“Please check on top of the fridge for some cash and buy this lovely lady a cold bottle of malt. Guinness for me, please, and some groundnuts, too.”
Bibi would cross her legs this way and then that way, like a businesswoman who had just flown in from Lagos. As they do in television dramas, she would take a deep breath and then ask, “So, sir, how about the contract we discussed over the telephone?”
Here in Uncle Tam’s sitting room was Dr. Idoniboye, not going through the ritual of refusal but, rather, accepting and naming his drink of choice once the offer was made: “If it is cold, I’ll take a bottle of malt, please.”
Barisua set down the bottle and a gleaming tumbler on a side stool. She opened the drink but left the cork sitting on the mouth. “So you are telling me the head of state is responsible?” Uncle Tam asked again, in hushed tones, now that the drink was served.
“That is what we have heard,” Dr. Idoniboye replied, in lowered tones, too, as though someone might overhear them. “Some people on the flight had been invited to Lagos for some government function. Only a blind man can’t see it.”
Auntie Leba returned later that afternoon with a copy of the manifest of the doomed flight, now in circulation.
“Tam!” she called out as she got in. “Tam come and see o!”
They had friends on the flight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning after they finished their chores, Barisua walked across the living room where Paul, Bibi, and Ajie were sitting and turned off the radio.
“What is the meaning of that?” Paul leaped to his feet and turned the radio back on. He surprised himself and the rest of them.
Maybe this morning she only wanted to tease Paul. She would later chide him for his lack of humor, laugh, and turn the radio back on. But now Paul had leapt halfway across the room, shouting, “What is the meaning of that?”
Paul and Barisua were exactly the same height. As they stood staring each other in the eyes, Ajie wondered who was the older of the two. Barisua always acted like she was. She cooked, she cleaned, she went to the market, she woke before everyone else, she followed Auntie Leba’s instructions and then laid them down as rules for the three of them. Ajie saw that Bibi wanted to intervene but was holding herself back. From the day they had arrived in that house, Bibi had bound herself to Barisua — faced with her own family of two boys and a fellow girl who was a stranger, she had chosen the girl.
“Paul—” Bibi started, trying to play the mediator.
“Shut up!” Paul shouted at her, looking at Barisua. Barisua walked back to the radio and turned it right off. Paul turned it back on.
“Who do you think you are?” Barisua shouted at Paul. “You little rat. You think this is your father’s house?”
“Is it your father’s house?” Paul flung back. “Common house girl.”
The words seared the air like hot iron. They weakened both Paul and Barisua. Ajie hadn’t imagined those would ever be in Paul’s vocabulary, but they had come so quickly, so readily, to his lips. Paul hid his shame well, and may have backed down or even apologized, had Barisua not stomped off: “A common house girl, eh?” She went behind the sideboards and unplugged the radio. She pulled out the extension cord and strode off to her room with it. She returned to the parlor after she had hidden the cord and sat down opposite Paul as if to say, Now what?
Paul walked into the room he shared with Ajie and shut the door. Bibi and Ajie remained stranded in the sitting room with Barisua.
“Sorry,” Bibi said.
“Sorry for what?” Barisua shot back, her voice shaky.
—
The sky was clear the next morning and a light wind blew steadily through the windows of the living room, lifting the lacy blinds, flapping them sideways. The atmosphere was still tense between the Utus and Barisua.
Paul got up early, washed Uncle Tam’s car, swept the parlor, arranged the furniture, puffed the throw pillows, and arranged the headrest cover for the sofas. He took a shower and then sat in the dining area, quietly reading a book. Barisua scrubbed the kitchen floor (asking Bibi several times to stand aside), washed the countertop, brought out the plastic drum for storing drinking water. She scrubbed the bottom of the plastic drum, washed and polished the terrazzo floor, set the kettle to boil for tea, then scrubbed the toilet. At about nine o’clock, the sun heightened and threw a wider light about. The floors, the air, the walls, everything sparkled.
Since Barisua and Paul were not speaking to each other, Bibi and Ajie stayed quiet during breakfast. Paul kept a blank face as he bit into the bread and gulped his warm Bournvita.
At some point Bibi decided to make conversation, asking Paul if he had heard about this or that, turning to Barisua to ask another question. Paul ignored Bibi’s small talk, but Barisua responded, her voice loose, easy, and free. She was the type of girl who was always moving, always thinking and taking the road forward. Ajie began to feel a coming headache that began with a dull spreading sensation on his forehead.
Later that evening, Barisua initiated reconciliation. Paul, Ajie, and Bibi were in the sitting room when she stepped out of her room and said, “Bibi, do you want to follow me to the store to buy something?” Bibi sprang up: “Yes.” They were all bored, just sitting around the entire afternoon. Then Barisua said, “Paul, won’t you come?”
Paul didn’t decline.
Paul also didn’t decline the next day when Barisua suggested a pillow fight. She knocked Paul hard on the head before he even consented or got ready. He grabbed another pillow and raced after her, and her voice rang out in ripples of laughter.
Although Bibi had never been keen on pillow fights, she didn’t want to be left out of the fun this time. She grabbed a pillow and positioned herself, ready to strike. Ajie snatched the last pillow and then jumped on the bed and stood on it. The headache had returned with a pounding on the left part of his head that made him just want to shut his left eye, but he wanted to play, too. Paul went after Barisua and knocked her hard on the side of her head, and she screamed. He lifted the pillow again and brought it down with all his might, right on the center of her head. She fell silent and dropped on the bed, not moving.
“Ehe! You have killed her!” Bibi shouted.
“That was my plan.” Paul grinned, looking across at the bed where she was lying, playing dead. Bibi bent over Barisua, whose arms were wide apart, eyes closed. “Bari.” She shook her by the shoulders. “Bari, Bari.” No response. Ajie saw the twitch on Barisua’s eyelids and how she held back the smile on her lips.
Paul sat beside Barisua, then shoved his hand under her arms and tickled her. She kicked and gave out a loud yelp, coming out of her pretend unconsciousness. Paul held her down to the bed and tickled her some more. He was sitting on her now, and there were tears in Barisua’s eyes, trickling down her cheeks as she laughed. Bibi was laughing, too, looking a bit unsure. Barisua slapped at Paul’s hand and kicked her legs as she laughed. Her blue floral dress twisted and ran up her legs. That was when Ajie first saw her panties. They were a very light sky blue, and Ajie was sure he saw a print of tiny pink flowers on them. Ma always got his and Paul’s underpants in shades of blue and gray, and Bibi’s were always in white, because as Ma said, only dirty girls wore colored panties, but Ajie didn’t think this at all — that Barisua was a dirty girl. The soles of her feet were always scrubbed so hard with a stone, each time she came from the bathroom, that they turned a gentle red. She always smelled of Rose talcum powder.
Barisua rolled and wrestled Paul down on the bed. Bibi began to chant, “Bari! Bari! Bari!” Ajie lifted his voice over hers: “Paul! Paul! Paul!”