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Next day Henry called Kate and gave her some cakes and chocolates, which she boggled to accept at first.
“Kate, take this cake,” Henry had said when trying to give those confectioneries to his sister. She was nursing the thought that it was poisoned, but being a chocoholic, she could not resist the urge to help her stomach with them. Kate had often told friends that the reason she had loved taking chocolates was that they always remained sweet, even while already in her tummy.
“It’s like I’ve got a tongue inside of me—” she would say, “when confectioneries are in there.” She would josh often while consuming them in the presence of her buddies.
However, she knew Henry was up to something for unwontedly approaching her in such affable manner, on that genially lovely Friday morning while she was preparing for school. It was only two days ago Henry was having a hot brawl with her. Such early dramatic display got her suspicion aroused. She was going to watch out for whatever Henry had got up his sleeves. She’d always been on the alert for any pranks he was going to play on her since that particular April one, when she had used the powdered charcoal to adorn her face in order to get rid of the many stubborn pustules on her face then.
Henry said, “Kate, I’m very sorry for telling dad you’ve joined the music club.”
“Huh,” she sounded, nonplussed.
“It isn’t going to happen again,” he said spuriously. “I promise.”
“Big brother, why the sudden change? It’s creepy I mean!” She gave the chocolate a hard bite, chewing it with relish, immediately feeling her appetite whetted by its luscious taste.
“Kate, I’m now mature—” said Henry, “and I don’t seem to see any point in having a life-long quarrel with one’s sister anymore.”
“But—” she paused, almost falling for it, “when did you come ‘bout this—I mean the thought? You got mature overnight?” Kate said, beaming her eyes in surprises at Henry as she licked her lips, whose bridges the Chocolaty things had smeared.
“Yesterday, when I paid Treece a visit,” replied Henry fast, as an answer to her question.
Treece was Henry’s friend back in the high school, known to Kate, but she was not aware of whether the two were still having contacts with one another after graduating from there. To Kate, Treece was a good-natured person then, and it could have been possible for such a boy to have taught Henry some good ethics if really Henry’s claim was true. Treece was someone Kate had ever admired, though never approaching him to share her feelings with him all through his time in the school.
Treece had three siblings—all females. Being the eldest, his sisters would form clusters around him each time they were walking down to school. Kate had always been jealous, never envisaging that it could be possible for her to have such kind of splendid intimate relationship with Henry, her blood brother one day. With the way it seemed now, Kate’s thought must have turned around, at least after tasting the confectioneries.
“How about him?” asked Kate, rather inquisitively, “Did he advise you do this?”
“No. I saw him fondly having fun with Betty, his sister.”
“And…”
“It sent a message to my damn brain instantly.” Henry voiced out captivatingly, displaying a great deal of genuineness, but contrived and superficial, all aimed at misleading her.
“We have fun too—isn’t it?” said Kate, “Before now.” She laughed heartily in a silly manner.
“Hey, Kate, it isn’t funny!” said Henry, attempting to call back her attention to what he had to say more, but she was impervious to his words, still laughing.
“We have fun—a lot of it,” she said stubbornly, amidst laughter, smacking and licking her lips to get rid of the chocolate stuck to them.
“Irony!” said Henry, pissed, but not showing it.
“Isn’t it fun when you hit that big truncheon on me daily those days, before dad got rid of it?” she lamented and was soon shedding tears—crocodile tears.
“I’m sorry,” Henry said. It was the first he would ever say to her, since birth. But right there in the corner of his mind, he had got something else—perhaps to tell her later—if his plan would work out.
“Sorry my foot!” that was the thought in his mind.
“So what are you going to use to salvage that apology of yours?” she asked. “Only cake and choco—?”
“I’m not done yet,” he replied, looking straight into her eyeballs. She was shy.
“Listen to me, still on Treece and sister—I saw them hug each other in a mesmerizing love, of the greatest ardor and splendor never once witnessed all my lives.”
“And—” she barged in callously, losing patience.
“Let me land,” said Henry. He was afforded the silence he needed. Then he said, “That moment, I had to change my orientation concerning how our rapport with each other was supposed to be—like Treece’s and Betty’s.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
“I felt like holding you in my arms right there—in Treece’s lounge.” Henry’s countenance suddenly changed—sniffing morosely —like a baby set to whine.
“Really!” she whispered. Seemed Henry had subdued her, making her believe what was not.
“Yeah,” he said, tears running down his cheeks. If those tears were literally crocodile tears, maybe Kate would have detected they were fake while mopping it for him with a napkin; at least the texture could have made the difference.
“But—It’s not too late.” said Kate. “The hug I mean.” She had said that indirectly, being shy. It was something they had never done; therefore, it was not her fault that she did not know how to ask him for a hug. Nevertheless, Henry understood her. He came closer and hugged her.

