LABYRINTHS - TWELVE

The doctor strides out elegantly with a divine intuition that I was the one who brought Abbey.

                “You’re the one who brought Abbey,” she says to me. She knew her name; it was Abbey’s hospital alright! And this may well be her doctor.

                “Yes ma’am... um... Doc!”

                “Please come with me.”

I followed her through turns that led to her office, all the while telling myself that this wasn’t the time to drool at the doctor’s morphological features... Gorgeous and young; to say the least. Was everybody beautiful in Johannesburg or was it just me! Sitting in her cute office she asks what I was to Abbey, friend or family. I dared not say shrink! I dared not!

                “Friend.”

                “Well... do you happen to know her friends... Isabelle... or Sasha?”

                “Yeah, I know ‘em!”

                “They’re not aware she’s here, are they?”

                “No, not yet. It only just happened.”

                “Can you contact them... to come over...? Isabelle especially?”

                “Sure! But aren’t you even gonna ask me what happened?”

                “Yeah... lest I forget... what happened?”

                “She was in her bathroom taking her bath, and didn’t come down for a while. When I checked on her, I found her in the tub, immobile.”

                “You were in the house with her?”

                “Yes, I was.”

                “Did you have any activity prior to her going to bathe?”

                “No... she only just returned from work... rested on the couch for a while, and then went upstairs.”

                “Alright. Get Isabelle as soon as you can.”

                “Doctor is she alright?”

                “She will be. Just make the call!” Then she said, “If you’ll excuse me...”

I got up and left her office.

Outside at the reception, I spotted Zuma sitting at a corner, trying to find tranquillity for sleep. It seemed ridiculous to me. The overwhelming fear I felt about Abbey’s situation didn’t seem to be shared by Zuma or the doctor. I was in No-man’s-land.

It was late in the night already; I couldn’t find a place to make a call. Moreover, I was too dazed to move. I would have loved Zuma to go back to the house and watch, but I wasn’t sure he was going to get a cab; plus I hadn’t come with my wallet. And in my haste I didn’t remember to pick Abbey’s phone.

                By dawn I was still sitting there at the reception, waiting for the haze to clear up a bit so I could drive back to the house. The doctor came passing by now, and saw me.

                “Hello!” she said to me with discernible curiosity, “You’re still around?” She came and sat next to me.

                “Yeah,” I said weakly, “I don’t know the city well... so I’m waiting for the day to brighten up a lil before I hit the road. In my haste I’d left everything behind... my wallet... my phone, n all.”

                “Means you haven’t called Isabelle yet?”

                “No, not yet.”

                “Seems you’re new around here... How long have you known Abbey?”

                “Not long. But it does seem like I’ve known her my whole life.”

                “Is that right!”

                “It seems!” I looked at her.

                “I’m sorry to have bothered you with so many questions Mr...”

                “Iroko!” I said.

                “Iroko? Unusual name. You’re not from around here are you?”

                “No, I’m not.”

                “Okay,” she said, getting up now, “just wanted to let you know that I’ll be going off duty. Doctor Biola will be here shortly to relieve me. She’s Abbey’s doctor, so she’ll be in a better position to assist you.”

                “But Doctor...”

                “You can call me Sarafina,” she interrupts.

                “Okay... um... Sarafina is...”

                “Or Fina... for short. Fina!”

                “Aight... Fina is there a problem? Couldn’t you tell me?”

                “There’s a problem: Abbey’s not well... that much you already know, apparently. It is against the ethics of the profession to disclose a patient’s medical status indiscriminately. If you claim... sorry... if you say you know her and she hasn’t told you some of these things about her, then she probably doesn’t want you to know; and it will be wrong of me to tell you. That’s why I suggested you contact Isabelle... When you do that things will be a lot easier.”

This lady was scaring the crap out of me. This was South Africa: the global hub of HIV/AIDS... I had every reason to be scared. I’d worn protection at the office... for insurance, condoms I got from the World Cup. It was said that ten billion cartons of condoms were provided for the Games, a strong testament to South Africa’s AIDS density. Supposing I had any inkling that Abbey was infected with HIV I wouldn’t even kiss her at all, not to talk of having sexual intercourse with her... even with all the condoms in the world.

