Читать книгу Under Fire - Chinedu Ogoke - Страница 7

Imoni opened his eyes. Aham was still sleeping, a pillow under his arm, as usual. He remembered Mickey, their guest. Mickey was backing him. His right shoulder was making gradual, tense movements. He stretched to the left. What he saw, surprised him. With a razor, Mickey was poised over an expensive shirt. He had separated the shirt’s collar and sleeves, and had worked out a headless bust. He chopped off part of the lower field, then dug out a twin window for the navel. Aware suddenly of some conscious eyes, he shifted. “Oh, you’re awake.”

“What do you think you’re doing to that shirt?” Imoni asked in a friendly manner.

“Gee, that’s what I want to give them today. A designer’s shirt, straight from Harrods, atop a skin-tight, jump-off, faded jeans. With the meanest snake-skin shoes they’d seen ever. That will be followed by wild 25-carat gold chains, ring and Mundane wrist watch, topped with D’Laerence macho perfume. I’m gonna burst loose on them.”

“And, that, in this cold?”

“Fuck the cold.”

Imoni laid back. Aham steered. His eyes, too. “Good morning, Aham.” That was from Imoni.

“Imoni, good morning.”

Mickey hung the shirt briefly in space, regarding it. “Aham and Yunusa, good morning,” he greeted excitedly. Aham’s sleepy voice asked why he chose to deform the shirt. Yunusa rolled out of his bed. He was going to ask the same question, he said. “Hold it, guys. You’ll not understand,” Mickey said.

Imoni rubbed his eyes. “l guess that shirt isn’t up to two months old.”

That got Mickey exclaiming. “Two months! “How can I still wear a shirt that’s two whole months old? The shirt’s two weeks old. And I’ve won it only once.” He was sure, Imoni still puzzled, said some money must have gone into that shirt, at least a hundred. “You mean bucks?” Mickey’s voice was laced with cynicism. “You call that bucks?” He got up and visited his portmanteau. He came back with a faded, jeans trousers. “Okay.” His teeth bit a finger. “The shoes are inside that bag.” He went out.

“What’s the time?” Aham asked nobody in particular. Yunusa told him. “Almost nine!” he exclaimed. “And I’m still on the bed. I have a lecture by now. That means I shall have to prepare for the next one.”

“I’m surprised about the time, too,” Imoni said. “I have a Pol. Science lecture at eleven. You won’t even know it’s so late. It’s because of the harmattan.”

Aham got up, and was followed out by a tooth brush and tooth paste. Mickey returned with a bag. He rummaged through it, his hand appearing with toilet articles. Where could he have left his dressing case? he said, as his hand brought out one cream, two, three, four.... Both Imoni and Yunusa’s eyes lost count at the crowd of them on a table. “What a collection of creams,” Imoni observed. “You intend setting up a cosmetics shop?”

“Cosmetics shop, indeed.” He brought out a bottle of perfume, then a tablet of an expensive soap.

Yunusa approached the table. He studied some of the creams. He wondered if the acquisition of so many creams bordered on mere appetite for them. “Yes, and I will eat them,” Mickey replied briefly. It was simply too much for mere body care, Yunusa said. Mickey drew out a towel from his portmanteau. “That’s wrong attitude, I tell you. It’s like we hardly learn. If you know what real skin treatment is, you won’t say that thing.” He put the towel around him, and pulled and stepped out of his pants. Aham soon came in. He stood, transfixed, with questioning eyes. Mickey laughed. “What’s biting you, like?” He asked him if the things were for sale. “You wonno buy?”

They weren’t meant for exhibition, Yunusa informed him, but for Mickey’s skin. “You’ll be bleached to hell, when you finish applying them.” Aham got rid of the dental instruments, then came back to examine the creams. He shook his head.

Mickey was filled with music of indistinct notes, and with accompanying body movements. “It would have been wonderful to have a mean musical gadget here.”

“Yunusa has one,” Aham told him.

“Then, where is it?”

Yunusa said he needed someone’s approval to get it from where it was for safe keeping. But it was due in later in the day. Not a disc player, he was told. “It’s like the bathrooms here give me the horrors,” Mickey said. “I think I should bath quickly, go to Chinese Restaurant for a breakfast, and...”

“I am preparing to get us some bread, so we can design some breakfast here,” Imoni said.

