TAGS: FICTION, ROMANCE, SERIES
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Confused, I push the door open. The traffic is
worsening on this lane. I cautiously pass through the slow-moving cars.
On getting to
the rowdy scene, I move towards the crowd along the ATM house if I could see
Mathew, the secretary, and the driver.
“Please, carry
him!”
“Let’s get a
car, quick, quick”
“Don’t let him
die here please!”
The ringing
voices of the crowd send my head spinning on my neck. Forcing my way in, I bump
shoulders with three young men, a woman backing a baby, two old men —my intestines
clenching and squeezing from the sharp smell of cannabis, body odours like
stenches of dead rats. I seize my breath, trying to see their object of
curiosity.
I crane my neck —once, twice, then I see…
“Please, please, please. Help me carry him
please!” I scream and explode with terror, tapping the back of a man in front
of me, “He is my driver. I sent him on an errand!”
He is writhing
on the ground like a salted earthworm, stomach heaving like a stormy river,
mouth gushing with white foam. Oh my goodness!
“You send a man
of this age on an errand?” A woman snaps at me, anger-stricken.
“Wha—
wha— what is wrong with him?” I utter the
word in a fast, frenzied tempo, as if my tongue is burning behind my trembling
lips.
Some people hiss and walk away, others staring
at me, eyes injecting my skin like needles. Just then, two men are bending over
my dying driver after scrutinizing me from my head to toes.
“I go carry am
inside my motto. Na big money I go collect sha O!” says the Yoruba man, trying
to lift the man by the shoulder, but avoiding the foams.
“I don’t care
how much. Please just help me!”
Then suddenly, somebody
is pushing through the crowd, with two bottles of water.
Oh. Mathew!
Before the men
could lift him Mathew pours the cold water on him. But it makes no difference. He is still under convulsion.
A chunky part
of me is swallowed by a strong fear—the minor part, excitement. I’m fearful that
the driver might give up, which will be weighed on my neck, excited that Mathew
is within reach.
One of the men hurries across the road to
start a Taxi cab. Mathew assists the other to carry the victim. They lay him at the backseat. Meanwhile, the crowd
already scattered like cluster of flies invaded by insecticide.
I occupy the seat beside the cab driver. Right
behind me is Mathew, the convulsing man in the middle. The car breaks into a speed—a
sluggish speed. Rack-ta-ta, rack-ta-ta, rack-ta-ta, cries the rickety auto
parts. The knocks and whacks of the engine is much more irritating, my head
swells with aches—thunderous aches. We’re still heading to the Lagos General
hospital, the closest here in Marina Broad Street. Almost a mile away.
What have I gotten myself into? I wonder what
happens to him. Could it be epilepsy?—impossible. When did that start? He’s
been working with me for literally eight months— a fifty-two-year-old Benin man
with five children.
****
The nurses rush him inside on the emergency stretcher.
Thank you Lord! He’s still breathing. I implore the doctor to give a first aid
while I rush to get my ATM card in my car. This is the same hospital Mum was
admitted for high BP. I visited Mum on a daily basis for a whole week. So the
doctor immediately acknowledges me. Dad had personally given the doctor a
hundred thousand, for restoring his wife’s health. He sure knows that my father
is a VIP.
“We shall begin the treatment right away,” The
doctor says, “Just hurry up!”
“I’m so
grateful sir, that’s my driver, Please and please save his life doctor!” My
fear is more transparent in my frantic voice than my comportment. And the
doctor can sense it. I barely finish the statement before he speeds to the ward
like a lightning.
Those two motorists are seated at the reception.
On their faces are bright masks of expectations. They are definitely waiting for
the fare. Mathew is seated at the
opposite bench, gazing at the celling. We have not exchanged a single word
since this incident.
“Please just a
minute!” I say to the men, brushing my palms together.
And right now Mathew looks ahead, at me, “Take
it easy Miss!”
“I will be
right back, Mathew. Please, don’t leave yet.”
“Oh yeah, I
will be here.” He says, glancing at his wrist watch.
“Fabulous!”
My high heels resounding like series of
thunder-claps. I nearly trip off while rushing down the stairs. Some questions
are craving answers in my head. Mathew should be able to give a detailed
account of the incident. This is no time for such question. I wonder how the
secretary vanished. That pig. She is the cause of this. I will make sure she is fired.
*
About twenty
minutes later, I dismount from a bike at the frontage of the hospital. I have cashed
a sum of N120, 000 at the ATM, close to the junction. I don’t have any idea
about the bill. I presume it will cost nothing above eighty.
