بخش 6

FRIEND

As I approach the reception desk, Yinka looks up from her phone.

“Oh good, it’s you. I was afraid I would have to come and find you.”

“What do you want?”

“Excuse you… I don’t want anything, but coma guy has been asking for you nonstop.” “His name is Muhtar.”

“Whatever.” Yinka leans back and resumes playing Candy Crush. I turn on my heel and make my way to room 313.

FATHER

The day before the day it all ended was a Sunday. The sun was merciless.

All the air conditioners in the house were on full blast, but I could still feel the warmth from outside. Sweat was beading on my forehead. I sat under one of the air conditioners in the upstairs sitting room with no intention of moving. That is, until Ayoola came scrambling up the stairs and found me.

“Dad has a guest!”

We leaned over the balcony to spy on the man.

FAMILY

Muhtar and I are talking, about the blandness of the food here, the coarseness of the sheets and tall tales of his past students.

There is a knock and Mohammed enters the room, interrupting us. He mumbles a greeting at me, then beams at Muhtar, greeting him in Hausa, to which Muhtar enthusiastically responds. I did not realize they had made each other’s acquaintance. And I have never seen Mohammed smile so…freely, at someone other than the nurses who fight over him. Their barrage of Hausa relegates me to the position of other and, five minutes in, I decide to leave; but before I have a chance to announce my intentions, there is yet another knock on the door.

One of Muhtar’s sons comes in, trailed by a fresh-faced girl. I do not know the names of his children—it hasn’t seemed important. But I can tell this is the older one; he is taller and has a full beard. He is thin like his father; they all are, like reeds in the wind. His eyes fall on me. He is probably wondering what a nurse is doing making herself comfortable at his father’s bedside, tracing the rim of an empty cup with her finger.

Mohammed empties the wastebasket and shuffles out. I stand up.

“Good morning, Dad.”

“Good morning…Korede, you are leaving?”

“You have a guest.” I nod toward his son.

Muhtar snorts and waves his hand. “Sani, this is Korede, the owner of the voice in my dreams. I’m sure you won’t mind her staying.” The son frowns with displeasure. On closer inspection, he does not look as much like his father as I thought. His eyes are small but wide-set, so that he looks permanently surprised. He gives a stiff nod, and I sit back down.

“Dad, this is Miriam, the girl I want to marry,” he announces. Miriam lowers herself into a tsugunnawa out of respect for the man she hopes will be her father-in-law.

Muhtar narrows his eyes. “What happened to the last one you brought to meet me?” His son sighs. It is a long dramatic sigh. “It didn’t work out, Dad. You’ve been out of it for so long…” I should have left the room when I had a chance.

“I don’t understand what that means. Hadn’t I already met her parents?” Miriam is still kneeling, her right palm cupping her left. The two men seem to have forgotten that she is still here. If this is the first time she is hearing of another woman, it does not seem to register. She glances up at me, her eyes empty. She reminds me of Bunmi. Her face is round, and she is all curves and soft flesh. Her skin is even darker than my own—she comes close to the color black that we are all labeled with. I wonder how old she is.

“I have changed my mind about her, Dad.”

“And the money that has been spent?”

“It’s just money. Isn’t my happiness more important?”

“This is the madness you tried to pull while I was sick?”

“Dad, I want to begin the arrangements, and I need you to—”

“Sani, if you think you are getting a dime from me, you are more foolish than I thought. Miriam, your name is Miriam, abi? Get up. I apologize, but I will not sanction this marriage.” Miriam stumbles to her feet and then goes to stand beside Sani.

Sani scowls at me, as though I were somehow to blame for this turn of events. I meet his glare with a look of indifference. A man like him could never ruffle my feathers. But Muhtar catches the exchange.

“Look at me, Sani, not Korede.”

“Why is she even here? This is a family matter!”

The truth is, I am asking myself the same question. Why does Muhtar want me here? We both look to him for an answer, but he seems to be in no hurry to provide one.

“I have said all I intend to say on this matter.”

Sani grabs Miriam’s hand and spins around, dragging her out of the room with him. Muhtar closes his eyes.

“Why did you want me to remain here?” I ask.

“For your strength,” he replies.

SHEEP

After I tire of tossing and turning, I decide to go to Ayoola’s room. When we were young, we often slept together, and it always had the effect of calming us both. Together, we were safe.

