by Odafe Atogun
*
He slept on the bus, until the voice of a twelve-year-old conductor woke him up at his stop. He got off the bus with his guitar dangling from his back.
It was an unusually quiet night; he saw no one about. He walked in quick long strides, slowing down when he got to his street. As he walked down the deserted street, accompanied by the echoes of his own footsteps, he noted that there were one or two houses still with lights on, and he suspected that somebody was watching him. At first he thought that somebody was Aroli, but he soon sensed that the eyes watching him were those of an unfriendly stranger and he became tense with fear. He threw quick looks over his shoulder to be sure no one was following him. Then he jogged the remaining distance to his house.
It wasn’t until he was in the safety of his house that he began to relax. Without turning the light on he went to the window, up in his rehearsal room, and he parted the curtains slightly and peeped into the street. He did not detect any movement, but he knew, without any shadow of doubt, that somebody was out there.
His fear was confirmed the following morning when Aroli came banging on his door as early as seven o’clock; not with a smile on his face, but with a worried look.
‘Where were you all day yesterday?’ Aroli asked.
‘Out searching for TK. Why do you look so worried?’
‘A stranger came asking questions about you yesterday,’ Aroli replied.
‘Come, let’s go upstairs,’ he said hurriedly, and led Aroli to his rehearsal room.
‘What did the stranger look like and what sort of questions did he ask?’ He scrutinised Aroli’s face in the same manner he had scrutinised the faces of the homeless men at TBS the previous night.
‘Tall and broad-shouldered,’ Aroli replied. ‘He wanted to know about the relationship between you and TK. He didn’t get any useful information, though.’
Suddenly Taduno understood. He let out a deep sigh.
‘Somebody must have reported to the authorities,’ he said. ‘It could be any of TK’s neighbours. They warned me that they don’t want any more trouble with the government.’
‘But how did the stranger manage to trace you here?’
Taduno rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘He must have conducted his enquiries well.’
Aroli’s face creased into a frown. He looked away from Taduno. ‘I understand the man questioned Lela’s parents, and even Judah. Everyone thinks he is secret service, and they’re all getting worried. I think you should stop going about with your guitar. Nobody wants any trouble with government here either.’ He turned to look at the guitar in a corner of the room.
‘I don’t think that is wise. It’s clear they are already watching me. If I stop going about with my guitar that would tell them that I’m trying to hide something.’
‘And if you keep going about with your guitar they’ll keep following you and asking questions about you. And the neighbours will begin to see you as trouble. And they could decide to evict you.’
‘But this is my house! I bought it with my own money, in my own name!’ Taduno sounded desperate.
‘Only you know that . . .’ Aroli hesitated, ‘and probably me. Remember, you once mentioned to me that you no longer have the documents to show you own the house.’
Taduno remembered Lela’s warning and fear crept into his eyes. ‘What will happen to Lela if I get arrested?’ he lamented.
‘We must avoid that until you discover your voice. Your voice is your identity, it is your bargaining power.’
‘I must find TK urgently.’
‘Find him. But stop going about with your guitar.’
He detected a trace of hostility in Aroli’s voice. He threw him a sharp look. Aroli was the only person who knew his secret. He wondered if he would betray him. After Aroli had left, he went to check his mailbox. Only the letter he had written to Lela was there.
*
That morning heightened his fear.
Judah came to warn him too. ‘You must be very careful, Uncle Taduno. A stranger came to ask questions about you yesterday. Everyone thinks he is secret service. But nobody knows why he is interested in you.’
‘Thanks for letting me know. Aroli told me about it earlier.’ He looked away so that the boy would not see the troubled expression on his face.
‘I’m sure Uncle Aroli must have told you. I thought I should come to tell you also, so that you will take more care.’
Taduno nodded. ‘Thank you. I will be more careful, and there is nothing to worry about.’ He turned to the boy with a reassuring smile.
*
Refusing to take Aroli’s advice, he went out with his guitar that morning and extended his search to all the popular bus stops in Lagos. Some of the people he talked to knew TK, but no one had seen him anywhere that day.
To his alarm, he discovered that there were many more policemen and soldiers than usual on the streets. They trained their guns on everyone, waiting to release fire at the slightest excuse. He wondered if the presence of the uniformed men had anything to do with him, or if the government was about to declare a state of emergency. He wondered if the man from secret service was on his trail.
As he made his progress through the city he kept throwing furtive glances to see if anyone was showing unusual interest in him. Because he threw looks at everyone, everyone threw looks at him too. And they wondered at him, at his strange guitar that stirred their conscience in an inexplicable way.
*
His shirt and trousers were torn and soiled by the time he got to TBS by late evening. As usual, a mammoth crowd milled about without purpose. He moved this way and that way, searching faces until darkness fell and all that remained was the rump of the crowd. As on the previous night, a gentle breeze fanned the square.
He played his guitar for several hours, surrounded by the homeless men whose hearts he delighted with his music. He played with total concentration; with a passion that rolled back the years. A round of warm applause greeted him when his music came to an end. And then the applause died down, and night became still. Somehow, he knew he would find TK soon. But he was not prepared for the miracle that would follow.
