Abu had gone out like tail lights in fog. The real beauty of a knockout is that you drop without doing too much damage. If you’re unconscious before you hit the pavement, the fall might not hurt much, your body all floppy and receptive, embracing the hard cement. Of course if you had been kicked by a number of opponents, somebodies who really wanted you to feel it when you woke up, well, then the damage would be well ready for when you bloody did wake up, whether you did or not.
* * *
‘Karl.’
‘Godfrey, I will call you back. I told you it costs me to take calls, wait till I …’
‘Where are you?’
‘Chilling with a friend.’
‘I need to talk to you.’ Karl could hear him breathe. ‘Now.’
‘What happened? Is mum worse again?’
There was that pause, the slope, the gap. Open, trip, descent.
‘What happened to Abu? Tell me what’s going on! Godfrey?’
* * *
These things you know. In your bones you know them. And you’ll be falling, falling really deep, head first. You will put on your clothes while Janoma is asking you what to do, how she can help. And you will look at her, the tears running, and she will help you put your clothes on because you’re trembling and nothing works that way. She will sit you on the small chair, next to the cardboard box, tell you it’s OK, to let it out and to cry while she slides the flip-flops over your feet. Her hands will touch both of your arms, then your face. She will cup it and then she’ll say: ‘Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.’
‘I need to go back,’ you will respond, and look into her eyes and between the two there will be this new thing as if you know more about each other than you do.
‘As soon as possible.’
She will understand what you mean and take your hand to lead you to the door. She will look back quickly to check the room is as before. Then she’ll lock the door and push you towards John’s house. She will call her mother to explain, she’ll call Nakale. All the while behind you, her hand will hold you up and lead you. She’ll have no questions, but will take your cue when you arrive at John’s. She’ll introduce herself as your words will be racing and colliding against each other, in the way, too much, the thoughts have no time for this now. Once John understands you will go to the bedroom and Janoma will follow you, the door remaining open. You’ll grab your bag, where you kept the rest of the money, your passport and your ticket. Both of you will rush back out in no time while John’s wife will look so concerned, the baby sleeping on the rug, on top of a baby blanket.
John saying while you are leaving: ‘Do you want me to call your father, Karl?’
And you will turn around again with sudden severity and catch yourself before it just spills out of you: ‘No way.’ You will thank John and feel it too, feel what the man has done for you, what all types of people have done for you recently and then you will be on the stairs again, downwards. When you arrive at the bottom, Nakale will be there, reaching for your arm.
‘My friend. Wetin happen?’
‘They kicked him and I wasn’t there. He is in bad shape, very bad shape, not here, not conscious, hasn’t been, hasn’t woken up. The second day now. Two days. Abu all quiet. I have to get home, I have to be there. He should be talking.’
‘OK, OK,’ Nakale will reply. ‘It’s OK,’ he will say and guard you on one side while Janoma will be on the other. They will walk with you, the short distance to the Internet cafe, but before you get there Janoma will be all organised, forward thinking.
‘What do you need to do? You want to change your reservation, right? So someone calls the airline. Will you be calling Abu’s people, Karl?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll call the airline then. Give me your ticket.’
She will have an in-charge-ness that will make your knees softer than they already are because she will hold you in place, you know it. Just by being her. And you’ll hand her the bag so she can take it out since she saw where you put it. And you’ll be so grateful that people know what to do in emergencies, and if this isn’t one then you don’t know, you don’t know anything any more.
Abu, come back.
You will think about the kicking and the head and the Abu who doesn’t talk any more, the Abu who is quiet and breathing heavily, hopefully breathing, who needs to breathe.
I need you.
At the Internet cafe you’ll see Emmanuel, who is playing with other boys nearby and who comes running now that he sees you, his friends tagging behind. He will smile and try to show off his new friend and you will have no time but to say: ‘Sorry mate, gotta rush.’
And Nakale will translate it for the boy because your British accent will be thin like proper. No weight, nothing for the boy to catch. And Emmanuel will be disappointed but staying close with his friends, watching you and your mini-operation taking over one computer and two phone booths. And while you are speaking to Abu’s mum, who will be crying on the other end of the receiver, Janoma will knock and open the thin door.
‘Next flight with a free seat is tomorrow evening at seven. Take it?’
And you’ll nod, grateful, so grateful that she knows what she’s doing.
‘There’s a charge. Do you have money?’
And you will nod again while covering the receiver with your hand because Mama Abu is still on the other side and you don’t want to interrupt her with these mundane things, the details of how you are getting back to see her son. All you want her to know is that you will be seeing her and her son in like no time whatsoever. And that it is your fault because it’s always about you and the damn running you do, all the way out of Abu’s range of operation so someone else has come in, a whole load of them, and have fucked this up, fucked him up.
Abu. Please. I need you.
Janoma, that angel, will mouth almost silently and you will have to remember that she just asked you a question.
‘Cash?’
And you’ll nod again.
‘I’ll send the driver to their office. They’ll hold it.’
And she will return to her phone conversation in the next booth with the airline and when she softly knocks on yours again a couple of minutes later you’ll hand her the money. The money you have because Uncle T has been sending your mum money since your birth. Money to help raise the child. Money that Rebecca refused but could not stop Uncle T from sending and re-sending. The emergency fund that Godfrey used to get you here in the first place.
Janoma will count the amount that is needed. Nakale will be looking for any message from Abu in your inbox. Anything you didn’t open because really you have been preoccupied and not opened a damn thing, have not engaged properly. Anything that can give a clue to why now, why so severe, who the fuck, what the bloody fuck is going on? But there won’t be any so he will be sitting there, waiting, and Emmanuel will come and speak with him, or more like he will speak to Emmanuel. While you’ll still be on the phone with Mama Abu, who says nothing, nothing at all but who can’t hang up and you don’t want her to because you are here, not there, and that means you are wrong. Very wrong. You will ask Janoma, who pops her head in once more, her eyebrows raised, to email Godfrey. To give him the details of the flight. And before you can leave your booth the driver will have come and picked up the money to secure your flight back. And within half an hour you will have a return journey, no more information from Abu’s mother other than it is critical, and you will sit for a moment outside the Internet cafe.