                “I have to run, Iroko.” Sarafina broke into my thoughts. “Here’s my card... do call me sometime!”

                “Aight... I should like to. Ba-bye!”

                “Ciao!” she said, and started walking towards the door.

I gazed at her until she disappeared. She was young and pretty. Although fear had now immobilized me, the gesture of giving me her card offered me some sort of relief. If I was a potential carrier she wouldn’t ... give me her card... which could be a launching pad for... an intimate affiliation, maybe! If I lived with Abbey... and... had access to her bathroom... of course Fina wasn’t dumb; she could make deductions. Or was Fina infected too... and was eager to welcome me to the club?

I looked forward to seeing Abbey back up... only then would all this clear up. In the meantime, I had to explore the Isabelle angle... see what relieving lights could come from that source. I put Fina’s card in the pocket of my jeans.

                Doctor Biola had already arrived, and I went in now to talk to her. I knocked, and was invited in.

                “Mr. Iroko, right?” she inquired.

                “Yes please!”

                “Do sit down.”

                “Thank you.”

I saw her name on the name plaque on her desk, and only now did I understand what Fina had been pronouncing. Her pronunciation of Biola had been chequered by her native South African accent. But now I could read the name off the plaque myself; it was certainly Biola – a Yoruba Nigerian.

Fina had obviously told her about me; and I suspected she knew I was Nigerian. And if she did, it wouldn’t then be difficult for her to find out I was Ibo – the notorious business mix – being an Ibo Nigerian. If she was a scrupulous individual she’d certainly pose problems, I thought. But, in any case, wasn’t there a problem already?

                “Forgive my prior knowledge of the fact that you’re a Nigerian... and the attendant scruples. You must be able to realise by my name,” she gestured to the plaque, “that I’m Nigerian too.”

                “It’s okay... whatever you mean.”

She chuckled and I felt that... this was not a good sign. My scheme with Abbey was too feeble to survive any inquisitions... any scrutiny. I didn’t want people to know... let alone a fellow Nigerian who wasn’t on my side. She could cast fatal aspersions on my integrity, and it could crush the entire therapy.

                “Doctor Fina told me she’d asked you to contact Abbey’s friend; have you done that?”

                “I’ll do that once I leave here.”

                “Well, I know Isabelle, just that I don’t have her number right now. You happen to have Abbey’s phone on you?”

                “No. In my haste... I... left it behind. I will call Isabelle,” I emphasized.

                “Okay then,” she said with a tone of dismissal, “you do that.”

                “Doctor, doctor Fina told me you reserve the discretion to enlighten me on what the matter is... Look... you may not know me, but I am deeply concerned.”

                “I quite understand, but I think it’s best if she told you herself.”

                “Means she’ll be alright?”

                “Yeah! And pretty soon too! Just... pray for her.”

                It was now past 8am and Zuma was still dozing at the reception. I went to wake him up so we could go home. His English was too poor for me to understand clearly all that he was trying to say to me... but I concluded he was trying to ask if madam would be okay. I told him yes. And that he had to get back to his post. It was providential that we couldn’t communicate effectively because I didn’t want to talk. Different thoughts ran amok in my head, the most prominent one being... that I’d been courting HIV. HIV density here had been the furthest reputation of South Africa from my mind, even though they were the hardest hit globally. I’d been stupid... thinking I could live my life the way I liked and get away with it... frolicking with women far away from home. I thought about how long I could live with the virus before it killed me... certainly not enough time for all my dreams to materialize. And then the dull prospect of having to live on drugs nauseated and terrified me. What if I missed a day? Two days? What if I couldn’t afford them... in Nigeria? Not a remote possibility! What if they weren’t available altogether? I’d be dead! No matter how long it took, I’d always know South Africa was where I sacrificed my blood – where I died. How did I not recognize the face and smile of death... like Adam Johnson would say! For me, it was too beautiful for thoughts. Too comely. Too alluring. Abbey’s lovely little world was too perfect to be true. Too isolated in a peopled world. Why did I not ask questions as to why her bosom was deserted? That was how people contacted HIV in the first place; by asking after questions they ought to have asked before. For men, they want to take the deep before the girl changed her mind, even though, sometimes, changing her mind would be saving their lives. I hoped that condom didn’t fail me. Now I dwelt on the mathematics of probabilities... the probability of the virus being transmitted via saliva during kissing. Experts say like... ten cups of saliva have to pass from the infected to the uninfected person for there to be a possibility of infection. I got but a little consolation from that for, my thinking was, even if twenty cups was the case, the virus would only need a droplet of saliva to convey it to its new destination; and that droplet could deliver the goods in just a lick – a lick of Abbey’s tongue. And I more than licked it... I almost swallowed it. All the time, cups of infected saliva moving from regions of higher concentration to regions of lower.