Their guest’s face was incredulous. What was that again? he asked. Eating in the room? What was wrong with it? Aham asked. That way, it was better than what one got in the restaurants. That was strange, then, Mickey said. But cooking wasn’t allowed in the hostel. Yes, Aham replied, but the law was not easy to enforce. “You guys must be very domestic like,” Mickey said. “I never thought of that. But, don’t you think that either way you still spend something? What’s money meant for, anyway? Well, who’s going to buy the bread and others?”

Imoni offered to, going for some money. Aham slipped out with a bucket and a soap dish. Mickey moved for his portmanteau. But Imoni forestalled him. He needn’t worry about the money.

Well, if he insisted, Mickey said. But what would they do for omelette, for instance? He wouldn’t mind having some. Imoni pinched the money in his pocket. The kiosks were no place for those things, he said. And cooked ones? Mickey asked. Imoni, with regret, went for more money. “And, by the way,” Mickey said, “I prefer biscuits for breakfast.” He looked at Yunusa. “Some other guys go for heavy things like the bread I’ve seen here.” Imoni was irritated at being held up by unreasonable requests. That would be accommodated as well, he told him.

When he reappeared, both Aham and Mickey were through with their bath, and Mickey was attending to his creams. Imoni wasted no time on his toilet. When he came back, Mickey was still beside his creams. While Aham was putting together the breakfast, Imoni hovered around their friend and his collection. He picked up a tube, and received some cool, yellow fluid into his palms. He locked both palms, moved them briefly, then made to employ the cream on his legs. But he was dissuaded by Mickey.

“You disappoint me, Imoni. You ought to know that, that cream is meant for your face.”

The other three young men spurted with laughter. Mickey laughed, too. “It’s the right thing I told him. Why are you laughing? Here’s one for your legs. And this one is for your hair. This other will be good for your beard and moustache. If you can top them with a perfume, you become loud, and send every babe crazy, like.”

Aham had finished preparing the breakfast. “That’s real cosmetology,” he said, smiling.

Imoni was still amused. He complied with the directions. There was a lot of movement and activity in the room. The announcement of breakfast quickly changed everything.

Mickey’s attire quietly amused the others to no end. The shirt negligently sat on him, and seemed to jump off his waistline. In contrast, the jeans trousers, in an emphatic acceptance of the intended taste, seemed more fashionable. Rough, dark patches dotted it, a job that must have cost Mickey quite some pains to prepare. About two inches of cloth teased into separate, fine waves, moved away from his ankles. The snake skin shoes and the trousers appealed more to reason. But Mickey’s disapproving countenance formed a different judgement.

“It’s like this jeans is too clean for my liking,” he complained, before sitting down on the rug. The other three passed funny glances. Aham asked if he would have preferred it dirtier? “Why not? At least for a perfect...”

“I don’t think I can wear one, with those patches,” Yunusa said. “And in this cold?”

Mickey took offence. “Then, you’re still at the starting blocks, pal.... I remember, while I was in secondary school, we used to douse our jeans with dust, just run them through sand before wearing them.”

Imoni termed it secondary school foolery. “You may call it what you choose. You see, this is the problem. Most of us don’t still know how to use jeans like, or the concept that’s jeans.”

Aham wanted them to forget fashion now and get on with the breakfast. But Mickey’s talk on jeans-wearing carried on through the breakfast. Aham finally packed up his books and ran out. Mickey wanted to know what was going on, that Aham had to leave the way he did. He was reporting for lectures in a different part of the school, at the Law Faculty, that was why, Imoni told him. But his was in the main academic area. “I think I did better join you,” Mickey told him. That was outside his course area and level, Yunusa reminded him. Was he doing it out of goodwill? “Goodwill what?” he asked. “Is there any difference between Pol. Science and Geography, and being in part one or two?” He laughed. “It’s like, Imoni, you better hasten up.”

Yunusa was bound for the town, and taking an order from Imoni. Mickey nudged Imoni impatiently. “Please, forget him, and let’s go.” But he had to add something to the shirt, he was told. He grumbled, and quickly had a long sleeve pool-over under it.

Students’ movement, charged by the slightly cold atmosphere, was business-like. It was a criss-cross, three-pronged movement. Forged westerly, to the academic area, and both easterly and northerly, to the new science complex. And, gradually, the old man, with his millennium-old rituals, hurried their years with grey crowns placed on their heads. Mickey had a cigarette in his lips, but he stopped suddenly, his hands digging into his trousers pockets. He had set out without his cigarettes, he said regretfully. Imoni was surprised that such unimportant thing could produce such reaction from his friend. Well, he said, they had barely left the hostel. He could still go and get it.

