Fofo Kpee went outside to bring the Nanfang into the inner room. He pushed the bike forcefully, like a police officer arresting a difficult criminal. “If I must sell you to be free,” he said to the Nanfang, slapping the backseat, “I shall!”
When we saw him slapping the machine, we expected him to blow up at us at any moment. Then we heard him rummaging in the inner room, his anger evident in the way he threw things out of the way. He was searching for something. He came out with an iron bar we hadn’t seen in a long time.
He went to work with all his energy, climbing on a chair in our parlor-bedroom and chipping the cement mix we had put up a few weeks back, driven by a fury we couldn’t understand. He didn’t bother to move anything or to ask me for help. The brittle fill came flying down in bits and pieces. It was as if the whole place would come crashing down. The whiff of dust streaked the fresh air. And when I coughed, he ordered us to get out of his sight.
We went outside. The late-afternoon sun had gone past the center of the sky and hit the earth at an angle, pouring out of the clear skies without restraint. Looking down the long path to the road, we could see people going about their business, on foot and on bikes, in either direction. We sat quietly under the mango tree, facing the house. I sat on the ground with my back against the tree, my legs straight out before me, Yewa sitting on them, her head on my chest. Its shade wide and cool, the mango foliage wore a two-tone look, like our Nanfang. Some parts of the tree were in bloom, the new fruit and bright-green leaves contrasting with the old. The scent of the fruit, fresh and warm in the sun, filled the air, and the ground around us was sprayed with fine light-green pollen.
“Is he angry with Nanfang?” Yewa whispered to me when we could no longer hear him working inside.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“When we buy him a car, he won’t be angry again.”
“We’re not going to Gabon!”
“We’re not?” she said, turning to face me. “Why, huh?”
“Did you like what Fofo Kpee said the night he danced naked? You liked what he did?”
“No. But he said sorry to us the next day.” She closed her eyes in defiance and turned her back to me. “OK, I’ll go alone, with Mama and Papa!”
It was no use arguing with her.
Under that mango tree, my mind went back to thoughts of running away. Though I had no concrete plans and didn’t know whether it would be possible, the very idea of leaving lifted my mood that afternoon.
I was no longer sure about escaping to Braffe. Suppose I got there and my extended family was as fixated on Gabon as Yewa was and no one understood my change of mind? Who would believe me if I told them what Fofo had done that bad night? Or what if our siblings had been put through this already and didn’t complain? Again, I was concerned about how to escape with Yewa. How could I convince her to follow me when she was still excited about traveling?
For a moment, I thought about telling Monsieur Abraham that our uncle had gone crazy, about the late-night lessons and my plans to escape. But I was too ashamed to do that. What would he think of me? What if my classmates got wind of my uncle’s craziness?
I hated our house now and felt we could have sat out there forever, without wanting to go back in. The front door and the windows were open like the petals of a trap that would slam shut once the prey stepped inside. The angular sun shaved some of the shade off the veranda, catching one of the open windows, its metal gleaming like bait.
“Let’s not argue with him, so he won’t be mad at us,” I said to my sister. “Let’s go inside.”
“I want Mama.”
“Get up!” I said, and pushed her off my thighs.
We tiptoed to the door and peered in. Fofo lay sprawled out on the bed, like a monster dragged ashore by fishermen. His eyes weren’t completely shut. The scar on his cheek looked like a worm journeying from his eye to his mouth, or vice versa, eating his good humor. We sneaked into our bed and lay there, looking up at the roof. Though he had worked very hard all afternoon, he only succeeded in making gaping holes near the roof. They were many and ugly, rough and dreadful, like an unfinished haircut. It was worse than the space we used to have before we sealed it. Our walls now had long cracks, as if Fofo Kpee had made a mural of lightning on them. In some places, the plaster that covered the mud wall had come off, revealing a moldy interior. The smell of crushed stone lingered.
From the way he was sleeping now, we knew he would never have the energy to tackle the inner room. He didn’t talk to us when he woke up, and his face was subdued. He seemed even beyond the babble that had occasionally become his lot in those days.
I made food for myself and my sister because he refused to eat or drink. We ate quickly without talking. He just lay on his bed and stared at the holes he had created, as if whatever was upsetting him would reach in through them to hurt us. He lay faceup, his hands clasped under his head, his elbows up, his legs crossed. One moment he was as still as a corpse, and the next he startled at any sound.
That night we slept better than we had in a long time because of the holes he had made. We didn’t have any lessons.
BIG GUY VISITED US the following day. He appeared unceremoniously, storming in without knocking. Fofo was lying on his bed. Big Guy came in ordinary clothes and looked unkempt and worried. As if he had been expecting him, Fofo didn’t stand up to receive him or even look at him. Actually, once he saw Big Guy, he sprawled out so the man couldn’t sit on his bed. Our visitor ignored him too, turning his attention to us.
“Mes amis, hey, how you dey today?” he said, slipping into a big smile, flashing us a thumbs-up.
“Fine,” we said.
He sat on our bed, in between us.
“I can see Fofo dey feed you well well.”
He plucked at my sister’s cheeks playfully. I hated the fact that what he was saying was true. We looked well fed these days. Our faces had become rounder, our cheeks had filled out, our ribs had disappeared, and our tummies had lost their bloatedness.
“I get good news for you o,” Big Guy said. “We go travel next week.” He rubbed his palms against each other as if he were praying to us. He pointed at Fofo, who shot him a wicked look, then glanced away. “We dey almost ready, OK . . . or, Mary, you want travel quick quick?”
“Today!” she said.
“Talk am again, bright gal!” Big Guy exclaimed, giving Yewa a high five. “You know better ting.”
Fofo turned and glared at us, and Yewa turned to me, uncertainty clipping her earlier abandon.
“Pascal . . . today?” Big Guy said, turning to me.
I pretended I didn’t hear him. An awkward silence filled the room.
“See, de children dey ready,” Big Guy announced to Fofo Kpee gleefully. “No disappoint dem now o. It too late. No be so, Mary?”
“Yes.”
“Who be the wife of Fofo David?”
“Tantine Cecile.”
“Any children?”
“Yves and Jules.”
“Your city for Gabon?”
“Port-Gentil.”
“Excellent. Pascal, you dey too quiet today. Mama dey like your maturity. And Tantine Cecile dey look forward to see you. . . . Say something, abeg, son. . . . Antoinette and Paul dey greet you. . . . You no want travel today like your sister?”
I didn’t want to talk to him. Once he mentioned my Gabon siblings, I became angry and imagined him dancing naked before them. It was my strongest memory of our preparations. I was as uncomfortable as if he were sitting naked with us. Though I didn’t know that Fofo had come to detest the Gabon deal, I secretly enjoyed the cold shoulder he was giving Big Guy. And though I knew that Big Guy was just teasing us about leaving that day, I couldn’t bring myself to share in the joke. I prayed that Fofo would just tell him to go to hell with his plans.