]“Dad, Mum—believe me—Kate’s lying,” Henry said in a low tone to avoid waking her sister up, who was having siesta in her room.
“You’re not raising that issue again—are you?” asked Mr. White. For an answer Henry said, “Dad, Something for you—here.” He produced a crumpled sheet of paper from the left pocket of his shorts. On it was boldly written, RENDEZVOUS GUEST HOUSE, JONES STREET. Though Henry had written it in a hurry, it was still legible enough for his parents to read. They were confused after reading it.
“What for?” questioned Mr. White energetically.
“It’s the address—where Kate and friends are meeting,” he said and then added, “for the party.”
“How d’you know?” they queried him.
“Well—” he smiled visibly. “Got all ears on ground—picked their discussions.”
“Where’s this place? Sounds French—or is it Paris?” Mr. White asked, face wrinkled as if annoyed with the word ‘Rendezvous’ he had just read out in the letter, pronouncing it wrongly.
“Not at all dad,” said Henry, “Just a stone throw from here.”
“You sure? Where’s it?” Mrs. White asked. Henry smirked.
“Never worry; it’s the street abutting Hilton, where we went last year shopping for Christmas.”
“Oh I remember now!” cried Mr. White with a protruded face. “How could I have forgotten so soon?”
“Yeah, so well,” said Mrs. White, remembering it too.
“So—you know the place,” Henry said, laughing heartily.
“Yeah, that’s where I picked up Sally your mama—” said Henry’s dad genuinely but hilariously, “the first time we met.” Gaby looked at his wife’s face at that instance and saw her put on a disdainful look; serious or unserious he would not tell. Being disinterested in the brisk love play his parents had just entered into, Henry tried to restore the initial matter, calling their attentions to it.
He said, “Dad, Mum, it’s serious issue.”
“Yeah—Gaby, what d’you have to say?” Mrs. White said, now fleering.
“Henry, when’s the meeting?” Gaby asked his son in return.
“2pm Monday.”
“I’ll be on duty then, else I’d be glad to pay her a surprise visit—there,” said Gaby, shaking his head sorrowfully.
“Huh!” Sally said also. “I’m on duty too.”
“What the hell!” cried Henry furiously as he envisaged the abortiveness of his plan. “What about skipping work—at least for only that day?" Henry raised a suggestion. Four eyes expanded as Henry ended his advice, but all mouths were mute. Henry waited anxiously to hear a response. Mrs. White later seconded Henry’s idea by saying, “Yes Gaby, I think that was a good suggestion Henry had raised. At least one day out of job won’t change anything.”
“Oh, Sally you’re right,” said the man, quickly accepting it, “but I’m suggesting we get to work that day—” Gaby said, resuming his speech after gulping his spittle, “and leave for home by noon,” he concluded.
Gaby had always been a studious type of person, so he wouldn’t buy the idea of missing a whole day job. That was exactly the reason he had to modify his wife’s and son’s suggestion. However, Sally agreed with the modified version of the plan.
“Oh! It’s great idea,” said Sally, nodding her head slowly, as if choreographing to a music having its source from the huge and old radio set placed on the shelf. “Isn’t it two, Henry?” she asked.
“Yeah! 2pm, Monday.”
“We should be back by twelve that day,” said Mr. White. “Isn’t it okay by you—Sally?”
“Okay,” she replied nodding in approval.
“It’s bed-time, goodnight Henry,” said the man, pulling his wife closer to him as they made for their room. Henry was lost in thought, seeing them together. He thought of Cynthia once again before retiring to his room to pernoctate. The thought that grazed his mind that moment was the one of a legitimate blissful connubial relationship with the Chinese campus girl—Cynthia.

