Читать книгу Under Fire - Chinedu Ogoke - Страница 10

“Oscar, darling.” A girl carrying a multi-colour hair planted a kiss on Oscar’s cheek.

Oscar raised her hand to a kiss. Without releasing the hand, he tried to draw the girl closer, the other hand encircling her. “Oh, no, Oscar. Stop it.” She brushed aside his hand and dashed off when he wouldn’t stop. The other two girls laughed.

Oscar chuckled with laughter. “Come, le’ me squeeze ya.” He demonstrated with clenched, bony fists.

A mother had laboured with this person, Innocent observed. Whoever the man was who had been involved in making him. The joke in school was, Oscar was an extra-terrestrial sample drafted to school, like the school was running out of normal human beings. Nothing of the sort had previously been seen. But one was just enough for the school.

“This Oscar, I bet lives only on pot,” Innocent said, “with supplies from Koffi the barber. A genius in peeling, this legend. He drugs his victims, takes away all their powers of resistance, then obtains. Especially jambites. But anybody, you don’t have tickets, you borrow.”

“Wonderful.”

“I even overheard him telling a guy he tried to peel, ‘You, everyday, dry weather,’ when will your rain fall?’” Really? Imoni asked. “You can’t try. It was in the presence of some babes. Then, from no where he produced a ticket, and got hailed, ‘rainmaker!’”

They stumbled into Wale, a member of the palm wine drinkards club. “Komrad Imoni,” Wale called, “may you wakar and nefer stumble at all, at all.”

“Wale, may your first son nefer rezemble your houseboy.”

“Emu.”

They linked their index fingers, each snapping his middle finger against his thumb.

“Komrad, you are woked.” Innocent proffered his finger.

But Wale instead offered a palm. “A komrado shall nefer be kponkponkios,” he said.

“He’s joking,” Imoni said in plain English. “He’s not karreable.

“So, he’s an ishiewu.”

Innocent laughed. “You’re ishiewu yourself.” But he shook Wale’s hand.

Wale turned to Imoni. “Niger and Benue shall nefer meet at all, at all.

“And our four mamasis and five fathersis shall continue to discover the Niger, and Mongo Park shall always be announcer.”

“At all, at all.”

Wale informed Imoni about a club’s poster in the cafeteria ahead, before he continued on his way. They entered the cafeteria. A handful of male students was dining inside.

A colourful poster on the large, paste board contested readers’ attention with the palm wine club’s poster. The large, colourful poster proclaimed in splendid letters, a presentation by Pacific Age Productions, a campus outfit, then included side attractions, but silent on the much talked about Mr. and Miss Unimaid.

“No mention of Mr. Unimaid,” Innocent commented.

“Randy and his colleagues are thieves to charge ten tickets as gate fee,” a student who had joined them, said.

“It’s a deliberate attempt to shut out the poor students,” Imoni added. “But there’s inflation in the land.”

“Inflation?” the first, student asked. “I may regret missing it, but they won’t see me there. Let them obtain themselves.”

The palm wine drinkards poster wore a faint, sandy, green skin, and had a palm tree engrafted to the background. It’s clumsy words were transcribed with emphasis on the phonetics of its peculiar language. Part of the message read thus: ‘Jarasis, Jurassic!” Supremost komradiom. Diz iz kolin, on ol Kongosis, dat dia will be a wokedest ekstanal maigreshon to Illya du Rock on di 15 x 2 -9 /- 2 + 3 /- 16 +.... So, dear 4, ol Kongosis sud, by way of Sentral Bank, diklia dia assets and 4 feet dia 15000 kowries. Naija in a woked go slow, Afrika in a serious hurri. Difaided we stand, unaited wi fall. Wan plos wan is ten, and tri minos nut is nutin. A wod is tu smol fo di waild. Taim. 4 kock crow to infinity. Vaibration: Paroto.

Innocent laughed. “These palm wine guys are crazy. Trying to turn everything upside down. Look at this one,” he pointed. Imoni read it. Desert scorpions, a secret cult beckoning to new students. Everything was produced in red, with an impressed, poised scorpion. “Good, the Eng. 101 observers haven’t spared it,” Innocent said. “But why is it even here?”

“Maybe the blue guys haven’t seen it.”