Mickey’s ears must have picked up the most disgusting sounds. “How can I do such a thing?” he asked, moving towards a kiosk. He got two packets of cigarettes, then joined Imoni. “At least, these two will be okay for a few hours.”

Isn’t this guy sick? Imoni thought. He felt the unusual attention Mickey drew to them. Pedestrians in both directions turned to fix Mickey and his attire a second, reproving look. Mickey, affected by his outfit, continued, unperturbed. He hit every step like in a discotheque. Perhaps to serve them a unique walk. He was occupied with himself, nervous and appreciating himself. He lit another cigarette. His showing was just beyond Imoni. Imoni meanwhile received and expressed New Year greetings.

“Imoni Waltz,” two male students waved.

“Yetunde, Kazeem.”

Two girls overtook them. “Imoni Waltz,” one of them waved above her head.

“Buki,” Imoni called back.

“Why are you walking so casually?” Buki asked. “Aren’t you for the lecture?”

“I am.”

“Is that the guy called Imoni Waltz?” both Imoni and Mickey heard Buki’s friend ask.

“Why are these girls always looking at me?” Mickey wondered. “Haven’t they seen a handsome guy before?”

“Because they admire you.”

“By the way,” Mickey asked, “why are people calling you Imoni Waltz, just suddenly?” Well, it was because he just arrived the school and rescued the school from a killing silence with a band, the Waltz Band. That was the previous session. Mickey turned with surprise. “You?” he said. “Aren’t you strange? You’ve remained an enigma to me. Believe me. It’s like one is always tempted to underrate you. No wonder everybody seems to know you, waving and all that.”

It was good to know, Mickey continued. How far back was that? he asked. He told him. Almost a year already, he whistled. And the school had been kept waiting and hadn’t had another ever since? They could go into it together. Men, in a big way this time around. He’d throw in a couple of money into it. How about that? Not a bad idea, Imoni replied.

The school was in full bearing, sending out its rudimentary characteristics. Campus activities were building up. And ostentation was already on display at the Elkanemi car park, with Dr. Maxwell’s Peugeot 504 car, a car which still resisted expiration, being the most eye-catching of the range.

Innocent and Salaudeen were beside the latter’s Mercedes Benz car.

“Let me see these guys, please,” Imoni said to Mickey.

“Alright,” Mickey said, waving to Salaudeen, and entering the hall.

Imoni went to them. “Hey, Cent.” He shook Innocent’s hand, and then, Salaudeen’s.

Of aristocracy and fashion on campus, Salaudeen was the pattern. Never known to be generous with speech, he only smiled, with interjections, based on the merit of your monologue. But he radiated excellence, and his manner wasn’t the least affected. Innocent was saying something, and Salaudeen was being so benevolent with his smile. Well, not a few people knew what it meant to tease Salaudeen, and what select few could do it. From their standpoint, Imoni could feel the visual impact from a part of the lecture hall.

“That guy with you, just now,” Salaudeen referred to Imoni, “is he a new student?”

“Yes.” Imoni realised the amount of regard that accompanied the question.

“The guy must be a big dud,” Salaudeen observed. “But that attire isn’t the best in the world.” He laughed. He might think it was a killer, Innocent said, laughing, adding that the design was awful rather than pleasant. “Some guy,” Salaudeen said. “We were at Lake Tchad Hotel together yesterday. Let’s go in.”

Imoni and Innocent went with him into the multi-purpose hall. Eyes drifted from Dr. Maxwell on a raised platform to accord them attention. This Salaudeen must be tough, Imoni thought, to progress not unsubdued by the press of eyes in the hall, whereas he, Imoni, a less attractive entity, fought to break the anxiety in him. Salaudeen and Innocent went to the back, while Imoni moved quietly to join Mickey. About one hundred students were seated, cut, to a seasoned eye, in various classes. Back to Mickey, Imoni frankly allowed him some little respect. “I know that guy like,” Mickey said in a low voice, his eyes darting about. “Salaudeen.”

“He said the same thing about you.”

Mickey’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Xactly.”

“You’re not kidding?”

Imoni was scared of what was coming then from Mickey. He hushed him to silence lest the lecturer picked them up. That quietened him, but he still turned to look at Salaudeen. Salaudeen was meanwhile absorbed with his glittering, brown shoes, without any feeling for Dr Maxwell’s entertainment on the stage. The lecturer’s hip-swaying greatly delighted other students. “Most of you hadn’t been born then.” The man had stopped dancing. “I tell you, it was too interesting. As soon as the British flag came down, and the green, white, green flag rose majestically, everybody rose and there was a deafening ovation. I haven’t seen such a spectacle in my life. We had ladies with nimble feet, then, natural, and they used their wonderful steps to usher in independence. Not the stiff-legged girls we have now. See them.” He pointed. The girls protested loudly. Dr. Maxwell’s act was only an illustrative answer to a female student’s question. Another girl’s hand was up. “No,” Dr. Maxwell said. “Don’t we have boys here? The girls are stealing the show.”