She is wearing a long cotton tee and hugging a brown teddy bear. Her knees are bent toward her stomach and she does not stir as I slip into bed beside her. This is no surprise. Ayoola wakes up only when her body has tired of sleeping. She does not dream, she does not snore. She lapses into a coma that even the likes of Muhtar cannot fathom.

I envy her for this. My body is exhausted, but my mind is working overtime, remembering and plotting and second-guessing. I am more haunted by her actions than she is. We may have escaped punishment, but our hands are no less bloody. We lie in our bed, in relative comfort even as Femi’s body is succumbing to the water and the fish. I am tempted to shake Ayoola awake, but what good would it do? Even if I succeeded in rousing her, she would tell me that it would all be fine and promptly go back to sleep.

Instead I count—sheep, ducks, chickens, cows, goats, bush rats and corpses. I count them to oblivion.

FATHER

Ayoola had a guest. It was the summer holidays, and he had come in the hope of making her his girlfriend before school resumed. I think his name was Ola. I remember he was gangly, with a birthmark that discolored half his face. I remember he could not keep his eyes off Ayoola.

Father received him well. He was offered drinks and snacks. He was coaxed into talking about himself. He was even shown the knife. As far as Ola was concerned, our father was a generous, attentive host. Even Mum and Ayoola had been fooled by the performance—they were both smiling. But I was on the edge of my seat, my fingernails dug into the upholstery.

Ola knew better than to tell the father of the girl he wanted to date that he was interested in her, but you could see it in the way he kept glancing at Ayoola, how he angled his body toward her, how he constantly said her name.

“This boy is a smooth talker o!” Father announced with a chuckle, after Ola had made some well-meaning comment about helping the homeless to find work. “I’m sure you are popular with the ladies.” “Yes, sir. No, sir,” he stammered, caught off guard.

“You like my daughters, eh? They are lovely, eh?” Ola blushed. His eyes darted to Ayoola again. Father’s jaw clenched. I looked around me, but Ayoola and my mother had not noticed. I remember wishing I had taught Ayoola some type of code. I coughed.

WIFE

“If you don’t like these shoes, I have more in storage. I can send you pictures.” Bunmi and I look down at the avalanche of shoes that Chichi has poured onto the floor behind the nurses’ station. Her shift has been over for at least thirty minutes. She has changed her clothes, and apparently her profession, too—she’s gone from nurse to saleswoman. She bends over, shuffling through the shoes on the floor to find the ones we just have to buy. She bends over so far that we see her ass crack appear above her jeans. I avert my eyes.

I was minding my own business, scheduling in a patient, when she stuck a pair of black pumps under my nose. I had waved her away, but she insisted that I come and check out her merchandise. The thing is, all the shoes she is selling look cheap, the type that fall apart after a month. She hasn’t even bothered to polish them and now they are lying on the floor. I force a smile onto my face.

“You know, they haven’t paid salaries yet…”

“And I just bought a couple new shoes…” Bunmi joins in.

Chichi squares her shoulders and wiggles a pair of diamante heels at us. “You can never have too many shoes. My prices are very reasonable.” She is just about to launch into a sales pitch for a pair of nine-inch wedges when Yinka runs to us and slams her palms down on the counter. She may not be my favorite person in the world, but I am grateful for the interruption.

“There is drama in the coma man’s room o!”

“Drama ke?” Chichi forgets her shoes and rests her elbow on my shoulder as she leans forward. I resist the urge to swipe her arm away.

“Eh, I was going to see my patient and I heard shouting coming from his room.” “He was shouting?” I ask her.

“It’s the wife who is shouting o. I stopped to…make sure he was okay…and I heard her calling him the devil. That he cannot take his money to the grave with him.” “Hey! I hate stingy men!” Chichi repeatedly snaps her fingers over her head, warding off any stingy man who might be tempted to come near her. I open my mouth to defend Muhtar, to tell them that he doesn’t have a stingy bone in his body, that he is generous and kind—but I look at Bunmi’s dull eyes, Chichi’s thirsty ones and Yinka’s dark pupils and I know that my words would be willfully misinterpreted. Instead, I stand up quickly, and Chichi stumbles.

“Where are you going?”

“We can’t allow our patients to be harassed by friends or family. As long as they are here, they are in our care,” I call back to her.

