warning look. It is a stupid lie. It is a pineapple upside-down cake, sweet and soft, and Ayoola couldn’t fry an egg to save her life. She rarely enters the kitchen, except to forage for snacks or under duress.
“Wow,” he says, chewing happily. He is delighted by the news.
I see her first because I am facing the stairs. He follows my eyeline and twists his body around to see. I hear him suck in his breath. Ayoola is paused there, allowing herself to be admired. She is wearing the flapper dress she was sketching a few weeks ago. The gold beads blend wonderfully with her skin. Her dreads have been plaited into one long braid draped over her right shoulder and her heels are so high, a lesser woman would have already fallen down the stairs.
Tade stands up slowly and walks to meet her at the foot of the staircase. He brings out a long velvet box from his inner suit pocket.
“You look beautiful…This is for you.”
Ayoola takes the gift and opens it. She smiles, lifting the gold bracelet so Mum and I can see.
TIME
#FemiDurandIsMissing has been sidelined by #NaijaJollofvsKenyanJollof. People may be drawn to the macabre, but never for very long, and so news of Femi’s disappearance has been trumped by conversations about which country’s jollof rice is better. Besides, he was almost thirty, not a child. I read the comments. Some people say he probably got fed up and left Lagos. Some suggest that perhaps he killed himself.
In an effort to keep people caring about Femi, his sister has started posting poetry from his blog—www.wildthoughts.com. I can’t help but read them. He was very talented.
I found the quiet
In your arms;
The nothing that I search for
Daily.
You are empty
And I am full.
Fully drowning.
I wonder if this poem was about her. If he knew—
“What are you looking at?”
I slam the lid of my laptop closed. Ayoola is framed in the doorway of my bedroom. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Tell me what happened with Femi again,” I ask her.
“Why?”
“Just humor me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s upsetting to think about.”
“You said he was aggressive toward you.”
“Yes.”
“As in, he grabbed you?”
“Yes.”
“And you tried to run?”
“Yes.”
“But…there was a stab wound in his back.”
She sighs. “Look, I was afraid and then I kinda saw red. I don’t know.”
“Why were you afraid?”
“He was threatening me, threatening to, like, hit me and stuff. He had me cornered.”
“But why? Why was he so angry?”
“I don’t…I don’t remember. I think he saw some messages from a guy on my phone or something and he just flipped.”
“So he cornered you, how did you get to the knife? It was in your bag, wasn’t it?”
She pauses. “I…I don’t know…it was all a blur. I’d take it back if I could. I’d take it all back.”
THE PATIENT
“I want to believe her. I want to believe it was self-defense…I mean the first time, I was furious. I was convinced Somto deserved it. And he had been so…slimy—always licking his lips, always touching her. I caught him scratching himself down there once, you know.”
Muhtar doesn’t stir. I imagine he tells me that scratching your balls is not a crime.
“No, of course not. But it’s in character, I mean his whole…just sliminess and overall dirtiness made it easy to believe the things she accused him of. Even Peter was…dodgy. Said he did ‘business’ and always answered your questions with one of his own.” I lean back, and close my eyes. “Everyone hates that. But Femi…he was different…”
Muhtar wonders how different he could have been. After all, it sounds as if he was obsessed with Ayoola’s looks, just like Peter and Somto.
“Everyone is obsessed with her looks, Muhtar…”
He tells me he isn’t, and I laugh. “You’ve never even seen her.”
The door suddenly opens and I jump out of the chair. Tade walks into the room.
“I thought I’d find you here.” He looks down at Muhtar’s unconscious body. “You really care about this patient, don’t you?”
“His family doesn’t visit him as much as they used to.”
“Yes, it’s sad. But it’s the way of things, I guess. Apparently he was a professor.”
“Is.”
“What?”
“Is. You said ‘was.’ Past tense. He isn’t dead. Not yet, anyway.”
“Oh! Yes. My bad. Sorry.”
“You said you were looking for me?”
“I…I haven’t heard from Ayoola.” I sit back down in the chair. “I’ve called several times. She isn’t picking up.”
I have to admit, I am a little embarrassed. I haven’t told Muhtar about Ayoola and Tade and I feel his pity strongly. I