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(A short story)
The gates swung open, making way for the noisy pick-up truck to drive in. Segun woke with a start, off the couch where he slept, his eyes darting around the room, looking for the demons he battled in his sleep. He rubbed his neck where it hurt, another nightmare; only it was still daytime, at most early evening. The sound of a running engine came to his hearing. He walked to the window where he pulled back the curtain to look outside. There was a truck parked in the compound, and two men he didn’t recognize who conversed with the security man. Footsteps approached from behind him, still holding on to the curtain he turned to see who it was. Mayowa, his sister, strode towards him asking who it was, her voice softly spoken as usual.
“I don’t know” he replied as she joined him at the window.
“Oh, its Mr. Ifeanyi the welder. Don’t you remember him?” she asked.
“Oh, okay.” He said, sounding like he was being convinced.
“Maybe it’s the mask.” He added
“Dad said we should expect him, he is bringing the replacement for the side gate. He’s also taking some measurements in the house.” She continued.
“Oh, he didn’t tell me…” he said watching the men outside.
“Me neither, but I overheard him telling Saida and Mom in the morning.” She said leaving the window, walking to the door that led outside.
“Are you coming?” he heard her say.
“Yeah, yeah,” He said snapping from his traveling thoughts.
They stepped outside, by which time the two men had employed the help of the security man in bringing the metalwork down from the vehicle.
Segun watched as their breathing strained evidently through the fast-paced rise and fall of the masks on their faces. Segun making no move to assist, stood by his sister’s side. They eventually unburdened themselves close to the gatehouse where they placed the side gate. The one his sister identified as Mr. Ifeanyi stood by his companion, hands on his waist, chest heaving. He looked over at Segun, who was then telling Mayowa to head inside and get the sanitizer ready. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Ifeanyi saying something to his companion in a low voice, both their eyes resting on him shortly after.
Less than a minute later, Mr. Ifeanyi walked towards him while the other man walked towards the truck, stealing glances at Segun and his sister as he did. As Mr. Ifeanyi approached them, he turned to tell Mayowa, “Go and do it now”.
Mr. Ifeanyi looked up at him warily as Mayowa headed back into the house. Mr. Ifeanyi walked right past, in Mayowa’s tow; their eye contacts the only acknowledgment that Segun stood there.
“Wait,” Segun spoke.
Startled, Mr. Ifeanyi turned to look at him, doing what the young man had requested. Segun looked at him curiously, at the hand he had in his coverall pocket that held something sizeable, evident from the bulge in the material.
“How come you came late? Are you not going to fix the gate today?”
“No, be my work boss. A bricklayer will come to fit it tomorrow, though I will be here to assist.” Mr. Ifeanyi replied. Segun locked him in a gaze, studying him quietly until the man cowered in the unease of the gaze and looked towards the truck where his companion stood watching them both. Segun looked over at the companion whose eyes drifted away from his direction as if to conceal the fact that he had been staring, but Segun knew, he had felt it burning on the back of his neck. Mr. Ifeanyi turned again towards the door, by which time he expected Mayowa would have emerged from the house.
“I said you should wait,” Segun said, his tone more authoritative this time. Stopping Mr. Ifeanyi again, who was halfway up the stairs to the main door. He looked back at Mr. Ifeanyi’s companion who was now standing at the edge of the truck, his eyes focused where Segun stood. His hands busy but obscured by the carriage of the truck. Movement on the left side of the compound distracted Segun. The security man emerged from his post and walked in Segun’s direction.
“Good evening sir.” He said, walking past him towards the back of the house. Segun not acknowledging the greeting, studied him partially till he disappeared behind the house. Returning his full attention to Mr. Ifeanyi, he said, “be patient, she’s coming.” Segun walked past him on the stairs towards the door, opening it just enough so he could stick his head through and call out to Mayowa. Mr. Ifeanyi stood closely behind him, making him feel uncomfortable.
“Abeg, social distancing, social distancing abeg,” Segun said.
“Bro, I just want to measure this door.” Said Mr. Ifeanyi, reaching into his coverall pocket as he inched towards Segun.
In a flash, Segun’s fists were in the air, smacking Mr. Ifeanyi right in the face. The medium build man staggered backward his hands falling out of his pocket, with it a pistol. Segun’s eyes grew wide, frantic; he pounced on the recovering man, landing heavy blows with his hammer-like fists on every space he could find. In a bid to defend Mr. Ifeanyi, his companion ran towards where they wrestled on the floor, trying to pull Segun off him, but he was too strong. Manic, Segun grabbed the now bloodied Mr. Ifeanyi by the collar of his coverall, jerking violently back and forth, sending the man’s head to the stairs repeatedly until his body went limp. Finally letting go of the man, Mr. Ifeanyi’s companion succeeded in pushing Segun off what was now the lifeless body of Mr. Ifeanyi. He knelt by the body, looking for any signs of life, finding none. He howled at Segun who made to attack him also, had he not been grabbed by the security guard who had now returned from behind the house. The security guard struggled to keep a hold on Segun who was quickly overpowering him. A scream pierced the evening air.
“Mayowa, I’m coming,” Segun shouted, struggling against the security man’s restrain. He turned towards the scream, looking for Mayowa, but he found only his mother where she stood. Her hands cupping her mouth.
“Segun stop!” She screamed, but he struggled, looking everywhere trying to find Mayowa.
Mr. Ifeanyi’s companion rushed toward Segun and the security man, producing a chipping hammer from his overall pocket. He knocked Segun in the head, drawing his attention to his direction.
“Don’t hurt him please, he is not well” Segun’s mother screamed, running towards them.