]“Can we make it 2pm? We mustn’t exceed two hours—two o’clock on Monday.”
Belinda’s suggestion was unanimously agreed upon without any debate preceding it. Kate saw them off to the motor road outside the house. She waved to them, walking hurriedly back home. She was puzzled, seeing Henry right inside the living room she had just left with her friends. She developed goose pimples immediately as she moved closer to him in apprehension, already having it settled in her mind that Henry had heard every bit of the plan.
Kate asked with an edgy voice; “Henry have you heard everything?”
“Every what?” yelled Henry at him, faking ignorance.
“C’mon don’t pretend as if you’ve not heard all we said,” she added uncertainly, trying to carve a way out of the looming trouble she had insinuated. Her hope was raised when Henry yelled, “Said with whom?” She revealed a dimpleless but bland smile, which made her ugly the more, on hearing Henry’s reply.
“Since you’ve not heard, never mind,” Kate said and turned heel to leave his presence, but she became transfixed at a spot by what she heard him say at that moment.
“Don’t fool yourself around, I heard it all!”
Henry’s confession sent a gush of shocking wave down her spine and rashly she yelled, “Heard what?”
“You’ve joined a music club. You brought your friends here, turned the parlor into a disco hall. I heard your voice in the cassette—it was the worst of all,” criticized Henry, sticking out his tongue in order to frustrate her more.
“Well, you can make jest of me as you like, as long as you won’t tell mum and dad about it—it’s okay by me. Or—are you going to tell?” she asked diplomatically, heart thumping faster than normal.
“Definitely yes!” replied Henry without giving it a second thought. The statement dampened her spirit. Being enervated she said in a minuscule pitch, “You want to let dad disown me—or you’ve forgotten what he said?”
“You’re of no use in this family—Kate or caterer—or whatever you call yourself,” slandered Henry, but she managed to swallow it up and kept silent, though peeved at her brother’s insulting speech. “Your absence in this family will enhance the soaring of my pocket money,” Henry continued to dole out the insults to her.
Kate knew undoubtedly that Henry was going to tell, no matter what. She felt that she could make Henry change his mind if she could possibly entice him with what she was about to mention—money. She put her clever idea into practice at once.
“What about you having my pocket money for the next three months?”
“It’s of no use,” replied Henry obstinately.
“Okay, what about me doing the house chores alone?” said Kate seriously again, but Henry refused still. In a flash, Kate had developed another idea in her mind, which she ardently believed that Henry was not going to reject, since such had always been acceptable to every mature male she had come across. She was going to test it on Henry too, perhaps he would fall for it.
“Em—what about getting you a girlfriend?” she said and raised her head to see his reaction. “Pretty one!” she added when she saw the imperviousness in the comportment of her brother.
“Shut it! Don’t need one from you! I’ll tell, no matter how long you badger me!” Henry shouted and banged at the table as if drumming to his speech in order to make it more durable. The two looked disdainfully into each other’s eyeballs, uncouthly, like a hero a villain at the end of a movie, ready to have a mortal contest. She took courage to speak later.
“No one’s going to believe you since you’ve got no evidence,” Kate told him point-blank, laughing as she took a brisk walk to her room.
Mr. and Mrs. White soon arrived. While they were still behind the door, Henry had reported Kate’s deed to them. This he did within a minute, but his parents were able to grasp the information just as if Henry had spent an hour in relaying it. It seemed as if the ability of Mr. and Mrs. White to do that had been brought about by the fact that what Henry was explaining to them was music-related; something that would catch their interest, since they wouldn’t want to buy the idea of their children involving in it.
“Kate! Come over here!” they cried as they stepped into the large lounge that was being aerated by some air-conditioning systems that were put in place around the house long time ago. They were never allergic to cold.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she responded from her room. Kate could tell from the way her parent had shouted her name that Henry had informed them about it. She was with them a couple of minutes later.
“Why d’you flout our instruction? We said don’t join music club,” her father asked, gazing at her, expecting to hear something.
“I didn’t,” she responded without delay, face wrinkled. “Who said I did that?”
“Henry,” replied her parents immediately.
Henry’s anger was kindled against her sister for the lie she had just told. He tried to suppress the vexation by keeping silent, but the urge to speak made him burst out:
“Yes, Kate you brought your friends here and played the music you’ve recorded. Then you danced and danced and—”
“Hey—Henry you said you’ll tell lies against me and that’s what you’re doin’ right now.” cried Kate in a convincingly acceptable manner. An outsider would have believed her if one was present at such moment. “Just because we didn’t give you our candies,” she added unscrupulously.
“Liar!” cried Henry jerking forward to give her a slap on the cheek, but Mrs. White held his arms back. He wriggled unsuccessfully in her grip, but soon gave up, seeing she would not permit him to do it.
“Kate—” said Mr. White. “Candy! Where did you get it from?” Kate’s father had warned her several times against the consumption of candy, fearing tooth decay. Kate had once suffered tooth decay while still very young. Back then, she was always spending all her pocket money on candies, pilfering cash sometimes from her mother’s purse to get the goodies.
Kate appeared morose instantly when her dad asked her the question, yet she was only feigning the bad mood. With the way Kate had made her countenance to appear, her father was convinced that she had really taken some candies as she’d confessed, yet that was what Kate wanted him to believe. She never took any candy at all—such display was a mere cant, just to try diverting the reality of the matter.
“Kate, did you just say that you took candy?” Mr. White yelled at her in anger.
“I’m sorry dad—” she said deceitfully, “It was my friends who brought the candies. We—er—ate them together, Henry begged us to give him some, but we refused. Then—”
“She’s lying!” barked Henry furiously, but no one was paying a bit of attention, already engrossed in her sister’s foxy tale. She spoke on:
“He threatened to tell a lie against us about joining a music club—” she paused and looked piercingly at her father’s eyeballs, “and that’s exactly what he’s doing now,” concluded Kate slyly.
“Liar!” shouted Henry persistently, violently struggling to break loose from her mother’s grip, but the opportunity was not given to him, otherwise, Kate would be in ‘soup’.
Their parents made protracted attempts to resolve the issue, telling the two parties to forget about the issue. They assured themselves that the truth would be revealed soonest.
Kate made eyes at Henry scornfully, exacerbating Henry’s hatred for her. He felt like gunning her down instantly, damning the consequence.
“Lying Kate!” he whispered to her hearing when their parents had left the parlor. Kate replied, “Thank you.”
That particular event remained indelible in Henry’s brain. It was from then Henry had begun to tell people he hated liars, having her sister in mind each time he was saying that. For the lie, Henry was sure going to make her suffer. His last hope was to disclose the rendezvous of the Music Practice to his parent. He was going to do that without her knowledge, so she could be caught red-handed while in the rehearsal venue. Henry called his parents while Kate was asleep and told them everything.

Going by the look of things, it was as if Henry was the one who needed the answer most. He paid rapt attention to every sound he did hear, so he would not miss out some silently spoken salient words.
After giving the asked question a serious thought, Naomi said, “At the guest house called Rendezvous—in Jones Street.”
Henry smiled belligerently on his bed, but his smile was the ephemeral type, being terminated at the thought that he did not known where the mentioned venue was located. Henry wished sorely that someone would ask where it was and his sister did just that.
“Where’s the place?” asked Kate, raising her voice.
“Kate, don’t be silly, you know RGH don’t you?” said Jane in a harsh manner, but Kate nodded in the negative.
“Then you shouldn’t claim a citizen of the US if—”
“Hey, tell me if you want to,” retorted Kate embarrassingly. “My bro. will soon be here. I’m sensing he’s not gone far.”
As Kate said that, Henry grinned on bed, muttering words to himself.
“Foolish ones! I’m right in here.”
“Okay, Jones Street abutting Hilton—or you want to deny knowing Hilton too?” replied Jane, looking serious.
“Oh my Jees—!” Kate screamed, “I Know Hilton Street quite well. I’ve been there with my family once, shopping for Christmas—but I never knew that the lane abutting it was Jones.”
“Now you know, innit?” Naomi said. “Let’s choose a date—for the training.”
Henry cuddled up to his pillow in utmost excitement. That was his usual practice whenever he was extremely excited. He held out his ears, so he could get the last thing he would need—the date and time.[

Funny enough, Henry had made several attempts to have his surname changed to the direct opposite, Black, some years back when he was still attending the same high school with her, because she had been identified as Henry’s sister then, by the name they had in common—White.
Kate had many allies but Henry did not have more than one. His friendship with anyone had never lasted up to a school term, since he never knew how to maintain friendship, since he was a nerd, and so would never have the time to spend having fun with some friends.
During Henry’s second year on campus, being on holiday, Henry adjourned to his room to take a nap. Rolling from side to side abed, sleep eluding him, he heard a sound from the door. Henry felt Kate must have returned from school, since father and mother would not be back until evening.
“That thing’s back again,” said Henry, face squeezed as if presently perceiving a nauseating odor—probably from fresh fecal matter. Kate was then in her final year in the high school.
As Henry had presumed, Kate was the anonymous ‘door-pusher’. With her came three friends—Naomi, Jane and Belinda. Kate was not aware of his presence, so she slotted a cassette, which they had brought with them, into the Video Cassette player in the parlor—music began.
Lost in the euphoria, the quartet began to sing loudly, jumping and hopping frantically to the music.
“Kate you’ve got a melodious voice,’ said one of her friends.
“Why wont I, after such long-lasting period of voice training?”
The girls didn’t go to school that particular day, being somewhere rehearsing, though creating false impressions in the minds of their parents that they had been in school since morning.
“Hope your dad and mum have stopped disturbing you—” Belinda asked Kate inquisitively.
“About what?”
“About you not to become a musician.”
“They’re going to disown me if they hear this,” she said in a slow manner.
“Why?” asked Jane.
“They’ve got aversion for music and magic.” she responded, resuming her speech having read the demanding minds of her friends. “Don’t know why?”
“When’s our next music practice—you know we’ve got to sing for ‘Paparazzi’ club next week?” Belinda said and received an instant answer.
“Let’s make it next two days,” suggested Kate. “We’ll skip some classes.”
“It’s okay, but where should we converge?” asked one of them. Immediately after the question, the atmosphere became silent, each trying to figure out a suitable rendezvous.

Kate, still having strong confidence in the black thing, asked sharply, “What’s the April fool for?”
Henry had to take time to explain the mystery behind the ‘black medicine’ in a finicky manner to her. He said, “That was a mixture of charcoal and chilly pepper, concocted by Cypher, my High school friend.” He paused to laugh. “Check it out!”
Kate sulked and hung her head in frustration, having realized her mistakes. She was going to start real trouble with the boy, probably taking her friends with her to fight him, but she relented, having had a second thought. However, Henry never went scot-free during that period, because he was paid in his own coin too, before the second half of that same month (April). Some girls, discovered later to be Kate’s buddies, spitefully poured on him, from the second floor of one of the school structures, a pail of green gloss paint, while Henry was trudging away beneath.
“Green American!” they chuckled frenetically, but never went unpunished too—by their mistresses. They were all locked up in the school detentions for days.
Henry’s hair was brown but Kate’s own was black and curly. Henry was the replica of his father, but Kate looked more like the relative of the neighbor next door. The two never liked walking or talking together. Their everlasting repugnancy was epitomized in the large framed picture hung in the living room, which had always been classed an eyesore of a picture by family and friends who had come around for visits in the past. In it was Henry, standing very close to his father toward the right side of the photograph, while Kate stuck to her mother—each pair being some quite considerable distances apart. This had resulted due to the never-ending disparity between the kids, forbidding to take photographs together.
Visitors never stopped making incessant derogatory comments about the ‘family photograph’, thinking that one day Mr. and Mrs. White’s marital life would break apart and each child would go with the one he or she had held unto in the photograph.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We got well inside Bode’s room but he wasn’t there. Mother adjourned to the toilet to look for him. It was futile.
“Bode! Bode! Bode!” my mother must have shouted, going by the look of her mouth. She was shaking visibly. Maybe Bode had answered the call of her mother, I thought.
“She must have gone bodily to meet her mother in the herbalist’s place?” my mother said.
“In this dead night?” I replied. “I don’t think so.”
“Hmm…hey, I’m afraid Rose. What are we going to tell John now?”
“Like how? Did we do anything to him?” I said and frowned.
“Daddy won’t take that from us, I hope you know him,” she said.
“Enh, but how is this our concern?” I replied, bending to peep under the bed to find him. He wasn’t there.
“Even Toyosi would do anything to put us in trouble,” she said. “She would take us to court and ask us to provide her son by all means.”
I threw down the pillow, perhaps he was hiding underneath it. I opened the wardrobe and even pulled out the drawer. We were both acting nervously as though we were running mental. How possibly would someone fold himself into a wardrobe? That thought didn’t strike my head.
My mother even raised the mattress up and left it out of order after discovering that Bode wasn’t under it. The last place we would go search for him was my father’s room. We feared the man so much.
“Bode!” my mother was calling as she left for the parlour. She returned to say Bode wasn’t there. We have virtually checked the whole flat except my father’s room.
“Maybe we should go and check him in your room,” I said.
“No,” my mother disagreed at once. “Your father will suspect us if we do that.”
“So what’s your suggestion?” I asked.
“Let’s just retreat and return to your room to continue our sleep and do as if nothing has happened. Tomorrow morning we shall be sorting it out.”
“Alright then,” I said, stepping ahead of her. I can’t wait to be on my bed again because I am tired. But this time around I would make sure I don’t sleep with my two eyes closed to avoid being called in the dream. I would rather sleep like a duck, I thought.
“Rose, don’t go yet,” my mother signaled to me. “Let’s tidy up the room we’ve scattered.
I rushed to the wardrobe to arrange Bode’s cloth as they were earlier, then I found a calabash.
I was shocked. I tapped my mother to call her attention. She was shocked too when she saw it.
She shook like a leaf blown by a gentle breeze. Her mouth convulsed.
“Who put that there?” she was asking. If she hadn’t spoken with sign language I would have thought that she wasn’t directing the question to me but to someone else. How would I know who put the calabash there? The thing was merely half-filled with sand
My mother feared that it would implicate us if father should discover it there later, so she picked it up after doing sign of the cross over her face and shoulder so that she could go and throw it far away. As she got to the entrance of Bode’s room, someone appeared at the door. It was John!
For minutes I felt the quietness of disability. Mother was shedding hot tears, father was pointing to her face; Bode was staring under father’s armpit in horror. My heart whispered, ‘I am disabled’.
A slap was done to my mother’s cheek. It must have reverberated going by the impetus in my father’s arm. His biceps was on the high at that point. The calabash fell off her grip and got smashed. Father pinned her to the wall and Bode came after me too. He sent a strong bite to my right side. I couldn’t raise my arm. I dare not do that.
When they were done with us after dealing with us like thieves, father locked us up in the room. I was left in the dark as regard their conversation. Mother could have begun the explanation, but our hands were both tied with ropes. They had even removed the bulb in that room so as to leave us in total darkness. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth in the belly of the dark. It was hell!
I dragged myself to my mother in the dark and leaned my weighty head on her laps. My hot tears ran down my eyes into her laps—the cleavage in between them I guess. She lowered her head to my neck. She was weeping too. I knew this when a hot liquid ran through my nape.
The night was lengthier than ever. The last time I checked the time, it was 2pm. Now it should be 4pm, I thought. But then I had to wait and wait and wait. Sleep couldn’t graze my eyes. Mother was not also sleeping. We couldn’t communicate since everything needed for communication was under bondage; eyes dim, hands tied; no way!
A poem began to form on my befuddled brain. I would rock the world with it in the nearest future. I hated lie more than anything in the world. Why should we deaf, dumb, lame and blind people keep deceiving ourselves by giving ourselves hope that we are able when actually we are not? We say that what normal people can do, special people can do better. They tell us stories of Nick Vujicic who was born limbless in Australia. They tell us the story of a headless chicken who survived for eighteen months after its head had been chopped off its neck; the story of one Spencer West who climbed Mount Kilimanjaro without legs and many others. I don’t believe any of those craps. They even showed us pictures of those people to back up their claims that we are able. That chicken, I could remember, was named Mike the Headless Chicken.
My class teacher would not let us rest while telling us those stories to motivate us and keep us away from thinking of our predicaments. She would say, without a head, Mike the headless chicken could run about for eighteen months, how much more you who have heads?
I could remember challenging her that day by asking, “What is the essence of a piece of bread without butter? What is the use of a house without furniture? What is the use of a head without functions?
“What do you mean by all these?” she demonstrated in annoyance.
“A head with useless lips, mouth, tongue and ears, what’s the use?” I replied her that day. She was speechless.
So where is that specialty right now? We deaf and dumb can’t communicate in the dark, yet we have something called mouth. Why at all am I even born with a mouth when it isn’t speaking, or should I shift the blame on the tongue? We can’t enjoy movies because they were not designed for we the deaf people. How could we hear their speech? No way!
If only I have an ear that could listen, my mother was ready, even now, to tell me to detail everything that had transpired between herself and her husband. Why should I even need her to tell me what happened when I would actually have heard them myself during the heat of the brawl?
We spent two months in the dark. Actually, it wasn’t two months but it seemed so because of the torment we were passing through. Maybe we had a shorter day and a longer night, who knows.
The day began to dawn gradually and the blanket of darkness left the face of the wall clock. I checked the time; it was 5:25 am. The door flung open and three souls trooped in, Toyosi, John and Bode. They were leering wickedly at us. We are dead!
Toyosi began to unleash the content of her mouth. She pounced on my mother and then came to me to do the same. She taught me a lesson I never learnt. She smashed my head on the bed wood. She was pointing at the smashed calabash, the scattered bed, the opened wardrobe and every other thing my mother and I have scattered during the course of our search for Bode. My common sense told me that she would use them all a evidence against us in the court of law.
By 7am we were still in bounds, only that we could now see each other. They had shut the door once more but our hands were still tied. My father tied them purposely to render us incommunicado. I leaned my back against the bedside and raised my legs up in the air to communicate with my mother. I managed to ask a question with my legs. She understood me vividly and she was shocked. Now how would she give me a reply? She couldn’t demonstrate anything with her own legs. It was a surprise to me when she nodded to signal to me that she wasn’t able to do that. She couldn’t control her toes to make any sign, but I was finding it so easy to do. I used my knees as my elbow whenever it was needed. I could easily fold all four toes and let the fattest one lie straight, but my mother couldn’t dare it.

