The Eternal Audience of One

by Rémy Ngamije

  “Ever notice how there’s always a chubby one with a high voice,” said Godwin. “And he’s always light skinned too.”

  “Don’t forget the two black guys in the back row with the deep voices who don’t really want to be involved but have to be because it’s part of the job,” said Bianca.

  “The worst is when they start with the dancing,” said Godwin. “That freedom shuffle and church-choir side-to-side isn’t why Sobukwe spent years in solitary confinement.”

  “Anyway, are those the types of lodges you’re talking about?” asked Séraphin. Byron and Bjorn laughed the laugh of the unamused and waved away the comments, choosing to carry on their conversation in quieter tones.

  KentTouchThis—HiLos_Of_E: Congratulations, guys. You played yourselves. Again.

  Sans_Seraph: Thank you. I’d like to thank my middle class upbringing and my inability to like guys whose nicknames are BJ and Bi.

  A message from Silmary.

  Silmary_Lillian—Sans_Seraph: You couldn’t help yourself, could you?

  Sans_Seraph: They were getting on my nerves.

  Silmary_Lillian: I can’t take you anywhere.

  Sans_Seraph: I can think of many places, actually. The closest one is a short drive away.

  Silmary_Lillian: You’re impossible.

  Sans_Seraph: On the contrary, if your past performance is anything to go by, I’m quite, quite possible.

  Silmary_Lillian: Get your mind out of the gutter, Séraphin.

  In another chat group.

  Sans_Seraph—HiLos_Of_E: Is it just me or is this Jess girl giving Richard the sex eyes?

  RichDick: Really?

  Sans_Seraph: She’s been giving you the up-down since we walked in.

  KimJohnUn: Which one’s Jess?

  JustSayYaz: The South Korean one. I think Jana is checking you out, Séra.

  GodForTheWin: Jana looks damn good.

  Sans_Seraph: She’s okay.

  BeeEffGee: Is it just me or does that sound like someone who’s getting it from somewhere else.

  RichDick: I was just about to say. Séraphin, I think it’s time you tell us what you’ve been getting up to. A whole damn year and not a single peep!

  Sans_Seraph: Hahaha. Chill, guys. There isn’t anyone. Nothing like the smell of naai-palm in the morning.

  JustSayYaz: Naai-palm. Andrew things.

  KentTouchThis: Why am I catching strays? I wasn’t even a part of this conversation.

  GodForTheWin: Yo @Sans_Seraph, get on that sound system. These indie sounds are not a vibe.

  Sans_Seraph: On it!

  The number of social gatherings which cannot be made better by Bob Marley and The Wailers range between zero and none. This became apparent as soon as Séraphin connected his cellphone to Tara’s sound system.

  The first time Séraphin heard Bob Marley his father was washing their Volkswagen Jetta. Before Séraphin, Yves, and Éric were old enough to be tasked with cleaning and washing the car their father would do it. His father always played Bob Marley when he cleaned the car. “Buffalo Soldier” was his favourite. His father once stamped like the dreadlocked singer on a stage, under the control and instruction of the Most High Jah and the magic of reggae. Jump, jump, jump, head bob, head bob, jump jump, jump. Stomp! Stomp! Stomp! Séraphin’s father noticed his offspring watching. He stopped and laughed, then, sheepishly, he resumed his work again. Later, Séraphin had taken the cassette from the car and played it on the black Teac radio which kept his mother company in the kitchen when she was busy cleaning or cooking and listened to the man who could make his father act so un-father like.

  When next his father washed the car, Séraphin joined him, waiting for his father to start stomping around again. But he did not. Instead he had laughed when Séraphin’s small voice sang along to “One Love”.

  For a long time, the chorus of that song would be the most Christian thing Séraphin would say with sincerity. By the time he was old enough to step into a confession chamber he was well on his way to peddling the same takeaway menu of sins with varying degrees of fibbing and familial disobedience.

  “Ten Hail Marys and ten Our Fathers, my son,” the parish priest said to Séraphin.

  “Yes, Father,” said Séraphin.

  “Séraphin?”

  “Yes, Father?”