He sent the hammer once again towards Segun’s head missing his target as the security guard tried to avoid a second strike to Segun’s head. The pointed side of the hammer buried in Segun’s neck. Sending a spray of Segun’s blood into the air, the fight in him with it. He stopped wrestling, as his body went weak in the security man’s hold, sliding towards the floor where the security man eventually let his body lie.
His mother ran to his side, cupping his head in her arms, desperately trying to stop the pouring blood. Her heart; breaking into tears as her son’s life ebbed. He struggled to speak but only blood poured from his lips. He looked straight ahead in the only direction his eyes could see with his head cradled in an awkward position. He saw a large measuring tape on the ground, where the gun should have been. He struggled, trying to look up at his mother, she turned his head in her direction, her hand over the hole in his neck. Confusion filled his eyes, trying to speak again he began to choke as more blood poured from his neck and mouth. Fear crept into his eyes, his hands grabbing at the air frantically as he struggled to hold on to life and his mother tried to save him. Both efforts were futile.
*
Mrs. Olawaye sat in the chair across the elderly man, who spoke to her in a warm and gentle voice.
“It’s a little chilly this morning, would you like a cup of tea?”
“No doctor, thank you.”
“That’s fine. Do you mind if I make one for myself?”
“Okay.” She replied mostly uninterested. He walked over to table set with mugs, and an electric jug and several provisions.
“Are you sure I can’t offer you anything?” He asked.
“I just want to forget. Do you have anything for that?” She sniffed, hugging herself.
“I cannot imagine what you’ve been through.” The elderly man said, sympathy in his voice, his hands holding the jug in one hand. He poured.
He set the cup before her, “honey or sugar?” He asked.
She looked at the steaming cup for a few seconds before replying, “Honey please.”
He walked back to the table with provisions, returning with a bottle of honey.
“That’s enough,” she said as he poured.
A few minutes later he returned to his position opposite her, holding in his hand his own cup of tea.
“I know what you want, what everyone wants.”
“For you to heal”
“For me to relive it. When all I want is to forget.”
“Hard as it is, we want you to survive what happened.”
“Should I have to doctor?” Tears slipping down her cheeks. She set the cup on the coffee table between them.
“Should any mother have to hold her dying child, to watch her children put in the ground?”
“No, you shouldn’t have had to.”
“First Mayowa, my sweet sweet girl. Then her brother followed. Why didn’t God just take me too?” She said, fighting back the tears.
He moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.
“And, and…” She wiped at her eyes. “The pastor had the guts to say God knows best. How was my babies dying best for them, or myself?” She sniffed, pulling herself together.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry you’ve had to live through that.”
“Ah doctor, you don’t. They were all I had, all we had that held us together in our failing marriage. My babies, doctor.” She broke into tears again.
“I know how you feel Lola, I know.”
“How can you? Ehn?”
“I’ve been here too, where you are.” He said.
“You lost your children?”
“My daughter. Her mother too twenty years ago, in delivery.”
“She died at birth?”
“No, she was twelve when she died, in a car accident.”
Mrs. Olawaye’s hands flew to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.” She said.
“How did you get through that?”
“As you know, it was not easy. All my years as a therapist didn’t prepare me for that. I still remember that day like it was yesterday.”
“So how do I heal from something like this?”
“Talking about it is a start. You will always remember it. Most times like it just happened, but you will heal.”
“Where do I even begin?” She looked at him painfully.
“Tell me, how did Mayowa die?”
The finality of the word drove the air from the room, and she couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.
Slowly she began, “She was in Osogbo, visiting her brother. They were to travel down together that weekend, but Segun; planning poorly as always was not ready. So, they pushed the trip up to the next weekend. The details were not very clear, because he couldn’t give us as many details as we wanted. She had gone for a walk somewhere around where he lived and had just returned. He was on his way to open the gate for her when she told him through the gate that he should bring some money along. He said he went back to grab his wallet when he heard her scream his name. He ran back outside and was nearing the gate when he heard the gunshot. When he got outside, she was on the floor, bleeding, in so much pain. He screamed for help as he carried her off the ground, running, trying to make his way to a passing car that had stopped to help. In his hurry he tripped, breaking his ankle.” She sighed, dabbing at her eyes.
“Take your time my dear, it’s a lot.”
She continued, “ We got the rest of the story from the good Samaritan who helped them both. He said he was driving home with a friend when he saw a man running on the road, towards him, then past. He drove on, wondering what was chasing the man when he saw my son screaming for help. He parked, not next to them, because he was trying to see just how safe first. Then he saw my son carrying her screaming for help and running towards the car. Then he saw them fall to the ground. Segun tried to pick himself up, but he had severely hurt his ankle. He and his friend rushed over to help them into the car, after which they drove them, to the hospital. Where Mayowa and Segun were treated separately. Less than an hour later, they were informed by the doctor that the girl, my daughter, did not survive and that they had dosed my son, so they could treat him as he had struggled to return to his sister’s side. They waited in the reception till he woke and they went in to see him, where the news was broken to him. He had claimed it was not possible, that he had seen her get hurt, but she got better and he had promised to not let anyone hurt her again. That she was fine now, only sleeping. Less than a week later we had brought him down here, home. He claimed to be seeing Mayowa around the house, holding conversations with her. It was unnerving, and not any help in our healing process too, my husband and I. We hadn’t even buried her you know, and we had to deal with that too. We took him for treatment, but he wasn’t making much progress. Weeks after the burial we brought him back home, unable to afford the clinic’s fees anymore.” She reached for the glass of water he put in front of her.
“I’m tired now,” she said.
“That’s okay Lola. You have taken a step today, we will pick this up another time when you’re up to it.”
“Thank you, doctor. How about tomorrow?”
“Same time.” He said, offering her a smile.
The End.