CHAPTER TWELVE
The following day, Sunday, Toyosi was back in our house. She was still as keen on knowing my name as the day before yesterday. My aunt’s instruction didn’t strike my opaque head. I was going to demonstrate it to her once and for all.
An inner voice came. At first I was shocked when I heard it and thought I could now hear with my ears, but when Toyosi turned around to answer her son, I knew I was still deaf because I didn’t still hear her voice. The inner voice had just asked me not to do it.
“Please demonstrate your name,” she asked again. As though she had enchanted me, I rose up and made some gestures with my hands. She was glad. She signaled that I did it over and over again and I concurred. She also began to do it until I told her she had done a perfect job.
Toyosi left the home after presenting some goodies to me. It was soon dark. The day had gone to bed but my eyes were just clear. I wasn’t feeling sleepy at all. Mother came to my room and saw me turning around under the quilt after switching on the light of my room.
“Rose, aren’t you sleeping?” she asked.
“I don’t feel like…sleeping,” I yawned. She came to sit beside me on the bed.
“What’s the matter Rose?”
“I don’t just know,” I said.
“Maybe you want me to rock you to sleep, Rose,” she said. “And I wouldn’t mind doing that.”
“I’m no more a small girl mum,” I replied. “By September I would be getting to JSS 1.”
“And then?” she said. She looked into my gray eyes and frowned. I didn’t know what she spotted in them. “Rose, are you nervous?”
“A bit,” I said. I was feeling nervous indeed. My heart was tapping faster than normal. My blood was burning within me. It was as though something bad would happen.
“Don’t be nervous Rose,” she said. “Or would you come and sleep in my room?”
“I wouldn’t mind doing that,” I said. Mother bundled me up the way I saw father bundle Toyosi up those few times she was playing love with my father in our presence. She dumped me playfully on her bed. I ricocheted like that round thing my brother called ‘high land’. Mother’s bed was as fat as a thousand sliced bread packed together. Sure no one would have a bad dream on such.
As soon as my back made intimate contact with the mattress, my eyes began to close. My breath poured easily. I fell into unconsciousness. A dream began to form on my face.
Vividly in my dream I saw a woman sitting on a mat beside an old man whose teeth was like a rotten banana. The ambiance of the room was familiar to me. The woman was the one I saw calling some statements into a basin of water having my image some weeks back. This time around, she wasn’t speaking, instead, she was gesticulating.
“Bode, the son of John, I am calling your name right now. Answer me to death right now, Bode!” she said in sign language. “Answer me to death right now!”
It was like a film show to me. An image had formed inside the water. She was shocked when she saw the image in it. It wasn’t mine, but that of Bode. I could read disappointment and shock on her face when she saw the image.
I thumped up.
So it was a dream, I thought. I tapped my mother to life.
“Mother, I have a dream.”
“A dream?”
“Yes mother, a bad dream,” I said, breathing like a cow.
“About what?” my mother yawned and beamed at the wall clock. It was just 2 am.
“Something like that one I had in Aunty Rachael’s house three weeks back,” I said.
“Do you mean the dream about someone gawking at your image in a basin of water?” my mother asked in a fearful manner.
“Yes mother,” I said. In fact, this time around the woman was speaking in sign language.
“Ah! Calling your name in sign language?” Mother said and held my two cheeks in between her palms.
“Not my name this time around,” she said. “She was calling Bode’s name.”
“In sign language?”
“Exactly, yes,” I said, sweating.
Mother was glad I didn’t respond to the call since it wasn’t my name that was called by the strange woman in the dream. However, she felt concerned for Bode.
“Who’s this strange woman of darkness calling us at night? Why can’t she present herself in the day? She must be a coward.” Her heart thumped. She was scared. “Now that you said that the woman is communicating in sign language, are you safe at all? What is the probability that she won’t pounce on you in the next dream?” My mother faced the ceiling and began to weep.
“Mum,” I said and tapped her. She looked at me. “I think I know who she is.”
“Who?” she asked in an intriguing manner and I answered pointblank, “Toyosi!”
“How do you know?”
“She asked for my name yesterday, but I demonstrated her son’s name, Bode to her.”
“Ah!” my mother held me tight. “A witch cried yesterday, a child died today, who don’t know that it is the witch who killed the child?” she spoke in proverbs.
“Mother, let’s go and check Bode in his room first,” I said out of concern. Mother and I began to head for his room. He wasn’t in.
“What?” we both screamed in sign language.

A little break:

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Chapter Ten

Contrary to my thought, father welcomes us heartily. He embraces and kisses my mummy in the presence of Toyosi who is smiling.

"Husband and wife, open the door and kiss," Toyosi says and laughs.

"Go and meet your husband too, Toyosi," my father says.

When my mummy tells me all these, I doubt it.

"Are you sure Toyosi is happy with us now?" I ask her.

"Didn't you see it with your eyes yesterday?" mummy replies me.

"But this is strange and so sudden, how come?"

"That's the miracle of God," says mummy. "Don't you know that when the way of a person pleases God he will make his enemies to be at peace with him?"

But Toyosi didn't tell us the reason why she had to change her mind towards us suddenly like that. Bode hasn't changed a bit, yet his mother did warn him not to continue misbehaving towards us.

It is holiday period, so I spend all my time at home enjoying myself. Daddy isn't bothering me anymore. Infact he is a changed man too. I think he is behaving according to Toyosi's dictate. She has told him to be kind to us because we are his legitimate family and not herself.

