She woke before me, and was already doing
her laundry before I awoke. When I came out she said good morning and, like she
would soon be getting used to, I went to hug and peck her dearly.
“That
was nice,” she said.
“Was
it?”
“Yeah.
Do you normally say good morning like that to everyone, or is it just with me?”
“What
do you think?”
“I
dunno what to think... I hardly know you.”
“Then
let’s wait... you might know me better some day and could tell me what you
think then.”
She smiled and gave up.
“Do
you have some clothes you need washed? I saw you come in with your bag
yesterday.”
“Yeah...
but I’ll probably just take ‘em to a drycleaner later or something...” I said
this expecting her charity.
“Oh
no! You don’t need to, I can do them for you.”
“Really?”
“Of
course! After all, am I even doing the washing? The only difficulty here is
selecting like colours and stuffing them in the washer...”
“Shey?”
“What?”
“As
in... I guess so. OK. Lemme get ‘em.”
I was glad an opportunity to wash my jeans
had come. Jeans with which I rocked the World Cup. They’d been dirty ever
since; for one of the things one mightn’t be able to do on a visit to a foreign
country was wash jeans. The dull prospect of washing jeans could even make one
not travel with the jeans in the first place, or, in some cases, make one not
travel at all altogether. Jeans!
I
brought the three pairs of jeans, two t-shirts, and my towel and handed them to
her.
“That’s
really kind of you, Abbey,” I said.
“No.
It’s not a bother at all. Good enough, the jeans are all blue...”
I went and hugged her for her generous
help.
“That
wasn’t for good morning,” I said, “’twas for all yo goodness.”
She beamed. And I was happy to see that. I
fought and overcame the urge to stay there and chat with her, and disappeared
into my room for a while.
What
we would do the whole day bothered me. How would we spend it? Yeah, we would
talk, play, watch a movie maybe or something, play music, dance, and so on, but
a few good hours would still be left after all these. Perhaps we could go
out....
After
breakfast I asked her what kind of music she liked.
“Any
good music,” she said. “R n B, Hiphop, Raggae, Blues, Gospel, Jazz... you name
it... any good combination of sounds... and words.”
“I’m
sorry to say this... you’re not a good connoisseur of music.”
“Why
d’you say that?”
“Because
you have no particular... favourite genre... you just move with the beats,
whatever they be...”
“Well...
I kinda like Hip hop specially though... and R n B...”
“Look
at you!”
“No,
no... No I mean it... Hip hop and R n B...”
“Then
quit talking and go play something... and raise the volume so high that Gaborone
would think there’s a party here.”
She went to the shelf and, soon, Naeto C
and Ikechukwu set the whole place on fire with their Kini Big Deal. I’d learn she’d met and hung out with them when they
came to shoot the video of the song. We started a mini party in her living
room. I was rocking the girl as best as I could. You don’t wish to have seen
though. Or what would you want to see in a doctor’s rocking? I just moved my
hands all over her body... covering one square centimetre per hour. That’s real
slow, right? Yeah! In other words, I just, more or less, held her. She didn’t
dance much either... like she didn’t want the party or something, and I began
to think it was a wrong move, so I contemplated ending it sooner than later.
But we danced on for a while.
And outside the sun was dancing too;
dancing high up in the sky.
Lunch
was nothing elaborate; just beverages and bread. And then we sat to talking.
Lecture time! If there was anything to say, that was.
“What
do you normally do on Saturdays?”
“Saturdays...
nothing really... do laundry... go out to visit friends, or have them over...
nothing really... defined.”
“Okay...
I’d say you’re not out visiting friends today because I’m here; so they’ll
probably come over right? Like... do they call before coming or just... come?”
“Sometimes
they call, sometimes they don’t... It’s when they don’t that they run their
mouths after seeing anything unusual. Like... if they come here, and see you,
there’s nothing they won’t say.”
“Hmm…
So we’re partly expecting them and partly not?”
“We’re
not.”
“We’re
not?” I asked her.
“Cuz
you’re here!” she said, giggling, sort of.
“No.
Seriously... are your friends aware I’m here?”
“No!
And I intend to keep it that way!”
“So...”
“So...”
she didn’t allow me finish, “I called them before hand to say I’d be
indisposed.”
“I
see.”
“What
do you see?” she said with a smirk.
“That
you either think me an unworthy commodity to flaunt – not that I’m asking you
to, after all I’m not your man; or you always keep your friends out of the loop
whenever you got something going on.”
“Oh
c’mon... Yes... the latter. They talk too much... and one of them get’s really
jealous for what I don’t know!”
“Have
you ever found their too much talk to be... false alarms?”
“How
d’you mean?”
“As
in... they warn you, right? Or point out signs you should look out for that
aren’t particularly good signs, right?”
“Guess
so.”
“Have
they ever been wrong?”
“Dunno...
what’s your point?”
“I’m
not a teacher, Abbey, but I happen to know life... that, often, the misfortune
of relations, if there is, is not repeated in friends. As in, God forces our
relatives on us, but we choose our friends. So, how could you have chosen
friends whose opinions you don’t consider?”
“Of
course I consider their opinions.” She’s sounding defensive. “And that’s
precisely why I keep them out of the loop like you say. Their opinions haunt
me... and end up making me sad.”
“I
quite understand. But I’m just concerned that... you treating this as others
means you take it as nothing but other relationships you’ve had. Are you losing
sight of the fact that we’re working here? That we’re doctor and patient? And
that we’re not just having fun?”
She was staring at me... like someone whose
bubble was bursting.
“So
I shoul’ tell ‘em?”
“I’m
not expressly asserting that... I’m just saying that... you know... you should
get your perspectives right.”
“OK,”
she said, “I’ve heard you. And I shall tell them”.
Silence. Then I said,
“Well...
we’re going out tonight. You might wanna invite them...” I stood up and looked
at her; “for a start,” I added. I left things hanging and went to my room.
The
beauty of wash and dry machines... or how would my jeans have dried in this wet
weather! Since the World Cup South Africa had been pretty wet. Sometimes it
even rained heavily during matches. And if you weren’t in the Bird’s Nest, or
any one of two or three other stadia that were really well constructed, even
you, a spectator, could get wet all over. The winds were heavy too. I wondered
if it had anything to do with the whole global warming... climate change issue.
