Night visions began to poach my peace. Unable to sleep or to rest, I would lie still in a dark made unfamiliar by demons, scared of what might bare its face if I turned on the light. Breathing hard, waiting for the figures in the dark to disappear, I would be tormented by the feeling that I had again entered Iyese’s head. Against my will I eavesdropped on her thoughts and mapped her body’s aches and pains. Was this my punishment for befriending and deserting her?
A month after I last saw Iyese, her letter arrived, the first of several she would write as each month passed. In each letter she addressed me as “Dear O.” I knew it was a play on the first letter of my name, but it still left me with a nagging uneasiness. Did she also mean “0” as in nought? “0” as cipher, zero—an allusion to my sudden absence from her life?
It’s been almost a month since I last saw you. I don’t remember offending you in any way. If you’ve decided, for reasons of your own, not to see me again, that’s fine. Not fine because I don’t care about your friendship, but because I must respect your wishes, however sad they may make me.
A lot has happened since I last saw you. Part of it is good news, but I must wait to see what tomorrow will bring.
My regards to Ashiki. He, too, has not come to Good Life for some time. Violet said they had a big quarrel, but I didn’t ask for the details.
Love,
Iyese, 12 June
This is the second month of your absence. I keep running into people who look just like you. Or sound like you. I went to Tejuosho market yesterday to shop for shoes. Among the crowd, I saw the head of a man I could have sworn was you. Dropping everything, I pushed my way through the crowd until, out of breath, I caught up with him. I tapped him on the shoulder, expecting to see your face when he turned around. Well, the man turned around, smiling, but he was a total stranger! And he was with his wife! I began to explain, but the woman’s angry eyes reduced me first to stammering, then silence. She dragged her husband off, as if he was in danger of being abducted.
Is this madness or delusion? Or is it love that makes me see you everywhere? Surely, you’re thinking of me, too?
Even if I’m going mad, I don’t care. Love is growing inside me.
Take care.
Love, Iyese, 13 July
Sometimes I cry thinking about you, but most often I smile.
Isa came by two days ago. He said he wanted to apologize for what he did. He brought money and clothes, but I refused to take anything from him. He left everything on my couch when he left. I threw the clothes out and gave the money to beggars at Oshodi bus stop. He said he is going away in a few months for a course in Pakistan. Something to do with logistics—I wasn’t listening attentively. He plans to stop over in Paris and Amsterdam on his way back and asked me what I would like him to bring me. I didn’t answer him, so he said he knows what I like. All I want is to be left alone. Sometimes in my sleep I see him and the three men who held me down the day he hurt me. Only death will make me forget the pain.
Do I burden you with my sad memories? I am actually quite happy, even though I miss you.
Iyese, 8 August
Today is the fourth month since the day you put me in a taxi and then disappeared. Is this absence forever?
I love you.
Iyese, 10 September
One afternoon I was absorbed in some research in the Monitor’s library when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone standing behind me. I wheeled around.
“Ashiki!” I exclaimed. “How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to have been dangerous, if I were an enemy.”
“Have you come to read?”
“Not really. I was asking around for you and somebody said you were seen heading in this direction. I have a letter for you. A very important letter, if I may say so.”
“Important letter? For me?”
Taking the envelope from him, I recognized Iyese’s handwriting. “Oh,” I said, half in relief, half in disappointment. I opened the envelope, unfolded the sheet of paper inside and read the short, two-sentence message. My face must have registered my incredulity, for when I turned Ashiki was grinning.
“Is this true?”
“I saw with my two eyes,” he said.
“Where?”
“At Good Life.”
“I thought you stopped going there?”
“Yes, for several months. But I went back last night.”
“And you saw her?”
“With my two eyes.”
“It’s hard to believe this,” I said, peering back at the note. “What did she say?”
“About what?”
“Me.”
“Oh, nothing much. Just that she hadn’t seen you in a long time.”
After Ashiki left I read the note again.
I told you in an earlier letter that love was growing inside me. Well, I’m five months pregnant!
Iyese, 9 October
I folded away the letter and left the library. Iyese pregnant! It couldn’t be true. There was only one thing to do: return that night to Good Life and see for myself.
At 7:40 that evening I stationed myself under cover of darkness across the street from Good Life. The bar’s entrance was dimly lit by two blue bulbs. I followed the flow of men and women in and out of the bar, but an hour later I had not seen Iyese. My eyes ached from all the straining and blinking. Had she slipped in during a moment when my attention had wandered? Or was this one of those rare nights when she decided not to go out?
