PART 1
(Short story)
By Ubah Ikechukwu Anthony
Looking through the windshields, the windshields at the two black SUVs that sandwiched his, with a glimmer of joy on his face, Akubuike nodded his head in satisfaction. He leans back, resting his slender body against the backrest of the pure white upholstery that looks well pampered by generous pieces of top-grade leather hides. His feet resting on a genuine lamb wool mats that will have you taking your shoes off, and his right arm gently placed on the white large fold-down armrest of the right backdoor. His lips frozen in smile, he looks down, staring at his left hand, slowly caressing the soft leather seat which carried him.
For a few seconds, he finds himself lost in the euphoria of the dizzying array of luxurious attributes that surrounded him. He gave his eye an exclusive tour of the graceful interior of the artifact that conveyed him. Perfect finishing, with veneered teak wood and wonderful hand sewn leather dominated the interior. The metallic details feel cold and glitter with silvery sheen that seem to blind him every second he looked at them. Even with the weight of the thick clothing he is wearing, it feel like he is inside an ice box in the Mercedes Benz sedan that chauffeured him.
“I love this! I love this!! I love….this!!!” he muttered reflexively in what sounds like a mousy squeak, jolting and clenching his fists simultaneously. He startles in embarrassment when he observes the peering eyes from the rear mirror, aligned under the Visor of the Navy-blue peaked cap of his light skinned, middle-aged chauffeur. From the white shirt with navy blue trouser he wore, the man looks everything like the Captain of an aircraft.
Akubuike had been leaning forward with his lower arms hanging halfway between his thighs, a position he found himself in after the shock. He sinks back into his previous position, almost sitting on his back.
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“Aku! Aku! Nodu ka mmadu! Do you want to be crooked like your grandpa?” His mother had always resounded in her usually manner by bending forward, and pulling one of her small round ears with one hand while the other resting on her enormous well rounded hips while she cautions Akubuike about his bad sitting posture. Her shoulders are barely two inches above the door knob but grandpa was a total contrast. He apparently towered well over 7 feet from the ground and stands like a sickle with his 4 feet walking-stick which Akubuike had known him with before he died of typhoid fever last August.
“Grandpa what is the temperature up there?” Ije would jokingly asked the old man, pointing at his shiny bald head.
Akubuike’s Grandpa was 87 before he died, but his scalp remained smooth and glowed as though hair never grew there before. Aku never wanted to look anything like his Grandfather, but at 26 he was already noticing the signs of his inevitable baldness. The thought of this disgusts him. However, he simply can’t help sitting in that awkward posture. He is nearly 7 feet, and every tall person he knew sat like that.
“Someone should go out there and talk to chair makers,” he will say, “they should consider us and make better chairs with higher backrests to accommodate our long trunk."
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Body shivering and jaws rattling, he made a puff into his open palms and gently wrapped his hands round his rib cage in a cage. He was beginning to freeze but didn’t want to complain. He takes his eyes off the driver and to the window. His eyes widen, at the well tamed arrogant beauty of the green world of tropical trees which they behold, spanning from the skylines down to the healthy green lawns that terminated on the smooth shoulders of the road side. For the next few minutes, he admires the neighborhood along which they drove. An array of eye catching mansions buried in the greens of the surrounding trees and shrubs appeared and vanished in the sight.
Another thing that suddenly starts to appear and disappear is his vision; he struggles repeatedly to clean the fog on the glass with his lower arm, formed by the vapour coming off his nostrils and wide open mouth.
Opposite a small crystal lake, the mini convoy came to a stop. He smirked at the grace of the dancing lights at the edge of the stream. A sudden gloom appears over him, he quickly tilted his head backwards, spreading his shoulder, and hanging his two arms midway in an attempt to prevent his entire body from falling off the vehicle as a stern looking man in a black suite opened the door on which he rested on.
“We are home sir," the man grumbles holding the door wide open for him.
“Home?” he says, rather soft and timidly, jerking his head with small ridges on his forehead.
“Yes, home sir.” The man reply, calmly gesturing him out of the car
The golden sun stood by the edge of the sky like a blushing maiden hiding behind small pieces of cloud. The air was mild and smelled of natural greens. It was mid-morning and the tweeting of birds chirping in rhythm with the swaying trees and dropping leaves as they sang and played an orchestra to glory of a new day.
Akubuike gracefully alights like royalty. Noise filtered into the breeze like a quarry from under the hard sole of his derby shoe, altering the melody of the silence as his weight crushed the pebbles underneath. The temperature was not different outside either. It felt very cold but the sun was out and shone brightly. The harmattan wind was trading down; Akubuike had thought it was just the air-conditioning.
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His outfit reflected his youthfulness. A heavy looking silver necklace towed a circular gold pendant hanging off his slender neck, radiating from his chest through the open velvet jacket he wore. This like his shoes and trouser are cream and seemed to hug his chocolaty body, revealing the masculine mold under the taut white shirt that also married his body. The high shoulder pads complement his wide shoulder, making him look like the plastic models you see in boutiques. His trousers isn’t cheated either, lapping thigh and letting-go at the ankle. His tall figure can pass for an ‘I’.
