Читать книгу Taduno's Song - Odafe Atogun - Страница 10

FIVE

He came alive with hope in the morning when he found a letter from Lela in his mailbox. It came in a stained brown envelope similar to the one he had received in exile, and it bore only his first name, no last name, no address. In the living room, his hands trembling slightly, he sat down to read the letter.

14th March, 19—

Dear Taduno,

I hope this letter finds you well. I had to write, to tell you that I have been arrested by the President’s soldiers.

I don’t understand exactly why I’m being held, but I think it is connected to the fact that the government is after you. They say I’m an accomplice – to what? – I do not know. They have interrogated me countless times, asking me to tell them where to find you but I cannot tell what I do not know. They asked me all manner of stupid questions: they want to know what you look like, where you live. They don’t even remember your name; they only refer to you as my boyfriend. I don’t understand what is going on.

I’m well. I have learned to be a woman of faith and courage. I remember you once told me that holding on to our faith till the end is what matters, even if we fail to realise our miracle. So I will not allow them to break me.

I hope they will release me if they can’t find you. If you receive this letter, keep it a secret. I don’t know what they will do to you if you fall into their hands.

I will try to write to you again soon. Please keep me in your prayers. I miss you so much.

Love you always,

Lela

Taduno’s eyes were moist with tears by the time he finished reading. He read the letter again, hoping that it would throw up a clue, but he felt only pain and frustration. Finally, not knowing what to do, he got a pen and paper and began to write to Lela. He did not put a date or address on the letter; he wanted his words to reach her without the barrier of time and place.

He finished writing. He wept as he folded the letter into a brown envelope. Somehow, he thought, brown envelopes are best for delivering secrets. As tears rolled down his face onto the envelope, he realised why the envelopes in which Lela sent her letters had stains: the stains were teardrops, the pain she felt, carried across time and place. Now, as he watched his tears drying up on the envelope, he felt hope, knowing that she would be reminded of his feelings for her upon receiving the letter.

Not until he had sealed the envelope did it occur to him that he had no clue where to send the letter. For a while he was lost in thought, but seeing no way of getting the letter to Lela, he went outside and left it in his mailbox. And, hoping that whoever delivered her letter to him would find it and take it to her, he took the padlock off the box.

*

He hid the letter he received from Lela where no one could find it. For her sake, he reminded himself, he must not allow anyone, not even Aroli, to know about it. Her words kept echoing in his mind: ‘If you receive this letter, keep it a secret.’ Although he felt very sad, he also felt relief knowing that she was alive. And now all he had to do to secure her release was learn to sing again. He became filled with a sense of urgency and hope. He realised that if he learned to sing again he could stir the world’s memory with his voice and they would remember all that they had forgotten about him. And then he would praise the President with his music and secure the release of the woman he loved!

‘I have to learn to sing again,’ he said, when Aroli visited him that morning. He was upbeat, but his eyes were tired.

‘I think we should secure Lela’s release before you turn your attention to reviving your career,’ Aroli said, studying his face. ‘Get some sleep. You look tired.’

He ignored Aroli’s concern. ‘Look, my voice is as good as a croak at the moment. There’s no way I can convince the regime I’m their man with that kind of voice. I must learn to sing again to secure Lela’s release. Don’t you see?’

Aroli gave a slow nod of understanding.

Taduno continued. ‘If I learn to sing again I will be able to convince the regime I’m their man. And then I can praise the government with my music and get them to release Lela.’ He was excited. Although he felt the strong urge to tell Aroli about the letter, he remembered Lela’s warning.

‘In which case you’ll be supporting an evil regime,’ Aroli said quietly.

‘It’s the only way to secure Lela’s release.’

Aroli gritted his teeth. He saw no other way.

*

They went out to buy a guitar from a second-hand shop, and then they got something to eat. Returning to Taduno’s house, they spent the rest of the day in the upper room where he used to rehearse his songs. For over thirty minutes he strummed the guitar. The music it produced was melodious, dreamy; and it transported Aroli back to a time and place he struggled unsuccessfully to recall.

A smile lingered on Taduno’s face as he played his guitar. He played it in very simple tones, eyes closed. Carried away by the moment, he opened his mouth to sing a song from another time, a love song about a beautiful woman. But the sound of his voice caused everything to fall apart. He shook his head, struggling to hold back his tears.

His voice sounded terrible. He flung the guitar aside, and for a long time he simply stared at the wall.

*

‘Do you want to try again?’ Aroli asked later.

Taduno responded by picking up his guitar, and he began to stroke the strings with feathery fingers. His music poured forth, slowly, patiently. He played for hours, eyes closed, making no attempt to sing this time. Sweat beads stood out on his face like golden dew. His shirt became soaked. His music transported them away from that room to another world. It was a unique experience for Aroli – music without words – yet, he understood the meaning of his song. He knew it was the song of a man broken and rejected by a society very dear to his heart, an adagio of pain, played so beautifully even time became still.

They both opened their eyes when the song came to an end.

‘Your music is out of this world,’ Aroli complimented.

‘Thank you.’

‘It was good you did not attempt to sing. If you keep playing with that kind of passion you will discover your voice again.’