  “Your sins were exactly the same as they were a month ago.”

  “What?” And then he remembered to whom he was speaking. “Father?”

  “You’ve broken the same vase three times now. The one with the flowers in the lounge. Do you understand the purpose of confession?”

  “To confess the sins I have committed so you can forgive them, Father.”

  “But true confession requires you to cherish your forgiveness and to ensure you will try not do the same things again. Do you understand?”

  Séraphin contemplated the old priest’s words and then said, “Yes, Father. I should not commit the same sins I committed last week.”

  “Good.”

  “I will commit new ones.”

  The priest sighed.

  In Tara’s apartment, with the throaty roar of the waves within earshot, Séraphin did something he rarely did. He played two songs from the same artist after each other.

  Silmary_Lillian—Sans_Seraph: Did I just hear you break one of your rules?

  Sans_Seraph: One Bob Marley song deserves the company of another.

  The mood on the balcony lightened while the night blackened. “Jammin” has that effect. Chips, dips, soft drinks, hard drinks, abandoned drinks, phones being picked up and put down and then being picked up again festooned the table.

  Sans_Seraph—Silmary_Lillian: Jana laughs like she’s reading the words on a giant board behind the camera. If I hear it again I might have to kill again.

  Silmary_Lillian: Now I won’t get it out of my head.

  Sans_Seraph: Sorry. Not sorry.

  A quick backtrack to an earlier conversation.

  TaraIncognita—Silmary_Lillian: Planning on having a chill session before everyone goes into study mode for the year-end exams. You should come.

  Silmary_Lillian: Sure.

  TaraIncognita: You can bring your friends.

  Silmary_Lillian: Sure, I’ll ask them.

  TaraIncognita: And tell that cocky one I’ve got a team that’s eager to face him. The tall black one who walks like he has an “S” on his chest.

  Silmary rolled over in her bed to show Séraphin the message. He looked at it with half-closed eyes. Recent exertions were about to send him on a slumber excursion. “Tell her no team formed against me shall prosper,” he said.

  The glove slap, the challenge, the call to duel. The invitation was relayed by Silmary to Bianca who then invited everyone else.

  The night arrived. The invitees made their way to Green Point. Those who lived nearby – which seemed to be all of Tara’s friends – took a stroll to her apartment, eliciting a smile from the guard on duty in the atrium. They were permitted to walk to the elevators without any questions being asked. Those who arrived via the Idriss Express received frowns when they walked into the atrium. “Sign hee-ya and hee-ya. Cellphone numbers hee-ya and hee-ya. Please wait while I call the madam to let her know that you are hee-ya,” said the guard.

  Séraphin, while writing down their names, refrained from commenting on the absence of Tara’s other guests in the visitors’ registry despite knowing they arrived before them. In the elevator he said Richard’s currency was being devalued. “You’ve been around us so long even black people are starting to think you’re black,” he said. “What good are you to us, Rich?”

  The apartment was already filled with personality when Tara opened the door and ushered everyone in. Andrew was already there; and Silmary had come before Séraphin.

  Sans_Seraph—Silmary_Lillian: Well, that’s a first…

  Silmary_Lillian: You’re an idiot, Séraphin!

  Handshakes, hugs, hellos, and how-are-yous. Hidden smiles. The host plied wit
h hastily selected wine. Everyone moving around, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, then everyone sitting on the balcony, eating, drinking, talking, and laughing some more. Conversations about tiring study timetables, brutal exam schedules, possible holiday plans. Troy saying he was thinking about travelling to the United States, Byron and Bjorn adding their two cents to the topic, Séraphin, Godwin, and Bianca giving them back their change. Séraphin playing music to diffuse the situation. The mood lightens, the night blackens.

  A breeze blows, something watches, unseen. The soundtrack plays, all the actors are assembled. All the world is a stage.

  And then Tara says, “Right, let’s play something.”

