Karl finally stepped off the plane in Port Harcourt. There had been a wait when they stopped in Lagos but those flying on were not allowed to leave the plane. He needed to stretch his legs. Properly. Not the tight walking up and down the aisle one. Uncle T was behind him, already on his phone, already doing what he seemed to be doing all the time: business. He had chatted to Karl about it. About the Italian leather loafers he imported, and the handbags and dresses. And the shea butter products he was so proud of. New thing. Would take off. Once he got it right, he would manufacture in Nigeria, but for now he was working with someone in Italy. Old business friend. Uncle T had talked about all the nice things he brought to Nigeria, which could be bought for very nice prices. The shop he had started with and the wholesale he was now doing, which included shipping containers and frequent trips to Italy. Had made an effort, sincere and all, to draw the teenager in, show him his world.
But Karl and his inner thought process was busy with the voice of his father, which he had heard a few times during the past weeks. Always short, awkward conversations. Had learned that he worked for one of the oil companies in the area. Piping field engineer. Karl asked, ‘What is that then?’ but he answered in it’s obviously designing and maintaining pipes and doing stress analysis innit, which meant zero point zero to Karl. No bloody explanation. They did not have the same flow as Uncle T and he did. Adebanjo did not have the same pulling-the-youth-in, all-warm-and-cosy style. But then Uncle T had a seventeen-year advantage. Godfrey said it like that. Uncle T had known about Karl for that long. Adebanjo was still catching up.
Karl had no clue about his father’s work. What made sense were Uncle T’s spotless outfits. And his well-moisturised hands and face, the good-smelling body. Uncle T was about to launch the whole cosmetic range. He was a caring-about-appearance guy in more than a few ways.
Karl was heading into the gooey air Uncle T had warned him about. The seasons. Different to the UK. Even the rain.
‘Normally it is very hot, but it is rainy season.’ He laughed. ‘You will see. Sometimes the cars look like they are swimming.’
The sky was cloudy. A blanket of white hung low as if it was going to bang down on the people underneath. Force them to lie down. Have their arms spread wide, like in an ambush. A bit like the police trying for the brown youth. Uncle T had told him about the downpours that could make water levels rise in the city because there was nowhere for it to escape to. Traffic stopped as it rose calf-high, drainage not prepared enough. An hour later the water would have done a runner, metaphorically speaking, and people would be on their way again. Often it was better to wait it out. Stay somewhere until the rain stopped, until the water had found nooks and crannies it could escape through. But not now. Maybe it was his welcome, spare his good trainers from getting soaked. He walked, leaning forward into the humid wall that was the air, holding tightly to the backpack from Godfrey.
‘Return it, please. And I want to see you back here in two weeks.’
A cheesy smile in reply. It had almost pushed Godfrey over, it was so sudden, after all their hard-fought battles. Just like the heat was laying its heavy arm on Karl now, trying to push him, trying to get him to lose control of his gangly limbs.
‘OK then,’ Godfrey had return-smiled. ‘And updates. You hear me? Daily updates. Text messages when you can’t call but phone calls if you can. And that is not a question.’
Uncle T gently pushed from behind to help him along, so Karl raised his shoulders quickly, the bag positioning itself neatly (enough) on his shoulders. He looked back. Uncle T was talking fast – it seemed urgent – but he was smiling at Karl, apologies in his eyes. Karl walked through the boarding bridge and although he was warm and muggy and with luggage, he felt light, floaty. All romantic, blurry-eyed, you know how that shit gets you. He was here.
The phone found connection almost immediately. A text. Roaming rates. Expensive. Super expensive. Karl was relieved he had let Abu talk him into getting a Blackberry the previous year. He hadn’t been convinced at first. They were ugly, man, nothing for style as far as Karl was concerned. But it was cheap. The messaging. Free. That’s if you had data loaded up. You couldn’t do better than that. At least he would be able to keep Abu in the know. He wasn’t so sure about the others with other phones. Godfrey. Rebecca. But he didn’t plan on making himself available to them so much. Baba Abu’s words kept repeating on him like a heavy dinner since that day they sat in the kitchen. There is no need to make this a secret. But Karl hadn’t told her. All this talking they had done. All the how close were they and was everything going fine, family-wise. And not one mention of Uncle T. Who had come to see him. His mother who was all we’re equal and in this together. He had nothing to say to Rebecca.