A male student then easily reached for the dangling favour. “You’ve painted colourfully, sir,” he began, “the independent spectacle and celebration, and we just wish, ourselves, we were there...” He was asked to go on. “Are we truly independent? And how have we justified all that nimble-footed celebration?”

Those were beautiful questions, Dr. Maxwell agreed, and went ahead to give unsatisfactory answers, to which students started whispering loudly. “Hey,” Dr. Maxwell stamped a foot. “You think you’re still in your kitchen?” What a comic piece he expressed even in anger. Some students were giggling. “Let me get you there,” Dr. Maxwell barked. “Who made that silly noise?” Eyes stared back at him, and he backed down. The girl who had raised a hand earlier, was raising a hand. “Yes, young miss?” Dr. Maxwell said. The girl was smiling. “What’s biting you?”

The girl got serious. “Sir,” she began, in a backyard foreign accent, “between the Prime Minister of the newly independent nation, and the President, who was more powerful?” Dr. Maxwell, a veteran of many foreign lands, mimicked the girl’s accent before pushing the responsibility to a willing, male student. The Prime Minister carried executive powers, the student said, but official discretion over formation and dissolution of Government derived from the President. He fed it with examples.

“Does that satisfy your question?” Dr. Maxwell asked the girl.

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Maxwell would never cease being dramatic. “Hey, hey. You there.” He pointed unexpectedly. “That man backing us.” He meant Salaudeen. Salaudeen, with an out-door disposition, backed the lecture. He turned now. “Are you with us?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Maxwell shook his head. “You should be ashamed of yourself and the person sponsoring you. Spoilt child. These are the people who shouldn’t be in the university. Now, will you leave the hall?” Salaudeen complied. The entire class was stunned. “What personal achievement can he claim to in life? And he has such high opinion about himself.... I saw him when I was coming in for the lecture. Yet, he entered several minutes after the lecture started. And, now, he had his back to the class. Utter rubbish.”

What a close one it was for me, Imoni thought. He ducked behind a massive back. Students’ attention now applied to Medinatu, Salaudeen’s girlfriend, who was convulsing into a handkerchief. Some other girls had now screened her off Dr. Maxwell. But nothing linked his attention with the girl. Dr. Maxwell was hence firm and undemonstrative till the affair wound up.

Finally, Mickey fell in with two flighty students. The trio slid into the path of two female students at the south eastern division of the hall, then hand shakes followed.

Imoni himself got involved in the usual fresh season re-acquaintance. A wave here, fascinating remarks there, and all smiles. Buki and her friend waved. He sent a wave. Innocent linked hands, and hugged a tall girl with straight, peacock tail. “Imo,” he said, “meet Anita.”

“Hello, Anita. Anita Baker?” Imoni stretched a hand.

Anita shook it. “Simply Anita.”

“Aren’t we matched properly?” Innocent still held the girl.

“By eve,” Imoni was smiling. “I was wondering if you were twins. This is the perfect match. You both share the same star?”

“It’s flattery,” Anita said. “Come, Cent, you’ve set me up against one of these your friends with sugar-coated lips.”

“You don’t know this guy?” Innocent asked.

“Do I?”

“Why not? This is Imoni Waltz.”

Anita drew back her springy head “Ouh. He is a gem.” Anita was even being taken away by another girl. She freed herself from the girl and came back. “You know what?” She looked at Imoni. “What ever they call you. Tell your friend he’s wasting his time around me. I’m a no-go area to casanovas.” She pulled away.

Both Imoni and Innocent were laughing. They started for the south western door. Students’ affairs meanwhile slowed Dr. Maxwell’s departure. Outside, Salaudeen was seated smoothly in his Mercedes Benz 560. Filling the passenger’s seat was the still-disturbed Medinatu. Two other girls politely kept the background. Saminu, the son of Major General Dambiyu Anka, spoke with the horn of his Honda Acura Legend. Salaudeen replied. Soon, Dr. Maxwell’s old car was turning away, with Medinatu’s angry hands moving quickly in his direction, he who inflicted her so much hurt. The other girls probably tried some cajolery. The Mercedes Benz car later got away. “These children are really spoilt,” Innocent observed.