He asked his friend if he thought students would respond positively to it. Well, he shrugged his shoulders, if it commended itself on them. Whoever committed his soul to evil. The poster promised its members, worthy soldiers, security and prompt realisation of their desires. And they did only ask for their pound of flesh and got it. Innocent was going to tear it off, but Imoni stopped him. He thought it wasn’t the kind of thing to get firm root in the school. And, who, for goodness sake was the liquidator? he asked. He thought it childish.

The other bulletins were shuttles scheduled for less broad frames. There was that of a students union calling, Association of Imo State students welcome party, and Sokoto State scholarship board reaching out to clients. Others announced the deaths of two students along Maiduguri-Damboa road, and a Mr. Singh’s missing Beetle car. They started moving east, after consuming the information. Moments later, they were at table before their meals.

The cafeteria was undeservedly middle class. At N2.50, diners grumbled over the food. It had had a great time in the previous semesters. But that had been overturned by other eating places, which now netted the bulk of the middle class diners. It could now only go for those left out like itself. The gate that had unified the female halls with this hall had moved, and the students had moved with it. This now left the cafeteria in the wrong corner of the school. See the people the hall itself was hosting. Hardly the girls. That gate’s closure really affected tourism in the hall. If the hall had to knock on the doors of those students, it had to knock really hard. Back to the cafeteria, the cheap bukas and cafeterias had made a sweep of the people the exalted eating places couldn’t take on. The cafetaria was being run now by the wife of a retired General. She couldn’t help the N2.50, which was even considerably cheap, because of high rent, she had said in a meeting with Shantali the students hall chairman. She referred to students as her children. She operated at a loss, but a retired General’s wife addressing students as her children. Blasphemy, Lawd.

Imoni heard somebody mention ‘Randy,’ and turned. “Cent and Waltz, momen guys,” Randy, carrying a guitar, hailed them.

“Hey, Randy the Shadow.” Imoni dropped his spoon to shake hands.

Randy, in his jeans attire and white canvass shoes, and a shoulder slanted by a guitar, attracted admirers. Another young man consistent with Randy’s appearance, came forward. He shook hands too. Innocent smiled. He could see Randy was in entertainment shape, he said. He had seen the posters, he continued, and the show promised a lot of action.

“Obviously, yes,” Randy replied. “Please, you guys should come. You’ll get more than your ticket’s worth. I won’t disappoint you, my admirers. We are just picking up the rope from where Imoni stopped.”

Innocent attacked the high gate fee, which Randy cleverly defended. After the explanation, he strummed his guitar a while. His hand speed was amazing. He got extoled.

“You just have to come. Imoni, you know we all look up to you.”

Imoni welcomed the compliment, and granted him and his colleague access to his five naira change. Eventually, they bade Randy and his colleague bye, and stepped out. They headed to Innocent’s hall. Close to his room, Innocent was attracted to an open door, but Imoni pressed on. He walked up to door number 15, and knocked.

“Yes? Come in,” a female voice called.

He entered. “Hello, Yetunde.”

“Good afternoon,” the girl responded.

“Ashiru isn’t around, right?”

“He isn’t. Cent, too.”

“No. We’re together.”

Innocent came in. “What of Ashiru?” he asked.

“Gone to the town. He will be back soon. He even has a lecture in about forty minutes’ time.”

The room was modelled like their own, with the double bunk and single beds relaxing on the rug. A book on Innocent’s shelve attracted Imoni. It was Walter Rodney’s ‘How Europe Under-developed Africa.’ It was a book everybody, except him, had read, he said. He hadn’t either, Innocent said. Imoni lifted it from among other books. He learned Ashiru was reading it, and wondered how long he had to wait to have it. He wouldn’t know, Innocent replied. It was difficult to break off from such a book. It had for some time been Ashiru’s companion. He laughed. But he guessed Ashiru may be rounding off now, so he may not actually have to wait long to have it.

“Perch now?” Innocent said.

“No,” he said, “I have to see that Modesty guy I told you about. But, first of all, I shall see this new palm wine drinkards guy, Yinka, in this hostel to put off an appointment. We’re supposed to see our Chief today.” Innocent promised to relieve him of the burden of searching out Yinka, considering distance. He would relay the message. “Just tell him we’re going tomorrow by the earlier schedule. We meet at the earlier appointed place, the agric. complex library. Twelve.”

“You know we have Mr. Courtland’s lecture eleven.”

“Very well.”

“You think your Chief leads a normal life? And it’s just funny how you make such elaborate plans on such club. What benefits do you even derive from it?”

“You won’t know, until you’re in.” He left them and started walking to his room.

