‘Who told you to dress as a boy? What is this?’ The way it was said you could have used it to break down passive-aggro behaviour to others. It was done so well, so clear, so stinging. The body shouted, the father’s body, all the things that he wouldn’t say. Almost like the skin was foaming, all the unsaid underneath bubbling away.
‘I just told you—’ But Karl stopped. His father was walking him to the front door, metaphorically. It was as if he had the knob in hand, the door already half-open, the air impatient and ready for Karl to be swept out.
‘I cannot accept your behaviour.’
No one had asked. No one had talked about behaviour. Karl had spoken about being. Being himself. About gender and truth. That bodies weren’t the marker, for anyone. That things weren’t all that clear-cut or obvious. Not even what constituted a man or a woman. Boy or a girl. He would have said more, even. Opened up right here and there just to get it out of the way. To show that he understood if it took him a while, the father, to understand the details of Karl’s transition. But that Karl was willing to share with him.
The father looked at Karl, eyes squinting now as if they would be able to squeeze something else out of this situation. Karl thought about where to continue, what next to offer. He was tired of explaining. His lips parted. The next sentence was going to reveal more than he had planned when he left London weeks ago. Not at their first meeting anyway.
‘I think it’s best for you to return to London straight away.’
Karl’s mouth stayed open, words stuck inside.
Adebanjo lifted himself slowly off the cushiony chair. It was grand, the movement. Calculated for maximum impact. The weight shifted slowly away from the seat back to full standing. Respect me, hai hai, respect me, hai hai. One of the songs Karl’s mother used to listen to and tell him how great the singer was. Adeva or something. How she used to make the dance floor hot. Another of those whatever-mum moments because, frankly, who cared about parents’ club days?
‘Send my wishes to your mother.’
The mosquito must have found its way into one of the bedrooms. It was quiet. The buzzing would have helped. Karl could hear Adeva’s song loud and clear. He should have asked his mother what ‘hot’ had meant in her days. What were clubs like? More importantly, could he go without any curfew?
‘But how did you know?’ If it hadn’t been Uncle T who had told him, who was it?
The father had already closed for the day. Moved on like end of discussion and so forth. ‘Your friend, your uncle.’ Feet moved apart. ‘What is his name?’
No eyes for Karl. He looked at himself. Metafuckinphorically speaking. Karl was all puzzled. Who? Nakale?
‘Godfrey.’
He was taller than Karl, a squarer version. Solid, well-proportioned. His there are no bad kids Godfrey. There are only bad outcomes. Godfrey! Like this wasn’t like the worst possible one? Karl sunk deeper into the couch. There wasn’t anything to say. Nothing. Abu would have come in handy now. To take the edge off.
The father did his steady, confirming authority strides, all the way down the hall. Returned in record time with a small plastic bag, folded. Karl studied him. Now that this part of fate was sealed he had time to check for resemblances. The face, yes, some of it, the body, in a shrunken kind of fashion, but he had noticed the lashes. A little longer than usual and curved, but nothing like Karl’s.
‘This is for John, for his help. You can stay with him for tonight. Tunde told me that you two are close.’
He handed him the bag. It contained wads of bundled naira. ‘There is no need for him to know.’
He looked at Karl again. Eyes all the way, straight into the mind. Something, wanting something. Something undiscussable.
‘Or Tunde.’
‘He will probably wonder why I am not staying here after all this waiting.’
‘I will make an excuse. I will have someone arrange your return.’
One last look, brief, a trained inspection, then the father returned to his bedroom, closing the door behind. Karl could hear a car climbing back on to the driveway. There had been no embrace. Their skin had not touched each other’s in any way. He left the house, door ajar, stepped out, into the air. There was no bloody relief. The air hung lazy and heavy, closing in on Karl’s throat.
* * *
Mama Abu held the cup in both her hands and smiled at Rebecca.
‘I thought all of you were avoiding me.’
Mama Abu followed the steam rising from the hot tea.
‘Godfrey is not making himself available and Karl doesn’t pick up the phone.’ Rebecca sat down next to Mama Abu and turned towards her.
‘What’s going on?’
They sat for a while, Rebecca looking at Mama Abu. Mama Abu fumbled for a tissue in her cardigan pocket, blew her nose. Took her time with putting the crumpled tissue back. Her eyes were tired again. Not so much from the long days of taking care of a household but from having to sit here. The only one who made herself available to Rebecca. Karl had been gone for five weeks now. Five! She had pleaded with Godfrey to go to Nigeria and find him. Anything could have happened by now. And did the father call, at all? Hadn’t called once. What kind of person was that? What kind? It was the first time Godfrey had seen her angry. She had raised her voice and asked again. ‘Who does that? You tell me Godfrey. It is not right.’ Abu behind his father, who stood at the kitchen door. Godfrey had started to cry. He had promised to talk to Rebecca but Mama Abu couldn’t wait any longer. Abu had reassured her all was well with Karl. He just didn’t feel them at the moment. Abu’s words. But he was sending bbms. He could probably get him on the phone if he wasn’t too busy with his new friends. There wasn’t anything to worry about. Just Karl doing Karl. Doing a runner.
Still. Five weeks was too long to lie. She started speaking. First slow, then quicker until it all poured out.
‘I don’t agree. I didn’t agree! I understand that Karl wants to find his father—’‘
Rebecca had sprung up and rushed over to the small side table by the door. She went for her bag and pulled out her mobile.
‘We need to talk!’
Mama Abu stopped mid-sentence.
‘Godfrey. We will really have to talk.’
Her mouth made a funny sound. Mama Abu was alarmed. She had never seen Rebecca like this.
‘Aargh! I can’t believe you. You all knew.’ Then the phone landed on the armchair. Rebecca had flung it. She turned around.
‘Are you out of your mind? All of you?’
18
* * *
Only belonging defies
what’s been given but responds:
how and where one places oneself.
When the hidden and the unwanted, when all of that pours on to the surface, staining it. Then you need to make sure you got enough credit.
John looked excited. His legs mid-air, swivelling out of the car. Karl rushing to the other side, another door shutting firmly. The question on John’s face would have to exhaust or answer itself because he was well ready to drive. Like for real. Like right now. Straight away. Uncle T was still sitting in the front; Karl had jumped in that quick.
‘I’d like to keep staying at yours, John. If that’s OK?’
The air just stopped. Just stopped doing anything. Everyone like er hello what now? Except for Karl who was all action, all into getting the car to move ASAP.
‘Karl, what are you talking about? Of course you will stay here.’
Uncle T turned so quick his bag fell off his lap and slammed on to the floor of the taxi. He was all what now? Karl couldn’t get into it. His father could tell him if he wanted to.
‘I forgot some stuff at John’s anyway.’
‘I will bring your things tomorrow.’
‘I’d rather go tonight.’
Uncle T stepped out and opened Karl’s door. Karl sat. Mate, where’s your loyalty? John shrugged. Looked at Uncle T.
‘I can stay?’
Uncle T almost jogge
d into the house.
Karl patted his trousers and turned to John. ‘Forgot my phone inside. I’ll be right back.’
Followed Uncle T into the house. He could see the mobile by the couch. It must have fallen out of his pocket. Uncle T had breezed through and was knocking on the door down the hall. Opened, entered. Karl could hear questions, Uncle T’s excited voice. Excited as in puzzled. As in what is going on here? No answers. Karl waited. Was his father going to explain himself to Uncle T? He couldn’t hear anything and put his phone back into his pocket. Uncle T returned and stood in the open area between kitchen and parlour.
‘Something happened. Karl, you can tell me.’
Karl looked like he wanted to tree hug Uncle T. Lock him in in a big wrap then disappear under his arms. None of that happened.
‘It can be difficult. For both of you.’
Karl nodded. Uncle T had no clue; why bother him? It wasn’t his fault.
‘Yeah, just need a bit of time. It’s weird. You don’t mind that I stay with John?’
‘Of course not. I will come tomorrow. We can talk then.’ He walked Karl to the car and paid the driver.
‘It was good meeting your father?’
‘Yes.’ Karl had nothing to say about it. Nothing at all. ‘Sorry, John. Something came up, I need to just—’ He hadn’t planned to reply to Abu but it seemed like the best way to keep John’s puzzled looks, ready for proper probing, at bay.
call me now. help me distract sum1 plz. I rally really need u to do me that favour
‘Sorry John, I have to take this.’ And picked up after the first ring. ‘Yes, Karl speaking.’ He paused for effect. ‘Really? That’s awful. I can call the doctor directly? Tomorrow, of course.’ And took down an imaginary number.
John looked concerned.
‘Everything OK at home?’
‘I hope so. My mum. She is not well. I will call first thing tomorrow.’
He put on his best good-son-major-concern face, which wasn’t all that difficult. All he had to do was shift the crap he felt anyway. A 1-2-1 transfer.
The next morning he went to the Internet shop. First on the list was Godfrey, who wouldn’t have much of anything to stand on, in terms of being pissed. It was hot in the little phone booth, like that was new, but Karl felt cool, very cool. And calm.
‘Hi G man.’
Godfrey all over the place. Relieved and happy, his voice, like, tumbling over itself.
‘If you ever ignore that many of my calls, and I know you have been ignoring me, or take that long again just to give me a little update—’
‘Thanks for selling me out. Didn’t expect it from you. Of all people. No bad kids right? Just bad outcomes. Seems like you helped that one along pretty well.’
‘Karl, I was just trying.’
‘I know what you were trying. I ain’t stupid. Point is you had no right. Ask me, or leave it. It’s none of your business.’
‘You’re right. I’ve been—’
‘Ahbeg, leave it. You put me in some serious danger as if you have no clue. I had a good thing going here.’
They both fell silent. The small boy who had carried up the canister with diesel the other time was looking at him through the square in the cubicle door. A small window should’ve probably been in there to ensure some sort of privacy but the thin door gave enough illusion of separation. He was slender, limbs ongoing, hair cropped very tight. Skin ashy, needing some lotion or cream to bring back some shine. Uncle T would have been able to help. Uncle T. He had spoilt it for Karl. All was now measured by how well people slapped cream on their bodies. Not that there was anything wrong with that. The boy looked at Karl from the other side of the small shop, his back leaning against the wood, balancing on one leg, the other propped up, resting on the wall. His eyes didn’t move but the lashes flickered up and down as if sending Morse code. Karl stuck his head out of the hole.
‘So what do we do with this, Godfrey?’ These were all Godfrey’s lines. The one he used on the youth. ‘What now G?’
‘I don’t like it when you call me that. I’m not a gangster.’
‘No one said you were. It’s short for your name. What now, G? What?’
‘Well how did it go with your father?’
‘I’m not talking about my father, I’m talking about you. Me. Trust. All the things you hold so high.’ Karl was about to stick out his tongue. The boy was straining his ears to listen intently. His eyes were popping out of his face, trying to soak up the scene. Karl stopped his tongue midway. The boy could probably not even understand his accent. His cheekbones were high, the face was drawn backwards. It looked elegant, like it would make the perfect kind of profile. The lips carefully drawn, a slight rim framing upper and lower lip.
‘Pretty boy.’
‘What?’
‘Not you, Godfrey.’
‘I’m sorry, Karl.’
Karl pressed the receiver into his ear. A few tears rolled down his cheeks. It was hot, too hot; he was sweaty and uncomfortable. He was alone and useless.
‘Why, Godfrey?’
‘I wanted to protect you. I was scared, man. If I was to let you go halfway around the world I had to know that someone was going to look out for you in case …’
‘In case what? What Godfrey, what?’
‘In case—’
‘In case someone didn’t believe me? That someone thought I was a girl?’