“So you know?” Imoni asked.

“Of course. But one can’t help relating with them.”

They went to a tree-lined inconspicuous place and sat down. “That was some pasting,” Imoni said. “You know these campus magazines won’t spare Salaudeen for this.”

“Salaudeen isn’t a kid. He’ll go ask them to name their price.”

“The corrupt press we have here. Well you’re right.”

They sat quietly under a tree, appreciating the activities around. What appealed to Imoni here was girl-watching. It was one spot in the world, the claim went, without contention, with a splendid window of the most amazing colony of beautiful girls. Most of them with screaming attires, and in some cases, with beauty so superfluous to a disadvantage. Among them were parti-coloured punks, and the unsophisticated Islamic sisters and the S.U. sisters, with costume codes not permitting indecent definitions. Both Imoni and Innocent waved back to Naomi, a course mate and born-again sister. Imoni shook Innocent’s concentration to a girl clothed in an outrageous body-advertising jeans trousers and polo sweater. “Wao,” Innocent scratched his head. “Isn’t that the sexual harassment people talk about? And she’s carrying books. To a lecture like this?”

“This is no good,” Imoni said. “Let’s get out of this place before these girls harm us.”

“So they’re succeeding after all.”

“You’ve seen it.”

“Hey, Cent,” somebody called from behind.

Innocent turned. “Azu. Azu, momen man.”

They stood up to meet him. “I’ve been searching for you,” Azu said. “It’s like I spotted you from as far as the library, but you disappeared.” They started towards the car park behind the El-kanemi hall. Azu and Innocent were involved in discussion, while Imoni followed calmly. The tone of their walk explained their destination was Chinese Restaurant, an exclusive patisserie kiosk, one of many others taking up both sides of a tarred road. Similar they were only in the wooden and architectural style.

In attitudes and utterances, talk of outrage here. Part of the bourgeoisie so early reproduced was Cynthia, a notorious girl with whom Imoni had an unspoken resentment.

Innocent and Azu shook the girl’s hand, while Imoni waved. They sat down. Malt drinks and fried meat were set before them at Azu’s instance. A hand jammed against a bottle’s top, snatching its cover. Innocent and Azu resumed their discussion. Imoni picked up meat and drink. He took one sharp look at Cynthia’s eyes and felt disgusted. They were eyes drenched in alcohol and marijuana. Cigarette burned in her hand, as she sat, scatter-legged, revealing her under-feathers. For her, feeding campus gossip columns with jungle stories was only a shared pleasure. In an episode the previous semester, she stormed into the room of a girl under her thumb, and tried to choke the girl to death in sleep. The girl’s offence was pencilled to ambition. Talk also passed around about her and her colleagues’ strange, communal attitude with indecent underclothes. Then the ironical physical expression: the girl remained one of the most striking impressions Imoni’s eyes had yet beheld. Considering the calm, pretty face behind the smoke now, he almost refused to accept those stories. But not when indications randomly picked up agreed?

Lara, one of Cynthia’s friends soon burst in. “Darling, Cynthia!” Lara exclaimed.

“’Lara!” Cynthia shot off from her sober mood. With the cigarette jumping to her lips, she offered her palms for a Lara spanking, which was reversingly replayed. She got up, driving, with the currents of a song, her buttocks, and collided it with Lara’s, already in wait.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year.”

“Waltz, Cent, morning and happy New Year,” Lara greeted quickly, then, re-erupted, “Wao, darling Azu. So, you’re here. Come on, don’t tell me you’ve not seen your babe.”

Azu was smiling. “It’s like two people shouldn’t fuss over a babe at the same time,” he said. “Else there would be conflict. Since you felt Cynthia had to come first, I decided to wait for my turn.”

“Oh, no, Azu. Now come and embrace your darl.”

They were already in each other’s arms, and even kissed. They released each other. “Azu, Nina must hear this,” Cynthia threatened jokingly.

“Your headache,” Lara told her. “It’s like Nina wouldn’t bother, as long as she knows she takes the whole chicken.”