As usual, student traffic displayed it’s inclination. To or from lectures, or to catch some food or nap. Imoni saw Cos bent towards trade fair complex. He waved.

“Imoni, wait for me in my room, please,” Cos called excitedly.

“I shall see you later,” Imoni shouted back.

“No, wait for me.”

Cos’ insistence deserved consideration. But his package could wait. At their door, he rapped, and entered. Mickey was now awake. He was leafing through a magazine with a girl with a scarf around her head.

“Right guy, Waltz,” Mickey called.

“Hello, Mickey. You’re awake.”

“Yea. Woken up by this beauty here.” He indicated the girl. “That’s Imoni Waltz,” he told the girl. “Meet Esthella.”

“Welcome,” the girl said in a faint voice.

Imoni shook the girl’s soft hand.

You strike me as the girl Modesty and I saw at the suya spot the other day, he thought. The band around her head helped him crack it. “I guess you know Imoni Waltz.” Mickey eyed the girl.

She was shy. She wanted to be given time to think. She didn’t, she said, but added she might have the needed clues, and it was certainly the person Mickey just told her about. That was easy to go for, but Mickey was just too impressed how she took it and easily figured it out. “Yes, it’s like,” he said, “Waltz rates among the most popular guys on campus. He and I, and that fella, Cos, who came a while ago, are throwing the party of the decade, soon.”

That was what she got before, she said. They were there, she pointed, discussing it. She had ears. She heard everything. Before they went out. That was Cosy too bad. “Beautiful memory,” Mickey interrupted. “We shall baptise it unity party.” Why the designation? the girl asked. “You have a right to know, babe. But, it’s like, not now. Confidential.” She silently accepted it.

Imoni went to sit before a table. “It’s like I don’t know why,” the girl started saying, “since yesterday, I’ve been running into the big names in this school. Salaudeen, Audu, General Rabiu’s son, Ahmed, Ruf, Cynthia, Randy, now Imoni Waltz.... It’s like by the time I’m two months old here, I must have known all the big stars.” Big stars, indeed, Imoni thought.

“I’m told General Anka, too, has a son here.”

“That’s Saminu. Just came and disappeared.”

Mickey was watching her admiringly.

“You’re almost as current as part three students here,” Imoni told the girl. “You must be very intelligent. No flattery.” And since you’ve imbibed the it’s like culture.

“Why can’t she?” Mickey asked. “When her father is the former Minister of Education’s younger brother, and she’s only fifteen.”

“No, I’m seventeen.”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you nice couple,” Imoni said. “I want to leave a note for somebody.”

“At all,” Mickey replied. “Go ahead, pal,” and he and the girl kept to themselves. Imoni started composing a note for Aham.

He meanwhile pried into the dialogue between Mickey and the girl. “Ed, by his potentials, should be the richest on campus. He’s quite some guy. It’s like you hardly know. What a guy! I keep wondering over such enviable heritage. Being heir apparent to about twenty five million. Not excited about it like. And the old man is seriously ill. Think of patrimony.”

“Oh, no,” the girl exclaimed quietly. “But one shouldn’t wish death, no matter...”

“He was in school in Switzerland. But it’s like the old guy decided he should only be a little away from hearing distance. And it’s like they don’t want him to have a car here, or too much luxury. The fella’s a car banger. Banged two straight, separate birthday presents. The police...”

“But, that’s violent. It’s like I guess they’re quite right.”

“If I were the one, being the only child, I would turn lose, raise dust, and as a result, receive attention.”

“Oh, Mickey, you can’t do that? Keep your hands, please, if you talk like that.”

“He’s a great deal luckier than I,” Mickey continued, in spite of the girl. “Who am I? Imagine three big guys and five bubbling babes with only fifteen million and a few assets to inherit. What’s a jewellery shop worth? Even though it’s the richest in the country. Not much.”

“I don’t like you saying that, Mickey,” the girl said. “It’s like so many people in this country, what am I saying? In this world, are not so lucky.”

Imoni would have waited for another Mickey treat, but it was a note for Aham he was making, and he had to end it. He signed it up, sealed it, and gave it to Mickey. “It’s for Aham. I’m off to somewhere. Shall take some time. Catch ya. Esthella, bye.”

“Bye.”

He moved quickly to Cos’ room, knocked on his ‘Night Nurse’ door, and hearing, “Come in if you’re handsome,” he opened it half-way.

Like Mickey, he had female company. He smiled, obliged, not Cos, but the girl. He had turned the town inside out, he said, searching for the one and only Cos.