“You should put that on a bumper sticker,” yells Yinka. I pretend I haven’t heard her, and I take the steps two at a time. There are thirty rooms on the third floor: 301 to 330. I hear the shouting as soon as I am in the corridor. There’s the nasal voice of the wife, and a man’s voice, too. It is whining and cajoling, so I know it is not Muhtar.

I knock on the door, and the voices quiet.

“Come in,” Muhtar calls out wearily. I open the door to find him standing by the bed, wearing a gray jalabia. He grips one of the handrails, and I can see he is half leaning on it. The strain on his body shows on his face. He looks older than the last time I saw him.

His wife is draped in a red lace mayafi. It covers her hair and falls over her right shoulder. Her dress is tailored from the same material. Her skin glows, but the snarl on her face is like that of a beast’s. Muhtar’s brother, Abdul, stands beside her with his eyes cast down. I suppose he is the owner of the whiny voice.

“Yes?” the wife barks at me.

I ignore her. “Muhtar?”

“I’m okay,” he reassures me.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“What do you mean, would he like you to stay? You are a common nurse, come on, get out of here!” Her voice is like nails on a blackboard.

“Did you hear me?” she screeches.

I walk over to Muhtar and he gives me a wan smile.

“I think you should sit down,” I tell him gently. He loosens his grip on the bar and I help him settle into the chair closest to him. I lay his blanket over his lap. “Do you want them to stay?” I whisper.

“What is she saying to him?” the wife splutters behind me. “She is a witch! She has used juju to useless my husband! She is the reason why he is not making sense. Abdul, do something. Send her out!” She points at me. “I will report you. I don’t know what black magic you are using…” Muhtar shakes his head, and that is all the sign I need. I straighten up and face her.

“Madam, please leave, or I will have to have Security escort you out.” Her lower lip trembles and her eyes twitch. “Who do you think you are talking to? Abdul!” I turn to Abdul, but he doesn’t lift his eyes to meet mine. He is younger than Muhtar, and may be even taller, but it is hard to tell for he has bent his head so low that it threatens to fall off his neck. He rubs her arm in an attempt to soothe her, but she shrugs him off. To be honest, I’d shrug him off too. The suit he is wearing is expensive, but the fit is poor. It is too wide at the shoulders and too broad at the chest. It could easily belong to someone else—the way the woman whose arm he rubs belongs to someone else.

I look at her again. She may have been beautiful once. Maybe the first time Muhtar laid eyes on her.

“I do not mean to be rude,” I tell her, “but my patient’s well-being is my priority and we don’t allow anyone to jeopardize that.” “Who do you think you are?! You think you will get money from him? Abi, has he already given you money? Muhtar, you are there acting all high and mighty, and now you are chasing a nurse. See you! You could not even pick a fine one!” “Get out!” The order comes from Muhtar and makes us all jump. There is an authority to his voice I have not heard before. Abdul raises his head and quickly lowers it again. The wife glowers at us both before turning on her heel and marching out the door, with Abdul following limply behind. I drag a chair over and sit beside Muhtar. His eyes are heavy. He pats one of my hands. “Thank you.” “It was you who got them out.”

He sighs.

“Apparently, Miriam’s father wants to run for governor of Kano state.” “So your wife wants you to approve the union.”

“Yes.”

“And will you?”

“Would you?” I think of Tade, ring in hand, eyes on me, waiting for my blessing.

“Are they in love?”

“Who?”

“Miriam and…your son.”

“Love. What a novel concept.” He closes his eyes.

NIGHT

Tade stares at me, but his eyes are empty. His face is bloated, distorted. He reaches out to touch me and his hands are cold.

“You did this.”

BROKEN

I slither inside Tade’s office and rummage through his desk drawers to retrieve the ring box. Tade has taken a patient to radiology, so I know I’m alone. The ring is as enchanting as I remember. I am tempted to slip it on my finger. Instead I grip the band tightly, kneel on the floor and strike the diamond against the tiles. I use every ounce of force in my body and strike again. I guess it’s true that diamonds are forever—it withstands my every attempt to break it, but the rest of the ring is not as strong willed. Soon the setting is in pieces on the ground. The diamond looks smaller and less impressive without its casing.

