“Yes, Senior.” The junior boy scampered off.
Paul and Ajie soon joined Ma where the car was parked beneath a whistling pine tree by the science laboratories.
“Look at the two of you!” Ma gasped in horror. “You are all necks.” She drew Paul close, feeling his body to see how much weight he had lost.
“Ma, stop.” Paul laughed, trying to pull away.
“You are all bones,” she declared. “Ajie, are you skipping meals? Or is it that they are not serving proper food in that dining hall?” She turned around. “Marcus, come and look at my children o!” Paul and Ajie greeted Marcus.
“Madam, it’s growth,” Marcus said playfully. “They are stretching out, that’s why they are thin.”
“This stretching is too much,” Ma said, searching her children’s faces and bodies with her eyes. “Let this school not kill my children for me, please.”
They threw open all four doors of the car to allow for a good supply of breeze. It was the second week in February, and here in the hilly lands of the east, the receding harmattan season had left the air dry and balmy. The soil was a stony red. The generator house stood at a remove from them, and behind it was a stretch of field that was stopped by the barbed wire fence. From where they sat, they could see the Enugu — Port Harcourt Expressway and the vast cashew plantation that stretched far and wide on the other side of the road.
Ma served and passed the food to them, leaning into the car from where she stood by the trunk. Spicy fried rice with diced carrot, green peas, chopped liver fried to a crisp, and stewed chicken. Marcus insisted Ma serve him only a small portion so he didn’t doze off at the wheel from a heavy stomach.
They all dug in.
“Why did Bendic not come?” Paul asked.
“He probably has a court case in Lagos or something,” Ajie informed Paul, teeth clenched, eyes squinting as he chewed a piece of chicken thigh.
“Your father is resting,” Ma said. “The doctor asked him to take some days off and relax at home.”
“Some days off? Is Bendic sick?” Paul asked, looking at Ma.
“He just needs rest; you know how your father carries on with work,” Ma said. “Dr. Idoniboye said he must slow down a bit, reduce his movement a little.”
“I can’t imagine Bendic obeying any instruction like that,” Paul said.
Ajie thought of Bendic lying in bed compulsorily. Faceup, hands by his sides, not moving or turning, just lying there inert for a whole week and then getting up to go about his business when the time had been served fully.
“At home or in the hospital?” Paul asked.
“At home now,” Ma replied, a little reluctant. “He stayed in the hospital for three days first. He’s fine, don’t worry your heads.”
She didn’t tell them that Bendic had slumped in his office one afternoon and been rushed to the hospital, that he had remained unconscious for two days before he came to. She didn’t tell them about the series of tests they had to run; about carrying him back and forth between their home and Braithwaite Memorial because that was the only hospital in Port Harcourt that was equipped to carry out the tests. Then there was the weeklong wait for the results. She didn’t tell them how she had prayed, really prayed, for the first time in a long time; how she had felt she was standing on a precipice, a raging wind at her back, the dark bottomless unknown before her. They would never know of the promise she made to God at that moment, and then to herself, to nature, to the universe, to whatever was good and great out there, that if only things could turn out right, please let this thing turn out right.
She looked up at her children and said, “Your father wrote you letters, but finish your food first.”
Marcus looked back and said, “Look at all the food still on your plates. Paul, Ajie, what’s happening? Quick quick, there’s still more food in the cooler.”
For afters, there was a fruit cocktaiclass="underline" pineapple, paw-paw, and mango, sliced and swimming in the juice in a big bowl. The ripe, sweet smell of the mango filled the car, and two flies buzzed about. Paul held his palm up, aiming to hit as the flies came his way. They buzzed and zigzagged about the car, bumping into the windows as Marcus beat the air with a newspaper, and then they escaped.
“I went to see Bibi last weekend,” Ma said. “She was selected to represent her school in an all-girls cantata.”
“Really, where are they playing?” Paul asked.
“Ilorin.”
“Wow,” the children chorused.
“Is she flying there or going by bus?” Paul asked.
“They are flying,” Ma replied.
“That’s all we will hear about when we go back home,” Ajie said. “Bibi will talk about it so much, like she is the first person in the whole world to have ever entered an airplane.”
“Jealousy!” Paul laughed as if he weren’t also secretly coveting Bibi’s airplane adventure.
“Is she still playing that instrument, what is it called?” Ajie asked to lower the tone.
“Oboe, yes, she is playing two solos,” Ma replied.
“Shitted!” He cupped his mouth with his left hand.
“What type of language is that?” Ma threw him a disapproving glance and leaned forward to the glove compartment to get a toothpick.
“Bibi shouldn’t be doing things like that,” Paul joined in.
“What do you mean, Paul?” Ma challenged. “She plays the oboe well.”
“Ma, just hear how it sounds: oboe,” Ajie said.
“Like ‘oh no.’ ” Paul laughed. “Why can’t she just play the trumpet or drums?”
“Trust Bibi to pick an odd instrument,” Ajie said.
“Her music teacher is very proud of her, and so is her principal. You haven’t been chosen yet to represent your school in anything.”
“Shitted. Ma, that’s harsh,” Ajie said, laughing. “Still, Bibi is running down our family name.”
“Paul, what’s this ‘shitted’ your brother keeps saying?”
“Don’t mind him, Ma. It’s just silly junior boys’ slang.”
“What is wrong with it?” Ajie said.
“Is that what we sent you here to learn?” Ma’s voice had risen to a scold. She turned to face Ajie properly. “Let this be the first and the last time I will hear it from your mouth, you hear?”
Having sufficiently flattened the mood and looking for a way to revive it, she opened a bottle of Sprite and passed it to Paul. “Which one do you want?” she asked Ajie.
“Fanta,” Ajie said.
After they had eaten, they sat back, watching other families. Marcus put on the radio and turned the knob until it caught a station playing a reggae tune — Majek Fashek singing “Send Down the Rain,” which at that moment seemed fitting. Soon it was time for Ma and Marcus to drive back to Port Harcourt.
Ajie rummaged through the bag of provisions Ma had just handed him. Paul was looking through his bag, too. Ma gave them their letters from Bendic and told them to send their replies once they could. “Do you still have stamps left? I should have gotten you some more, completely forgot.”
“They sell stamps in school,” Ajie said, “but I still have about six left.”
“You people shouldn’t forget my birthday-o,” Paul said. “You can send a money order. Just a suggestion. And yes, tell Bendic to expect my letter.”
“I will tell him,” Ma said. Regarding Paul’s birthday, she said they could have a party, by the grace of God, when they returned for midterm break or long holiday. Ajie thought Ma was being rather agreeable, so he said he wouldn’t mind if they threw a party for him as well. Ma asked Paul how he was coping with being deputy head boy, and Paul said there was really nothing to it. Ma looked at Ajie to comment, and Ajie looked back at her and said nothing.