*
One by one the homeless men began to disperse to their sleeping positions, thoroughly thrilled by the music they had heard, filled again with some sense of life and hope. Taduno had his eyes closed, savouring the night peace that had taken hold of the square.
Soon he could hear loud snoring as the men were felled by sleep, one after the other. He listened to their snoring with his eyes closed. He listened, imagining each one of them as they once were, before they became homeless; before they succumbed to drugs and booze; before they sank in the quicksand of their most precious dreams and became snorers in a public square.
It was a cold night. He wrapped his arms around himself. The snores of the public snorers got louder; still he imagined them.
He opened his eyes and discovered that one man remained seated next to him on the wooden bench. He did not bother to turn to look at the man. He spoke to him through the corner of his mouth.
‘It’s cold and late. You should get some sleep.’
There was a brief silence. Then the man spoke.
‘I listened to your music, to the song of your guitar; and I waited to hear your voice, but it never came.’ The voice was rich and strong, the breath smelled of whisky.
Taduno stiffened. He straightened up on the bench, but he was too terrified to turn to look at the man. He was too terrified to speak, lest he discover he was in a dream. He closed his eyes again and the snoring in the square invaded his senses even more; the snoring of lost men, once so rich with colourful dreams.
The man spoke again.
‘Taduno, is it really you?’
And then Taduno turned to look at the man, and he reached out and touched him; and feeling his being, his essence, it dawned on him that it was TK indeed. He had on a green fedora that shaded most of his face, and he was dressed in his usual style.
‘TK?’ Taduno whispered, unable to believe his eyes.
Rising to their feet, they locked in tight embrace. The unwashed smells of TK pervaded Taduno’s senses; but he did not mind. He dragged in the smells deeply, grateful for the miracle of that moment.
‘You remember me?’ he asked, after they pulled back from their embrace.
‘Why would I forget you? How can I forget you?’ TK asked, with a tired laugh.
‘Because the whole world has forgotten me. I returned from exile to discover that no one remembers anything about me.’
‘The whole world may forget, but I can never forget.’
They resumed their seats.
‘I’m really sorry about everything that happened to you,’ Taduno spoke, unsure what to say.
‘It’s not your fault,’ TK said quietly.
A brief silence followed.
‘You’re coming home with me. You can no longer live on the street.’ Taduno’s eyes were on the bag at TK’s feet.
‘I can’t. I’ll only cause you more trouble. I . . .’
But Taduno wouldn’t listen to his protests.
NINE
They had an early breakfast, not long after TK had shaved and had a nice warm bath and changed into fresh clothes provided by Taduno; not the style of clothes TK would usually favour but far better than anything he had worn in months. And then they settled down in the living room to watch the news.
‘Which channel would you prefer?’ Taduno asked as he flicked with the remote control.
‘No state TV, please,’ TK said mildly.
‘I know better than that.’ Taduno laughed. He disliked state TV as much as TK, so he tuned to the independent station, Channel 4.
The main news was the heavy military presence all over the city. The grave newscaster confirmed that no one knew what was happening. ‘The whole country is waiting for the President to make an announcement, possibly to declare a state of emergency,’ she said. ‘One man was shot earlier in the day for speaking out against the government at a bus stop. But that is no news.’ She looked into the camera with urgent eyes. ‘In the past dozens have been mowed down, and everyone expects many more to be mowed down once a state of emergency is declared. The masses are already gathering sticks and stones in anticipation, the only weapons they have to fight the government. The whole city is becoming tense, and the President is keeping everybody in suspense as usual.’
She ended her broadcast with the weather report. ‘The temperature is expected to rise as high as forty degrees. The city will burn most of the day, but for those at TBS, a gentle breeze will lift to dry their sweat by nightfall.’ She signed off with sad but hopeful eyes.
Aha! thought Taduno. That is why a mammoth crowd often gathered at the square, to wait for the gentle breeze that would dry their sweat. Aha! he thought again.
*
He had been bracing himself to break the news to TK, but he did not know exactly how to start. TK had met Lela on several occasions, and he wondered how he would take the news of her kidnap.
He cleared his throat. Not so loud as to scare TK, but loud enough to get his attention.
‘They kidnapped Lela,’ he said, looking away from TK, afraid to see the reaction on his face.
TK dropped his glass of water on the table. He fixed Taduno with a look of disbelief.
‘Which Lela? Who kidnapped her?’
‘The same Lela you know – my girlfriend. She wrote me a letter in exile. It prompted me to return home. I returned to discover that no one remembers me, and then they told me Lela had been arrested by government agents. I did a little investigation, and I learned that she was actually abducted, not arrested.’ He decided not to tell TK about the most recent letter from Lela.
‘Abducted by who, and why would they abduct her?’
He told TK the story from the beginning.
*
The time was getting past midday. The TV was still on, but neither of them paid any attention to it.