Mummy shares the testimony in her church of what God has done to her; how God has changed her husband's heart. My church is a large one. I didn't even know my mum is up there on the podium sharing her testimony until I begin to see the interpretation of her testimony in sign language; how would I have known she is up there when the church has relegated us, the special ones so called, to the back of the Church? I have asked our 'deaf and dumb' interpreter a question once, during question and answer session after our Sunday school.

"The topic today is Show Love Without Discrimination, ma, but why don't I see the love in our church here?" I ask.

"What do you mean?" she asks me.

"According to the Bible Reading, it is stated that it is wrong to tell one person sit here while you tell another person come over to this high seat. But why is it that we deaf and dumb in this church have to sit far away from the stage like this?"

The interpreter smiles. She must have been thinking of what to reply. 

"Hmm..." she smiles. "Rose, it is to avoid distraction, that's why? If we do our service close to them, they will be distracted with the movements of our hands."

"I disagree!" I barge in. "Why are we not also distracted with the movement of their mouths? We don't hear the sound of their mouths, our hand movements don't produce any sound too, we only get to see each other, that's all. It's fifty-fifty!"

She becomes mute. But that was not all. I still have more to say in rage:

"Why can't the preacher even be preaching in sign language and someone should be interpreting to them in voice language? This is also discrimination!"

Everyone laughed that day in the deaf and dumb class and I was rechristened 'Miss Discrimination'.

Ann2012:
Well done OP
Seat claimed

Thank you. Pls fasten your seat belt, because very soon many people will flood this hall.

This post is dedicated to Ann2012. Pls keep reading and do invite others. Thanks.


CHAPTER NINE

My body shakes as I set my eyes on her. What can she be here for? Even my mother isn't asking her anything. Suddenly, her stern face drops and she seems sober.

"G--good day," she greets us. I have read her lips to get what she says.

"What do you want?" my aunt challenges her. She didn't invite her in.

"I--I come to apologize," she must have said, going by the gesture she makes.

My aunty didn't take her serious at first, but eventually, she did.

Toyosi tells us that she has regretted her actions. She says that she wants us back in the house. When my mummy tells her that it won't be possible, she began to beg her. 

My mummy tells me the whole story in detail; according to her, John is getting worried over not having anybody to take care of Bode and himself. He visits Toyosi in her matrimonial home often until she advised him to take back his wife and children.

"Don't worry, John will take a very good care of you and your daughter," mummy says, mimicking in sign language how Toyosi has said it.

"So, after throwing our loads out that man still have the gut to beg us to return, huh!" I say angrily.

"Hey, Rose, he's your daddy, so you have no right to call him that man!" Rachael says. "By the way, this is just a kind of an answer to our prayers. Didn't I tell you yesterday that if you go there tomorrow to beg him, he will listen to you?"

"Heard," I gesticulate. "What about that wicked wh'ore, did she apologize to you before she leaves? Remember she was bragging few days back that she will do something terrible to us."

"She did apologize," my mother says. 

"Remember I say she will come and do that in one of our prayers," Rachael says. She always love bringing God, church, bible and prayers into every little matter. I love her for that anyway. 

"Younger sister, you are a prophetess," my mummy makes fun of her and pushes her head slightly. 

"That's a gift from above sister," Rachael says. "Even before my husband died, I foretold his death; it came as a vision, but my husband didn't pay attention." Rachael's face develops into a grotesque. Remembering her husband has remained her ugliest moments; a cross to bear.

My mother turns to me and says, "Rose, infact Toyosi promised to come and spend this weekend with us so that she can have time to have fun with you."

"With me? Why?" I say in an unforgiven manner.

"Rose, let her come, there is no big deal about that. Afterall we have prayed to have peace with everyone and our prayer is being answered right now," mother says. "Rose, she even said that you will teach her the sign language when she comes."

My aunt makes her mouth into something for a while. She must have coughed, going by the way the lips are set. Seems she doesn't approve of the idea that I teach her sign language.

My mother looks at her face for a while. A sparkle of shock is on her face. It is as if the cough is a significance of something I don't know. 

"First thing tomorrow morning, Rachael, I'm off to my husband's house," mummy says eventually, shutting her eyes, sobbing.

I can't sleep at night. I just keep rolling around on my fat bed. My eyes are clear. My mind flashes back to past events; those harassments from my father. I weep. I hope it won't continue.

My dream is the sweetest ever; I ride on a horse with my father. I speak with him verbally, Bode sitting with my mummy on the other white horse. A long horsetail is in my grip. I feel like a queen. 

I come off the horse's back and fall to the ground.

"What the hell!" I have just rolled off my fat bed to the ground. Dream is silly indeed.

I can spot Ann2012. Pls don't leave without dropping a post o.

I want to know those who are following this story. Pls say yeah yeah if you're following it.

CHAPTER EIGHT

My aunt and my mother are still in the euphoria of the great thing God did for us, even three days after the dream I had. Now I have begun to see that some advantages can be in being disabled. Well, I still don't fully agree to it anyway. But that woman I see in the dream calling my name, I have never seen her in real life before. Who can she be? I wonder.

Rachael soon began to pester my mother to return to my father. She says that divorce is not a good Christian practice. It seems as if she wants me to 'hear' what they are saying so she talks to my mother in sign language:

"Hannah, Hannah, Hannah, how many times did I call you?"

"Twice Rachael," my mummy answers.

"Not twice, three times," she signals.