Suddenly I felt ridiculous, lurking in the shadows like a criminal or a detective. I walked off down the street on the dark side until the sound from the bar became muted. Then I hailed a taxi and went home.
A month later:
Ashiki gave you my letter, so I know you know I’m pregnant. He told me you’re okay, just busy.
Isa came to my flat two days ago. He brought jewelry, shoes, perfume and clothes. I’m keeping them until I see somebody who needs them. He was surprised to see me pregnant. He said he hopes it’s a boy, as if that would entitle him to my baby.
There’s a favor I want to ask you, but that will be later.
I love you.
Iyese, 14 November.
If you’re counting, you will know it’s seven months since we last saw each other. Not once have you thought of writing back, or visiting. Is this who you really are? Was everything between us just a meaningless game? Why did I think there was more of a man in you? I fell in love with the human being I thought I saw inside you. Perhaps you saw only the falling, not the love. A shame!
Iyese, 9 December
I realize that the tone of my last letter was angry. But I had to be true to my feelings. The past few months have been difficult. I hardly go out these days, not even to Good Life.
And yet, apart from Violet, I have no friends to come around to my flat. I wish you were around to stroke my belly and feel the baby kick.
I know you have chosen a different path. Perhaps you throw my letters into the waste basket, unread. But I will continue to write to you for as long as I wish to.
The baby is due on 15 February, a month from today, but seems to be in a hurry. Already, I feel cramp pains all over my belly. It’s worst at night, when it keeps me awake. Yet, I’m happy. Very happy!
Isa came by yesterday. He wanted to know how his baby was doing, he said. His baby! I have not said one word to him yet, which he takes as a sign he has not bought me enough presents for me to forget what happened.
I mentioned in an earlier letter about asking you a favor. I want some photos of you, as many as you can spare. The baby may never meet you, but it would be nice to show him or her pictures of the man who changed my life (then ran away!). I hope you will do this for me. And soon.
I may not write to you again until after the baby is born.
Iyese, 14 January
The first Saturday after the due date, I decided to visit Iyese. The night before, I sorted through my photographs and made a handsome selection. I arranged the twelve pictures in chronological order and placed them in a small polythene bag that also contained a congratulatory card and several small gifts for the baby: soaps, oils and toys—items that would do for a boy or a girl, since I did not know the baby’s sex.
The day began with sunshine, but a brisk breeze brought clouds which thickened until the sun was blotted out. As I rode in a taxi to Iyese’s flat, the firmament bulged with wetness. Lightning relumed the sky with silvery streaks and thunder grumbled overhead. Then the sky’s broken water came down in monstrous sheets. Within minutes the city’s open gutters were awash with sediment rubbish. The skins of yams, cocoyams, cassava, oranges, bananas and plantains were borne like dead bodies on the rushing stream.
The storm had not abated when I arrived at Iyese’s flat. I dashed from the taxi to her door, the bag of gifts held to my chest. Panting, I knocked on Iyese’s door, straining to pick up a response through the swish of tires on the street and the pattering sound of the rain. After a second louder knock I turned the knob. The door yielded. I took a deep breath and went in.
The room was neatly ordered, nothing out of place. I called out Iyese’s name, softly at first, then loudly. Then, my heart pounding, I drew apart the partition that led to her bedroom. Iyese was sprawled on the floor, naked, her baby clutched to her chest. Her eyes were wide open, her mouth agape; a trail of blood ran out across the floor. Paralyzed, tongue-tied, I only stared. I thought I saw her move slightly and I blurted out her name, but she remained silent, for the winking of my own eye had created the illusion.
Stepping closer, I saw a gash on the baby’s right leg, an ugly knife wound from which blood still flowed. Was the baby also dead or simply asleep?
Afterwards I could not remember how long I had stood, staring. When I snapped out of my trance it was to a feeling of intense fear. What if somebody came in and found me at the scene of this horrible crime? Fetching a washcloth, I wiped my fingerprints off the door knob. Then I tiptoed out of her flat.
The storm had gathered still greater force. I walked in a daze, little caring about the rain, which soaked the photographs and presents in my plastic bag. The screech of tires on wet tarmac, then the long blast of a car horn startled me. I looked up in time to see a car stop sharply in front of me, hardly a foot between us.
“Bastard!” cursed the driver. “Akula! If you’re looking for death, go and jump into a latrine!” I stood transfixed, trembling all over. The driver reversed the car, turned the wheels away from me, then drove off, still cursing.
The streets were nearly empty. Yet I felt that many hidden eyes were fixed on me as I walked on through the rain.