                Zuma alerted me... that I was supposed to turn left. I didn’t know about the traffic laws here, so I drove all the way down to a round-about and did a u-turn.

I surveyed the roads and streets. Pretty. They were starting to come alive. Good morning South Africa! Hours ago when we passed this way to the hospital, it was dead. Reminded me of Rush Hours in Enugu, Nigeria. In the mornings the traffic snarl faced Okpara Avenue; in the evenings, Independence Layout. Back then I used to contemplate... what if I went up and zoomed in on the earth from the sky? What would I see? Tiny ant-like creatures lined up in one direction... not altering their course... wouldn’t I wonder why? And then later on they would be facing the opposite direction... wouldn’t I wonder why they must follow the queue even though it delayed them? Of course I wouldn’t know there’s a constructed route... which governments make such huge fusses about! From the height of the sky, such thin lines couldn’t be made out. I was sure the view would replicate the one I often had from my room, watching ants marching across my walls. Sometimes I rubbed my finger against their track, and when they arrived at that spot they scattered. Sure there was a route! And perhaps I destroyed their bridge with my finger. A bridge that may have cost their government a whole lot to build. I was Natural Disaster. These ants... I thought them insignificant; thriving today, pining tomorrow... and dying – the story of life. Elechi Amadi captured it when he said, ‘Against the dome of the sky, the earth were like a ball of dirt; and man the pitiful fungus growing upon it’. How true! At nights we retire to our ant holes; at dawn, we re-emerge to go through the same rigmarole of the previous day. Why do we go to sleep without accomplishing out tasks? Why do we go to sleep only to wake up and return to work? What beats me is that, in this confusion, some people are thieves, murderers, rapists, and evil politicians. O vanity!

But something in man tells him there’s a grand realm he must aspire to, hence his fear of death. The fear of death presupposes that man is aware of a fate, good or ill, which would befall whatever is left of him after his death. And if death were complete oblivion, man is scared of the total loss of his identity in death. But this isn’t the case I dare say. There has to be something more....

For Mother Teresa, who traversed this world and left behind a sweet fragrance of charity; for Luba Lutic, who walked bare-foot through the Nazi Death Camps, saving children who had committed the ‘crime’ of being born Jews, and giving them a chance at life; and for my own dear father and mother back home, whose lives are a continuous giving for the good of others... there has to be something more. Something like a Grammy Awards up somewhere after life... so that people who understood the essence of life and lived it would get some kind of patting on the back. There has to be. I believed it. And, probably, so did these waking South Africans.

                Back on the right road home, I drifted back into my HIV status.

Doctor Fina’s warm smile was my only hope. Her green light. I prayed to God I was safe. I made promises... Once doctor Fina’s warm smile popped up in my thoughts to allay my fears, Doctor Biola’s frowning face waded in to torment me. I banished the thoughts now, and just drove. Isabelle would tell me. And... yeah... what did she want to tell me yesterday, by the way? Yes! Isabelle. Isabelle would speak. O Isabelle! Isabelle dear! You would tell me wouldn’t you? You would, I’m sure. Pretty so.