It was certainly an opener for Cos. “It’s like, must have been when I went to arrange for the conveyance of some of my things,” he blurted out. “Fridge, teevee, rug, and all, that I think by the day after tomorrow, this place will become a real living place.”

“That’s lovely.”

“It’s like, even this bunk standing here gives me the horrors.”

Imoni laughed. For, unrefined and unprovided for, Cos’room was not the least comfortable. Cos wanted him to meet Yisa.

The girl responded to his greeting without interest.

“It’s like Yisa and I plan to go to the Lake Tchad swimming pool on Sunday. Right?”

“Yes,” the girl said half-heartedly, as if the words were forced out of her lips. “Please, I want to go,” she complained. “It’s like my sister will be waiting for me at the hostel.”

“It’s like you’ve just come, and we’re...”

“What are you going to do, now?” Imoni asked her. “Your sister can always understand.”

“Oh, me, I’ve not introduced this guy,” Cos cleverly said. “He’s Imoni Waltz.... Imoni, perch now. There’s a seat for you.”

“No. I will soon fash.”

“Imoni Waltz is...”

But the girl got up to go.

Imoni had to fill up for Cos with complementary statement. It was then a sister that might be offended, he said. Let him take the guilt. He could perceive a sister’s anger. With due respect to the sister, let the sister’s anger knock on his door. He would place his door at their disposal. The little talk influenced the girl. Inexperience and the inability to absorb Cos’ fat talk may have compelled her attitude. She unwillingly lowered herself on the bed.

“It’s like you’ve seen now how you’ve upset my friend?” Cos was saying.

“I’ll see you later,” Imoni said, and abandoned Cos to his hopeless package.

The room spurn a tale of how the fortunes of a simple hostel apartment could be redefined, with a shower of wealth, and all possibilities appeasing to the feelings artistically and fully explored.

Imoni’s attention returned from the little fishes moving merrily in their miniature phoney world, to the film.

It was the Bangkok Hilton starring Arkie Ragan, the suave character that would test his popularity with any group but the women folk.

Katrina Stanton’s apprehension in fact, attracted their fire and flamed their dislike of Arkie.

But they soon shrunk into vengeful silence with Arkie’s temporary isolation. Iyke was formed in sleep, against the wall. And lined on the same bed on her stomach, and her eyes settled on the television, was Kendra, his girlfriend.

Modesty and Ifeyinwa had the other bed. The girl converted his laps into a prop, tracking the film from that position. Both Imoni and Imeh shared the rug, enjoying the same film. Imeh had moved in and out with two girls, and just re-emerged. Imoni remembered and disposed the foil and bottle he had fed from. Modesty meanwhile raised Ifeyinwa’s head and reseated himself. Ifeyinwa looked up questioningly and feelingly at him, then unwound her legs towards the head stead, and lowered her head on its improvised pillows. Time and again, Imoni’s gaze strayed to Kendra’s incredibly smooth legs. Each time he fought the diversion. Imeh had remained calm, occupied with the film.

After a while, agony crawled across Modesty’s face. Ifeyinwa stirred. “What is wrong?”

“What’s the problem?” Kendra turned to them.

“Oh, perch, it’s nothing,” Modesty replied, but he clutched his stomach, then his chest.

“What, Modesty?” his girlfriend asked in a voice fitted with affection, sitting up to a favourable study of him. “You’re sick.” She stroked the bed. “It’s like you don’t want to tell me.”

“Modesty. Modesty,” Imeh called. “What’s the problem? Are you sick?”

Modesty, for reply, rolled up with a strength injected to rest Ifeyinwa’s fears. “Leave me. I’m going to be okay. He stumbled out, Ifeyinwa’s eyes following.

“I have been watching him,” Imoni said. “He’s not feeling very fine, but I guess it’s a little problem.”

Allowing tears now, Ifeyinwa walked out. Imeh followed her. Ifeyinwa’s weeping broke in after a while. “Come and see, Kendra,” she was saying as Imeh conducted Modesty into the room. “It’s like Modesty is dying. He’s vomiting.... He’s. Oh...” But Modesty’s expression disproved the girl’s claim.

Kendra got up and roused Iyke. “What’s it?” Iyke asked, beating off sleep.

“It’s like, it’s Modesty,” Kendra answered with concern. Imoni provided a pillow for Modesty’s head as Imeh lowered the young man to the bed. He shunned the fuss playing around the young man, which he felt exceeded the ordinary.

