That was how Elvis found him when he got home, snoring gently to the Everly Brothers. It was raining.
Elvis rescued the needle from its endless rasp over the inside track of the record. He lifted the vinyl disc off the still-spinning plate and, holding it gingerly between fingertips, blew off imaginary dust. He replaced it in the sleeve that showed the Everly Brothers wearing 1950s coifs. He watched the record player slowly spin to a stop before he shook his father’s shoulder.
“What?” Sunday said groggily.
“Go inside and sleep. You will catch a cold,” Elvis said.
Sunday yawned and stretched, coming awake.
“What time is it?”
“Three a.m.,” Elvis replied, glancing at his watch.
“Where have you been?”
“Out.” Elvis headed for his room, throwing a “Goodnight” over his shoulder.
“Wait.”
Elvis paused, his hand on the doorknob. He didn’t turn around.
“I have been waiting for you.”
Elvis turned around. “For me? For what?”
“Sit down. I need to talk to you.”
“If it is about Godfrey, forget it. There is no need.”
“It’s not about Godfrey. Sit down.”
Elvis walked over and sat on the bench next to his father. They did not look at each other, both choosing a point in the darkness to gaze out at instead.
“Benji just gave me some disturbing news yesterday.”
Elvis didn’t respond.
“He told me you have been hanging around with dat man dey call de King of de Beggars,” Sunday continued.
“Yes, he is a friend of mine.”
“What type of friend? What would make a young, well-brought-up man like you associate with beggars?”
Elvis was silent.
“De company one keeps tells a lot.”
“What does your friendship with Benji tell?”
“Elvis! I am still your father, respect me!”
Elvis looked at his father scornfully but said nothing.
“Look, Benji told me dat de King, or whatever he is, is a dangerous man.”
“How would Benji know?”
“Benji knows things. Just listen. Dey say dat de King was discharged from the army for crazy behavior.”
“When?”
“After de civil war.”
“That was a long time ago. He seems fine to me.”
“But what kind of man begs for a living?”
Elvis looked pointedly at his father.
“I am unemployed, not a beggar!” Sunday nearly shouted.
“He’s just trying to do what he thinks is right.”
“We all are. I’ve always tried to do just dat. I ran in de first free elections in nearly twenty years, as you know. Den dose army boys came back and toppled de new civilian regime. Of course, de good thing about dat was dat Okonkwo never got to enjoy his victory.”
Elvis remembered the military coup that had removed the civilian government two months into power. As always, there was the national radio broadcast, usually by a northern officer: “My pellow kwontrymen, I wish to ashwar you dat dis hasu been a bloodless coup. Dere will be no bloodshed, but we are imposing a dusk-to-dawn kerfew …” Even as the announcement was being made, army platoons would be taking out the corpses from the bloodless coup and burying them in unmarked graves. The thing that baffled Elvis the most was that everyone came out to have parades to welcome the new reigme in, as though this time for sure things would get better. But Sunday was still talking, so he tried to focus.
“It’s not because nobody tries but because de reasons are complicated. And your King, how is he fighting? By begging?”
“No. He is a poet and a regular speaker at Freedom Square. He is also an actor and uses theater to fight the government.”
“Maybe you should have run for office, not me,” Sunday said with a smile. “But de point is, how will staging plays defeat a military government? Bigger men, like Wole Soyinka, have tried, but nothing changes. If he cannot do it, how can a beggar?”
“I don’t know. I think everyone is just trying to find their way.”
“Are dey finding de way, dese people you speak of?”
“I don’t know, but I do know some people are trying very hard and others are not.”
“So?”
“So they will eventually find a way.”
“Who are ‘dey’ dat you speak of? Do you even know?”
Elvis shrugged and looked away. Sunday chuckled.
“What?” Elvis asked.
“You sound grown. Like a man; yet you are not a man, and so dis is only de voice of others speaking through you.”
“What?”
“Elvis, sometimes even good people use us.”
“Who is using us?”
“I am saying dat dis King is using you.”
“To do what?”
“Who knows? But Benji says all dis political agitation is a front, dat it is to help him find and kill de officer dat killed his family during de war. Dis is not for change, but revenge.”
Elvis lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Part of him knew his father was speaking from fear. Everybody around him was afraid of change, of rocking the boat, in case they disappeared. Yet part of him had begun to doubt the motives of everyone around him, so he could not totally dismiss his father’s concerns.
“The King does good work. I support him.”
“Den you are a bigger fool dan I thought. Don’t you know dat when de King is next arrested you can be implicated by association? Elvis, try and understand. I am doing dis as your father, not as a stranger. I am trying to help you.”
“The way you helped Godfrey?”
Sunday’s wince was audible and Elvis immediately felt a pang of guilt. Maybe his father was trying to help him. But it seemed too convenient. He had alternated between ignoring and bullying him all these years; yet now, hours after being confronted with the murder of his nephew, he was suddenly concerned for Elvis.
“You have a bad mouth,” Sunday said. “You get dat from your mother.”
Elvis said nothing, lighting another cigarette instead.
“Dis is why I don’t talk to you. Every time I try, you shut me out with your rude comments,” Sunday went on.
“I think you should go and sleep off your guilt instead of putting it on me. It’s not working,” Elvis said, tossing his half-smoked cigarette into the street and getting up.
“Elvis … I …”
“Goodnight,” Elvis said. On impulse, he bent down and kissed the top of his father’s head before walking briskly to the door of his room.
As he went inside, he looked back. Sunday had not moved from his seat, except to run his finger meditatively over his bald spot where Elvis had kissed him.
ROAST VENISON
(Igbo: Ele Ahurahu)
INGREDIENTS
Venison
Vegetable oil
Apples
Allspice
Fresh bonnet peppers
Diced onions
Salt
PREPARATION
Dig a hole about two feet square and build spit support from two forked tree branches. Fill the hole with coals, wood and kindling. Light the fire and hang the venison over the flames to burn off the fur. Scrape hide regularly with a knife to clear the fur.