by Odafe Atogun
‘Are you telling me that you have the President’s approval to undertake this project?’ Mr Player asked.
‘Yes, he commissioned it.’
‘Any written agreement?’ He wanted to be sure that he was undertaking the right investment.
‘Take me at my word.’
Mr Player thought for a moment. He could hear his own brain ticking. Ordinarily, he would have taken Taduno at his word. But he reasoned that if Taduno was willing to stoop so low to praise a dictator with his music, then he was no longer a man to be trusted. So, he told himself to secure his investment before agreeing to anything.
‘What is in it for me?’ Mr Player asked.
Taduno frowned. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said what is in it for me?’
‘I’m sure Mr President will make it worth your while when the music is out.’ His heart raced with anxiety.
‘I’m sorry, that is not good enough for me.’ Mr Player shook his head. ‘I’m a businessman, see? I have to know what I’m getting. It doesn’t come cheap to praise a tyrant with music – good music for that matter. I want a percentage of what you are getting. Forty per cent. And I think that is a fair deal.’
Taduno almost blurted out that he was getting nothing – apart from securing the release of his girlfriend. But he realised that that would put Mr Player off.
‘I will see to it that you get something from Mr President,’ he said hopelessly.
‘No!’ Mr Player said sharply. ‘I have no business with the President. My business is with you. I want forty per cent of what you get. And I want to see something in writing telling me how much you are getting from Mr President.’
‘Getting something in writing could prove difficult,’ Taduno croaked.
‘Those are my conditions. If you give me what I want, we will have the music out in less than a week.’
Mr Player rose to his feet.
‘Take me at my word,’ Taduno pleaded.
Mr Player shook his head. He wanted to say, ‘Given the level you have descended to, your word counts for nothing.’ But he simply shook his head again.
The meeting was over.
*
Taduno roamed the streets in confusion, acknowledging half-heartedly the greetings that followed him. His guitar was a heavy weight on his shoulder and he thought of flinging it away and telling the President to go to hell. But he remembered Lela’s words, and he knew he could not afford to do something so rash.
Time wasn’t on Lela’s side. Every passing second increased the possibility of her dying in detention. He needed to make urgent contact with the President, but he had no way of doing so. He agonised under the fiercely burning sun. His lips were parched. His mind became blurred. And then as he walked past a lone soldier, a brazen idea suddenly occurred to him.
Without wasting any time, he caught a taxi to army headquarters.
*
He arrived at army headquarters playing a loud meaningless tune on his guitar and a handful of soldiers promptly swarmed around him, shouting angry orders to stop his useless music. And then, realising who he was, they stepped back and warily trained their guns on him.
‘What brings you and your music here?’ a soldier asked.
‘I have come to be arrested,’ he responded.
The soldiers exchanged curious glances.
‘Why do you want to be arrested?’
‘Because I want to see the President.’
Again the soldiers exchanged glances.
‘Mr President is a busy man. He cannot see you! And we have orders not to arrest or maltreat you.’
‘In that case his government will be toppled! And all of you will go down with him!’
Gripped by fear, the soldiers took the only logical action open to them. They arrested him.
A smile of triumph lit up Taduno’s face.
*
They bundled him through the gates without bothering to search him or confiscate his guitar. No one wanted to touch his guitar. They saw it as a very deadly weapon that must not be touched – a weapon capable of overthrowing the President.
News quickly spread throughout army headquarters that the government was about to be overthrown. The army chief gave hurried instructions and all military bases were placed on red alert. The stampede that followed reverberated in far and distant regions.
They processed him through the ranks until he stood before the army chief who was not sure how to handle him and his guitar. ‘What are your demands?’ the man asked, too confused to think straight.
‘I have just one. Take me to the President. Or else he will be toppled and all of you will go down with him.’
Not unaware of the President’s desperate efforts to buy Taduno over, the army chief sensed that the situation was very serious indeed. And so, without uttering another word, he took him before the President.
*
The President welcomed him warmly. ‘To what do I owe this visit?’ he asked, after dismissing the army chief.
‘I have a problem,’ he replied, ‘a problem that could derail our earlier arrangement.’
For a brief moment the President’s face hardened. ‘And what is this problem?’
Taduno explained.
The President thought for a moment. ‘That can be fixed,’ he said with a smile. ‘Shouldn’t be difficult at all.’ He called in the army chief and told him what to do. ‘I want Mr Player brought here immediately. And make sure you treat him very nicely.’
*
They brought in Mr Player within the hour. He looked terribly agitated, but relaxed a little when he saw Taduno and the President chatting lightly like old friends. He could not believe his eyes.
‘Please take a seat,’ the President said. His charm put Mr Player completely at ease.
‘Thank you, Mr President,’ Mr Player replied, sitting down.
‘My friend here explained everything to me. He said you are asking for forty per cent of whatever he gets and that you want a written commitment from me.’
‘That’s because I wasn’t so sure you commissioned the project yourself, Mr President. But now that I’m sure, there’s no problem at all. The song will be out in less than a week. And it will be on the airwaves and in all record shops.’
‘Good!’ the President beamed. ‘I have no problem with you getting forty per cent of whatever Taduno gets. To me that is okay. But there’s a slight problem because I don’t know how much Taduno wants. But as the three of us are here, we might as well settle that.’
Mr Player nodded eagerly. ‘I agree, Mr President. It makes good sense to me!’
‘So how much do you want?’ the President asked, turning to Taduno.
‘Nothing. I want nothing,’ Taduno replied.
Mr Player’s jaw dropped.
‘So you get forty per cent of nothing,’ the President said, with a delighted clap of his hands.
‘But, Mr President . . .’ Mr Player stammered.
‘Relax! I can understand your shock,’ the President said with a laugh. ‘You get forty per cent of nothing from Taduno. And from me, to show my gratitude, you will get seven truckloads of money. How about that?’
A smile spread across Mr Player’s face. ‘That sounds perfect, Mr President! Very perfect!’
‘Good. So we have a deal?’
‘Yes, Mr President, we have a deal!’ Mr Player rubbed his palms together, a very grateful man.
‘Come to think of it . . .’ the President said with some thought.
‘Yes, Mr President?’
‘I think you should do a concert before releasing the song into the market. The national stadium would be a perfect venue. That will make the song popular, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, Mr President,’ Mr Player nodded, ‘it makes a lot of sense.’ The deal was getting better!
‘Great, so Taduno plays at the national stadium a day before the song is released.’
‘Yes, Mr President!’
Taduno was speechless.
The President turned to him. ‘Deal?’
He was trapped, he simply nodded.
The President smiled.
And so the matter was settled. The red alert was eased across the country, and relief rose into the air from every military base.
Back at the studio, a contract was hastily drawn up and signed, including the clause that Mr Player would receive forty per cent of nothing from Taduno. Mr Player kept apologising for not taking Taduno at his word. ‘You know, you can never be too careful when it comes to business,’ he said.
‘I understand.’ Taduno’s voice was flat.
‘When can you report to the studio to start work? I say we start immediately!’
‘I will report in two days. I have an assignment to carry out before then.’
Mr Player shrugged. ‘I’ll be right here waiting!’
TWENTY-FIVE
Taduno was in a very sober mood as he went about his assignment the following day. At Mama Iyabo’s restaurant, he held a concert that drew a large crowd that covered the entire street. He delivered a scintillating performance, a Farewell to Conscience. His audience wailed in adulation and stretched their hands towards him, grateful that he was singing with a magnetic voice once again.
From Mama Iyabo’s restaurant, Taduno went round the famous bus stops of the city, enchanting delirious crowds with hit performances. Aroli and Vulcaniser followed him as he went, and they both agreed that they had never seen him perform so brilliantly before. But while Aroli understood what was to follow – the death his voice would undergo – Vulcaniser was merely left to wonder.
The Channel 4 newscaster beamed with joy. Her station aired Taduno’s performances live; her background commentary pulsated with colourful words. ‘Taduno is back with a bang!’ she screamed with delight. ‘The people have a voice once again! Music, rare music, joyous music is back into our lives!’ On and on she went, her words rolling out with polished diction.
In his office, the President watched with satisfaction, his manicured fingers caressing a paper knife. He had always wanted Taduno to sing in praise of his government. Now his wish was about to come true! He saw no better way to get legitimacy, no better man to give him legitimacy.
*
Taduno brought his performance to a grand closure at TBS. It was not only the homeless men that were present at the square that night; people from all walks of life came too. Even the President’s men, caught under the spell of his music once again, came without their guns.
The crowd covered the square and beyond, with barely space for anyone to move an inch. A giant podium had been hastily set up for him. And when he climbed onto it, even before he strummed his guitar or opened his mouth to sing, a deafening roar of approval that lasted several minutes shook the city. Absolute silence ensued. Then the first notes from his guitar tore through the night. His voice followed, and the crowd began to heave with a joy that even the Channel 4 newscaster could not describe with words.
The concert ended at midnight although the audience wanted it to go on for ever. But he had to bring it to an end so that he could spend one last night alone at his far end of the square.
At last, only Aroli, Vulcaniser and the homeless men remained. Everyone came forward to congratulate him on his brilliant performance. Aroli and Vulcaniser wanted to stay with him at the square, but he begged them to go home, and they did as he asked.
After Aroli and Vulcaniser had gone, Thaddeus came over to hug him before retiring to bed. ‘Good night and good luck, my friend,’ he said.
Taduno waited until loud snoring filled the square. He listened to the snorers as he had always listened to them. He smiled as he listened to them. He knew he was going to miss them dearly. For one last time, he imagined them as they were before they became homeless. He hoped that they would remember him by his performance that night and not by the ones that would follow.
*
He was ready to retire to his far end of the square when he saw a squat figure walking slowly towards him. He did not need to squint into the night to know it was TK. He dropped his head with a deep sigh and remained like that until the approaching man sat next to him. Somehow, he sensed it was time to say goodbye.
‘I see you have discovered your voice at last,’ TK said.
Only then did Taduno raise his head to look at TK. He looked so different without his Afro. In fact, according to Thaddeus, he looked as if he was no longer of this world. A cold hand clutched Taduno’s heart.
‘Yes, I’m ready to sing again.’
‘And I suppose your priority is to save Lela.’
‘Yes,’ he replied, sadness in his voice.
A moment of silence passed between them.
‘Don’t do it, Taduno. Please don’t do it,’ TK pleaded in a low voice. ‘Don’t praise the tyrant with your music.’
‘I have no choice.’
‘Yes, you have a choice.’
‘No, I have none. As long as they have Lela I have no choice. I must save her, and the only way is to praise the regime with my music. If I don’t, they will kill her.’
‘They can only kill her once,’ TK said patiently. ‘But if you praise the regime with your music you will be signing the death warrant of millions of people.’ He paused. ‘Which do you prefer?’
Taduno did not answer. Instead, he said, ‘I have signed a contract with Mr Player. I’m reporting to the studio in the morning.’
‘So there is no going back?’
‘TK, please understand. There is no other way.’
‘There is always another way.’
‘Which way?’ Taduno turned to look at him.
‘The way of a miracle. A miracle could happen – just as it has happened for Aroli, after all these years.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He has struck a big property deal and can now retire to his dream job.’
‘How did you know?’ Taduno could not hide his surprise.
‘A deal like that is too big to be done quietly. It is all over the papers. It is almost as big as a miracle can be.’
They fell into silence again.
TK spoke after a lengthy interval. ‘So you see, there’s always the possibility of a miracle. But you must show faith to receive it.’
Not knowing what to say, Taduno told TK about Sergeant Bello. ‘It looks like the man has lost his sight,’ he said. ‘They told me he will face the death sentence.’
‘That’s another reason why you should not praise the tyrant with your music. If you do, you will be endorsing Sergeant Bello’s fate. And you will turn yourself into one of his persecutors. We must not select those to save and those to condemn to death in the fight against tyranny. We must learn to say “no” to tyrants no matter how much they hurt us. That is the only way tyranny can be defeated.’
Taduno remained silent.
TK continued. ‘This is the last time we will meet. My parting message to you is show some faith. A miracle will come.’ With those words TK rose to his feet and walked away.
Taduno could not stop him, or even call out to him. He felt very sad as he watched him leave.
*
He no longer wanted to sleep at the square that night, so he returned home. As he opened his door, he noticed a stained brown envelope on the doormat. He noticed that the stains on the envelope were much heavier than on the envelopes he had received in the past. His heart pounded as he bent down to pick it up. He opened the letter as soon as he entered the house. And he read it eagerly, standing in the middle of the living room.
— — —
Dear Taduno,
I hope this letter finds you. I beg you not to praise tyranny with your music.
Don’t worry about me, I will be OK. After all, the whole world is a prison, the only difference being that some live inside prison while others live outside prison, but prison all the same. So I will be OK.
Sing that song. And as you do, I pledge you my undying love . . .
Always,
/> Lela
His heart ached for Lela by the time he finished reading knowing that he must revoke his contract with Mr Player. He got drunk in the upper room, with his hit songs of yesteryear echoing in his mind. And he slept on the bare floor, amongst sad and silent shadows.
TWENTY-SIX
Morning came quickly. Taduno shook off his hangover with two more drinks, without a song in his soul, and then his mind became very clear, and he remembered that he had taken the decision to condemn Lela to her fate.
He could no longer sing for love and no longer had the strength to sing against tyranny. And now that he was free of all responsibilities and worries, he saw only one future ahead of him – a life at the square beside his dear friend Thaddeus.
He had always known it, that there was something about him and Thaddeus – something that linked them together. He imagined the public snorers, and he realised that it was inevitable that his own snoring would one day complement theirs in the grand symphony of their sad songs. Now he was set to make a different kind of music – one that would denounce love.
*
He packed everything he could possibly need. He packed some clothes and shoes for Thaddeus too. He packed his cooking pots and plates and spoons. He almost forgot his old coffee mugs! He would need those to drink coffee with Thaddeus while they sit together and try to count the stars beneath the night sky of the square. Who knows, they might be able to achieve the feat together one day. He felt a tingle of excitement.
The President can go to hell now, Mr Player too, and all the villains who drive dreamers to the square. He no longer had to worry about them or anyone else. In fact, he no longer had to worry about himself.
He had just finished packing the last bag when Aroli came knocking, as loud as ever. He wasn’t startled; he had passed the point where anything or anyone could startle him. He would soon be lost among the homeless men at the square and not even the President would ever be able to find him again. He would forget Aroli, Vulcaniser and Judah. Only memories of Lela would remain, and it would be those memories that would confine him to the square.
