boy with a look on his face that suggested to Zach that the boy was ‘waiting’ for him. Back at the mayor’s, both had not exchanged as much as a word.
‘What do you think?’ the boy began. They were both starring at the dawn from a seating position. Zach did not think he had to show his suspicion, or in a more profound term, to ‘throw’ his suspicion at the boy.
The reference was to the dawn. It was indeed beautiful and Zach acknowledged that.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself formally. The name is Ekeó. Was Christened Ronald by mother though. As you like it.’
‘What does Ekeó mean in the native tongue?’
‘It means ‘the one who dies alone’. The name is popular with twins. The interpretation is that even though you were born together, you will however die alone. My brother’s was Donald. He died alone after all. I suppose they’ve told you about him?’
Zach nodded.
‘It’s a good thing that you did not judge him when you heard his story.’
‘Judge him?’
‘You know he did what he had to do?’
‘Well, I believe that sometimes, an inglorious fate could be turned into a glorious density.’
‘That’s because you believe in God. He didn’t. Believing in God changes things. It means you do not fight your battles all alone. The vegetable boy’s story is a testimony to that.’
Zach thought that the boy was quite articulat
e except that he was left suspicious and confused at some points. They had talked into midmorning. The themes of the conversation were centred on the boy’s childhood. Even though it was rarely substantial, the boy had a good memory too. The boy talked and he listened still clutching his suspicions at heart. The conversation revealed in the boy a sensitivity towards others, more or less, as well as a tendency towards the sentimental.
‘I understand that how you feel about me.’ The boy said after he was done with the long recollection of his life story. ‘You must understand that it’s in place. I do not judge you. I mean, it is wise if not normal for us to approach the unknown with some elements of fear and suspicion.’
Zach did not know whether to be shocked or mortified at that. What the hell was going on?
‘Let me not accuse you of jealousy. That would be lousy on my part.’
‘Jealousy?’
‘I mean, the attention has shifted and all that. But that’s beside the point. I appreciate that you have concerns, very much like Jesus’s contemporaries—.
Jesus?
‘—But do not let them stop you from appreciating the miracle that has happened.’
Zach had to lift up his face this time to meet the boy’s. What was he insinuating? Was he playing mind games? Zach saw in the boy’s face as he heard in his voice, something insinuating—something that was not there all the time he spoke about himself.
At the same time, it did seem that Zach had heard those words before—in those nightmares. Was all of that a nightmare, happening in a more realistic background?
‘I also understand that the lack of attention has brought back your family to mind. You don’t remember but you had a dream last night about your wife dying during the birth of your child.’
‘I don’t remember.’ Zach used to have dreams that he would wake and try so hard to remember. However, he was certain that he had not had anything like that last night. What was happening?
‘I assure you that everything will be alright. No fears. Okay? I also want you to forget about Hééb and…. In fact, I would advise you go home. Pûjó is dead. I mean, your coming into his life has given him the chance to see the Face of God….’