‘Your passport! Karl. It was hard enough to justify to myself that it was the right thing to do. To let you go with a stranger I hardly knew anything about. That I was not letting you run into danger. Your father, I actually spoke to him for a long time. Asked him how I could trust him. He was excited. Reassuring. If he was picking you up he needed to know in case you had trouble at immigration.’
‘No one knew. The first time in my life I’m able to walk around and just be. No hassle, no questions. No pity or sympathy or harassment or being beaten up. Just me. You get me? Bloody fucking me. The first time. And of all people it is you who spoils it.’
‘But I didn’t know that.’ Godfrey’s voice was soft. ‘I had to make sure someone is there who will look out for you.’
‘Well, it ain’t my father. He told me to go back to London. That there isn’t any place here for someone like me.’
‘I’m really sorry to hear that. He said he would take care of you.’
‘Weird way of doing that by disappearing before I even arrive.’
‘He what? What are you talking about?’
‘I will have to tell you another time.’
‘Karl, where is your father?’
‘He’s here. In his place. At least now he is.’
‘What exactly did he say?’
‘I don’t really want to go into the details. He just doesn’t want me. He is disgusted …’
‘I’m so sorry, Karl.’
There were tears on both sides. Both angry. Each more helpless than the other.
‘I can’t forgive you, not like that.’ Karl paused. ‘But I believe you.’
He could hear the older man breathe.
‘I’m almost eighteen. You can’t interfere like this. It’s not your right. You understand? You put me in danger!’
The last bit came out slow and heavy, and the small boy’s eyes widened. He understood Karl; Nakale’s accent had made it into Karl’s mouth. It fell out as if it belonged there, all the way.
‘Karl, he promised you would be safe. Do you think I just let you fly away?’
Karl nodded. None of that was news. He knew before he called all would make perfect sense. In Godfrey land. Because Godfrey was Godfrey, unless Godfrey was no longer Godfrey. And that would have been a much bigger shock than any story or non-story, any staying or disappearing his father could tell him to do.
‘I’m sorry,’ Godfrey continued. ‘He said you should come. That he would look out for you.’
His voice was all anger. It sounded like it was trying to make it through the teeth.
&n
bsp; ‘Come back now.’
‘That’s what he wants me to. That’s why I’m calling.’
‘I’ll pick you up. Be good to have you back here. I’m scared shitless, you know. It was supposed to be two weeks. Not two months!’
‘It’s not two months—’
‘Almost Karl, almost. I’m worried. All the time.’ He laughed. ‘I ain’t as tough as all of you.’
Karl laughed too. ‘I’m not forgiving you like this, you know. It ain’t that easy. Anyways, I’m not done here. Not yet. School’s already out for the summer. There isn’t really any rush, is there? And I think you owe me.’
The Internet shop owner called the boy away and he jumped up, eyes still fixed on Karl’s, leaving the spot on the wall. Karl’s eyes followed him. He reminded him of the boy he had been and not been. The softness in the face. The dangly limbs. The intense look, dreamy eyes. Listening to the world, even when one couldn’t understand it. Absorbing, learning.
‘How about two more weeks? I’m here now ain’t I, probably only time I’m ever gonna come here. Might as well.’
By the sound of Godfrey’s breathing Karl could tell that he wasn’t too pleased. But it wasn’t his choice. And he did owe him. Owed him big time.
‘Er, I don’t want to be funny or anything but how about that emergency fund you always talk about? I think I need a little grant.’
The boy was now helping to stock the fridge with soft drink bottles from a red plastic crate. The talking was less agitated and quiet now; things were slotting into place again.
‘I think it’s time to call it a day, Karl. Plan another trip, another time —’
‘Just need to stay a bit longer. Call it intuition.’ He laughed again. ‘So you can send that money?’
‘Where do you think the money for your flight and everything else came from?’
‘Come on, G. Do your fundraising magic or whatever you do. Two more weeks, I promise.’
Karl stepped out of that stuffy cubicle. Dried sweat hello! It was so crammed in the thing his nostrils had snorted the sawdust off the plyboards.
When We Speak of Nothing Page 15