I’d heard that world leaders failed to reach an agreement at Copenhagen on how
to share responsibilities in combating the phenomenon. At first there was a
Copenhagen Accord, and then there was no Copenhagen Accord... Watching the news
then just made me dizzy. Something like... Africa hardest hit, but Africa not
greatest causers. How many industries in Africa to emit gases that could cause
any global calamity by the way? The West were in trouble. At the rate they were
going, their environmental future wasn’t secure. And degrees of responsibilities
had been allotted, but the US was stalling the whole process. As usual. They
always have something up their sleeves, right? Like they were circus people.
Japan had the willpower to stem the tide; and it seemed they charted that
course without bothering about the refusal of other economies to play their
part. They’d been working on it a long time. We’d been hearing of electronic
equipments that didn’t emit green house gases; modern refrigerators, for
example. And cars would be more environmentally friendly. Even the Beijing
Olympics was totally environmentally friendly, so they said... Could I measure
the veracity of these claims! What could I do? Just hope that those in whose
hands our world rests do the right things by us. If we’d all be annihilated, at
least let it not be any man’s direct fault... let it not be the fault of anyone
whom citizens had voted into power to protect their interests, otherwise, it’d
be a huge betrayal.
Thanks
to technology, my favourite pair of jeans was neat and ready for tonight, in
spite of the rains. I stumbled on a good pair of jeans like once in a year...
every other one I bought was just rubbish. The last four I could remember
were... a PHAT FARM yeah... an ENYCE... one called AUTOMATIC – strange name,
but nice apparel, and well made too; and now WU MING HUO – WMH... Must be
Chinese! In Chinese movies I saw jeans was hardly their culture... so how come
they made good jeans? Well, I liked the WMH jeans. It was going to go with my
favourite blue T-shirt tonight, and my flat Giorgio Armani loafers. Some folks
there be who like to wear the same designer from head to toe... not me. What if
Giorgio made good shoes but obscure pants? For the sake of design... I should
wear something obscure? Just because I’d already invited the trouble by wearing
the shoe? Hell no! Besides, WMH didn’t make shoes, or shirts; or I’ve never
seen them. I was OK already as it was. And I had this cool wrist watch whose
price no one could ever guess. So no one could use it to ascertain my social
worth or status. If in your estimation it wasn’t up to a hundred dollars, then,
must it? I’m not exactly a fashion buff or anything... a ninety-dollar wrist
watch, for me, was just good enough!
There’s
a tact requisite in hanging out with rich girls... that’s for a guy like me of
course. If you’re not affluently circumstanced yourself, hide your background
as neatly as possible. They will not pry. For having come thus far... having
contrived to come to such pitch of associations, no one would even suspect that
you were not supposed to be there. And you’re going to hold sway over them
because rich girls are always waiting to exhale... always looking for some new
adventure. Dudes rich like them always bore them, but they can’t complain. The
rich are bored! Opulence is a prison. Here, the curse of being a wealthy girl
was that you were strictly confined to the company of the likes of you. In
contrast, the humour of a young man without privileges be just what they need.
But they can’t cope with the air of austerity all around him, and then the
jeers and scorn of stupid, bewildered onlookers. And, in most cases, a poor boy
never gets to see a rich girl face to face in his life time. The gulf between the
two classes is reminiscent of the one in the Bible parable between the Rich Man
and Lazarus in the afterlife. So, how about if one had the wit and humour of
austerity and the appearance of opulence... he’s the man!
“Abbey
you ready?” I called out from the living room.
In answer, I heard a faint,
“Almost!”
I’d
been in this country for over a month, and I’d learned that one’s never late
for a night out, because their nights simply never end. Little wonder... it was
said to be the hub of HIV/AIDS on the planet. I didn’t need to hassle Abbey.
She could take her time. But I asked... since I had time to rehearse; how many
of her friends were going to show up.
“Any
of your friends coming?”
A faint “Yeah!”
“How
many of them?”
A faint “Three!”
What?! Making us five! How was I going to
navigate through this!
I wasn’t
particularly in trouble here, especially since it wasn’t my country. A poor
American boy could mingle with rich girls in Nigeria. A poor Nigerian boy,
perhaps, could mingle with rich girls in America. Perhaps. Some level of
mystery effaces the class difference. Or, say... a big difference effaces a
small one: a difference in class will jump out the window as soon as a
difference in culture shows up. There is a lot to gain from each other. One could
even pay to get knowledge about other countries he’d never been to, and would
cope with the teacher’s demeanours. The problem arises when the two people in
question are from the same country... and one is rich and the other poor! Here
in South Africa my social status was of no consequence.
Abbey
came descending down the stairs; bright as the moon.
“Shouldn’t
I have had a say in what you ended up wearing?” I said.
“What...
you don’t like my outfit?” she asked.
How would I not like it! A red shimmering
top on grey pants. She was wearing grey divers, and looked like a teenager.
“I’m
just kidding! You look gorgeous babe.”
“Babe?!”
“Oh
sorry! Abbey.”
We laughed.
“I
like your top. What’s the P?”
“Oh...
got it from Naeto C when they came... You know ma P!”
“Wow!
That’s so cool,” I said.
“Thanks!”
she said, blushing.
“Shall
we?”
“Sure!”
She led the way and I tagged along.
She
was walking towards the Mercedes Benz.
“Are
these other cars functional?” I asked.
“The
SUV is... the Toyota... not too good. Using it that first day I met you was a
helluva trouble. Why?”
“You
seem to use none but this?”
“I
love this car, it’s very feminine and very easy to drive.”
“So
why d’you buy these ones?”
“I
didn’t buy them. One belongs to my brother… he’s not around... the other one I
was using before I bought this one. That one’s... family car. My dad bought it
long ago.”
“OK...
So they’ve been dumped here since you bought this one?”
“Not
quite. I bought this one last year, and before then I was using these two...
the Toyota mainly... when my brother was around. He was using the jeep. But
then, I got mine.”
“I
see.”
“But
I still use them once in a while... but if I must drive at night, I’d rather do
so in the car I’m most used to... Or would you like to drive?”
“Naah,
I’ll pass... I dunno my way around. I don’t even know where we’re going.”
“Oh,
it’s not far.”
I courteously opened the car door for her –
the driver’s side. I shut the door when she got in, and went round to the
passenger’s side.
“What
about your family?” I said.
“What
about them?”
“Tell
me about them.”
“There’s
really nothing to tell... Dad’s late, mom remarried... lives in the UK with her
new family; and... my brother’s in the States... I guess.”
“You
like your family the way it is?”
“I
dunno... and I honestly don’ wanna talk about them.”
Silence. I must tread softly, or I lose
control!
“Johannesburg’s
a beautiful city,” I said.
“Is
it?”
“Yeah,
it is.”
“Hmm...
tell me about Nigeria.”
“This
is Johannesburg, not South Africa... you should be asking me about Lagos or
Abuja or any other state... not Nigeria as a whole.”
We laughed lightly.
“OK.
So where do you live in Nigeria?”
“Kebbi
State.”
“Don’t
think I ever heard of that... but how’s the place anyway, is it beautiful?”
“In
comparison to Jo’burg, no, but I think it’s beautiful enough as the people want
it to be.”
“What
people?”
“The
owners of the state. The indigenes... Plus, it’s not really a national
commercial town where a lot of people gather... what’s the word again... erm...
cosmopolitan, yeah... it’s not cosmopolitan... mainly backwoods.”
Abbey laughed.
“You’re
just busy making excuses for the place... Say it’s not beautiful... or that
it’s not developed, period. Cuz no people are averse to beauty... if they had
the means they’d have developed it.”
“Guess
I agree with you... More like if they had the means and didn’t embezzle it!”
“So
that’s where you‘re from? Means you’re a primitive Nigerian,” she said, and
started to laugh.
“You’re
not serious. I’m simply working there... you know... trying to develop the
place? I just got the job this year.”
“OK.
Before then where were you?”
“Was
in Enugu for four years schooling... after which I went back home to Abuja. Yes...
Enugu is beautiful, and Abuja is more beautiful.”
“Wow.
You’ve been around.”
“Not
quite. Out of thirty-six states I’ve been to... lemme see...” I began to
memorize“…born in Kano, then ran to the village in ‘91 during the riot; village
is Enugu, then went to Abuja in ‘93, went back to Enugu to school in ’03, and
then Kebbi... how many? Four. I’ve only lived in these four places... like for
long. Then I’ve visited Lagos. There’s hardly any Nigerian my age and above who
hasn’t been to Lagos. On my way to Lagos for the first time I passed a night in
Ondo, and then from Lagos that time, I passed a night in Okene... Okene’s in
Kogi State I think. That’s it.”
“That’s
quite a chronicle... and you say you haven’t been around... what about me; I’ve
only lived here, and then with my folks in Pretoria... visited Cape Town on
holidays... that’s all.”
“But
you’ve been around the world at least?”
“Is
six countries around the world?”
“You’ve
been to six countries?”
“Yeah.”
“List
‘em for me.”
“Schooled
in the US; did extension programmes in France and the UK; holidayed in Vienna
and Milan; and also went for the Sydney Olympics in 2000.”
“You’ve
been to Australia... the furthest place in the world?”
“Dunno
about that, but I’ve been there.”
“Who
took you?”
“My
entire family went: mom, dad, my brother and I. We were living in London at the
time.”
“OK...
I know Milan’s in Italy, yeah... can’t remember where Vienna is...”
“Austria.”
“Yeah,
I remember now... that’s like Germany too.”
“Not
quite... So, you... you ever been anywhere outside Nigeria except South Africa?”
“Of
course.”
“Okay...
where and where?”
“I’ve
been to the Republic of Benin.”
“Wait
a sec... the one here in Africa?”
“That’s
right.”
“Isn’t
it like... very close to Nigeria?”
“Perhaps...
but it’s not Nigeria. For Nigeria, it’s abroad.”
“From
Nigeria you don’t even have to fly to get there right?”
“What
does it matter? But you can fly if you want to... like if you were going from
anywhere that isn’t Lagos. After all people fly within the country, so...”
She was laughing.
“Don’t
laugh at me. The African young man is more relevant at home... if I travel to
the West in whose hands would I leave my mom?”
“What
about your dad?”
“He’s
cool... but once a boy grows up he has to look out for his mother too.”
“OK.
You the only child?”
“No,
I’m not... but if to travel is such a good thing wouldn’t everyone want to
travel? Why must it be me?”
“So...
has someone... not you... travelled?”
“It’s
irrelevant, miss,” I said, and changed the subject, “I thought you said we
weren’t going far?”
“Yeah,
we’re not. Or have we gone far already... in your... estimation?”
“Well,
I think so.”
“La
Creme’s just by the corner there.”
I could see the lights now. Makes sense! An
expansive outdoor grill and bar with a magnificent ambience. Four water
fountains, one at each vertex provided for the cool humidity of the place...
like you were out in winter or something. However winter felt! Then there was a
stage... for a live band, I guessed. Pine trees cast their pretty leaves above
the scene providing a natural canopy; and then there was a large hall... in
case it began to rain. Since the tourism revolution what had I not seen! Every
simple restaurant or bar in Nigeria had a sensuous allure that made you not
want to leave. And now this... perhaps it was made over because the World was
visiting. It was beautiful. Made you not take any special note of the beautiful
women shimmering all over the place, and the young men whose hands they held.
The place took my breath away. Atmosphere for love and romance, so you couldn’t
even notice the next couple; you were busy with your partner... and all Abbey
and I had was work – therapy; or did we have more?
“So
we’d be eating fish,” I said, holding the door for her to get down from the
car.
“Yeah,”
she said.
“Grilled
fish?”
“Yes.
Don’t you like fish?”
“No,
I don’t,” I said. “I love it.”
I sensed that she seemed a little on edge.
“What
am I going to introduce you as... I call you Doc cuz you’re my doctor... but
you’re not theirs... so what are they to call you?”
“Doctor
Iroko.”
She laughed. “That’s funny,” she said.
“Not
to me!” I said.
We proceeded into the arena. We seemed to
be walking to an already occupied table. A bevy of flowers, God! These weren’t
the ugly, staunch, low-cut-wearing South African women I’d seen on TV – like
Brenda Facie. They certainly had Europe or America in their blood... their
hairs; my God! Or Nigeria... the hips, the busts, the heights... the beauty!
Chinese eyes, Arabian lustre; the girls were, in short, beautiful. And this was
from afar! If I couldn’t make an impression on them, then I could kiss my spell
over Abbey goodbye.
They
hugged and pecked her in turns. And then all eyes were on me.
I was sure I had everything under
control... except my frame. All evening I’d been stretching my length, trying
to walk really straight without slouching. Whenever I forgot, my spinal cord
yielded and I slouched again. No one ever told me, but I knew I looked like a
withering palm tree whenever I slouched. Now I stood straight, chins up, chest
out, with a warm smile on my face, and my spectacles sitting on my nose –
Doctors’ fashion! Then the introductions....
“Doc,”
she started with me; Very good! I thought... “Meet my girlfriends Sasha, Tanya,
and Isabelle. Guys, meet my therapist, Doctor...” She was stuttering, trying to
remember.
“I’m
Doctor Iroko Cedan,” I cut in, stretching out my arm and shaking them all in
turns. I stole a glance at Abbey.
Just how many minutes and she’d forgotten
my name. I wondered if she was a block-head. My having to help her tell her
friends my name wasn’t a sign of being in control at all. But the metallic
disaster that would have stemmed from that break in transmission had it been
prolonged would have outweighed my temporary loss of power. I’d bounce back.
I’d recapture the night and dictate its pace; if not for us all, at least for
Abbey and I.
“I’m
pleased to meet you fair ladies,” I said.
“Same
here,” they chorused, acting demurely in trying to impress their friend’s man
they were meeting for the first time.
It was in the nature of girls to do so
under such circumstance for, not knowing what may be insidious to the tottering
union, they act circumspectly in the presence of the stranger. They could tear
me apart after the night-out, pointing out flaws that didn’t even exist, but
now they had to behave. That was their business really. My coming out here was
for Abbey’s sake; to collect a little more sample for the purpose of our
therapy. But, in any case, the night better go well if it could!
“What
kinda name is Iroko Sedan?” Tanya asked.
“Yeah,
where’s that from?” Sasha added.
“It’s
an African name... gotten from two great trees on the continent, Iroko and
Cedar.”
“Wow...
that’s peachy,” Tanya said. “Never heard o that.”
“I
don’t think there are such trees around here...” Sasha said.
“He’s
not from around here,” Abbey said. “He’s from Nigeria.”
“In
Nigeria people give their kids names like that? Is that the name your folks
gave you?” Sasha.
“Well...
I can’t recall, but it’s the name I now bear... the one that gets my attention.”
We all laughed. One of them wasn’t talking,
and I felt she faulted my appearance.
It
was a large table, for a group, with five seats. In the arena, there were
different sizes for different purposes. Abbey must have arranged things beforehand.
As
we took our seats, Sasha and Tanya cheered Abbey for her top – the P. And that
reminded them.
“Iroko,”
Tanya called, (that was Tanya right? I had to keep my unfamiliarity with the
names secret), how’s Naeto C and his buddy doing? Ikechukwu?”
Funny... the way she pronounced Ikechukwu.
“You
mean the music artistes?”
“Yes.”
Sasha too wanted to hear what I had to say about them. And the mute cutie.
I thought this was a good sign. I had to be
the centre of attraction, otherwise I could so easily get lost in their midst,
regardless of the fact that I was the only male animal here. One worrying thing
though: they better took the me they saw and leave Naeto and co out of this.
But in any case, things had to start from somewhere.
“The
gentlemen are fine I guess” I said. “I haven’t heard anything new from them in
quite a while. Perhaps they’re busy cooking something.”
“Do
you like... know them personally?” Sasha.
“Nope!
Nigeria’s a large country... You guys seem to like them?”
“Yeah,
of course... they’re cool... like the coolest Nigerian dudes I’ve ever met.”
Tanya.
“And
how many Nigerian dudes have you met?” Abbey asked her.
“Two!
The both of them,” Tanya quipped, and we all laughed.
“Well,
I think they’re cool too. I like them,” I said.
“You
do?” Tanya.
“Yeah,
sure,” I said.
“But
you’re not a girl!” Tanya pursued.
“Wow.
Humour me... are they for girls alone to like?” Me.
“Well...”
Tanya’s searching for what to say.
I noted again that Isabelle was rather
reserved. And, Abbey, this was clearly not the conversation she came here to
have, so I saved the situation.
“I
hardly know what they have here, but I guess it’s my place to ask what to offer
you guys!” “You’re smooth!” The mute
girl eventually spoke, with what I interpreted to be green-light all over her.
“Yeah.
I like the way you talk,” offered Sasha – the life of the party, “ever been
abroad?”
“I’m
abroad... To me here’s abroad!” I said with a grin.
“America?”
Sasha emphasized.
“Never
been to America ladies, but I promise to go there once we’re done tonight... in
which case you have to say what you’ll be having quick, as time’s now of the
essence.”
We all laughed. And the names of drinks
started to resound. There was a uniformed waiter standing like a sentry by the
side who came over and took the orders and then went to get them.
“So
you’re based here in South Africa?” Isabelle spoke for the second time tonight.
“For
this month, yes!”
Abbey glanced at me. She’d never really
asked how long all this was to last. Now that she heard me say I was around for
a month, I wondered how she felt... or what she thought: ‘No time, so it’s not
worth it’? or ‘make hay while the sun shines’? I wondered.
Here
again I noticed this... make-up of friendships: others could probably be leading
quiet, insignificant lives, while their presence in the life of one would mean
the watch-dog over that one who is free-spirited, adventurous, and the
epicentre of the group – the converging lens of the friends. In this case,
Abbey was clearly that individual. That’s what I wanted to find out. That’s why
we were here. If one is the epicentre in a group of friends, then, the more the
individuals in the group, the more the bombardments the said nucleus gets
whenever she arrives at any and every of life’s crossroads. Bombardment of
opinions! And some there may be who are out to deceive... to gain what she
loses should she take their advice.
Here, if these girls loved Abbey, she was
lucky; but if they were treacherous, she was in trouble.
“So...
where were you last month and where are you going to be next month?” Isabelle
pursued.
“I
came here last month from Nigeria and, like I promised you girls, next month
should meet me in America.”
I avoided looking at Isabelle now, to give
her the cue to slow down. I checked on Abbey.
“You
alright baby?”
She nodded, without saying a word.
“Baby?!”
Sasha and Tanya chorused looking at each other and giggling. “Thought you were
her doctor?” Tanya.
“That’s
correct!” I said.
“Um...
just that I thought I heard something like... ‘baby’ there...” she said
mischievously.
“I
heard it too,” I said.
“She
also... your baby?” Sasha. Isabelle was just watching.
“You
don’t even need to look too hard to know she’s a... babe!” I said.
“Mhhhm!”
Tanya couldn’t contain herself.
“Sometime
tonight, I’m bound to give you girls the space for chit-chat, you can...
appraise things then and ask her anything you want... and gossip, if you like.
But, for now, here come your drinks.”
When the drinks had been set on the table...
in front of who had ordered what, I asked the young man to see to it that we
ate fish this night.
“Fish
coming right up,” he said in Zulu accent and left to go do his job.
“Cool
dude!” I remarked to the girls.
“Hmmm!”
they went bemusedly.
“Yes...
I hope you guys know how to look out for men! Often the real men aren’t the
executives and politicians... more often than not, these are tyrants. The real
men are... waiters at restaurants, chauffeurs, dancers, barbers, and all such
men of modest means... and sublime vocations. Priests too,” I said.
Isabelle looked at me as if she doubted the
last one.
“What... you disagree on that?” I asked
her.
She just smiled.
“Well,” I went on, “you know that priests
are real men, don’t you? Like... before you’re admitted into the seminary the
functionality of your manhood is ascertained. If you’re impotent, no way!
Priesthood is not an alternative to manhood, it is manhood. And sometimes if
you’re naive about what pleasures lie in women, you’re turned down at the seminary
gate... You have to be aware of what you’re getting yourself into. You have to
know what you’ll be missing. If not... they become priests and are not sure
whether they can cope... like the rules of engagement weren’t read out well
initially.”
Sasha and Tanya were chipping in words and
arguments here and there; Abbey was smiling; and the third girl, the third
girl... she was distant. I wondered how to get through to this... this...
strikingly pretty one.
“What
about doctors?” Tanya asked.
“What
about them?” I said.
“Are
they real men too?”
“Ah
dunno!”
“So
you don’t know if you’re a real man or not huh?” Sasha.
“Don’t
think it’s for me to say. But, in any case, you’re spending ample time with
one... before long you should be able to have an answer to the question you’re
asking. I’m telling you about the waiter because, unless you decide and go out
of your way, you may never encounter him in your entire life... in which case
you wouldn’t even know what you be missing, or if you be missing anything at all.
But doctors... you encounter everyday... you have a doctor, or don’t you?”
“Sorry...
excuse me, did you say you were a doctor or a sage?” Tanya.
“Exactly!”
offered Sasha, “He’s... spouting wisdom!”
Isabelle was still busy troubling me with
her... demeanour.
Abbey was impressed.
What
they were drinking all looked like alcohol to me, but what was my own! Of all
of them, Abbey was the only one whose behaviour was my business. I summoned a
waiter and asked him to take away Abbey’s drink and replace it with water.
“What,
you wanna treat me like a kid now,” Abbey protested, “who can’t handle a little
alcohol?”
“Who
says kids can’t handle alcohol!”
“Why
won’t you let me have my drink? And why wouldn’t you drink... don’t you drink,
or are you just pretending?”
“I
don’t drink on duty,” I joked, “...so I’d be alert enough to know what I’m
doing.”
“Well,
if you say so... but you are the one on duty, not me!”
“That’s
for shizzle... and I don’t want to be guessing whether you be exhibiting a
natural behaviour or whether you be dancing to the beats of alcohol
intoxication.”
“Abbey
can handle a lot of alcohol, Doc,” Sasha said, “and her head will still be
clear enough for her to pass a thread through a needle’s eye.”
“Says
who!” the mute cutie.
“I’m
telling you,” Sasha insisted.
“Then
maybe you need to ask your doctor a few questions about alcohol... for it is
better to incinerate the alcohol in you by weird behaviour than by ‘keeping
your head’ and suffering in ways you can’t even begin to imagine,” I said.
“Sorry
doc, but could you please explain?” Tanya.
“Sorry
Tan, but I’m told that if I belabour a social gathering with too much talk
about my profession, then what a wrong thing I’d be doing.”
“I’m
told the same,” Abbey said, wanting us to change the topic.
We all laughed the laughter of adjustment
to a new line of conversation, and sipped from our glasses.
“It
seems Nigeria is the smartest country in West Africa,” Tanya said.
“Why
do you say that?”
“Cuz
you guys are smart!”
“No,
not that. I meant why did you say West Africa? Why not Africa?”
“Hello!”
Sasha tripped in, “is your country as developed as what you see around you?”
“You
need to go and see for yourself,” I said. “But, anyway, what is it with
Nigerians that makes you think they’re smart?”
“The
ones we’ve seen all are.” Tanya.
“And...
how many have you seen, if I may ask?”
“Only
a few... but in comparison we see dumb artistes from other countries coming
here, thinking that South African girls are... their class.” Sasha this time.
“So...
which artistes are we talking about here?” I asked.
“The
P Man...”
“Ah,
ok. And I suppose the P Man’s Ne...”
“Naeto
Ceeeeee!” they chorused, not letting me finish.
Then Sasha began to rap, ‘You shu know ma
pee... ah represent the geez’, something like that... for rap’s often incoherent. And she was dancing too.
I
was grateful to fate for my good fortune. That it was Naeto and co who preceded
me. Bright and enlightened gentlemen with, maybe, good manners. They made my
job simple, really: live up to the standard they set – that I could even
surpass. I thanked God Naeto and the Academy Crew came to this corner of
Jo’burg... and came when they did... and hung out with these ladies. Thank God
the wind didn’t blow Timaya this way. My God! Or Terry Geezle... or my entire
night would have been spent trying to salvage a battered image.
Our
fish came and, for chrissakes, grilled fish was the same all over the world. I
mean... I knew this bliss... only the hot pepper sensation was absent. Back
home in Nigeria, grilled fish was always on the menu whenever I hung out. And,
my favourite place was the Mogadishu Cantonment in Abuja – the haven of grilled
fish. A place they called Mammy Market. Beer and fish and smoke. Fun like that.
Here we had
separate plates and cutleries, for collecting chunks of the fish. But I used my
natural cutleries – my ‘phalanges’ – as my secondary school principal often put
it.The fish lay in a tray in the middle of the table. It was either a baby
whale or a full-grown shark. I knew the bill would be bizarre. We talked about
fishes and what unfortunate creatures they are: birds of the air swoop down on
rivers and sift fishes out with their sharp talons for food; terrestrial
animals too hunt fishes; and then, deep in the seas and oceans, cannibalism is
the order of the day. It’s like every animal on earth eats fish. Here were we,
doing just that. Abbey wasn’t really doing it, though. I leaned over and
whispered in her ear, inquiring if she had other dinner plans... or she better
took enough of the fish. She said she was full. I discovered I was full
too. I washed my hands. Everyone was
using their hands, except Isabelle, and I knew she’d be the last to finish. The
dude I was advertising moments ago didn’t leave us any napkins to wipe our
fingers with. I excused myself and got up, saying I was going on a napkin
quest. I strayed towards the door that brought in and took the dude out. A lady
asked me what my mission was and I showed her my wet palms. She apologized and
got me a finger towel. I told her we were five, and she gave me four more. I
went back and dropped them on our table. The three girls were still stripping
the cartilaginous fish of its flesh. Judging by the progress we made through
the fish while I was still eating, I figured they’d stalled a bit. Perhaps
they’d got the freedom to say things they didn’t want to say in my presence. I
took the cue.
