THE CLAWS OF SHADOWS 4 (FINAL EPISODE)

  TAG:  Fiction, Historical, Mystery.

  click here for Epsiode 3

“Yes, madam,” affirmed Pastor Solomon, and I was struck with disbelief. “As I was saying, he is presently in this state. It was a deliberate concealment. There is a reason behind his action, which wasn’t revealed to us. Your husband shall return sooner or later, and whenever he comes, never regard him as a ghost.”

I stared shockingly at Mum as if to ask, “Am I dreaming? could this be true?” Mum stared at my face with the same questioning look. But then, I wouldn’t doubt any revelation from Pastor Solomon, for he had prophesized many things that had come to pass, to other church members.

“During our prayer,” he continued, shaking his clenched fists, “we saw that this young lady just crossed a devilish fire….”

“Yes, pastor. That is why we’re here. She is my first child.” Mum interjected sharply, amidst her lingering doubt and wonder about Dad.

“Hmn,” He grunted and nodded his head. “That same fire is after your other children. It is the work of the enemies; some satanic people wanted your family destroyed. The seed you are sowing from the little you possess, with your husband’s intervention, saved your daughter from this disaster. ”

“Oh, glory be to you, Jehovah,” Mum spread her palms upwards. Then with a burning apprehension, she said to the pastor, “I hope nothing will happen to my other children. Right now they must be preparing for school, and….” Mum halted and jutted her index finger, confusion flashed across her face like a desperate firefly, “My husband’s intervention. How is that possible?” Mum eventually asked what had blurred my mind like the haze of harmattan.

How could Dad have intervened? Pastor Solomon must be speaking in parables. I guessed he actually meant Dad had been praying for us—if truly he was alive.

Pastor Solomon said he wasn’t in the best position to answer Mum. As for divine protection on our family, he emphasized that we must all fast for seven days and nights to rise above further evils. We thanked Pastor Solomon excessively before departing.

****

In the evening, Tunde and Rachael were left between elation and shock when we unfolded the pastor’s revelation. Three of us were seated in the room with Mum. It was around 5’oclock. We did not prepare fish. Customers had been coming to buy the remaining ones upstairs. “Today is for thanksgiving,” Mum had said. We wished Dad was really alive, and that he would reunite with us soon

I missed everything about Dad. I missed the way he used to take us to the beach on Saturdays, the way he used to brag to his visiting friends that I was a queen, that I was just as beautiful as Mum when he met her. He was my first boyfriend, so to speak—since he was the first man to make me blush and feel good. I couldn’t forget the way he used to tell us many interesting stories, especially the story of war and Yoruba folklores. How would I forget those days when five of us would make a complete family in our royal sitting room? Laughter and Joy would make us seven.  As friendly as he was, Dad would scold and torture us if we did something wrong.

On the three-seater chair across, Rachael was holding Daddy’s framed military picture, staring mournfully at him, tears burning down her cheeks. We must have restored her sadness. Tunde was seated next to Rachael, gazing at the ceiling as if expecting Dad to descend from there. Perhaps he, too, was still skeptical about Dad’s possible arrival. I was seated at the bedside with Mum. She urged Rachael to stop weeping. I went across to collect the picture from her. I resumed my seat beside Mum. Looking at the picture, I felt my hand over it. Daddy’s uniform was different from some soldiers.’ I wondered aloud.

 “Your Dad was holding a colonel rank in force.” Mum responded.

“A colonel rank,” I repeated the word, as though I had never heard it before.

“Don’t tell me you’ve not been taught in school,” she said calmly, but in a reproaching tone, “You should have known the ranks even from your form one.”

Before I could tell Mum I was a little familiar with the ranks, she had started explaining them to me, stage by stage—Dad was actually among the commissioned officers. He had to obtain five more ranks before attaining Field Marshal—the highest in command. He was above five commissioned officers, meaning that he was an authority figure. Meanwhile, I had always assumed that, “A soldier man is always a soldier man, irrespective of the ranks.”

That reminded me of our primary or standard school days, whenever an older pupil wanted to bully us, another would warn, “Ha! If you beat any of them….Don’t you know their father is a soldier man? He would soon come and carry them home in his soldier car, and they would report to him, and he will flog you with a soldier koboko.”

****

Over a week later, I had not resumed work at the restaurant. Although, a day after the incident, Mum had gone to meet my boss, to inform her about it and that I wouldn’t come for a week. Now that the fasting was over, I wanted to spare myself some days before resumption.

On a Saturday afternoon, Rachael and I were seated at Mum’s counter, attending to the customers. Perspiration soaked our cloths for the raging sun. Then a man suddenly overtook the queue of buyers. Rachael insisted that he must join the queue. Or else she wouldn’t sell to him.

“I’m not here to buy anything,” said the young man, producing a brown envelope from his pocket, “I have come to deliver this letter to the woman selling here. Where is she?”

I told him she was our Mum and she’d gone to the market. Then he handed it to me. While collecting the envelope, I looked up at him—a dark mighty man on yellow shirt, brown shorts and hat.