  Pro-tip from the wise: do not decide who your friends are until you have played general knowledge trivia games with them. 30 Seconds, in particular, should be noted. There are numerous litmus tests for friendships—trust, kindness, sincerity, forced proximity, ill-suffered duration—but surviving 30 Seconds is one of the better ones. There are things in that game that will bring out the very worst in people. The kindest friends turn cruel—“You seriously don’t know who Ginger Rogers is?”—and even the meekest and politest undergo a Jekyllian transformation when the fires of competition are lit, becoming obscenely rude—“Fuck, man! Come on. Bridge on the River Kwai—how have you not seen this fucking film?” From the first roll of the dice to the last clue which sends one team across the finish line, gloating, air punching, Ole!-Ole!-Ole!-ing, the game was designed to test the integrity of friendships. It has ended a few of them too.

  “Before reproducing one should be able to hold their own in a few rounds,” said Séraphin, “because, really, how do you carry someone’s children when you know they thought Freddy Mercury was a superhero?”

  The watching thing shuffles.

  “Let’s make the teams random,” Tara said. “Makes it more interesting.”

  Random looks like this: Jana, Tara, Bjorn, and James are the first team; Jess, Byron, Andrew, and Godwin are the second; Chris, Declan, Nikita, and Yasseen are the third; and, Séraphin, Silmary, Bianca, and Richard are the fourth.

  Tara chose to be the timekeeper.

  BeeEffGee—HiLos_Of_E: Smart move. Because we all know she doesn’t know a damn thing!

  JustSayYaz: Zero chill tonight.

  After the favourable roll of the dice, Bianca reached for a card and said, “Ready, Séra?”

  “We’re on the team too, you know,” said Richard. He shook his head at Silmary. “It’s like we aren’t playing.”

  “I love you guys,” replied Bianca. “But I’m trying to win here.”

  “We can win if you gave out the general knowledge clues in a general and non-Séraphin-oriented manner.”

  “Let me be great,” Séraphin said.

  “And great you shall be,” Bianca said. “First clue: “Now in _____ at the start of Looney Tunes. Pretty sure you’ve seen the title sequence, Séra.”

  “What kind of fucked up clue is that, Bee?” said Richard. “Who’d know—”

  Séraphin said, “Technicolour.”

  “How the f—”

  “Focus, guys,” Bianca said. “Waterway in the Middle East between—”

  “Suez Canal,” Séraphin said.

  “I was just about to say that,” said Silmary.

  “Right. French car company—” Bianca said.

  “Renault, Citroën, or Peugeot,” said Séraphin.

  “The first one,” Bianca said. “Next clue. Shit book everyone says is great. Recommended in every high school ever.”

  Séraphin hesitated. “Heart of Darkness.”

  “Not that one.”

  “Then it must be The Catcher in the Rye.”

  “Of course. Next clue: ‘We do these things not because they are easy, but because they are haa-ah-d.’”

  “John F. Kennedy,” said Séraphin and Silmary together.

  “Pretty good impersonation, Bee,” said Richard.

  Bianca flipped her card over. “Film from your part of the world – she pointed at Séraphin – that Darth Boyfriend referenced.”

  “Fuck you, Bee,” said Séraphin, “and it’s Gorillas in the Mist.”

  “She really knows how to put out in low light conditions unlike Kim—”

  “Time!” Tara called out.

  “Paris Hilton,” said Séraphin and Richard together.

  “What’s that?” asked Séraphin. “Six correct clues?” He moved their purple checker slowly, counting each square out loud. “Look, that puts us right here, here at the end of all things.”

  “That’s game,” said Bianca.

  “Let’s play again,” said Jana. “That game was too short.”

  “This time,” Séraphin said, “my team will mess up a few clues so the rest of y’all can play ketchup to our mustard.”

  “Fruit juice named after the Roman goddess of agriculture – also a valley in the Western Cape,” said Séraphin.

  “Ceres,” said Silmary.

  “Disney rodent with a tune at the end of Full Metal Jacket?”

  “Mickey Mouse,” said Richard. “Dope film.”

  “Recipient of the worst haircut in the Bible. Like, the worst.”

  “Samson,” said Bianca.

  “Place where NASA rockets are launched in the US.”

  “Houston,” said Richard.

  “No. Other place, man. Fuck. Will come back to this one. Next one. Singers of “Dancing Queen”.