Taduno nodded. ‘I need the right inspiration,’ he said, as if talking to himself.

‘How did you use to get inspiration?’ Aroli asked.

‘From the street, from the suffering on the street, from seeing so much injustice, from every little act of love shown by one person to another, from the struggles of every day, from the collective joys we share.’

‘You must find that inspiration again.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. And then he told Aroli about TK, the music producer who gave him his break when he first came to pursue his dream in the city as a teenager. ‘He was a very good man, very passionate about music,’ he concluded.

‘Oh yes, everyone knows TK, the music producer who got on the wrong side of government. One of his artists got him into trouble with the government. And going by all you have told me, you must be that artist. It makes more sense to me now. So it is true that we are the ones who forgot you, the ones who lost our minds . . .’

A short silence followed.

‘I’m tempted to pay him a visit,’ Taduno spoke his thought aloud, ‘but I’m afraid he wouldn’t remember me, just like everyone else.’

‘It may be worth trying. You never can tell.’

*

Time became so slow that every tick was an agonising reminder of Lela’s plight. The letter he had written to her remained in the mailbox and all he could do was focus on practice. Other than playing his guitar – without making any attempt to sing – he had nothing else to do. So he allowed Aroli to drag him to Mama Iyabo’s restaurant every now and then for a meal. ‘So you don’t starve yourself to death,’ Aroli would say. And they would eat among people who gave him polite smiles reserved for strangers. And he would listen as Aroli shared jokes with them. And he would wonder about them, how they could be so different when they did not realise that you knew so many secrets about them.

He understood that Aroli was attempting to connect him back to society, to his chief source of inspiration. He did not resist, but he did not encourage him either. He simply enjoyed whatever intimacies his interaction brought. And by so doing, he discovered that he could smile and laugh again, even though the underlying fear in the depth of his soul remained.

On a Friday night, exhausted from playing his guitar, Aroli dragged him to the bar along the slow-rushing canal. The place was so packed the open air was bursting. It was packed with all classes of people – the upper class, the middle class, the lower class, and the classless class.

They were all drinking and murmuring against the government. It was mostly in bars that people found the courage to speak openly. So they poured out their venom. And they drank their beer and ate roasted fish with pepper and onions and soggy chips.

Even though the music was loud in that garden bar, the voices of the people drowned the music. Arguments rose and fell. Everyone wanted to be heard, no one wanted to be quiet. Everyone was gripped by Friday night fever. Taduno was not left out as he drank bottle after bottle of beer. He smiled back at the pretty and not so pretty girls who smiled at him. And he actually took time to gaze at them, and even to wonder about them.

‘You haven’t mentioned Janet since I returned,’ Taduno observed in a rare moment of light-heartedness.

Aroli made a face. ‘She left me. Said I was not giving her the stability she needed.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’ He wished he hadn’t brought up the topic.

‘It’s okay. I mean, I have moved on.’ Aroli shrugged.

Aroli’s tone of voice piqued Taduno’s curiosity.

‘Anyone new, any new one?’

Aroli laughed. ‘Not really. I’m taking a break.’

‘Taking a break?’

‘Women are too much hassle.’

Taduno took a long pull at his drink.

Aroli gulped some beer too and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘I don’t need women now, I need money.’ He laughed to himself.

The voices of the revellers began to get louder, much louder than the afro music blaring from four giant speakers which shook with fright at the intensity of the music emanating from them.

At a nearby table an argument broke out between two men: one with a long beard, the other with a bald head, two opposite people. The man with the long beard was tall; the man with the bald head was short. And their argument went in opposite directions.

‘Mr President is the Antichrist,’ the man with the long beard said loudly.

‘How can he be the Antichrist?’ the man with the bald head countered. ‘He is just an evil dictator.’

‘I say he is the Antichrist! Check out his record. He started out by running the Nigerian army all by himself. Then he overthrew the civilian government and began to rule the country all by himself. Next he will want to rule the whole of West Africa, then Africa, and then he will rule the whole world all by himself. He will unify the world under one government, and then we will all be forced to take the mark of the beast. And you tell me he is not the Antichrist?’

‘I disagree. The North Korean dictator is the Antichrist. He will destroy Japan, then America. Then he will force all other countries of the world to bow to him. And he will become the Supreme Leader of the whole world.’

‘You don’t know what you are saying.’

‘Look, let me tell you, all the President wants is to become the richest man in the world, nothing more. He is not interested in becoming the Antichrist and ruling the whole world. Call him a thief, call him a looter of our national treasury, but certainly not the Antichrist.’

The argument went back and forth until it ended in a brawl. As bottles and chairs started flying, Aroli got to his feet. ‘I think it’s time to leave,’ he said.

Taduno grinned. The people were beginning to inspire him again.

*

He played his guitar all night that night, alone in the upper room. He played quietly. His music told the story of two opposite people, one tall and one short; one with a long beard and the other a bald head, two brothers who wanted to kill each other over nothing.

As night got sleepier, he dimmed the lights and hid himself in the shadows drawn across the room. Peace settled upon him. He moved around in a slow dance; and, seeing himself as never before, he realised that he had become one with the shadows in that room.