‘I returned from exile not knowing what had happened to you,’ Taduno explained, rounding up his story. ‘I thought you were still at the studio, and I did not want to pay you a visit because I was afraid that, like the rest of the world, you would no longer remember me. But then it became clear that I must learn to sing again to secure Lela’s release. So I went to your studio, and I learned you had sold it. I went to your house too. Baba Ajo told me all that happened. He said he did his best but they wouldn’t listen to him.’ Taduno spoke slowly, as if to give TK the opportunity to digest his every word.
‘I was taken before the President after you went into exile,’ TK said. ‘He wanted me to produce you, but I told him I could not. He vowed that he would make sure I never made music again. After that, the process of my ruin was rapid. He put machinery in place that ensured my complete destruction. I lost the studio, and then I lost my house. I left with just one small bag. They took everything I had, the people I lived with all my life. They shared my clothes, everything. I tried to plead with them; they said I brought them too much shame and pain. I walked away, and I walked for two days afterwards, without sleep, trying to understand the wickedness of their hearts.
‘For two days I had nothing but liquor. It helped me to dull my pain. It even helped me to understand things better. And then it became too much and it tipped me over. I thought I would never be able to live without a drink. And then you found me, and now I know I will never touch it again.’
Taduno nodded in support. He did not trust himself to speak, so he just nodded, in a manner that suggested that the worst was over, that all would be well.
During the long silence that followed, TK digested all he had heard while Taduno reviewed all he had recounted, wondering if there was anything he had left out. As yesterday and today became connected by the slowly uncoiling thread of memory, they remembered all their hopes and dreams for tomorrow. Eventually they returned to the present. And when TK spoke, it was with a thoughtfulness born out of the silence that had passed.
‘Listen to me, Taduno,’ TK spoke softly. ‘Please listen very carefully.’
Taduno sat up. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘We are going to make beautiful music together again.’
Taduno nodded eagerly. ‘Yes.’
‘But we are not going to praise-sing. You cannot make beautiful music by praise-singing. You cannot use beautiful music to praise-sing.’
‘The life of the woman I love is at stake,’ Taduno said with dismay.
‘The government wants you to support it with your music. But I tell you, if you do that you are as good as dead. They will use you then they will silence you.’
‘If I don’t they will kill Lela.’
‘No, they will not,’ TK said confidently.
‘The Sergeant said they will kill her if I refuse to praise the government with my music.’
‘They have to find you first. I mean, they have to remember you first. Whatever!’ He placed a palm on his temple. ‘From what you told me, nobody remembers you; nobody but me. They are holding Lela as a bargaining chip. They will not hurt her until they find you. They need you to praise the government with your song. I assure you Lela is very safe as we speak. In the meantime, let’s focus on making beautiful music again. And then we can take on the government on our own terms.’
Taduno looked uncertain, but somehow felt comforted by TK’s assurance that nothing bad would happen to Lela – until they found him.
*
Having wandered around the city most of that day trying to find a buyer for a multi-storey property, Aroli showed up while TK was sleeping in the guest room upstairs. Strangely, he knocked on the door quietly; so quietly Taduno almost missed the sound of the knock. And when he opened the door and saw that it was Aroli, his heart skipped a beat. He wondered if he had come to give him away quietly to the authorities, without fuss, without any drama. Or was it possible that he knew that TK was in his house?
He had brought TK home under the co
ver of darkness, using the back door. And he felt certain that no one saw them come in. So why did Aroli come knocking so quietly, so unusually? Did he sense TK’s larger-than-life presence?
They could both feel the tension in the air. Taduno did not know what to say; he felt uncomfortable knowing that TK was upstairs, and he wondered how Aroli would react when he found out.
‘I came to see how you are doing,’ Aroli said as he took a seat.
Taduno ignored his words. He made up his mind to tell him there and then. ‘He’s upstairs, sleeping,’ he said, nodding towards the staircase.
‘Who is upstairs?’ Aroli asked with a frown.
‘TK. I found him last night and brought him home sometime after midnight. He’s upstairs sleeping.’
A groan emanated from Aroli’s throat. ‘Did anyone see you?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so, we came in through the back door. The entire neighbourhood appeared to be asleep then.’
‘But they will know about his presence sooner or later. And when the man from the secret service turns up again they will tell him TK is here. And you know what that means.’
Taduno looked away. ‘I couldn’t leave him on the street. I had to bring him here.’
‘You could have taken him elsewhere, not here.’ There was fear in Aroli’s voice. ‘If the government gets to know that he is here it will bring everybody a lot of trouble. I can imagine what they will do to us. They will send in soldiers to kick all our arses. They will lock many of us up. They will destroy our properties, and rape our women. They will do a lot of nasty things to us, but I can’t imagine what they will do to you and him. Have you thought about all that? Have you?’
‘Nobody has to know that he is here,’ Taduno said defensively. ‘He’ll remain indoors until we are able to work out a safer arrangement for him.’ He began to walk round the living room in a widening circle, like a man in a trance.
‘How long are you going to keep him indoors? How long? I’m sure you are going to be rehearsing together, trying to discover your voice again. That’s not something you can do quietly. Very soon the neighbours will sense that he is here. And all our lives will change.’
