eadily quieter. I became aware of the crackle of the needle on the disk. After some time, without opening his eyes, Tanimu Usman said, The reed instruments have stopped playing and are leaving the stage. A little later he said, The horn players are putting out their lights and departing. Rex had returned to looking at the book. The double bass fell silent. Now only two violins were left, sounding faintly. Then they too died. After a moment, Tanimu Usman said, I wish our evening could be longer, but unfortunately I must bring it to an end. He stood up. I have work to do. I was reminded of this as we listened to the music. It gave me an idea for a speech I am writing for a gathering of emirs. This speech has been troubling me for a while, and now I see what I must write. He began to move towards the door. He looked exhausted. He stopped and said, I am sorry that I wasn’t able to help you. I see that you are disappointed. You must understand that, when one is attempting to do something new, something that has never been done before, it calls for a great singleness of mind. The European countries arrived at nationhood naturally, over many years, although there too was a great unleashing of violence. Perhaps this violence is necessary for the birth of a nation. Here, in Nigeria, as with all African nations, we have very many obstacles to overcome. One cannot create something new without destroying the old. The affirmation of the former requires the negation of that which came before. The emirs, for example, to whom I will speak tomorrow, have an interest in keeping Nigeria divided. But the process has begun. There is much anger and much enthusiasm among our people. It will take a bit of time. But independence will come. It must come. He ended abruptly, turned and left the room, leaving us in silence. — Later, walking to the rest house, with our backs to the small white moon, diffused by clouds, I slipped my hand into Rex’s hand. He had said little since leaving the compound, and I knew he was very disappointed. We walked through the narrow streets. On either side were tall buildings, with white turrets. I squeezed Rex’s hand. How are you feeling? I said. He didn’t reply. Then he said, Did you notice Mr Usman didn’t take his jacket off. When we were standing by the bureau I asked him to take it off, but he wouldn’t. We walked a little more slowly. I heard a faint drumming sound. Rex said, I know why he refused. It was because his sleeves were dirty. I saw the dirt on his cuffs. He has dirty sleeves. I felt a tingling in my eyelids and when I closed them I saw bright lights. I took my hand back. In fact, Rex said, Mr Usman is in a spot of bother. He is well regarded in the South. But here, in the North, he has little power. He’s one of only a handful of Northerners to have had a European education and is out of touch with the people. He takes orders from Nnamdi Azikiwe. But things in the South are happening very much quicker than here. Mr Usman will not accept this. And he is hated for it. We walked on through the still dark. Sometimes the clouds dispersed and we saw more clearly. We turned a corner and came across a young girl. She was standing in front of a latrine that served the adjoining compound, beating out a rhythm on an aluminium barrel. In spite of the drumming, I heard the agony and struggle of a man behind the latrine door. We walked on. The beating stopped. I heard the man in the latrine swallow painfully. Then the sound of pouring water and unhooking of the latch. I stopped walking, and Rex stopped beside me. I looked back, and a small boy emerged from the door. We walked on through the deep dark. In the middle of a square we saw two pigeons kicking up dust. The tips of their beaks were locked together. They were kissing or trying to bite one another or passing food from one to the other. Then one of the pigeons, the smaller, lighter one, hopped up on to the other’s back and flurried her wings. After a spell of this she jumped to the ground and took flight. The other pigeon, startled, followed her up at a different angle but with an identical arc. Suddenly I felt faint. Let’s stop a minute, I said. The clouds had cleared, and the light was very white. I looked up at Rex’s face. It was pale, and I wanted to touch it. But I didn’t feel able. Rex said, Are you feeling well? I said, Yes. And I was. I was feeling wonderfully light. I skipped forward five paces. Then I stopped. A large black cat became visible before us. It was crossing the road. Clasped between its jaws, and dragging on the road, was a hollow yellowy-white arrangement of bone. The cat reached the road’s edge and stopped. Exhausted with the effort, it dropped its load and looked at me. It looked right at me. I lowered my eyes and saw a sheep’s skull. When I looked up the cat, and its load, had disappeared. We forged on through the mostly dark. The buildings had become taller, cleaner, and the street broader. We came to our rest house. To enter we had to pass through a tall anteroom. I took Rex’s hand and led him through. We arrived at a courtyard which rain had converted into a lake of mud. We tiptoed around the lake and walked through the hall. We entered the main room, which had vaulted ceilings. Barely visible at the end of the room was a metal stairway. The dome at its summit had become my sitting-place at night. I stood absolutely still in the middle of the room. My heart rose like a balloon. I cried out as deeply as I could, Heellooo. And again, this time in a high voice, Heelloooo. The words came back at me. Rex stared, I knew he thought me silly, but I didn’t care. I twisted round and looked at him and I had crossed my eyes. I said, Where’s dignity in feeding the ducks. I don’t know why I said it. Those words echoed too. It was like a voice four rooms away in my head. I began to laugh. I couldn’t stop, and I didn’t want to. Suddenly I became scared. I closed my eyes. In the tallness of the room I felt very small, and the space felt enormous. Rex said, I’ve never seen you like this. I couldn’t answer. Instead I turned to face him and laughed. Rex said, Why are you laughing? I didn’t know. I was laughing for no reason. But I was laughing so hard I felt I had to sit down. I sat on the floor. It was cold, and I stopped laughing. Rex came and bent over me. His eyes were watery, pale blue in colour. I saw them widen, the lids blink, but he didn’t say anything. He was a kind man, I always knew he was a kind man. He said, I’m not asking much, Eve, just tell me you are all right. I remember so clearly. He wanted to help me. But I didn’t want him to touch me. I pushed him away. I was all right where I was. Then I said something under my breath. What did you say? Rex said. I didn’t say anything, I said. You said something just now, Rex said. But I didn’t catch it. Catch? I said. You said something a moment ago, Rex said, I want to know what you said. I looked up at him. I said to you, I said. Louder, Rex said. I said that, I said. I can’t hear you, Rex said. I said to you, I said, that you must tread softly. He brought his face close to mine. Tread softly for you tread on my dreams. When I opened my eyes Rex had taken a step back. — Later, in the silence of the night, I felt something stir in my belly. I lay still and thought of my mother, who had once carried me. I thought of her not as Julia but as Mother, who must also have faced this confusion in the night. Rex stirred from his sleep. Are you sleeping, Eve? he whispered. I didn’t reply. I was thinking about the time in Oxford when we were watching a game of cricket. How Rex was trying to explain the difference between an off-break and a googly. How all at once I stopped listening to his explanation because I wanted to write something down. ‘Tread softly for you tread on my dreams.’ That is what I wanted to write. But at the time I didn’t have a pencil, and it didn’t occur to me to say it aloud. But then, there, lying in that bed in Africa, thinking about what I had wanted to write at the cricket match, and finally spoken in the room with the vaulted ceiling, and saying it again, this time to myself, I understood that I had got it wrong, that the line ought to have had ten syllables but the way I said it, it only had nine. I took out my diary because I wanted to note down this fact. I wrote, It is past twelve. I am writing this in near darkness, from the rest house where we are staying. I want to set down faithfully the events of the evening. And I have managed it, albeit it has taken several subsequent evenings to write. It has come to me that I ought not to keep this secret any longer. It is for Rex also. And he too had his pleasure that brought this about. It is settled. I’ll tell him tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow.