Taduno's Song

by Odafe Atogun

  ‘You are sweating,’ Aroli said, as he walked in.

  ‘Yes, I am sweating,’ he replied, going up the stairs to his bedroom.

  Aroli followed him, and he was shocked when he saw all the bags on the floor. ‘What are these?’ he asked.

  ‘My bags,’ he replied. ‘I’m leaving.’

  Aroli could not believe his ears. ‘You’re leaving?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Leaving to where?’

  ‘To TBS. I’m going to join my friend Thaddeus and the rest. I’m going to live with them.’

  Aroli frowned. ‘Let’s get this straight. Since when did Thaddeus become a friend you want to go and live with?’

  ‘What I mean is I’m no longer going to praise the regime with my music. I will let Lela die, and I’m going to live at the square for ever where the dictator or anyone can never find me again. I will be a free man at the square, without worries or responsibilities.’

  Aroli was lost for what to say. He stared hard at the floor, and when he looked up and opened his mouth to speak, he knew it was pointless. Taduno had made up his mind. Nothing he said would change anything. He wished he could take the place of his friend, and bear the pain he must now bear for the rest of his life. He wished he could do something to change things, but he knew he was powerless to do anything.

  They held each other in a long embrace, each trying to hide his tears. Then Aroli helped him to get his bags outside where the people of that street soon gathered. ‘What is happening?’ ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Are you leaving us?’ They asked many questions but got no answer in return, just silence. Vulcaniser was the only one who did not say a word; he just stood there, gazing into space.

  After they brought out the last bag, Taduno flagged down a taxi. Vulcaniser and Aroli loaded his bags into the taxi. And as the taxi drove him away, Aroli and all the rest of his neighbours broke down and wept in the street.

  Judah was not there to see him leave.

  *

  He had Lela’s last letter in his breast pocket. He cradled his guitar to his chest in the back seat of the yellow taxi. It was too early for him to show up at the square, so he told the driver to drive aimlessly around the city for a while. The man complied with a smile, grateful for the privilege to drive Taduno around the city. He would never tire to tell his grandchildren of the day he drove the greatest musician around Lagos.

  ‘Sir, is there anything you particularly want to see?’ the driver asked, studying the face of his famous fare in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Yes, one last time I want to see the city as it truly is because I might never get the opportunity to do so again,’ he replied, trying to sound cheerful.

  ‘Oh, I see. Are you going away somewhere?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going away. I’m going where no one can ever find me.’

  ‘What about your music? What’ll happen to your music?’

  ‘Truly, I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen to my music.’ There was a slight trembling in his voice.

  The driver did not know what to say. He fixed his eyes intently on the road, afraid that he could lose his way in the city he had lived in all his life.

  *

  Taduno saw the city again as he saw it before, through the words of his songs. He saw the infernal struggles of the people, which by far outweighed their greatest rewards. He saw their fear and pain and the hopelessness that drove them on, round the clock. And as he saw these things, he knew he must not condemn them further by praising tyranny with his song. He must let Lela die, and for that he must live at the square for the rest of his life.

  For him, the square would become a purgatory. But it wouldn’t be so bad a place. He would have Thaddeus for company, and they would busy themselves counting stars every night and drinking coffee in his old mugs. As the time inched past seven, he leaned forward and tapped the driver gently on the shoulder.

  ‘You may head for TBS now,’ he said in a quiet voice.

  *

  They welcomed him with open arms at the square, and they assigned him a special sleeping place amongst them. Thaddeus helped him to settle in. Taduno unpacked his things and gave Thaddeus the clothes and shoes he brought him.

  ‘Thank you,’ Thaddeus said.

  He bought food from a roadside restaurant, and all of them, about fifty in number, ate as a family. The grace was said by Thaddeus, and the ‘amen’ that followed was quiet and humbling. They ate thoughtfully, and when they finished they spent some time belching their satisfaction. Then they thanked Taduno for his kindness. They didn’t want to burden him by requesting him to play them his music, but of course life at the square would be more interesting with music. He understood; he was a very understanding man. So, without any prompting he picked up his guitar and they all gathered around him. And as the first strains of his song filtered into the night, their oily lips parted in faint smiles. Life wasn’t so bad at the square after all!

  But how long will the good time last? This question tugged at each one of them.

  *

  When the rest had gone to bed, he and Thaddeus made themselves coffee in the old mugs, and they sat on a bench with their faces gazing up at the night sky with its millions of brilliant stars.

  ‘How many stars do you think are up there?’ he asked Thaddeus.

  ‘At the last count I hit two million five hundred and sixty, and I’m still counting!’ Thaddeus replied proudly.

  ‘Oh boy!’ he whistled. ‘I have some catching up to do seeing as I have to start from one.’

  ‘I started from one too, and see where I am today! All you have to do is start and you will be surprised how rapid your progress will be. Don’t worry, I will be here to guide you, to encourage you.’

  Taduno nodded thankfully.

  They sat back. Taduno started counting from one; Thaddeus continued from where he had stopped.

  *

  He had never known the real meaning of ‘drifting’ before. But he came to understand it as Thaddeus showed him round the following day. By daytime the square was a completely different place, with countless tourists coming and going. To his surprise, the section of the square which they made their home was off-limits to the tourists. The men worked in shifts to patrol its precincts, making sure no intruder came into their domain.

  They were an organised and principled bunch. They stole from no one and no one stole from them. When not on patrol duty, each was free to take the day off to drift around the city and do any menial job they could find.

  Thaddeus showed him the extent of the square, which was far bigger than he previously thought. They walked amongst the tourists, with tattered fedoras covering their faces, ensuring their anonymity. He did not carry his guitar with him. Thaddeus assured him that it was safe in his new home.

  They ate breakfast and then lunch at bustling roadside restaurants, and they spent the rest of the day generally roaming the square. It was a different kind of experience for him. Tiring maybe, but this was his life now, and he told himself he must get used to it.

  He did not bother to look out for TK. He knew he had lost him for ever. He believed him when he said they would never meet again. No doubt, he would miss TK terribly, but, gratefully, Thaddeus was proving to be a very good friend.

  It was a very hot day, and as the heat increased, more and more people thronged the square to wait for the breeze that would arrive at nightfall to dry their sweat.

  *

  Taduno was furious when Aroli showed up with Mr Player that night. He was already beginning to get used to his new life at the square, even beginning to enjoy it. And then Aroli showed up, just like that.

  Without thinking, he grabbed Aroli by the neck and shook him with the full force of his rage until some of his friends grabbed him and pulled him away.

  ‘You could kill him!’ Thaddeus reprimanded him.

  ‘He has no business bringing anyone here to see me!’

  ‘Remember, he is your friend.’

  ‘What f
riend would give his friend away?’

  ‘Calm down,’ Thaddeus said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. ‘Calm down, see what he has to say.’

  He took a few deep breaths, and then his rage subsided.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Aroli said, holding a hand to his neck.

  ‘Why did you bring him here?’

  ‘He came to look for you. He said it was very urgent, a matter of life and death. I had no choice but to bring him to you. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would be so upset.’

  ‘I’m sorry for choking you.’

  ‘Trying to kill me, you mean,’ Aroli said with a laugh.

  They embraced warmly.

  Mr Player cleared his throat beside them. ‘Taduno, please come with me. It is important that we talk.’

  Even though he wasn’t happy to see Mr Player, he knew he must listen to what he had to say. So he followed him into the night, away from the others.

  *

  ‘Why didn’t you show up at the studio as agreed? And why did you come to live here?’ Mr Player asked.

  ‘Because I no longer want to make music to praise a tyrant,’ he responded plainly.

  ‘Have you taken time to think about the consequences of your action? Have you thought about what Mr President can do to you?’

  ‘I haven’t and I don’t care.’

  Mr Player shook his head. ‘What about Lela?’

  ‘What about her?’ There was fear in his voice. ‘How did you know about Lela? Who told you?’

  ‘After the meeting we had with Mr President, he sent for me and he explained your predicament to me.’

  ‘The bastard!’

  ‘He said the reason why you don’t want any money from him is because you want to secure Lela’s release instead. Are you going let her die now?’

  ‘Yes, I will let her die if that will save me from praising tyranny with my music. They can only kill her once. They cannot kill her twice.’

  Mr Player laughed, a pitiful laughter.

  ‘You don’t know what you are saying. Do you think they are just going to put a bullet into her head and kill her just like that? My dear friend, you are wrong. They will kill her slowly, very slowly. They could take up to a year, even more, to kill her. That’s not the kind of death you wish a loved one.’

  Taduno shivered at Mr Player’s words.

  ‘I advise that you report to the studio tomorrow to make the song that will save your girl’s life. For your information, Mr President is already making arrangements. He plans to fill the national stadium with people. He is also setting up viewing centres with standby generators all over the country where people can watch the concert. He is upbeat about it all.’

  ‘Tell him I’m not going to do it!’

  ‘I’m sure you will have the opportunity to tell him so yourself,’ Mr Player replied in a frosty voice.

  ‘Yes, I will tell him to his face.’

  Mr Player turned and walked away.

  The square was a very sad place that night, without music and without stars in the night sky.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Soldiers invaded the square the following night, just as Taduno and his friends were preparing to go to bed. A truckload of them came, and they kicked everybody’s arse and whipped them with koboko. Everyone scampered away into the night, and only Taduno remained. He knew that they were there for him and saw no point trying to run.

  They seized him roughly and plunged a syringe filled with sedative into his arm, according to the instructions of the President. But then a couple of over-zealous soldiers took it in turns to pierce him with another syringe and another and another and another. And he became dead with sleep, as dead as a dead mule.

  They bundled him into their truck and drove him across the border into a neighbouring country where the President had a good friend, also a dictator. They took him to a hilltop hospital – a mental asylum – and they dumped him on his back on a clean white bed in a clean white room.