“You
guys finish up while I look around,” I said and then loitered off.
I discovered
another part of the place where a giant TV stood, showing a documentary on the
World Cup. Kudos to South Africa really, they put up a good show. I personally
had fun. Only it was quite expensive to be in South Africa at that time, I
guessed... perhaps expensive to be there at any time of the year – wait till we
got the bill of this night. I stood there for a while, being reminded of sad
matches. And I don’t mean Nigeria’s ousting. Spain’s matches were the sad
matches, because in all of them, Fernando Torres did not score – didn’t even
shine. And I hated the fact that such a fantastic striker was just a passive
World Cup winner. But then I saw something a bit consoling – the TV was showing
Spain’s run to the end. I was wont to think he had a hand in that – what,
arguably, was the best goal of the tournament. There was a pullout from Iker
Casillas towards Torres on the left of the opposing half, he raced to the ball
with fiery speed... and those were the strides of a sure goal from the lad. The
goalkeeper, sensing the danger, came charging towards the ball too. He lunged
at the ball with both his feet to take it away from the menacing striker and
succeeded, but the ball ricocheted into David Villa’s path. Villa took the shot
one time, and it curved all the way home. It was a stunning goal. I liked to
think that Torres had a hand in that.
And then, in the final match, he crossed
the ball that met Fabregas, which Fabregas laid in Iniesta’s path, and the rest
is history. To start with, that goal came only when Torres set foot on the
pitch... a dire match that had protracted for over a hundred minutes.
Having seen Villa’s stunner of a goal, I
idled away from the TV.
I
wasn’t going back to the table yet. I wanted Abbey to tell her friends whatever
there was to tell... and they to offer their own opinions. She mightn’t escape
chastisement for the unorthodox way she welcomed a stranger into her home. That
beat me too. But I believed that if anyone wanted to find something different,
then she must set about looking for it in a different way. Respond to the
flashy guy who parks a Peugeot 607 by your S-Class at the office complex and,
before you know it, you’re heading down familiar terrains again. Terrains that
hurt before, and that will, nine times out of ten, hurt again. On the other
hand, give a brother a lift, and you just might have found you something worth
keeping. And then, in the end, isn’t there something called destiny!
Signs
I was likely to have were: if Abbey’s attitude towards me changed, then I’d
know she was not in control of herself. No matter the direction the pendulum of
change swung to. Like... they could tell her the brother is worth keeping, and
her attitude will suggest that when all she does would point towards keeping
the brother. Or they could tell her to be wary, and things change to the other
direction. Whatever the case, I expected to know tonight.
I
glanced at my wrist watch for the umpteenth time, and made a mental decision to
go back to the table when the long arm of the clock pointed down the middle of
six... the short one dangling anywhere between nine and ten. That gave me about
six minutes. From where I stood I could see the TV and, that Villa goal again!
In slow motion. The ten-foot goal-post was agape, and the camera picked out the
ball neatly, swerving through the air. I didn’t see the ball touch the net now.
Somebody tapped me on the shoulder from behind....
“Here
you are!” she said.
“Oh!
I’m surprised to see you,” I said honestly.
“You
are?”
“Yeah.
Given the fact that you hardly talk...”
“I
talk... just that I’ve not had much to say all night. It felt better just
listening.” Was she cold?
“I
see. So what are you doing out here? I left you guys to have a time of your
own...”
“Yeah,
I know. And that’s real gentle of you. But you were staying too long and I felt
I needed to come and fetch you... place was kinda dull without you.”
“Really?”
“Don’t
get ahead of yourself there!” We laughed. “But seriously, you’ve been so much
fun to be with.”
“Coming
from you, Isabelle, I’m so glad to hear that.”
Silence. She must be cold.
It was a cold night. And she was
under-dressed. Pretty miss!
“I
searched with my eyes, hoping to find you. I kinda just needed a walk though.”
“You
looked for me?”
“Yup!”
“I
was actually just about returning to the table. Let’s go.”
“OK...
I just wanted to... to... ask... if you’re related to Abbey in any way that
might make it unethical for me to... to... desire you?” she said timidly.
I rolled my eyes in trying to digest
that... and what it meant.
“Isabelle
I won’t pretend that I don’t understand you... or try to buy time by asking you
to be clearer... but the precise reason why I left you guys alone was for you
to ask your friend this question.”
“Not
that we didn’t... she was just evading us... and now we don’t know what to
believe. So I took the initiative to ask you before the others... cuz... I’m
interested...”
I’d never seen a thing like this before. In
Nigeria, asking a girl out was a big project for any young man. It took steps,
strategies, build-ups, and what have you. And then after all that the girl
might still refuse. Summoning courage to go to a girl in the first place, was a
daunting task. But here, a girl who had barely known me for two hours was....
well...
“Well,
Isabelle,” I said, “I’ll just say that one hangout leads to another... and,
with time, we shall know what the possibilities are for this friendship we’ve
found. Including what will be ethical and what won’t. For now, let’s go and
meet the others.”
I took her hand and we started walking back
to where the others were. On our way she said,
“You
know what, I agree with you. That’s how I see things too... just that, amongst
us friends, we know that the presence of unclaimed men could threaten our
friendship, you know. It’s best if things were clear to everybody from the
onset, or, at least, early enough, so that, should there be other interested
parties, they can stifle their interest if the object of interest be already
taken.”
I couldn’t help laughing at the texture of
her sound logic. It was true of me that, no matter the situation or
circumstance; no matter the subject or setting, I was always glad to see a
smart girl who could express herself scrupulously. Self-expression was often
what women loved in men, for they knew they lacked it in themselves. And that
was why in Nigeria, it remained a man’s onus to approach and woo a woman. It
doesn’t matter that, these days, the women so wooed have far more lines and
vocabulary than the wooing men. I wondered how girls took it when men who were
obviously less smart than they approached them in search of a relationship. I
liked Isabelle’s initiative. Given the chance, she could woo me and win... if
that wasn’t already what she’d done.
“I
catch your drift, Isabelle, but like I said, it were best if you extracted this
information from your friend. I’m sure you can make deductions from anything
she says.”
“Abbey’s
neither sure of herself nor of what she wants... even if she was, she really
can’t have you. I want to hear it from you: ARE YOU AVAILABLE?”