A neighbour burst in, showing the same attitude. “Iyke, Imeh,” he called, “What’s happen’?”

“It’s alright, Iffy,” Iyke was saying. “Just perch. It isn’t serious.”

Modesty was now folded on his buttocks, his head rested on his arms, bridged over upright knees. He lifted his head. “It’s nothing.” His lips smiled. “It’s like, I just...” But the words were cut off as he squeezed his stomach again. He was now on his feet, one hand on the chest. “No, leave me.” He declined Imoni and Imeh’s help, and was strolling out.

“Please, do something,” lfeyinwa was weeping in Kendra’s arms. “Modesty is dying.”

Imoni joined them outside. To his surprise, darkness had rushed in, as if its painter suddenly dashed it against the clear, day light. Some loud students, crossed over some games, had suddenly suspended their games, asking questions and passing comments.

“He has vomited again,” Imeh commented as he conducted Modesty out of the nearby bathroom.

“It’s like, there’s a medical student here,” somebody suggested.

“No,” Iyke objected. “We’re going to our doctor in the town.”

Bowing against a railing, Modesty said, “I don’t know why you’re worrying so much. Somebody should stay with Iffy. It’s like the clinic here should be okay.”

“Please, pally,” Imeh motioned to Imoni, steering Modesty by the elbow, “get me my car keys. In the next room, 27, and on the teevee set.”

Imoni knocked and entered the said room. A student had a girl trapped under him. He disengaged, bashful. “Car key, Modesty is sick,” Imoni announced, “and Imeh wants to take him to the hospital.” He saw the key on the television set, and picked it up. The room was even more fortified than Modesty’s. Imeh’s roommate escorted him to the door, but no further. Imeh met them at the door and collected the key. He hurried down, to join Iyke and Modesty, who was leaning on the Golf. They got in and Imeh reversed the car, and sent it off.

When Imoni turned, Ifeyinwa was twisting in the hands of kendra and two male police. “He can’t go without me,” she was weeping. “Please, let me go. Oh, my Modesty.”

Her enthusiasm in accomplishing her aim weakened eventually, and she allowed herself to be led into the room. Imoni hung a leg on the railing. Modesty’s return had to decide his departure. Inside the room behind him, Ifeyinwa’s sobbing was being rendered quietly. His interest changed to the hostel nearby, Rufus and Tijani’s den. And his thoughts playfully locked Rufus and Fostina in each other’s hands, leaving the place. The night thickened to coffee black, and his departure was delayed further until the Golf’s arrival relieved him.

There was an overpowering blast of music from the common room. He sighted Innocent with Eva and another girl at a kiosk, and ignored them.

“Imoni Waltz,” somebody called.

“Hi.” He waved. He didn’t even know the fellow’s name.

Two hurrying students with books smiled and waved. He responded, pretending to know them.

He realised his popularity had really taken a leap. One of five students recognised him. And now he misjudged intentions by the frequency of raised hands. Embarrassing a nice fellow by a belated or non-response, or even himself when the intention meant even to drive off flies. Now, he was locked with a hurrying student between two of three motor barricades. He drew back, but they were jammed in thoughts, and were pulled together again. They were united in laughter at their dual folly, as their thoughts disengaged, and each used the passage to his left, forsaking the luckless passage.

Gladys was seated on a concrete stool, chatting with a male student. It wasn’t a carnival, he learned from Gladys’ friend. A launch of the reggae club was just getting underway. And all the lighting and decorations to go with? The reggae movement emphasised colour a lot. It was actually a colour ambassador. It didn’t have any history in the school, and didn’t come too soon. It was good application hadn’t been denied it, now the talk was on review of license issuance. The other question was if it would get a big hug, or survive in a pop crazed environment. Some people had already been signed on. Some of them, in their gaudy attires, were coming their way. “Airee!” some students shouted after the reggae fellows.

“Yea, wadada,” came the response.

“Hello, Okpe,” Imoni called to one of them. “How goes?”

Imagine the transformation. “Nowt Okpe, man. Bet me cool. Wanna set Babylon ablaze, man.”

A familiar reggae tune was playing. He had never been able to get hold of the words behind that music.

Gladys’ friend soon bade them farewell.

Gladys chose a close-cut top covering, sketching a diagram like a glass case holding snacks. It was fixed for him, but his inner man burned with criticism. She linked hands and sized him with her eyes, head and shoulders. “I’m taller than you,” he said across his shoulders. “You can’t try.