It was cooler inside the building, but he wasn’t prepared for this. The people! The chaos in front of him made his vision blurry. He couldn’t make out where to go. Everyone seemed to know what to do, where to be, and one-sided conversations raised the volume levels. Phones. Everyone on theirs, talking, telling of the arrival, asking where pickups were. The lot. At least that’s what he thought. The noise. As if a tap had been turned on. Gush. In one go.
Uncle T caught up and pushed again. Karl had a hard time moving. There was a family of six, mother with a baby in one arm and a stylish handbag in the other, father with two oversized carry-ons and the other three kids, varying in size, with a matching set of adult backpacks, brand-new, attached to their backs. One of the kids was so small that Karl couldn’t see the back of his head, just the rounded zipper bit of the backpack. There was a group of friends, students, Karl assumed, in the trendiest sportswear, speaking into the latest mobiles, pushing past him while joking and egging each other on. What Karl didn’t know. Their words were lost in the rest of the commotion. There were purposeful people with determined looks who didn’t deviate from their way out. They pushed through the crowd with long strides. Karl’s head was spinning.
‘Let’s go.’
Uncle T had finished his phone call. He pointed ahead, past the sea of black people.
‘You queue over there.’
It was hard enough to stay level with this much newness. The sounds, the smells, the colourful outfits interspersed with sports and business wear. He felt lost. And scared. How to fit in here? How to even try?
But this part, immigration, produced even more dizziness. This was only sweat. Nothing else. No question mark, no slow trying to catch your feet. Just bare panic. He closed his eyes for a second. Breathe man, just breathe. He could hear Abu. The visa was approved, the Port Harcourt address verified. All he needed was for it to go quick. No overzealous immigration officer, aka gender police in the making. Karl took out the mobile again.
heat man!!! no rain in site. @ passport control. Im here. Cant believ it. All gud so far. wish me luck
An officer in a beige uniform walked along the queue that was forming. What his role was supposed to be was a bit difficult to see. The foreigners from the plane were lining up with Karl. It was easy to spot the lot of them, either white or light-skinned, like Karl, almost as if they were carrying signs: really not from here. They were all older than Karl, mostly male, travelling by themselves with little luggage. Their faces were getting sweaty, like Karl’s, but theirs were changing to much deeper red tones. There was a general wiping going on, a couple of chequered handkerchiefs, back of the hand wipe – that sort of thing.
Uncle T had disappeared to the other end of the small hall.
Karl’s eyes followed the officer who stood next to a burly bloke with one large bag hanging over his shoulder. They were shaking hands and a few notes were slipped from one palm to the other. The officer caught Karl staring and Karl focused on his trainers instead. The burly man proceeded to the raised immigration booth and exchanged a few words with the officer behind the glass before leaving the queue and the airport altogether.
‘You have something for me?’ The man in beige appeared next to Karl.
The line was moving faster than he had thought. A lot of the white men in the queue had someone waiting for them, someone in uniform who would fast track them down the line, past the raised booth and out.
The officer looked at Karl. ‘What did you bring for me?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Karl swivelled around. Where was Uncle T when you needed him?
‘Anything.’
‘I’m sorry? I don’t understand. It’s my first time. My uncle …’
The officer didn’t hide his pity and waved him forward. He had arrived at the raised booth and the man took his passport from his shaking hand and gave it to the man inside the booth. Another officer. He took the passport, looked at the picture, looked at Karl. Karl made himself scarce, pulled himself away from his skin, disappearing inside his bloodstream so that nothing on the outside could touch him. But the guy was still looking. Staring. No bloody subtleness at all, just full-on fixation. Curious and shit but unmoved, no smile, no softening, no invitation to exchange a few pleasantries. Nothing. Then waved to the supervisor behind him, who disengaged from the guy he was chatting with, in slow motion. Before he could make it to them, officer number three arrived, a guy who had been inside the building, further down, closer to the exit. Number three placed his folded arms on the rim of the small cubicle. He was about to tell officers number one and two, the one walking Karl over and the one in the box, something funny. You could see that because he was already smiling about it, like he knew this was a real good one. When he opened his mouth officer two shoved the passport in his face.
