I Do Not Come to You by Chance - By Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani Page 0,29

tried my best to be entertained.

It was difficult. In the movie, a charcoal-skinned father and a charcoal-skinned mother had been cast as parents of an undeniably mixed-race daughter. This was not the only gaffe. Another woman had been cast with a teenage daughter who, based on her appearance, could very easily have passed for the mother’s elder sister. Plus, whoever was in charge of that aspect of things had forgotten to replace the large, framed photograph of the family on the wall of the opulent living room with one of the family of actors who had borrowed the house to shoot the scene.

The lead actress had just discovered that the man she was about to marry was her long-lost father, when I heard the first scream. I assumed the noise came from the television. But when Godfrey lowered the television volume, we knew it was there in the house with us. We rushed to our parents’ bedroom.

My father was sprawled like a dead chicken by their bathroom door. My mother was crouched over him with her hands on his shoulders and her head close to his chest. She was shaking him, listening for his heartbeat, and screaming.

‘Hewu Chineke m o!’ she cried. ‘You people should see me o! Hewu!’

Her face was wet with tears. We threw ourselves to the floor and gathered around my father’s still form. Charity burst into tears. Odinkemmelu and Chikaodinaka, having heard the commotion from the kitchen, also rushed in. I pushed everyone aside and listened for a heartbeat. With relief, I confirmed that my father’s life was not yet finished.

‘Mummy, what happened?’ I asked.

‘Hewu God help me o . . . God help me o . . . hewu!’

I pulled myself together and recovered some of that level of thinking that sets man apart from the beasts of the field.

‘Godfrey . . . quick! Go upstairs and ask Mr Nwude if he can come and help us drive Daddy to the hospital in his car. Hurry . . . hurry . . . !’

I turned to the rest. ‘All of you go out . . . just go out. He needs air.’

I shooed everybody away and closed the door. My mother was still crying. I checked my father’s pulse again and again. Godfrey returned from his errand.

‘Mr Nwude said we should start bringing him out. He’ll meet us downstairs.’

I turned to my mother.

‘Mummy, please wear something.’

From the wardrobe, she dragged a boubou, which had black stains from unripe plantains covering most of the stomach area, and pulled it over her nightdress. I bent down and held onto my father’s arms beneath his shoulders while Godfrey held his legs. We lifted his body from the floor. With his head balanced carefully on my belly, we carried him out. A quick thinker had already opened the front door wide - the main entrance to the house that we reserved for special visitors. That exit would be closer to Mr Nwude’s sky blue Volkswagen Beetle.

Mr Nwude rushed out, dressed in an outfit that he ordinarily should have been ashamed of. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and bathroom slippers, with his short-sleeved shirt buttoned halfway up. His wife stood beside my mother while we arranged my father into the backseat. I and my mother squeezed into the front passenger seat and forced the door shut. The old car sped off as best as it could, leaving the members of our household staring in distress.

Eight

‘What of your card?’ the nurse asked.

We were at the Government Hospital Accident and Emergency Unit.

‘What card?’ I asked back.

‘The one they gave you when you made your deposit.’

‘We didn’t make any deposit.’

‘OK, hurry up so I can arrange for a doctor to see him soon.’ She pointed her chin at my father, who was lying on a wooden bench with my mother standing beside him. ‘Go and pay then come back and fill out the forms.’

What was she talking about?

‘Just walk down the hall,’ she explained. ‘Turn right and walk to the end of the corridor, then turn left, and you’ll see a blue door. Three doors from the blue door, you’ll see another door that is wide open. Go inside, then look to your left. You’ll see where other people are queuing up. That’s the cashier. Pay your deposit and bring the receipt back here.’

Deposit? I looked at Mr Nwude. He looked at the nurse.

‘Madam, please, this is an emergency,’ Mr Nwude said. ‘Let the doctor have a look at him