“C’mon
Isabelle, it’s hard to say no to a cutie like you. I’m really flattered that
you’re pursuing associations with me... but I should try to do what I think is
right. By the way, what do you mean by ‘Abbey can’t have me’?”
“Never
mind,” she said with resignation.
Silence.
“I
hope you know when not to be silent sage, cuz your silence says a lot... things
your speech probably wouldn’t say...” she said.
I wanted to ask her what she read or was
reading at school... but I was busy searching for any sense in having multiple
flings in South Africa.
As to this, the sky held no clue. It was
almost pitch black. The night was devoid of stars, and the moon was probably
vacationing in some other part of the world. Maybe in Nigeria.
When
we appeared on the horizon, I told her I loved her hair, and started to talk
cheerfully with her. That was to make me look harmless, and to point out
clearly that, if there was any villain, she was the one.
Sitting down, I remarked on how impressive
the place was; that I saw the soccer hall out back. They said it was the place
to be. And Tanya opened up... that it was here they brought Naeto C and co.
Jeez! I gat game! It took Naeto C like
three albums to get here... but it took me just one two-months-leave to catch
up.
“That’s
where you found him?” Abbey asked Isabelle. And there probably was a tinge of
resentment in her voice, but only a girl could tell.
Isabelle didn’t answer.
When I sat back down Sasha brought out a
camera... or a phone that had one... and gestured us to close-in together for a
shot. We did, and, click!
‘Send it to my phone please!’ began to
resound.
I would take it from Abbey’s phone at home.
“What
other plans have you girls for tonight?” I asked.
“Dunno.
I’d like to go clubbing.” Tanya.
“Me,
I should go and sleep... Tired!” Sasha.
“Guess
we all gotta go then...” I turned to face Abbey – the host. “Abbey girl, I had
many plans in mind for you tonight but, as it appears, only one’s gon play
out...”
She was mute, and staring at me with glassy
eyes. I continued.
“I
planned to take you out on a romantic, candlelight dinner, order the best wines
for you and then shower you with roses. And at the end of the evening, whisper
the three sweetest words in the world into your ear...” I had her friends’
mischievous attention.
I pulled up to her ears and deposited the
words there. Who couldn’t guess what the words were... but, alas, who could
comprehend why the three-worded speech was eliciting a boisterous mirth!
Abbey laughed loud and long, and I was
happy that, even if it was just this last kick, the girl had a good evening with
me and her friends. Maybe their gossip in my absence was in my favour. Isabelle
wanted to dissolve on her chair. She and Abbey, I presumed, definitely had
scores to settle. But Isabelle didn’t know I was seriously considering her
proposal. Wouldn’t that mean more money?
Abbey excused herself and went to the
waiters’... to discreetly PAY THE BILL – the three words – so we could go home.
If we were lucky, these other girls were unaware of what just happened.
While
Abbey was away, I told the girls how pleased I was to meet them, and that I
would love it if we did this again soon.
“Sure!”
said Tanya, in my calculation, the youngest of them all. “Or we’ll see you at
Abbey’s place.”
There! Abbey told them I lived with her.
And they didn’t protest? Had a lot to tell me about the weight of their African
womanhood. Me, a live-in-doc, who had ever seen that?!
Abbey showed up and
told me she was through. We all got up and I pecked the girls in turns. They
hugged Abbey goodnight. We walked them to their Kia Jeep, and waved as they
left, Isabelle driving. Abbey said she was tired, if I could please drive. I
was only too happy to oblige. To feel the sleek Benz. I opened the passenger’s
door for her this time. On the way I asked her to play something, and we almost
got home before she succeeded. The AC was cool; the singer cooler; the song
coolest. Brandy’s Come A Little Bit
Closer. I wondered what Abbey was thinking? The question was, what was I
thinking? The car was really cool... and easy, like Abbey said. Smooth on the
road, balanced like a toad. Words couldn’t explain what this splendid South
African night was doing to my senses; and look at what was sitting beside me...
one of the prettiest girls in nature. And coming from an ambience of approving friends
on the one hand, and a jealous, scheming one on the other... I thought, we
might get anything we asked of this night.
We were not tipsy, we were totally sober
and clear. If we’d go, we went with our eyes wide open, and our senses intact.
Abbey’s gate... Zuma opened up, and he
didn’t just hail madam, he hailed me too... acknowledging that I was more or
less a landlord now, yikes! It was all good, I thought. Tonight, I’d take all
this to a whole new level.
I
parked the car neatly at its usual spot. I thought Abbey loved it – being
driven by a man in her own car. A man who cared about her. It was nothing
romantic or really interesting for a man to drive a woman in his car. The
romance was in the reverse scenario. It meant I was comfortable with her
affluence – something rare. Men may have driven her in her car in the past, but
where were they now? They hit, and they ran. With me she didn’t need to fear
that, because once she paid my money, everybody went home happy. I wasn’t here
to kiss her feet. Just one of the numerous patients that would come a doctor’s
way in his years of practice. She needed to ward off against falling in love
with me. Love, perhaps, was her curse. I thought we just might find a way to go
around it... to circumvent it... like... tap its pleasures without suffering
the burns of its commitment. It was a new strategy I was devising: how men and
women could enjoy an illusion of love without actually setting foot in its
murky waters. It was pertinent, because love often got mixed up with things
that have nothing to do with it.
First of all, how
does one evolve into the realm of loving and being loved? The first forays
occur in secondary schools. When the parties grow older and become wiser, they
sever relations; and hardly even remain simple friends thereafter. I remain a
living witness! Then they saunter into colleges and universities; if in the
first or second year one finds himself in love again, then he’s not serious.
True love takes time. One’s likelier to find it three or four years on, and
then, there’s no time... or, rather, it’s tested by time and, in Nigeria, it
often fails woefully. The economic backwardness doesn’t favour love. Here,
people marry when it’s time to do so, not when they fall in love and need it
consummated. Men actually go in search of wives – that is, girls to marry, and
their eventual choices have nothing to do with love. They fall in love at the
wrong time... too early on, when they don’t have the economic muscle to back
love up. Then the girls fade away into the hearth of men who came into the
world earlier. The young men disappear into the fields of life, to re-emerge
when today’s babies be ripening. The beat goes on and on.
If South Africa was
anything like Nigeria, Abbey now stood at a desolate spot; a path scarcely
travelled... a woman sky-rockets into fame and fortune, and men steer clear of
her. The younger, poorer men felt insecure; the older, rich men felt
threatened, challenged.