  He wasn’t aware of where or how far they had taken him because he was in a sleep of a dead mule. He lay there on his back in that country with no name, a country where the only name that could be mentioned was that of the dictator who ruled it. Everything was named after the dictator, even the people were named after him. He was the grand leader, the owner of the country and its people, and it was to this country that they took Taduno.

  *

  It was rainy season in that country, so the rain pelted the zinc roof above him ceaselessly while he slept. The President could not come to see him; it was pointless. He needed him to be awake to be able to talk to him. So he waited anxiously for him to come out of sleep.

  One of the soldiers came up with a clever idea, one that made much sense to the dictator. They brought Lela to the asylum, cleaned her up and dressed her like a nurse, and instructed her to look after him.

  She sat like a ghost in an armchair next to his bed and watched over him while he slept. At night, she crept into bed beside him and slept with her eyes partly open.

  The people she saw appeared a little strange to her. They were of much darker skin, of a different look, and they spoke English with a different accent.

  *

  Taduno slept for over thirty days, and all that time she sat by his side and fixed a constant gaze upon his face. The waiting stretched her endurance. It stretched her imagination more. She never knew that one could be so dead to life for so long and yet be so alive.

  She left his side only to use the bathroom or to go to the adjoining room where they served her food. One day as she ate breakfast, a maid told her, ‘This place is a mental asylum. You and your boyfriend are in a private ward, that’s why you don’t see any other patients around.’

  ‘But why’s Taduno in a mental asylum?’ she asked. ‘What am I doing here?’

  The maid offered no answer.

  Lela finished eating and returned to his side. She felt so alone, even though she was sitting right next to him, even though she could hear the gentle rising and falling of his chest.

  They came to feed him through his nose with tubes. She couldn’t bear to watch, so she would always turn her face away until they had finished and were out of the room. She felt very sad to see him like this. She never spared a second to think about herself or about the dingy cell where they had previously kept her. Her thoughts were totally focused on him, and her passionate prayers solely for his benefit.

  *

  And then one morning, more than thirty days after he was drugged by the President’s men, he opened his eyes very slightly and then shut them again. A heavy rain was pouring that morning. He remained very still in bed, on his back. He opened his eyes a second time and everything appeared to be covered with the haziness of a dream, a white dream that seemed to stretch endlessly before him. He closed his eyes, as if to grasp the reality of things, to ascertain the authenticity of life, but the haziness of a dream remained. He did not hear anything, not even the unceasing musicality that spread a faint chill as the rain pelted the roof above him. Realising that he was expending too much energy trying to focus, he allowed himself to drift back into sleep.

  By his bedside, Lela sat up in the armchair. She had noticed the movement of his eyelids and her brow creased into anxious lines as she reached out and took his hand, gently, so as not to startle him. She wondered what he saw when he opened his eyes. Did he see her? Did he recognise her? She waited for him to show further signs of life.

  *

  The next time he opened his eyes the rain had stopped, but the faint chill continued to spread, even now that a soundless musicality prevailed upon the world. She did not intend to allow him to slip away a second time. So when he opened his eyes, she called out his name softly.

  He did not hear her, and all he could see was the hazy white dream. That was all he could hear too, and he wondered how it was possible to hear a dream. He noted that the world about him was eerily quiet, the kind of quietness that follows a storm or a great loudness. He frowned
as he tried to understand it all.

  Lela sensed his struggle. She called his name again, reaching out to take his hand. He turned in the direction of her voice. Lela? He saw her sitting in a chair staring intently at him and he wondered how she got there and what she was doing there. Where was there?

  The frown on his face deepened as he stared back at her. He tried to open his mouth, but it was as if his lips had been glued together. He made a more determined effort, and this time succeeded in mouthing her name, ‘Lela . . . ?’ A pause. ‘Is it you?’

  Before she could say anything in response, a handful of soldiers swarmed the room. They had been watching them all this while, waiting for him to wake up. They had delivered her to the hospital so that she would be the first person he saw when he came out of sleep. Having served her purpose, they bundled her away.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The President visited him the next day, by which time Taduno’s recollection of things was complete. No one had spoken to him since they bundled Lela away. He just lay there on his back in the white bed, drifting in and out of sleep.

  They came to feed him once, not through his nose this time. He sat up in bed, they planted the tray of food on his lap, and he ate very slowly. He did not know what he was eating, did not care actually. He wondered where they had taken Lela and what they were going to do to her. He could not understand why they kept him in a white room. A mixture of stale smells teased his nostrils.

  Without warning, the President walked into the white room. He wore his enigmatic smile and he came towards him like a long-lost friend. He looked very smart in a dark T-shirt and blue jeans. Taduno had never seen him dressed in that fashion before. He sat up in bed.

  ‘Good to see you again, my friend!’ the President greeted effusively. ‘You have slept for a long time!’

  Taduno just stared blankly at the man.

  The President pulled back the armchair by his bed and sat down. ‘I am so sorry my men drugged you so much. That was not my instruction and they have been duly punished.’