‘Ah ah, they no know how to dress demselves. Dis one, no be woman …’
Officer number three, unimpressed, still smiling, licked his lips. Looked at the picture, but didn’t really. Didn’t care one single bit.
‘My friend, leave am now. No be our problem.’
Karl smiled. That shy, I’m so damn unaware of my charm but I’m throwing everything your way smile. Because right now I need it to work, I need that charm to charm you out of asking me too many questions, out of extending this, making it obvious for everyone around. Embarrassing me. Hurting me. Making this unbearable.
And dangerous.
That’s it. Someone had sense, he would be moving on in no time, just like most of the white dudes who had been in the queue before him. All he had to do was get some damn oxygen into his body so he wouldn’t collapse right here. Before he had officially made it to Nigeria. Breathing in, breathing out, one two, one two. Focus on pairs instead of the throng of officials shuffling around the little cubicle. Officer number two was flipping through the passport pages, thumb cinema-like. Officer one was casually looking at it and then at Karl again. Only Spain, otherwise no other country had ever seen this gathering of well-stitched pages.
The supervisor arrived.
Four of them now; officer number three still shrugging his shoulders, ready to move on, finally drop that story. Who cared about whatever it was; it was a long time until they were off; why make life harder by winding yourself up like that? And right at the start of their shift?
‘Wetin worry you? Leave am now. De family will tell am.’
Karl looked at Uncle T, who had walked through the Nigerian citizens’ line and was now far ahead. A questioning look. Karl quickly shaking his head, vigorously. Number four, the supervisor, followed his glance.
‘Your father?’
‘Uncle.’
The officer looked back and forth between them.
‘But my father is waiting for me,’ Karl added, the word unfamiliar, almost sideways in his mouth. The puddle of sweat on his lower back was descending, trickling between his cheeks into his underwear. Father. Even more foreign than his first experience of the country. ‘He is outside.’
Number four’s face stopped doing what it was doing midway, the expression frozen. And like his face, time was now freezing over, sucking out all movement until everything became unreal, dangerously flat, a wall that would collapse and bury you in its debris.
Number three was looking around, trying to find someone else to chat with because this was defo no chatting whatsoever. Not what he had in mind when he had come over. Number two was still staring at Karl. At the long T-shirt that was hanging over his jeans. The trainers that were holding the jeans up, as it seemed. Number one? Had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do.
It was a bit much. The attention. The waiting. The not saying much. A whole group of people, yet again focus on Karl.
‘Your father is outside?’
Number four seemed to have recovered. Karl nodded, eyes sending nothing cute and charming any more just good old please. Pleading. But number four was already reaching inside the booth. Fumbled around. Then a quick stamp. Officer two shook his head. Supervisor handed the passport to Karl, ‘Welcome to Nigeria’, ignored everyone else and walked off.
Officer two annoyed. Disapproving.
‘Na crazy, dis one.’
But there was nothing else to be done. The group dispersed.
Karl was through and out the other side.
Uncle T, who was already close to the exit, talking to a man slightly shorter than him, his round face much darker, a tone that glowed attentively, a bit like Nalini’s make-up on a fresh winter day. He had a kind of stiff appearance, not quite as confident as Uncle T.
Karl slowed down. Stopped. The air fell, dropped on to him. Again. The weight of it all.
Uncle T turned around. He was speaking very fast with the dark-skinned man, who in turn inspected his shoes, then travelled with his eyes to Uncle T’s face, looking like he had done something, his shoulders pulled up to his ears. Uncle T’s hands were rotating like windshield wipers now. The man looked younger than Uncle T, as if he was barely making it out of his twenties. Fresh-faced and nervous.
Karl? Transfixed, stared at the exit door, holding on to his backpack. No one had said what he was supposed to do. Stand next to them? Wait? You would think there were instructions, that they would have thought about that. You would think these things were clear. Arrival. The father. And then improvise. But it was sort of before all of that. Arrival, yes. But to what? Didn’t the father say, ‘We look forward to welcoming you’? Why did the welcome exclude him? And why did it piss off Uncle T?
verb
Uncle T saw Karl standing and turned around. Took Karl’s hand, grabbed the backpack with his other, and started to walk, pulling Karl along.