The only person, I argue, who could paddle
smoothly in and out of Abbey’s life now was a doctor who, as it were, has no
motives other than the physical and emotional wellness of his patient. That’s
how I come in. And that was how come I proceeded with bold assiduity – as
though I knew my way around. And once a man is sure of where he’s leading, a
woman’s bound to follow.
I
stepped out of the car and went over to open her door. When I was younger I
never saw the point in opening the car door for a woman. I wasn’t sure I did
now, but if the woman saw it as a sublime gesture, then... why! After all it
wasn’t a stressful thing to do.
Abbey said she was tired. Perhaps she
wanted me to help her get up and hold her hand as we entered the house. I did
more than that... I helped her out of the car and carried her into the house
like a new bride, straight up to her room. I knew she was surprised. She would
have thought I’d lower her into a couch in the living room so we could chat for
a while before going to bed... bringing her up to her room meant I was going to
say goodnight too soon. I tucked her in, kissed her temple, and said goodnight.
On my way she called out. I turned.
“Is
your name truly Iroko?”
“Um...
I said it before that it’s not the name I was christened with... but it’s the
name I now bear. You are to call me that. Don’t you like it?”
Silence.
“Well...
goodnight,” I said again.
She called out again. I turned again.
“Now
I know you hug and peck everyone when you say hello.”
“Well...
if you wanna do a population census of the folks I meet, you might wanna
collect a little more sample than the three people you got.”
Silence.
I said goodnight a third time. She called
out a third time. I turned.
“Couldn’t
you . . . stay?” she said plaintively.
“Erm...
Are you asking me to stay?” I muttered.
“I’d
like you to.”
I walked back slowly and sat by the edge of
the bed. I could have sat elsewhere!
“I
didn’t need to be asked... I actually want to stay more than you know.”
“Then
why were you leaving?”
“Cuz
I’m not sure what I might do...”
“What
you might do? How?”
“In
a world of men and women one must learn to operate cleanly at his chosen
profession without being subdued every now and then by forces that have got
absolutely nothing to do with anything...”
“.
. . I’m sure I’ll get what you’re trying to say somewhere along the line...”
she chuckled.
I scoffed at her innuendo.
“Abbey...
I have a clear vision of where this is going... the result I’m pursuing... the
result you may like to have. You’re really my patient and I take you as such...
but... the unvoiced call of woman to man, which is uttered very distinctly by
your personality, has, all this while, held me to the spot against my intention
– almost against my will...”
I leaned closer as I talked... until the
meeting of our lips was inevitable; then a ball of fiery passion exploded on
her sultry bed. I found that, the hunger in her to be kissed, to be touched,
was almost too intense for me to satisfy... and she was... resisting subtly,but
I kept going... pillaging.
On
my way to cross the last frontier of her sublime womanhood, she mustered a firm
resistance, and spoke... amidst gasps....
“You
know . . . I’m scared of you?”
“Scared
of me?”
“Yes.”
“What
kinda fear? Terror?”
“No,
not terror . . . Reverence . . . more or less.”
“How’s
that?”
“You
may get through me now... and crucify me later with your words...”
“You
think so?”
“Yes
. . . so I really don’t wanna be a fool for you. And, who knows, you might
disappear tomorrow!”
“Do
you think tomorrow has got anything to do with this moment?”
“How
do you mean?” she asked me.
“What
has tomorrow got to do with this? What if I disappear tomorrow? What then?!”
“Then
you would have just had me and, gone with the wind!”
“So
you stand guard at this gate, making anyone who comes to cross to the inside
promise to remain in there for aye?”
“No,
that’s not what I mean...”
“Then
what do you mean, please?”
“I
. . . I . . .” she tries to talk but doesn’t find the words. “Know what, just
forget it!”
“Forget
it and do what?” I asked her, “Leave?”
She was silent.
“Well,
goodnight then,” I said and started making my way out of her room.
“I
didn’t mean you should leave,” she said softly.
I turned around.“I
actually get it, Abbey . . . so lemme think about it. If I can’t guarantee that
I’ll be here for the long road, then I shall never set foot in this your... hallowed
chamber again.”
“Oh...
you don’t have to say that... I’m so sorry.”
“What
do you want me to say? Or what exactly do you want me to do? I may have been
displaying my wit and mastery of my craft... blabbing and spouting gibberish to
you... but I never deceive myself that I know the workings of a woman’s heart
and mind. You might have a different disposition to this arrangement from me.
At first, it was you who could... like... be scared of the stranger; but now I’m
scared of... my friend. With women one ought to always leave room for shocks
and surprises. In your case I must admit that you’ve been surprising me
pleasantly all along, but tonight, it feels as though I just kissed a different
woman.”
“Don’t
say all that please?” she pleaded.
“I’ve
seen this many times... women tryna tie men down to commit to them by simply
dangling momentary pleasure above their heads. But you’re better than that,
Abbey. I’m just so... disappointed in you, I’m sorry to say. Look at you!
You’re beautiful, smart, intelligent, rich, young... but you possess this silly
attitude of ... old hags!
“A man has to want you ab initio... even
before the sex. Even without the sex. And not you offering it in exchange. I
guess a good number of them have played along with you, but where are they now?
Would you rather have someone stay with you because they promised you, or
because they love and respect you...? and miss you when you’re not there?” I
was yelling now. And she just lay in there, too defeated to speak. I rubbed my
victory in....
“Beyond the doctor-patient relationship, I’ve
been having such a good time with you... such an enriching experience . . . And
things were unfurling beautifully... you didn’t need to ruin it.”
She’d been saying she was sorry ever since
but I paid no heed.
Presently, I storm out of the room leaving
her in her dejection.
On
my bed I lay, staring at the ceiling, examining the sense in my fit of fury at
the room of my host. Had I any right to be mad at her? To have yelled at her
the way I did? Was it my business what oaths she made men take before they
fucked her? After all, wasn’t it worth it? Abbey was a very beautiful woman. I
mean, they were great hips we’re talking about here; great boobs. Just the lips
alone... and I would have given up every Rand of my four grand to kiss them for
a minute longer. So what was my rage about? What if she kicked me out? For
yelling at her like that . . . a high society lady?
But
there, we had just quarrelled like lovers. If any of us was indifferent about
the other, she wouldn’t have been sorry... wouldn’t have cried; or I wouldn’t
have been hurt... wouldn’t have embarked on that culpable tirade. But we made
each other feel bad... meant there was more to our doctor-patient relationship
than we were ready to admit.