We’re still busy with sales when Mum returned from the market. I gave her the envelope as the buyers awaited the next round. I described the person that brought the letter. Seated beside me, Mum was unfolding the letter with a smile. The letter was from her friend who stayed at Victoria Island, she guessed.  While reading, Mum dilated her eyes, clutched at her chests with left hand and shook her head. I dare not crane my neck to see the content. Mum detested such habit. I wanted her to reveal it to me.

“Oh, at last, thank you Jesus!” Mum rose to her feet, shooting her hands heavenwards, with the letter in her right hand.

She handed the letter to me and shouted, “Rachael, leave what you are doing. It’s a letter from your father!” Mum was so excited that she started dancing and singing praise and worship song.

Rachael jerked to her feet and nearly fell down while rushing to us, as if pursued by a snake. Mummy had not finished reading. Together we held the paper at the edges. We started reading as if the letter was a JAMB question and the invigilator would call “Time up!” in a few seconds.

The first paragraph began with an assurance that the letter was from Rufus Adeoye, and apology that he had left us for over five years without prior information. His absence was for the family safety, he said. When he was nominated by his superiors as one of the inspectors at war-front in early 1969, he consulted the pastor of our former church, reverend Mathew, about the journey. The reverend recommended that he left the country for a while if he wanted to live long with his family. The reverend said his comrade who envied his rank was planning to murder him on the battlefield. And some of his relatives who resented him were also planning to destroy our entire family, so as to inherit the wealth.

The second paragraph proceeded with the exile period mentioned by the reverend. It was actually five years, so the enemies would believe he had died at war. And consequently they would reveal themselves. (I smiled and shook my head. The enemies had indeed shown themselves. Mr. Ojubanire was certainly their leader). The reverend said he shouldn’t inform any living soul about his journey. He said the day he supposedly bade us goodbye for the war, he was secretly heading for South Africa. He stayed with his friend who resided at Queenstown in South Africa. There, they were into import and export trade.

Third paragraph—he said he’d returned to Nigeria with his friend for past a month, at Lagos Island. After a thorough enquiry, he had located our present residence. He was aware of our condition and realized those that afflicted us. But he would leave them to God. He actually decided to hide himself until his mission was accomplished. One of his missions was that he went to the military office and tendered a formal resignation letter, but they pleaded his return for his great service in the past. They thought he had been murdered by the Biafrans. But now they believed he survived and purposely left the country. So they wanted to promote him.

Fourth paragraph—he said he again consulted reverend Mathew, who then asked him to assume the office. My siblings and I were still in danger, but he would keep praying for us, the reverend told Dad. Dad said he deployed some securities to watch over our day-to-day movements. He mentioned how those securities had combated my abductors, and how he forewarned them to leave no trace behind. The securities had come back to survey the Peugeot car, and investigation proved that the assassins were sent by Dad’s friend, Lieutenant-Colonel Godwin, now a Major General. Dad said he had taken legal measures on him with all the proofs at hand.

 (I recognized that man quite well. Dad used to dominate him with one rank, but now he was leading with two ranks. He was a regular visitor in our house then. Dad used to bring out our photo albums for his visiting friends. That accounted for how he must have gotten my picture. I believed he decided to destroy us when he realized that Dad was alive. I took a long sigh—a family member and a close friend? We should just beware of those that are close to us like shadows, for they are prone to do us evils. They might have claws on their fingers.)

The conclusion—Dad said we should to start packing our necessary belongings. He would come on the following morning. We’re relocating to the new mansion he bought at Lagos highland.

“Oh, my God!” I burst into a scream.

Rachael knelt on the ground, stretching her hands skywards with tears on her face. At that moment, Tunde was coming with football in his hand. After reading the letter, Tunde started jumping around the way he usually did when Nigeria had re-equalized a goal at African nations cup. The waiting customers, including our Amebo neigbours, began to look as if we had gone mad.

***

In the morning, around 9am, two vehicles parked in front of the house. Three of us had been standing outside, so anxiously like children awaiting mother’s return from night-market. Dad was stepping down from a Mercedes Benz in a new military uniform. Together we ran to him amidst our states of euphoria. Dad opened his arms, apparently to receive us one by one. But we enveloped him at once. He wrapped his hands around our heads, expressing how much he’d missed us, with more apologies.

“We miss you more, Daddy,” Rachael said, sniffing, “I’m happy you’re alive. I hardly believed the letter you sent.”

 “I promise you shall all complete your education in the United States,” Dad was assuring us with a big smile, after we separated from him. “Oh, my goodness!” We all began to jump in utmost excitement. I felt my head spinning on my neck. Tunde must be a lucky boy. It was a chance for him to reunite with Tasha. I wondered how shameful Mrs. Lawrence would become. Indeed, no man could ever hinder a destiny.

I never realized Mum was standing behind us until I glanced back. She was wearing a blissful smile. The other car was occupied with soldiers. I saw the man that brought the letter among them.

Mum and Dad cuddled like a newly wedded couple. The whole street began to watch as if we’re staging a cinema. Our landlord was standing upstairs, unable to shut his lion mouth.




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