Holding onto the two flaps of his jacket with both hands, he shots his eyes, and slowly fed his lungs with the cold air, choking slightly. His air-ways felt like desiccated leather. The cold was beginning to get to him, but only he appeared discomforted by it.
For a while, he stood stiff with eyes glued to the car he just alighted from. Something felt odd about it. A thud sound sips into the silence as the man shots the door behind him. Slightly bending forward, the stern dark man he ushers him towards the carved stone pathway.
Suddenly he stops. Lost. He fells adrift. Series of queries running through his mind, He could not figure out anything about himself, or events before the moment. His mind mooched in the mental lacuna he finds himself in, nothing looked familiar.
“I can’t remember anything," he flushes out faintly like a puff of air. His jaw starts feeling too heavy for him to shut completely. His eyes gazing like a blind man, every facial nerve slept and robbed his face off all expressions, frozen and void of emotions. A slight thump to his shoulder by the man guiding him oozed the smell of alcohol from his bowel, which filtered into his stuffed nose from his snapped him out of it.
“I must have had too much to drink." He voiced in a whisper.
With steady eyeballs and frozen face, he starts taking steps forward like a sick old man guided by the slight pressure of the hands placed against his shoulders.
His vision starts getting blurred, and his sight is gradually lost and he rapidly grows weaker. Faithfully relying on the guild of the gentle palm placed on his shoulder as he cautiously places his legs down on the hazed floor. His entire body aches, head weighing extra pounding. He fells too exhausted to voice the question his heart and lips repeated over and over again, ‘what is happening to me?’
“Aku! Aku!!” a faint female voice sounding strangely familiar called form up ahead. He lifted the one ton boulder over his shoulder to look forward. The image of his Mma cleared his vision and soothed him. She stood by the pathway leading to the entrance of a classic Georgian mansion sunk on an acre of even green lawn, and adorned with a thatched sit-out area by the left.
Mma is the love of his life. Though she is pocket sized, it takes nothing away from her pretty face, beautiful glowing brown skin and well curved body. On a three-inch heel, she might only be able to measure up to his shoulder. Before now she had been a part of his day-dreams and fantasies. They never got to talk except for the regular Nigerian pleasantries; ‘hello’, ‘how you de’, ‘what’s up’, ‘how things’, ‘how far’ which he tossed like hibiscus petals at her feet any time they crossed paths. Often she barely seemed to notice them, When she does, it’s simply a ‘hi’, ‘fine’ or ‘good’, with her trademark smile, but ever more than a word, but that was always enough to make his day. Although when she doesn’t reply, he felt robbed and hollow inside; sadly this was the greater ration. There is a worm hole in his heart, and she had a room there.
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His face reignites in like activated charcoal. He spread his heavy hands wide open like a man nailed to the cross and make some gently strides at towards her, felling heavier with every step. It feels like a bag of garri has been placed on his back. He wrestles to muscle up and walk erect. A feeling that God must have place a finger on his head, his body guards offered him no help, Mma made no effort to come closer, his own body was falling him.
As he loosened his muscle strings and let his nerves relax, his jaw crashes onto the concrete as he fall effortlessly like a felled mighty three trunk. Fighting hard to get to his feet, he right arm buried under his mass. It hurt like it had been crushed by an elephant. Growling in excruciating pain, he clamps his jaws and pushed himself to his back, facing the sky.
Mma stood over him looking down with a smile. Nothing felt better. Her head cast a shadow on his face as the sun rapidly moves behind her head, as darkness crept in. She gently placed her right palm to his chest and with a big grin started tapping his chest in threes calling his name.
Tap Tap Tap, ‘Aku’, tap tap tap, ‘Aku’ she called
“Hummm what!, ogini ogini!” He slowly replied, puzzled. His vision was blurry again so he couldn’t see her face. Darkness shaded in and Mma’s figure slowly and continually gets swallowed and vomited by the light behind her. Her voice went from faint to a loud overly more familiar voice which was escorted by the noisy scuffle of hurrying feet, water splashes and moving objects. His head pounding painfully and his lungs ached. He closes his eyes tightly and reopens it, hoping to get rid of the illusion.
A harsh light beam to his face harassed his eyes as he reopened it. The tapping on his chest had seized, his body felt like it was it had been dragged out from under a car’s wreckage.
A splash of water to his face trickled down his nostrils and caused a sneeze. He springs to his buttocks and crawls backwards on it with his hand and heels until his back hit an object behind it. His eye lids slid wide open, fear, confusion and terror eclipsing him mind. Everything was in gray scale. Two human silhouettes swung from left to right periodically cutting through each other in the middle. He shot his eye and pressured his thumb and index finger across both eyes before reopening as if to drive the nightmare away. The blur starts to fade and his vision starts to focus in. The twin shadows merge in the middle forming a ladylike figure walking towards him. He curls into himself terrified.
“You fell off the bed," Ije said as she helps her frail looking and terrified brother up to his feet. He shoves her off with his elbow. His eyes remains still, steered at nothing in particular. “We have been trying to wake you up for a while now.” She continued. He turned his unfocused gaze to her.
“Ije?” he said softly, “is that you?” he said sounding like his grandpa on his sickbed.
“Lazy boy it is time for church, mum and dad are on their way their already”, she said, turning around and walking out through the dangling zinc door of the main entrance.
He has been dreaming.