“They call you Imoni Waltz, right?” she said. “Imoni Waltz. That’s why he’s so swollen-headed. At the girls’ hostels, at parties, at the academic area: Imoni Waltz. They should have better use of their time.” She nudged him with her elbow.

“Envy,” he said casually. “And you know I don’t care for their parties.”

“Hey, lies won’t save you. And, by the way, you’re damn lucky. I found your workshop door locked up now for almost an hour. Music was playing inside. So, I just sat at that strategic place where you wouldn’t escape me.”

And he spoilt her fun. He laughed. She lost, she admitted. He had diagnosed abiku or ogbanje in her, he said lightly. “You’re crazy.” She shook him off the paved walk.

Hardly offended, he climbed back again. He used to think children outgrew the abiku thing, until she came along, he told her. She stopped briefly, with pretended hurt. Coming along. Was it how serious he took her?

“Try and grow up,” he said as they ascended the staircase of his hostel.

At the corridor, Abednego was removing a pot from a cooker, but placed it back to reach for a handshake and a swift greeting.

There was laughter behind the music in their room. The door was suddenly pulled open from inside. Mickey, smoky, was coming out, leading a fat girl with a bag showing tubes of cosmetics. Imoni noted the size of the bag. “Wao, Waltz.” Mickey threw out a hand. “It’s like you disappeared the whole day.”

He had told him where to look for him, at Modesty’s, Imoni said. “Modesty. We should have checked you there.” He stretched a hand, “Gladys, how are you doing?”

“Fine. Thank you.” She shook the hand lightly.

Mickey’s hand circled the girl’s waist. “It’s like we shall block later.”

“Bye.”

They replaced Mickey and the girl. The perfumery smell in the room tinkled the nostrils. “I wonder if they had spilled some perfume,” Gladys complained. “Come, how are you living here now? Is this place turning into a chalet? And, that guy, I want to know if he’s now in this room. Has such negative reputation among the girls. Who even told him my name?” Imoni ignored her. Mickey had left the room in discord. The beds, the chairs, everything. He was running sick of him. “I know Aham won’t tolerate this. He’s...”

“Hey, shut up, you!” Imoni swung at the girl.

“When you should be sorry?” She pushed him lightly. He was at the edge of Aham’s bed, so he toppled and fell on it. “Foolish boy,” she said. “Where are your manners?”

He quietly got up. She lead a cassette into the tape, and started dancing. He was passing beside her. But a check stood out. She felt like dancing, she said. But he didn’t, he replied. She explored his feelings with eye contact. He directed his lips appropriately, and she welcomed it, but briefly. Picking up two bottles, he flew downstairs. He picked up Duncan on his way.

“Waltz,” Duncan said, “you guys want to smash our roof.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your music was so loud in the afternoon. In a little while, Yunusa’s girl had flown in from the town; they spent some long time together. Aham and Ego, too. And that wild roommate of yours. Must be some corporate squatter, discharged a girl around two, and another just now, as you were entering.”

He must have some keen eyes, Imoni told him. He quietly made notes on others, unobserved himself. “What are you saying?” Duncan asked. “I was in my room downstairs, seeing everything. And considering the unrelenting traffic into your workshop.”

He had to hasten up, Imoni told him later, as he received his change. Duncan was thoughtful. “Could you shock me a fiver? I think I need some soap.” He got it. Silas, as usual stalked a frightened girl, and they were required to shield the girl deep into her destination, before turning back.

Three girls were leaving their room. He was in their way, to find out whom they were looking for. Who else? Mickey. He was his roommate, he told them. “Where has he dashed to?” one of them asked. “It’s like I shall come back by ten.” Gladys was around for a prolonged stay, and a second girl would be intolerable. Mickey was probably out partying, he said. “Gracious! Does he know what an appointment is?”

What was the name? Who called? he asked. Just Aisha, the girl said, with the attitude of there being one Aisha in the circumstance. She wasn’t going to oblige him with name attachments. They left, and he turned into their room and secured the lock.

Gladys was stretched on a bed, her face hidden by a magazine. “So, this is how they troop in.” He unloaded the things he bought, in spite of her. She replaced the magazine. “It’s like, tell him I shall come by ten,” she mimicked. “All these small things.” Imoni wasted a little time to ebb her anger, before sitting down beside her. “Hey, get off,” she fought him with the magazine and, unspeaking, he planted himself beside her, then intimidating her with a stare filled with animal instinct.