Walking through
the reception, I can’t find Mathew on seat. I ask the two men about him. He has left for the restroom, says one of
them. Then I reward them with ten thousand each. They begin to praise me like a
goddess at shrine, adding slangs and hails I couldn’t comprehend. These men should
be in their early forties, both cladded in shorts, except that one is wearing a
lace top and the other one, a shabby polo shirt, each with Dunlop slipass. I’m rather stunned than surprise when they
prostrate flat before me.
What!
I hurry off.
At the
reception desk, the receptionist says the doctor needs my attention. On getting to his office, I sit in the
opposite chair, my composure shattering away.
“Young lady,”
the doctor begins, removing his eyeglasses, “Just be calm. He is responding to
treatment. If he had been admitted two or three minutes later, a tragedy might
have occurred. We have carried out a test. Your driver is having a slow poison
in his system…”
“Poison?”
“Yes. He will
be fine. According to the diagnosis, the poison was mixed with a substance he
consumed not less than forty minutes ago….”
Not less than
forty minutes! It resonates in my head.
I have lost the appetite to eat the remaining apple, out of the three I brought
from home. And I gave it to the driver. He ate it before coming downstairs.
“What is the
substance like?” I ask.
Then the doctor
leans back as though my question necessitates a relaxation, “A fruit of some
kind.”
I bother not
asking any further question about it. Too much for me to believe. Was the fruit
poisoned by somebody or something? If yes, why must it be that particular one? What
if he had been affected by the poison on the highway? I wonder what would have
become of me.
I sigh.
***
After settling
the bills, I walk straight to Mathew at the reception. He’s staring upward— still
like a statue, his face absent. I sit closely beside him, yet he never stirs.
As if to whisper into his ear, I call softly,
“Mathew…Mathew....”
Until I
increase my voice a bit more. He is startled as if shocked with electric wave.
“Oh, you are back. How is he?”
“The doctor
said he’s responding to treatment.” I
don’t want to tell him about the poison issue. I need to keep that to myself
for now.
“Good to hear
that.” He says; after a long pause, he sighs deeply like one intending to
commit suicide.
“Mathew. You’re
not feeling alright, are you?”
“I’m okay.” He says,
rather weakly.
“You are not,
Mathew. Do you know how long I’ve been here, calling your name.…” I keep my voice as low as I could so the
person on the next seat wouldn’t hear.
I must know why
he’s been so moody. My driver’s condition could not have rendered him as
miserable, since there is no bond between them.
He shakes his head and gives a sigh, “It’s my
mother. “
“What about her?”
“Her sister
called in the morning that she’s been rushed to the hospital, from a severe
high blood pressure… ”
“Jesus!” I shift, or rather bounce on my seat,
shocked.
He is silent. Speechless.
But I want him to continue. That’s the same symptom my Mum is curing. But hers
is now under control.
“So what is the
next step? Whe…where is she at this moment?” My voice is a bit higher than a
whisper.
He wastes a few seconds before a response: “Her
hometown, Ibadan. The only problem is I don’t…I don’t….” his voice staggers, head
nodding frantically, “I can’t just afford the hospital bill.”
“Oh my….!” I
exclaim quietly, my body melting like a burning wax, “Please, how much is the
bill?”
“The bill is much.”
“How much is
it?”
“Fifty thousand
naira,” he says hesitantly.
“Fif…fifty.
Just that?”
He nods.
“That’s no
problem at all, Mathew.” I begin to rummage through my bag, “I think I still have
about…...Damn it! You know what?”
YINKA
I keep mute.
She doesn’t sound like she requires a response.
“Just follow
me. Come over.” She smiles, motioning me along.
Fluently and gracefully she walks ahead of me. Like dead ashes and
coals, my dead muscles and veins are instantly kindled alive with fuel of
excitement, my head returning to my neck; my lungs invaded by deep fresh air.
According to
Chinedu, she just likes me. Nothing more. But to me, she is the sun that
lightens my shadowed heart, if not for fate.
I wish
I hadn’t succumbed to Sandra’s stupidity. Up till now I’m still wondering what
the driver was looking for. He collapsed by the road, some meters away from me.
While I struggled to revive him Sandra was hurrying away like a green snake. People
rushed to the scene wondering how they could help. But majority thought he was
an epileptic patient; thus, avoiding the infection. I rushed to get some water,
and I returned only to find Janet. I
have decided to satisfy Sandra before the incident. I’m excited I didn’t betray
myself.
*
I look away as Janet
processes the cash. I fear she would change her mind, like Sandra did at the
peak of my hope. I’m leaning against the wall about two feet away, my file clutched
to my right hand.