‘Why is he not coming over here?’ Karl asked. ‘He doesn’t look like he wants to see me.’
‘Karl.’ Uncle T stopped before they reached the now smiling man with two rows of very evenly formed if not oversized teeth.
‘Karl … This is not your father.’ He paused for a second, his assuredness wavering for the tiniest bit. You could have missed it, Uncle T was that good, but it was there. Worry.
‘This is John, your father’s driver and assistant.’
In the way he said it, the way he had stopped walking and held Karl’s hand, looking away slightly, it was already clear. Something was off here. If Karl hadn’t sweated so much at immigration, he probably would have smelled it all along.
‘Where is he then? At home?’ His voice was croaky. The words hurt when they forced themselves out of his mouth.
John was walking towards them, dragging Uncle T’s supersized rolling suitcase behind him, squashing the protective space between them. Soon there wasn’t anything left, no buffer whatsoever. Karl felt like turning back, running back through security, telling them to not worry, he would not upset dress codes any longer. Instead he would be sitting in the plane, waiting for it to refuel, then straight back to London. To King’s Cross. To Abu.
John extended his hand, his lips par ted, the smile overwhelming. Those teeth, wow! They came forward in one coordinated long jump.
‘Welcome Karl. I am John. I am a distant cousin of your Uncle Tunde’s wife.’
Uncle T was nodding. Yes, family, distant, but still. Without thinking, Karl took the hand, like a robot, and shook. His eyes full of questions, the shoulders so low now they could have mopped the floor.
‘Your father couldn’t be here.’ John shot a quick look at Uncle T, then smiled again.
Panic rose in Karl, making his feet itch. He needed to clear his head ASAP or he would explode.
Uncle T put his arm around his shoulders. ‘My friend.’ He drew him in. ‘Nephew. Ah ah, the new addition to our family!’
He smiled here, waited for a second to cement his sincerity. Impart it on to Karl. The you are welcome here. I will take care of you. I promised.
‘Don’t worry, it is well.’ And he looked at John. ‘Your father had to take care of a few things unexpectedly and could not be here. But you are welcome. Very welcome! Now the two of us will have time to get to know each other even better.’
The smile became a laugh now, meant to snap them all out of the awkwardness that had descended so suddenly it popped your ears. His hand patted Karl’s shoulder.
‘Don’t worry. It is well. We should be moving on. You must be hungry. And tired.’
Karl nodded absentmindedly. He should have stayed home. King’s Cross. Safe. Take some out-of-control youths any day.
His mobile beeped and buzzed. A text. His hand went for the phone in his jeans, fingers automatically unlocking it, pressing view. You could think they were born that way, the young’uns, movements coordinated in response to the latest tech in their front pockets.
so whats he like? Abu.
Karl stared at the screen, then at John, who was smiling, taking him in, somehow already down with Karl, already sure that theirs would be a good connection. Karl thought about the father who was MIA. And his mother. Had the father done a runner on her as well?
‘Please let me take that.’ John took the backpack from Uncle T, swung it on to the giant suitcase, and smiled at them both.
‘Let us go. The car is over there.’
And walked off. Uncle T pushed. Karl’s legs responded, unconsciously, obedient.
And now it was here. The Nigeria. With Karl in it.
The heat slapped him. He felt like holding on to something and grabbed at Uncle T’s shirtsleeve, but the well-dressed man’s stride was too quick and Karl missed him. And there was the noise again, like a swarm of bees on steroids. Miced up to the max. All was quick and slow at the same time. Loud and muted. The walk to the car, through the crowds of people, unorganised but all on a mission and not shy of explaining so, in raised voices and accents and languages Karl didn’t understand, meeting their relatives who were waiting, or their friends who were overjoyed to see them, past the porters who rushed over and tried to grab their bags but who both John and Uncle T waved away, past the only people who were not rushing or loud or purposeful: the airport personnel – they stood or leaned or sat in slowed timing, dragging out every second leisurely to make it meet the end of their shift sooner. People were staring at Karl and smiling and saying things he couldn’t hear because his ears were not cooperating. He couldn’t make out individual sounds, then it faded away, and he saw moving mouths in slo-mo, the volume turned off.
