“But Bamidele have travel,” she say. “He travel since three weeks now for . . . to his mother’s village. What do you want? Who is Khadija?”
“No,” I say. “Bamidele didn’t travel. He is here. He open this door for me just this morning.”
I jump forward, trying to push the door, but she come out of the house, close the door behind her, gripping the door handles.
“Bamidele is not here,” she say. “Go your way.”
“But he allow Khadija die!” I am wailing now, stamping my feets. “Her body is in front of Kere river, dead. Very dead. We must go and bring her come! Bamidele, come out! You kill a woman! Come out!”
The next house door open, one man peep out, look us.
“Are you having hearing problem?” the woman ask, her voice low. “Bamidele is not in this house. Please go before I call you ole.”
Ole. Thief.
That word is a commanding inside the ears of people. They hear it, they begin to run around, looking for the ole. If she call me that, nobody will ask any question. The whole village will come out and be chasing me. They will throw old tire on my head and put fire inside. They will burn me.
I look up, see Death. He is sailing on top my head, shining his teeths, flapping his wings, having two minds about which form to take me: as a cane or as a fire.
But I think of Khadija. I think of her childrens, Alafia and the other ones. Her sick father.
I fuel up my voice, shout again. “Bamidele, come out! Bamidele, you kill a woman! Come out!”
“Ole! Ole! Ole!” the woman is starting to shout now, her voice covering my own.
The man in the second house is looking a village fighter with his big, big hands and wide, strong chest.
“Ole?” he ask, but he is not waiting for answers as he is coming out from his house. My face is a stranger here. He know it is me. He too is starting to shout. “Ole! Ole! Everybody come out! There is a thief in our area!”
The man and the woman, they join their voice, slam my own down.
In no time, the whole place will be full of peoples.
I look my left, my right. There is a path to my right, leading to the bus garage.
I look the woman’s face, and she look mine. She slow her voice a moment, giving me a chance to run, to go and never come back.
But Khadija. Oh, Khadija.
“Bamidele!” I shout again. “I know you are inside that house. God will judge you! You kill a woman! Come out!”
“Ole! Ole!” the woman is starting to shout again. The man is nearly reaching my side. He is holding something rough and thick and brown, a branch of a tree?
I turn, see another two peoples coming out of their house.
Four peoples. One thief: me.
I close my mouth; begin to run.
CHAPTER 17
I climb the motorcycle at the bus garage and beg the driver to be driving me to my house.
I cannot be going back to Morufu’s house because what will I tell him when he ask me where is Khadija? What will I tell her childrens?
So I tell the driver to be driving me to my papa’s house. I don’t even know when we reach my house because my mind is not thinking correct. It been nearly three months since I leave this place as wife of Morufu. And now I am coming back as a what?
Papa is sitting in the sofa when I enter. He is sleeping deep, putting his head back on the sofa wood, his cap on his nose. His snoring is loud, it shake the whole parlor. He jump awake when I enter, open his eyes wide as if he have see a evil spirit.
“Adunni?” He wipe his eye, shake his head. “It is you?”
“Sah.” I am shaking too much, it is hard to be kneeling down. “It is me, sah. Good afternoon, Papa.”
Outside, the driver press the horn of his motorcycle, peen.
“The driver want to collect his money, sah,” I say, and before Papa can answer, I run to the room I was sharing with Kayus and Born-boy and take the money I was hiding inside my mat since long time ago, run outside, and pay the driver twenty naira.
“What did you find come?” Papa ask when I am back inside the parlor. He is standing on his feets now, hands on his waist. “You run from your husband’s house?”
“No, sah. I didn’t run from my husband’s house.” I bring myself to the floor, kneel down, and hold his leg. “Papa, help me.”
“What happen?” Papa ask when I begin to cry. “Why are you crying?”
As I am talking, I feel his leg slack, feel as he remove hisself from my hand and fall hisself inside the sofa. “Khadija is dead?” he ask, talking whisper. “Your senior wife is dead?”
“It is Bamidele,” I say. “She have a man-friend, a lover. Bamidele is his name. He is a welder from Kere village. He give her pregnants and now he is leaving her to die because he didn’t come back with soap to baff away evil curse.” Even as I am talking, I know it is sounding as if I am telling lies. “I am talking true, Papa. God is seeing my heart! God knows it is true! Bamidele have a soap and he didn’t come back and Khadija is dead because of him. It is true, Papa!”
Papa put his head inside his hands, he didn’t talk for a long, long time. When he up his head, his eyes are red, watery, look as if hisself about to cry too. “Who see you when it happen?”
I shake my head. “See me? Nobody. Bamidele’s wife say he is traveling. She will not talk true.” I remember the twins that was fetching water. But I don’t even know their name, or if they see me and Bamidele with Khadija. They see me, that I know. Everybody see me. Everybody will say it is me that kill Khadija.
“I am talking true. I swear it,” I say.
“Ah,” Papa say, touch his chest three times. “Ah. Adunni, you have kill me, finish.”
“I swear I didn’t do anything, Papa!” I am crying too much and coughing out my words. “Help me, Papa, help me!”
Papa remove my hand from his knees, sigh a sad sigh. “Adunni, I must go to the village chief. We must tell them what happen.”
“No, Papa, no!” I pull his trouser cloth. “You know what will happen. They will not give me a chance to talk myself, they will just kill me. They will not hear what I am saying about Bamidele.”
“We cannot leave Khadija by herself,” Papa say. “Somebody must go and bring her body come. I cannot do it, because they will say I kill her. So, let me go now to the village chief and tell him what happen.”
“If they ask you to bring me come, what will you tell them?”