The ECHO bank
ATM is facing one of the major crossed-roads in the city of island. Far across,
buses and motorcycles are struggling, pulling, overtaking, horning, screeching
brakes. None is ready to obey the traffic light. Two motorists on the road exchanging
insults, then knuckles, kicks. More kicks. One conductor is banging the body of
a bus in front. Just then my eyes shift away.
From far above, the roads are brightly painted by the streetlights in
creamy white. The distant buildings are less tall, but dark as charcoal and patched
with multiple colours like Christmas trees.
“Mathew, this is
a hundred thousand naira.”
Janet plucks my
mind from the scenery. I stare shockingly at the bale in her right hand.
“Take it.”
I pause,
hesitate, as if to ask if the money is meant for me. My lips begin to burn with
words of appreciation. She motions me to stop, using a quick wave.
“Would you
spare me all those gratitude,” she beams, her voice tender like the cool breeze,
caressing my ears like a feather.
“You can go now. But make sure you see me
tomorrow.”
“I
will. I will. Thank you. Thank you so much, ma’am.”
Then her eyes open
wide, face shaded with protest. She clears her throat dramatically.
“Thank you…Miss.”
“Yap. Fabulous!” She smiles, rubbing palms together.
She also forbids my address of
“ma’am” or “ma”. Is this supposed to be
an evidence of liking too?
****
I’m getting to work around 9.45 am, when I’m
supposed to resume by 8:am. Last night I’ve
called Mama’s sister and she said Mama was eventually given a proper treatment.
Again, in the morning, l received a call that she is responding well to
treatment. According to her, she could borrow some money from her friends, so
the money made up 26,000. Thirty minutes ago I have sent a sum of N70, 000 to
her bank A/C, and thirty minutes after, she contacted me about receiving the alert.
She was surprised. Then I hinted her about my boss, how she’s been so kind to
me, how she’s become my benefactor. I ask her to keep praying for her, and to
inform Mama when she’s alright.
“Is Miss Adaeze in the office?” I
ask the receptionist.
She nods, “Yes, she is around. She
asked after you.”
She then calls her telephone line,
asking if I can come inside.
“She said you can come over, and
no further visitors.” she says after dropping the phone.
“Okay, thanks.”
“I hope you’re going there right
now.” She says, curving the corner of lips like cow horns and grunts like a
chocking pig.
It’s obvious in her tone and face that she’s
among those birds of rumour.
I keep quiet and turn back on her.
Sandra abruptly drops her face on the keyboard
as I walk past her. She clears her throat loudly, several times.
At the office door, I knock
lightly and open. As usual, she beams beautifully at me like early morning sun.
“Have your seat, dear.” She
motions me to the opposite seat.
Getting Seated, I begin to thank
her again. With two stretched palms, she
cuts my gratitude.
“That’s okay,” she says and asks
after my mother. She’s glad to hear she is now responding to treatment.
“And how is the driver?” I also ask.
“Cool, cool. He will probably be
discharged tomorrow.”
“Oh, good to hear,” I remark, then
drop my head.
I still have to bow or stare
above her head while addressing her. Aside from the restriction, there seems to
be something about her face that would pleasantly hurt your eyes. Just like a
crystal glass, her features are delicately built and magical. She must have
been a river goddess in her past life.
I’m expecting her to tell me the
purpose of the invitation; rather she keeps quiet, staring deeply at me— absent-minded.
The silence is very loud, stretching
close to two minutes. Her stare is setting
fire on my seat, so that I’m forced to adjust my hot bums.
“Mr. Frances will return today,
right?” I break the silence.
She is jerked to life like one
sprinkled with iced water, “Woops! Sorry. Frances, you said?”
“Yeah... Mr. Frances, when will he
be back?”
“He has postponed his trip to next
week,” she says, then sighs deeply.
She opens her drawer, producing a wrapped
object of 30cm by 40cm, 2 inches thick.
“It’s yours, unwrap and give your candid
opinion,” She extends the object to me with dazzling smile. Even with my hands
around it, I can’t figure out the content.
My heart is now beating in
anticipation. Hesitantly, I begin to peel the tape at the edges, glancing at
her in the process. She rounds her lips. This time, the smile is more transparent
in her eyes than her face.
Clock, clock, clock, clock, clock…my
heart knocking faster —the wrapping is about to be removed.
I freeze.
Grab my chest to hold back my bursting heart. Oh my good God!
Next Episode will be out 27/12/2014
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Breaking the fear(short story)
And the suspense keeps going towards the pinnacle. My mind is blank. I don't know what to expect next. Brilliant work.
ReplyDeleteI like your good use of similes, they worked just fine.
Can't wait for the next episode. Pls don't be long in posting it.
Thanks, thanks, thanks for your kind words. I really, really appreciate!
ReplyDelete