They pushed through the exit door, past the taxi drivers who offered their services, offering all sorts of rates and making all sorts of promises. Karl shook his head and shook off hands that were grabbing him and kept himself upright. Here. He. Was.
Finally they entered the vehicle. Karl in the back. John driving, Uncle T chatting away from the front seat.
This is the airport road. This is this. This is another this. And this info belongs to this another this. It is related to that (story etc.) and ah you will understand later. You see here? Another this.
Karl couldn’t hear his words properly, brain racing so hard there was no space for them to enter, but he tried to take in the scenes, the sound the crickets made in the fading light. Chirping, charging the air that started to feel less heavy, as it was cooling now. The people, the noises, the roads they bumped over, the holes they tried to avoid and sometimes proper rattled over. The houses that looked like they were shedding skin, like they needed moisturiser, TLC. A lick of paint.
There were low-level buildings that looked like shacks, set back from the road, large puddles in the dirt in front. Rusty cars parked aside. Then some real shacks with aluminium roofs. A few high-rise buildings in grey with no windows or doors, or anything at all once Karl looked closer, nothing but its cement shell. Blocks of missed opportunities, some wood scaffolding still attached. Flats to be.
The traffic put King’s Cross in the shade like proper. They were moving but Karl could see other large streets with several rows of cars in one lane. Completely chock-a-block, complete standstill. No movement whatsoever.
Uncle T was commentating on everything. The first images of Nigeria. All Karl could see of him was the back of his head, turning when explaining why the roads were so bad, which area this was. The wind that entered through the car windows was soft and lukewarm. It patted Karl’s face like the gentle caress his aunt would give him when she visited his mother and found him in the flat, in his room for once. That was, of course, before Piers, her proper lovely proper asshole husband, spoiled things for them, aunt–nephew-wise.
When they arrived at the gated estate, it was completely dark. A security guard sat in the small booth that flanked the large iron gates, which had to be opened in the middle. A candle was flickering, casting shadows through the window opening. Was all a bit suspense thriller. You could hear the music. It would be proper slow, creepy.
The other guard had his foot on the cement step to the booth. His arm was leaning on the narrow wooden plank drilled into its wall. You could hear the piano banging on the same note now. Ti-ng ti-ng. Still slow though.
Both guards had been looking at a magazine. One turned and walked towards the window. John had already opened it. The guard pointed his flashlight inside the car, waving it around as if he was saying something with it. Now the music would be getting ready for some real tempo. Ting ting ting. Some sonic landscaping ambience shit in the background.
‘Good evening sah.’ He nodded towards Uncle T.
‘Good evening.’
‘Sah no dey?’
‘He no dey.’ Uncle T replied. Ting ting ting ting ting.
John took the guard’s hand and started shaking it while his stare was planted firmly on Karl’s face. He was saying something to John in a low voice, chuckling.
‘Na so.’
Then the hands left each other and he stepped back. Sound would drop out here, completely. Danger averted. Although it seemed that no one but Karl had felt any anyway.
‘Good evening.’ The guard tipped the rim of his cap and John pressed the button at the front panel. The window glided back up until there was just a little slit at the top. They pulled up at another set of smaller gates, only for the house, not the whole street. A young man jumped up and ran to unlock the metal chain that kept it closed. John drove into the space next to the house. It was completely dark. You couldn’t even see your own thoughts.
‘NEPA. Dis country!’ John muttered with disappointment.
‘Our electricity company. NEPA. Karl. That is the name. We used to call it Never Ever Power At All.’
Like I’m supposed to know what you mean. Went over his head, like most of Uncle T’s comments since their arrival. Uncle T slammed the door shut, cursing. All one swift action. Bang. Door shut. Body in absolute darkness. Frustration exploding now. The young man disappeared to the back and then a motor started and light flickered into action, showing them all where they were. John opened the door at Karl’s side.
‘Come.’ His hand briefly met Karl’s T-shirt sleeve. Karl flinched. ‘Please. This is your father’s house.’
There wasn’t much to see yet. It looked more like a bungalow than a house. One storey, a front yard that had a terraced entrance with large sliding doors, a regular-sized wooden door at the side. Plants in tiled squares flanked both edges of the house. Uncle T was talking to the young man. Karl could now see his washed-out trousers. The grey had patches of dust and dark marks on them. His once-white shirt was now a grey/beige/brownish affair, unbuttoned.