They laughed. Imoni felt he would never do what Azu just did, even for a fantastic prize; with Lara’s rainbow skin and inglorious social history. She, like Cynthia, and campus gossip magazines continually invented and basked in very delightful stories. In one of her stage acts, she and a banker on official assignment in Maiduguri, and with an eye on catching on the other side of the city, had checked into the Maiduguri Airport Hotel. The ‚mugwu’ was so free with amusements and transport, mixed with a daily fifty naira bonus in the seven days spent together. In conclusion, he had patted with two hundred and fifty naira, which Lara threw in his face. “Whom do you think I am? A cheap girl?” she had barked. “What? You mean you aren’t grateful for all I’ve done for, and given you?” the man asked unbelievingly. “Shit,” Lara had replied. “I’m not leaving here unless you give me one thousand naira.” Without hesitation, his dignity ordered the hotel’s security obligation. But, to his rage, the arbiters counselled on the wisdom of settling the girl, against the value he placed on his official and marital honour which the girl would willingly trade on. He had no chance. The girl’s academic status was only a cover. Shocked, the man paid her one thousand naira, and promptly disappeared. The incident didn’t escape the hammer of a campus magazine in a gossip entitled ‘Rara, the rough Rider.’ Imoni was stunned a few days after when he heard Lara telling Cynthia, “Yes, I’m a rough rider. Do I care?” And she rode dramatically, cheered on by her friends. And, again, could you take this away from Lara? She was the greatest female dancer Imoni had seen. Only excluding Imoni’s late sister. “It’s like I have a welcome party,” Lara was telling Azu. “It’s slated for this weekend. A boyfriend of mine is financing.”

He already heard, Azu replied, but wanted to hear from her. “Oh, my Azu,” Lara said, going for her bag. “You’re so special. It’s like you’re having a card right away.” She pulled out a card and a gold pen. “Mr. and Mrs. Azu, right?”

Dr. Osagie’s presence outside just then offered Imoni the opportunity to avoid any mix-up. The encounter with the man and his niece was brief but resourceful. The kiosk now thickened on his return with additional regulars, Bath, two male students, and a female student. Bath, in his usual crown of jerry and rim of moustache had the floor. Some criticism was directed at his tie. “What are you saying, Lara?” he asked. “Assess me. It’s like, are my shoes alone not worth one T?”

Cynthia and Lara were clapping with unbelief. “It’s like, Bath,” Cynthia stopped clapping. “Why are you getting worked up? Perch, until we get you off guard. And it will be an on the-spot assessment. And, babes will be there, mind you.”

“You can’t try.” Bath joggled lightly. “Any day.”

“And a handsome dud like Bath?” one of Bath’s supporters said.

“Handsome,” Bath said, touching his well-tended moustache. “A handsome dud like me? I’m waiting for you, yet; Lara, Cynthia, or any of you. I’m ready.”

“We shall see,” Lara threatened. “Pass it to Imoni Waltz.” It was a card.

He collected it, and gave her a victory sign. “Lara, Cynthia,” one of the family was calling from outside.

“Eh, Ije is back!” they shouted and ran out.

Meanwhile, Bath and his friends stretched the argument involving Cynthia and Lara. But they soon left. They had to leave, Innocent said, when he noticed Imoni’s empty bottle. Why? Azu wondered. Company-minded Azu. He still wanted them around, placing an order. But he got convinced they meant to leave. He was considerate and let them off, with genuine regrets he was going to lose their company.

“I guess you saw the one T shoes,” Innocent said, as they headed towards the agriculture science complex.

Imoni laughed. “These guys are kids everyday. I almost laughed.”

“Those shoes are not worth more than two-fifty. Bath is a clown.”

“Bat or owl.”

Innocent laughed. He was considering how to finger what the girls would have on their cards on Bath, and how they were going to score him. To see what cards the girls had on him. “You know he pretends to shade me?”

“Does he? Me, too. That empty head. I fence a guy who pretends to shade me.”

“That’s what I do, too. Cardinal fencing. Cynthia does same to me, too.”

“But she’s the one who signed your name on the Lara I.V. you’re carrying.”

“Are you sure?”

“She did. Maybe the shading stuff is a misconception.”

“Look, you see a shade from a distance if you have keen eyes. I learn she once had a brush with Gladys.”

“Well, whatever it is, I think taking the card quickly from Lara and writing your name indicates some maturity. So, why not drop the fence?”

There was silence for a while. They struggled with the sand, in a clumsy stride. Less demanding ground was still some metres away. Innocent surprisingly got around to the Gladys’ incident. He talked about two adults going off at each other in public, blaming Imoni for putting Gladys to it. Imoni stopped on the sandy road, protesting. Innocent interrupted him. “Wait, wait, and hear me out,” he told Imoni. “Look, you don’t have to look too far to recognise the truth. There, at the curtain, she sent for the girl she had accompanied to the boy’s hostel, and the girl corroborated her story.”