It occurs to me that if I just damage the ring, Tade will suspect me. I slip the diamond in my pocket. After all, no self-respecting thief would leave it here. Besides, this would all be a colossal waste of time if Tade simply bought another setting. I head to the medicine cabinet.

Twenty minutes later, Tade storms toward the reception desk. I hold my breath. He looks at me and then quickly looks away, addressing Yinka and Bunmi instead.

“Someone has turned my office upside down and destroyed the…some of my things.” “What?!” we cry in unison.

“Are you serious?” adds Yinka, though it is clear from Tade’s furrowed brows that something is not right.

We follow him to his office, and he flings open the door. I try to look at it from the eyes of an objective party. It appears as though someone was searching for something and then lost control. The drawers are all open and most of the contents scattered on the floor. The medicine cabinet is ajar, the pill bottles are in disarray and there are files scattered all over his desk. When I left, the broken ring setting was on the ground, but I can no longer see it.

“This is terrible,” I mumble.

“Who would do this?” Bunmi asks, frowning.

Yinka purses her lips together and claps her hands. “I saw Mohammed go inside to clean earlier on,” she reveals, and I rub my tingling hands on my thighs.

“I don’t think Mohammed would—” begins Tade.

“When you left your office, it was normal, yes?” interrupts Yinka.

“Yes.”

“Then you went to do the X-ray and the ECG with a patient. How long were you gone?” “About forty minutes.”

“Well, I saw Mohammed go into your office in that time. Let’s say he spent twenty minutes sweeping the floor and emptying the dustbin. It doesn’t give anyone else enough time to enter, do all this and leave,” concludes Yinka, the amateur detective.

“Why do you think he would do this?” I ask. She can’t hang him without a motive, can she?

“Drugs, obviously,” she states. She crosses her arms, satisfied that she has made her case. It’s easy to point the finger at Mohammed. He is poor, uneducated. He is a cleaner.

“No.” It is Bunmi who speaks, Bunmi who protests. “I don’t accept that.” She is eyeing Yinka, and because I am beside Yinka she is eyeing me too. Or does she suspect something? “This man has been working in this place for longer than the both of you and there has never been a problem. He wouldn’t do this.” I have never seen Bunmi speak so passionately, or for so long. We all stare at her.

“Drug addicts can hide their addiction for a long time,” argues Yinka finally. “He was probably suffering from withdrawal or something. When these people need a hit…Who knows how long he has been stealing drugs and getting away with it.” Yinka is content with her conclusion, and Tade is deep in thought. Bunmi walks away. I have done the right thing…right? I have bought Tade more time to think things through. I want to volunteer to clean up, but I know I should keep my distance.

—

Mohammed denies the charges vehemently, but he is fired anyway. I can see the decision does not sit well with Tade, but the evidence, or lack of evidence, is not in Mohammed’s favor. It worries me that Tade does not mention the broken ring to me. In fact, he has not sought me out at all.

“Hey,” I say a few days later, standing in the doorway of his office.

“What’s up?” He does not look at me, but continues writing in his file.

“I…I just wanted to check that everything is alright with you.”

“Yeah, everything is cool.”

“I didn’t want to ask in front of the others…but I hope the ring wasn’t stolen…” He stops writing and puts his pen down. He looks at me for the first time. “Actually, Korede, it was.” I’m about to feign shock and commiserate, when he continues.

“But what is funny is that the two bottles of diazepam in the cabinet weren’t. The drugs were all over the place, but the ring was the only thing that was actually taken. Curious behavior, for a drug addict.” He holds my gaze. I refuse to blink or look away. I can feel my eyeballs drying out. “Very curious,” I manage.

We stare at each other for a while longer, then he sighs and rubs his face. “Okay,” he says, almost to himself. “Okay. Is there anything else?” “No…no. Not at all.”

That night I drop the diamond into the third mainland bridge lagoon.

PHONE

I have found that the best way to take your mind off something is to binge-watch TV shows. The hours pass by and I lie on my bed, stuffing my mouth with groundnuts and staring at my laptop screen. I lean forward and type in the address to Femi’s blog, but my efforts are met with a 404. His blog has been taken down. He no longer exists for the online world; he can no longer exist for me. He is beyond my reach now in death, as he would have been in life.

My phone vibrates and I consider ignoring it, but I reach forward and drag it toward me.

It’s Ayoola.

My heart skips a beat.

“Hello?”

“Korede.”