Uncle T waited for John, who had got the large bag out of the trunk. He nodded a greeting to the guard and quickly strode up to the tiled terrace to the wooden door. He took a key out and opened it.
‘Karl, come.’
Uncle T waved him closer. Karl took a step, then another. Time stood still. It was partly the thick air, the loud crickets, the arrival, the tiredness. The body dragged across an ocean, from one continent to another. Dragged because Karl hadn’t slept the night before, but spent it talking with Abu. Abu would have been at school today, last two weeks before the summer break. Jealous that Karl got holiday early.
‘Is only ’cause Uncle T can’t come back again before the winter innit.’
‘Still. I will have to sit through the whole thing when I could be checking the Nigerian ladies.’
Karl rolled on the mattress, laughing. ‘And since when do you speak to the ladies? You, who never shuts up, as soon as a girl comes your way, you’re pissing yourself, or off into the sunset. By your bloody self.’
Abu let that one slide. Was true, no point dwelling on the fact. They imagined how this Nigeria would be. How Karl’s father would be. There was no getting around that this is where Karl was at, metaphorically speaking, and would be at, physically speaking, so Abu just had to get on with it. Get over himself. Enjoy the whole thing. Like they did. Even when they were not together. Sharing.
What should Karl ask him, what should he look out for? They had laughed, moving from their backs, their eyes staring into the dark room, at the ceiling. Abu on his single bed, Karl on the guest mattress. At the exact same moment, they both turned to lean on their forearms. They giggled even more.
‘Oh my days. Imitating me, are we? Got none of your own impulses?’
‘I was first.’
‘What are you looking up for anyway? Too dark.’
‘Why are you?’
‘You keep talking. I’m awake.’
‘No point sleeping now. Not long till you have to get up, bruv.’
Karl had gone to see Rebecca early. Had told her what they had all told her over the past weeks, minus Mama Abu, who said: ‘Leave me out of it; I won’t lie to her.’
‘So, I’ll be off, mum. Text me any time. I will be in touch anyway but probably not call. Just to be away like proper. Really immerse myself, you understand?’
Rebecca looked at Godfrey with that same this makes no sense whatsoever look that Mama Abu had about the whole thing. Only Mama Abu had not told her either. She just avoided her altogether. Still called, but didn’t drop in that often. That morning, Godfrey busied himself in a cheerful manner. Smiled his fake smile and left with Karl as quickly as they could.
Uncle T was still outside. Karl could hear him talking with the guard in the courtyard. He was standing in the spacious lounge, unsure. The smells were different. The crickets were still at it, proper concert.
‘You need anything? Water, food? There are things in the freezer. The cook was here the day before yesterday. Let me get something for you. Please sit. Sit.’
‘No, water is fine, thank you.’ He was here. How mad was that?
John sat with him.
‘You work with my father?’
John turned towards him. ‘Yes. For many years now.’
‘What’s he like?’
Uncle T came back before John could reply. He was all business mode, nodding, already starting on a new phone call, which he left to take inside the bungalow somewhere. Karl was on a white leather couch that faced the large flat-screen TV on the wall. John handed the water to Karl, switched on the TV and left him sitting alone.
‘Has John shown you the guest room yet? I will be sleeping next door to you. We share the bathroom. Your father’s room is at the other end. John showed you everything?’
‘No.’ Karl sank into the cushions. His feet a couple of centimetres off the floor. It was good to have some space after the cramped flight. ‘He went to do something at the back.’
‘Ah yes, he is checking the generator. Whether there’s enough fuel.’
‘What for?’
‘Light.’ Uncle T looked like he didn’t quite get it, then a light switched on in his brain. ‘The electricity, it goes off. Often. The people who can afford it use generators.’
‘Makes sense now. The noise.’
‘Yes, that noise,’ Uncle T seemed to be relaxing now. ‘You will get used to it.’ And with his confident stride he marched to the kitchen to get water for himself. ‘Or not.’ He laughed. ‘It’s just one of those things.’
Karl nodded although Uncle T couldn’t see him.
‘And all the security?’
‘That’s another of the things. You will get used to it as well. A lot of problems in this country, a lot of security is needed. If you can afford it.’