“So, I shouldn’t raise eyebrows when I see her coming from...?”

“We blamed her any way, for being impatient, and not waiting to go back with the girl. And again, for not going to your end from there. But she said she appeared foolish, calling your end every time during the NASU break. You were hardly there, and never initiated any call.”

Why did she prefer that isolated road? Imoni thought. He was outraged. He couldn’t start telling Gladys what the rule in uncle Smart’s house was, especially with the telephone, he said. Or how he couldn’t independently go to Benin, but must avail himself of a friend’s goodwill, all of which went burst, and left him helpless and inhibited. Whatever his argument, Innocent told him, he had a tough job on his hands. If he knew and admitted he fell short of expectations, then he must device a strategy of re-establishing himself in the relationship. He lost grip of the initiative by not taking advantage of school’s resumption. He shouldn’t have let the chance to redeem everything slip away. He should get rid of the proud attitude, make a better move, wipe away the flaws with better conduct, and stop defending himself. Imoni promised to correct the assumed misconduct, but said he didn’t like Innocent’s accusation, like he just sat back, enjoying himself, while Gladys ran around to keep the relationship from crashing. “You’re right to think the girl wanted to bench you,” Innocent said. “This thing is only a simple misunderstanding. But where she can really fault you is not running to Golan immediately after her visit. She’s a girl, you know.”

They started moving again. Imoni sighted the blue, Golf car across a farm, a little distance away. The car stopped for two female students. Somebody came out of the car. It was Modesty. The girls got in, followed by Modesty, and the car drove off.

“You know those guys?” Innocent asked.

“I know the guy who just came out.”

“He and the car owner are new students?”

“That’s what they are.”

“They will soon turn oppressors.”

They paused for some compliments before crossing into hall B.

They had now turned off the main road, and were now seeing people in numbers. Innocent wanted them to take a look at some posters before they got sold out, and to follow that up with a lunch at the cafeteria B.

The cafeteria in Innocent’s hostel was expensive, Imoni observed. Innocent agreed. It wasn’t fun having such a cafeteria in one’s hall, he said. It was in a frontier hall. Bordered by female hostels. He was doing it once in a while, for the records. He wasn’t hungry, Imoni said. “I am,” his friend told him. “Alarm. First degree alarm, though.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on 0. 1. 1 so early in the semester.”

He missed breakfast unintentionally, he explained. But from the next week, he would have breakfast off his plan for a good time until the road was clear.

“Mine is never going to be fixed,” Imoni replied. “But it has to be 0.1.1, 1.0.1, or 1.1.0. That’s if I don’t recover the goods.... Cent, I always forget; was it ljeoma who was involved with Lara in that airport hotel cast?” Of course, Innocent replied. They were always together. Ijeoma had her man, but never had any problem with him. They got to the place. “Bolts and Nuts,” Imoni read from a door, on which Innocent rapped.

“That’s a mean one. There’s nobody in the room, let’s go.”

Cafeteria B was tastefully costumed, and never so romantic, announcing its intention to contest the myth surrounding the eating joint nearby, was now awake with its showy patrons. Social conventions were here simply maladjusted. Not a few students claimed familiarity with the music from concealed outlets, snapping fingers, swinging or nodding rhythmically, but all rolled in patent farcical relevance. A strange complexion lined every activity. A student carried a tray with fluffed out manes, packed shoulders, and nodding head. What’s up? Another with a cap on his dark spectacles pedalled stiffly to a table while his female companion improved on it with a hardly-progressive patter. “Perfume guys everywhere,” Imoni said.

They waved to a group of friends as they joined the queue. “This Bath fool is even here,” Innocent indicated. Responding to an argument, Bath broke away from the line. He hummed to the music, danced a little, putting away a beat with a foot and picking up a rising beat with the hand and gently spurn round. Then he mustered a body heave and whipped up a Michael Jackson finger-snapping. He didn’t have wonderful steps after all, somebody observed. But a colleague contested that. Bath was among the best in the school, he asserted. He had such works. Bath himself was smiling. He addressed Zeggy, the last speaker. It wasn’t for him to speak for himselself. He was inviting sceptics to come watch him at Lara’s at the weekend. Everything would be laid to rest at the Mr. Unimaid competition. He was a practical guy. “Yeap,” he told the ticket seller later. “Four tickets.” He turned to a colleague. “Collect your ticket and your babe’s, like.” He handed over two tickets.

