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 find myself blushing.
“She isn’t great at returning calls.”
“I know that. But this is different. I haven’t spoken to her in two weeks…Can you talk to her for me? Ask her what I’ve done wrong.”
“I’d rather not get involved…”
“Please, for me.” He crouches and grabs my hand, drawing it to his heart and holding it there. “Please.”
I should say no, but the warmth of his hands around mine makes me feel dizzy, and I find myself nodding.
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
With that, he leaves Muhtar and me to our devices. I feel too ridiculous to stay long.
CLEANER
Femi’s family sent a cleaner to his home, to ready it to be put on the market—to move on, I guess. But the cleaner discovered a bloody napkin down the back of the sofa. It’s all there on Snapchat, for the world to see that whatever happened to Femi, it did not happen of his own volition. The family is asking again for answers.
Ayoola tells me she may have sat there. She may have put the napkin on the seat to keep from staining the sofa. She may have forgotten about it…
“It’s fine, if they ask me I’ll just tell them he had a nosebleed.” She is sitting in front of her dressing table tending to her dreadlocks and I am standing behind her, clenching and unclenching my fists.
“Ayoola, if you go to jail—”
“Only the guilty go to jail.”
“First of all, that’s not true. Second of all, you killed a man.”
“Defending myself; the judge will understand that, right?” She pats her cheeks with blusher. Ayoola lives in a world where things must always go her way. It’s a law as certain as the law of gravity.