‘I see.’ Although Karl didn’t get shit. Gates to lock off the whole bloody street?
‘This is a gated community. Only employees and their families of the oil company your father works for live here.’
‘My father …’
‘Don’t worry about that now. It is well! We will take care of everything. Do you want to eat? Are you ready to try our food?’
‘I still have the sandwich from the plane. I probably just need to lie down soon. Very long day.’ Karl looked around. ‘Is he coming tonight?’
‘No, not tonight. I will explain. Don’t worry, trust me. It has been a long day.’ Uncle T nodded. ‘Come, I’ll show you the room.’
There wasn’t anything spectacular to it. A small landing led to a door left, a door right, and a door ahead. The bathroom was ahead. The bedrooms either side. His room was covered with a mosaic pattern made from stone and had a wall-to-wall built-in wardrobe. The bed was in the middle, pushed against the wall, facing the window, which had proper heavy curtains. Keeping shit out curtains. No peeping here whatsoever. A small desk on the side. Uncle T picked up a remote from the table and pointed it to the air conditioner at the wall.
‘The two rooms are for when his …’ He broke off.
‘His children?’
Karl had already seen the toys stacked neatly at the bottom of the right side of the wardrobe. A cardboard box with a remote-controlled car pictured on it. There were other things. A football, some PlayStation games, a children’s encyclopaedia (a matter of seven books). Uncle T followed Karl’s look.
‘I don’t think he plays with them any more. Maybe the football. He’s much too old for that toy car.’
Karl nodded. There was a gap, another one, between the bringing him all the way here, and finding what was here. Those were two bloody different things.
‘If you need anything please knock on the door. I don’t sleep very much. I will hear you. Don’t be shy. OK?’
Karl nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘The bed, all is fresh. The house help came yesterday.’
‘The soap, towels: in the bathroom. Everything you need should be there.’
Karl smiled; there wasn’t really anything else to do. It was bloody awkward.
‘Thank you for everything.’
‘I’m sorry Karl. This is not how you imagined your welcome in your country.’
‘No, it’s fine. Thank you for bringing me. Three months ago I didn’t even know that there was such a thing as my country. Obviously it’s not my country, I just mean …’
‘I understand.’ He paused and sought out Karl’s eyes. ‘Try to rest. I will do anything to make your visit here as perfect as it can be.’ His face changed. This was a dangerous thing. What he had just said. You shouldn’t set out to fail like that, to drop all the way from perfection to reality. It had already flopped in less than twenty-four hours.
‘Karl, I will be at your every service, as they say. ‘
The pause megaphoned their thoughts; it was all very obvious. The tension. Bloody hell. Uncle T patted his back again. Karl cringed. It had already become a rather unwelcome habit, this play-hitting. However gentle Uncle thought it was, it was also proper strong. Like in hurting you a bit.
‘Good night.’ Uncle T’s good-trouser-cladded legs carried him out of the room. That was defo close to perfection. His walk. Idris Elba as Stringer Bell had nothing on him. He turned one last time and smiled before closing the door.
Karl went to the bathroom. He undressed and stood in the bathtub. Although he had only turned on the cold tap, the water was lukewarm. He could see himself in the mirror over the sink. His lanky body. The puberty blockers meant the breasts hadn’t developed. Tiniest buds. With a tight vest you couldn’t see anything. He didn’t even need to bind them. The day washed off him. The sweat, the panic, the newness, fled his body straight down past the triangle of hair, down his legs into the drain. He was glad for the quiet in the flat. It seemed like Uncle T had gone back to the living room.
The next morning, Karl woke to the sound of the generator. It worked itself into his dream and instead of the buzzing his mother said: But when will you be back? What is it you’re looking for, Karl? She was lying in the bed like when he had visited her on her last stint in hospital. Her voice was different, rhythmic and even, without any breaks and with authority that was unusual for her. Karl wasn’t sure if she could see him. He was looking at her from the ceiling, floating above her, his back scraping against it.
Some things can never be found. They are not what they seem.
The generator seemed to spurt. Then it was quiet.
The light rose, revealing a dull morning, the sun concealed by the clouds again. Karl was thirsty and warm. The sheet was tangled up in-between his legs. There was a strange quiet now that nothing was coming from the backside of the house.