Some change would turn up after his meal, the ticket seller said, handing an in-house credit card to him. He would disappoint him, Bath said. For three naira he would come back to bother him? Out of the place was out of the place. The ticket seller thanked him. If the money would meet some needs, then wasn’t the cashier lucky? was Bath’s reaction. Fool, Imoni thought, those cashiers would never have change for him.

This goddam meal, Imoni thought, as they carried their foods to a nearby table. And at such disproportionate price of six naira.

“Hey,” they heard a fellow say. “Piss ya arse off here, Rolli. It’s like you’ve forgotten to bring the Swan water and you seated to blast.”

The two girls beside him laughed. “Don’t blame Rolli,” one said. “It’s like he’s hungry good.”

The entry of Eva, a girl with a boundless drive for adventure tickled Imoni and Innocent. “My God,” Innocent exclaimed.

She pecked a few kisses without gender discrimination, and gave Innocent and Imoni an I will be with you in a minute finger sign salute. A few moments later, she walked provocatively in her body-gripping jeans trousers to them. “My, my, Cent.” A hand went around Innocent’s neck, while she rested on his laps. Imoni felt himself rise. “It’s like we have always been for each other, Cent,” she said. “Only you think you’re clever.”

“What have I done?”

Her eyes questioned him. “What you have done? Well, let’s not start remembering things.... Imoni Waltz,” she called suddenly.

“Hello, Eva.”

“It’s like you don’t want to say hi, so you won’t buy me a plate of meal,” she said to Imoni.

“You’re being on the offensive because you know I was going to accuse you.” Eva’s eyes glowered questioningly. Imoni pointed. “Discrimination.”

“My, oh my,” the girl exclaimed, transferring to his laps.

Imoni felt her warmth. “This is how it should be.”

Innocent was smiling. “Envy. So, you’re happy now.”

The girl left Imoni with a peck on the cheek, then posed beside Innocent. She said she was coming to his room that night. She wanted to get away with him. But, meanwhile, she was penniless. Could she have something from him? She tried to dig out a ten naira note from his pocket. He halted the money’s exit, but let go of it. The daughter of a wealthy ex-Senator, he ought to be picking money from her, he said. For him, hunger was a next of kin.

She turned the money in her hand, then lead it into her own breast pocket. He shouldn’t be cheap, she cautioned him. She thought him civilised enough to concede her a more appropriate status. Innocent pulled her to him with apologies, but enquired if he came first, then. He should think, she told him. That was what his head was meant for. How about his address? He wrote it. She repeated how she wasn’t kidding about getting away briefly with him from the gossipy place. How they could make each other mutually available, and see who was the cleverer person. He should improve his rating before her, she added. It was a real deal. The paper she got from him meanwhile peeped out underneath the hand placed on her lap. He needn’t bother about the bills, she said. He was just the lucky one.

Imoni asked if he could join them. What use would he be? the girl asked him. She detested this crowd thing. Moreover, he had enough worries in Gladys, already. She wouldn’t want Gladys to start having ideas. And he was too young to lose his life. Too bad. The girl walked off.

“That girl is dynamite,” Imoni remarked.

“Real dynamite.” Innocent resumed with the rice. “And I don’t know what she’s spotted in me. The first time I met her, she just walked up to me, and said she dug for me. That girl, the mags have bored readers with stories about her, and have given up. At a stage, it appeared as if they dedicated special columns on her.”

With such a girl, Imoni said, one didn’t start wondering where it would all lead to. She was a unique girl, he said, only she was a nymph.

“Yes,” Innocent agreed. “She’s a girl with a string of one-night stands. Never been known to spend any three-straight nights in her room, or to stay any seven days with one boy.”

“You’re the boy on contract this time.”

“You can’t try.”

“Going to obtain that Senator. Wao.”

“Including the attorney general mum.”

“Obtain an attorney general without apprehension. That’s some guts.”

“And obtain the girl as well, as I won’t have to spend a single ticket.”

“That’s two-pronged obtain. See, a lot of girls know about me and Gladys.”

“What do you think they do most of the time, if not talk about boys?” After the unsatisfactory meal, Innocent drifted to Eva who now had a mixed, hearty company. Imoni waited outside. Soon, Innocent came out. “She’s still serious about coming over tonight, and the date, tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you lucky?”

“I’m warming up, already.”

“What’s your schedule like?” Imoni asked later.

“To have some rest.”

“Same for me. I won’t go anywhere until night time.”

“Well, we’ll collide tomorrow.” A smile played on Imoni’s lips. “As your night has been contracted out.”

“Ya, men.”

“Best regards to Eva.”

“Okay.”