‘Are you sleeping?’
Nakale laughed. ‘Wetin you dey do my friend? You dey wash with toothbrush?’
Karl laughed too. ‘I’m just so tired, Nakale. I needed a minute.’
‘I dey get am my friend.’
‘No, it doesn’t work like that. I get it or pidgin, not both.’
‘Why not?’
Nakale made bloody sense, like usual. Karl was lost in his track. ‘Not sure. You’re right. I dey get you.’
‘You fi teach me proper London pidgin o.’
‘For sure. But we don’t call it pidgin.’ When had he become such an annoying smart-arse? It was dark. There was no electricity. It was beautiful that way. Quiet. The neighbourhood seemed to be rationing their generator fuel. The thick air lay on Karl’s feet, pushing him in the ground.
‘You want me to light a candle?’
‘Yes now. You fi pack your tings.’
‘Not really much you know. I can do it in the morning.’ Karl lay down on the slim mattress. This was almost a reversal. Usually he was the one in the middle of the room. Abu the one at the wall. He had put on his boxers and another T-shirt. It was hard to lie down. His body wanted to be lifted, feet on the cool ground.
‘You dey a’right?’ Nakale all worried, turned towards him, leaning on his side.
‘Yeah. How’s de mat sef? Sorry, it must be so hard. We can swap.’
‘Ah ah! Me I have slept too many nights like dis. No be special like for you Europe people.’
‘Yeah.’
Karl was tired of jokes, tired of everything. ‘Nakale.’
‘Wetin my brother?’
‘Janoma.’
‘You dey like am.’
‘She told you?’
‘Ah, no need to talk dat one. Everyone can know dat one.’
‘You are not going to tell anyone are you?’
‘What?’
The whats of life. Which one? Which one should one convey? All or none? Or stick to the graduations?
‘Is it my concern that you, my special friend, like my cousin?’
‘Me and Janoma … this afternoon … anyway I need to tell you something else.’
The gap. It was reaching.
‘We be friends, right?’
‘Yes now.’
The heat was like a blanket. Thick one. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad. If you’re enveloped like that what could happen? What the eff could bloody happen?
‘You know, on my papers—’
‘Which papers?’
‘I mean my passport.’
‘Which kine problem you get for passport?’
‘No problem really, well sometimes …’
‘Karl, wetin?’
‘It never say Karl. There is no Karl. Not on my passport.’
They were quiet. Nakale rolled on to his back and folded his arms behind his head. His face was turned toward Karl. Karl spread his legs a little because it was still warm but a small breeze had found its way through the window. No need for those thighs to stick together just because of a little sweat.
‘Me … I don’t know how to say am.’
‘Karl—’
‘Yes.’
‘For passport him say you be woman. Na be de thing you fi tell me?’
There was an abyss again. Not a gap. Strike, defeat. No middle part. Nakale shuffled on his mat and one arm came away from under his head. Karl was looking for the right words that would stop this suction that was pulling him into the thin mattress through the floor into the bloody atmosphere and who the fuck knew if his body would hold, if it would remain in one piece?
‘How do you know?’
‘Mena.’
‘But how does she know?’
‘Maybe she feel am. Ah neva ask her. She say people pretend that we can know everything by looking and saying there is this side and that side. But we can’t. It is never like dat. She say to be a friend is to be there and wait for the time. For the time to talk. And then listen.’ He sat up. ‘When me and you become friends she tell me, make ah better be true friend if ah be any friend at all.’
‘She said that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And wetin?’
‘What do you think? I mean …’
‘Ahbeg, now you say it be problem?’
Karl’s breath was shallow. How great darkness could be. No viewing of his emergency-lighting blush.
‘She ask if I be your friend make I be real friend. And me I think I be true friend. No be so?’
He lifted his head, looking at Karl. Karl kept staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t anything to see in this darkness but still. You didn’t have to face your friend head on. Not all the time, anyway. Fuck that.
‘Karl, me I dey stay for here. You need some more explanation?’
Janoma came at eight. Karl was still packing. He and Nakale had chatted for a long time and only fallen asleep in the early morning. He was now sitting in the parlour, breakfast in front. The few things Karl had brought were folded and stored in the backpack. Nakale said he might be able to swing something for Karl and Janoma, a minute of alone time, but when Karl was ready to leave the room that had been his for the last week, the bell rang. When he walked out, backpack on back, the father was just coming through the apartment door.
‘Good morning.’