  “ABBA,” said Silmary and Bianca.

  “Right. Back to the rockets. First name of the Mother City and also has a name that sounds like the thing Brazilians do each year.”

  “Cape—” said Richard.

  “—Canaveral,” completed Silmary.

  “That’s five,” said Séraphin. “Which ties us with Andrew’s team. Just need the rest of you to fumble your way through the clues, and then Andrew to choke his way through his card, and then Silmary can bring it home. We only need to get four things right to wash you guys again.”

  “Fuck you, Séra,” Andrew said. He waited until it was his turn to give out clues. He managed three out of five. Séraphin looked at the rest of the clues on his card.

  “Rivers of Babylon” is every black Christmas ever,” Séraphin said. “And that last clue was Charlie Brown’s football to you because you ain’t getting Peanuts. How didn’t you get that one?”

  “You’re loathsome, Séraphin,” said Andrew.

  “Things are getting descriptive,” said Adewale.

  “Very descriptive, bro,” said Richard.

  “I don’t like this game,” said James. “People take it too personally.”

  “I was thinking that it’s the way some people play that makes other people take it personally,” said Jess.

  “Come on, Jess,” said Séraphin. “It’s all fun and games, innit? No harm, no foul. He rubbed his hands together. “Time to win us this game, Sil.”

  The dice rolled favourably again. An opportunity for a five-point play. The other teams groaned. Silmary looked at Tara who held the hourglass. Tara flipped it over and said, “Go.”

  “Chicago Bulls basketball player!”

  “Michael Jordan!” Séraphin, Richard, and Bianca were leaning forward in their seats, all of their attention on Silmary.

  “Jupiter’s father, also the planet with the rings.”

  “Saturn,” said Séraphin.

  “Correct. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

  “The Wizard of Oz,” said Bianca.

  “The zeppelin which blew up.”

  “Hindenburg,” said Séraphin.

  “Full name of the event,” said Silmary.

  “The Hindenburg Disaster!” Richard said.

  “Last one.” Silmary looked at the card and giggled.

  Later on, after a careful review of the situation and what happened next, what Silmary said could have been blamed on any number of things. It could have been blamed on the head-spinning kiss of the Bombay Sapphire or the present
company and its ebullient mood. The overheated competitiveness of the atmosphere might have brought a single-mindedness to Silmary’s brain, wanting her to get the last clue right so her team could win. Maybe this made her synapses fire at high speed, mind and tongue take the shortest route available between the clue on her card and the answer which would see her team – which had the object of her affection – cross the finish line first again. All of these things were possible reasons for what came next.

  Silmary looked at Séraphin and said: “What Andrew is to the High Lords, this country is to Africa.”

  Séraphin screamed “Madagascar!” and jumped up from his seat, arms stretched out to either side like a certain all-conquering Highbury hero. Bianca jumped up to join him. Richard moved his team’s checker to the end zone for no other reason but to see it there. Then he and Silmary were pulled into their team’s jumping huddle celebration. Everyone else sat back in their seats and looked on. Some people laughed. Declan and Troy made their way to the kitchen to refill their drinks. Tara said, “Okay, guys, calm down, it’s just a game.”

  To this statement, Godwin said, “Yeah right.”

  Séraphin ran to the balcony’s railing and stood on the bottom rung and shouted he was the king of the world.

  Adewale said, “I hate losing to this guy.”

  James said, “I was really hoping they would lose.”

  “Me too,” said Byron. Bjorn crossed his arms and sulked.

  Yasseen, whose team trailed everyone else’s, was the only one who saw the narrowing of eyes from Andrew’s quarter. When the volume of the celebrations had been dumbed down somewhat, Andrew looked at Silmary and said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What does what mean?” she asked.

  “Madagascar.”

  “It’s nothing, Andrew. Forget it. It’s just a joke.”

  “Clearly it’s a joke. I want to know what it means.”

  “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  Andrew turned his attention to Séraphin. “I said I want to know what it fucking means.” His voice leapt out of him, uncharacteristically loud, uncharacteristically commanding. It stilled everyone on the balcony. His chest did up-downs, sucking in air in angry gulps.