"Yes, three times," my mummy answers.

"You have to return to your husband right now, please."

"I can't!" she replies. "John is selfish! All he wants is other people's inconveniences to please himself. He keeps beating me and my daughter up. Before he kills us we have to stay away from him. Sister, tell us if you are tired of accomodating us and we will just leave here for another place."

"Ahn! Ahn! Why are you talking like this, Hannah? Did I complain that I am tired? Infact my sister, you have disappointed me for saying such a thing," she frowns.

"I am very sorry my sister, it is just that I am confused about the whole thing," my mother sobs. A tear rolled down my left cheek. The worry was too much conspicuous on her face. 

I wish never to return to my father. I don't know why Rachael is raising that forgone issue now. Why can't she just let us be? At least it is not every woman that must stay in her husband's wife. She is an example, since she has been living alone since her husband's death.

I come into the issue:

"Aunty Rachael, daddy doesn't want us anymore, don't you understand? He used his own hands to throw our loads out of the house. Even if we beg him, he won't agree for us to return," I say. I wait for her to say something. Her throat is dancing to the gulp of the water passing through it. She is drinking water in a glass cup. Aunty bangs the tumbler against the table and says, "Rose, it's not true, your daddy will accept you, at least you know that it is not possible to chase a bad child away for a tiger to tear apart. Just humbly go to him and kneel down before him, then he will take you back."

"Okay, okay, we will do that if you will go with us Rachael," my mother says.

"That's not a big deal, Hannah, I will come with you anytime you are ready. Can we go now?" she says.

I squeeze up my face. The thought of returning to my father is like returning to earth after making it to heaven. My world has changed so much within the few days I am with my aunt. She is the kindest person in the world.

"Okay, we shall go tomorrow," my mother promised.

"Accepted by me," Rachael says.

"Not accepted by me," I barge in stubbornly. Rachael smiles and says, "Majority carries the vote. We are going right there tomorrow." She comes around me and kisses my forehead. Then she lowers her right ear to my chest to feel the thumps of my heart.

"Never worry Rose, all is well. Your father will treat you well henceforth," she says, then she folds me up in her hands.

My mother's left hand clutched into a fist which she had rested her chin upon. Her face looked more depressed than mine. When I look into her face she seems ageing. I rush to her.

"Mother, don't think too much, you are ageing rapidly," I say.

"Ageing?" she manages to ask in smiles. "I am not ageing my daughter."

"Well...if you say so...anyway, I am here to tell you that all is well, a message from Aunty Rachael."

"Okay o, jolly little daughter, I have heard you," says mother. A knock rocked the door.

"Yes, come in, who is there?" my aunty must have shouted, going by the movement of her mouth. The door got opened gently and someone ambled in.

Toyosi!!! It is my stepmother stepping in as if to murder us. My heart jumped off my body!

Mr. and Mrs. White had always argued about whom Kate had actually taken after between the two of them.
“I think Henry takes after me, but Kate takes after you,” Mr. White would say and his wife would reply, “No, Henry takes after me either, she looks more like you.” They dared not say it to her face, otherwise they had to face the risk of searching for her for the next one week.
However, Kate had overheard them twice and had promised to go get drown in the river. Those times they had to beg her for couple of hours before she became calm again. Recently Kate need not eavesdrop anymore, because she had cleverly kept a voice-recording device securely in the well-furnished and gorgeous-looking lounge, unnoticed by nobody.
Mr. and Mrs. White had phobia for magic or magic-related things. They had warned their children oftentimes never to be involved in cultism of any kind.
“Listen children, in the Higher Institutions, there are enough bad guys all over there. Please don’t you go with them when you get there. They can kill you,” Gaby, Henry’s father had warned several times before Henry eventually got into the university.
“Sure, dad, you know I always won’t have time to make friends—I prefer sleep to making friends,” Henry said.
“And you know I prefer singing to—” Kate said too and paused, looking around to see her parent’s face, having realized her mistake. They leered at her, and the expressions on their faces had forced her into modifying her half-baked words instantly.
“Ringing I mean,” she said slyly but it won’t suffice to cozen her parents.
“Ringing what?” Her mother inquired sharply.
“Em—Em—ringing bell,” She said quickly. Henry burst into laughter.
“Here you are with your white lies again,” Mr. White said. She was caught red-handed this time. “Kate I’m sure going to disown you should you turn a musician—have you heard?” the man spoke up, pointing cruelly at her face.
“Heard,” said Kate disgruntled.
Henry was born three years before Kate but they had approximately the same height, though they never heard any semblance whatsoever. Henry was moderate in size, but Kate was a little chubby. He had dimples but all she had were some defacing pimples. Her pimples were the never-to-touch type since they had always culminated into ridiculously round and bulgy boils each time she had attempted to press out the pus in them.
She had used almost all the medications meant for pimples in the US, but her pustules had proved immortal. In addition, she had suffered a lot from fraudsters concerning this same issue, getting a sealed powdery charcoal for medication. She was laughed to scorn by Henry while applying it, since it was indirectly his handiwork.
“Black American!” yelled Henry mockingly at her.
“It’s soon going to be over,” she said somberly, attempting to console herself, but never knowing what sort the medication was. It was April one then, so Henry screamed, “April fool!”

Henry had felt, oftentimes, that he was going to strangle any male who might want to be with her. Though mindful of the fact that such a one could be Ted, yet Henry was not going to soft-pedal his vow made earlier in time. But Ted wasn’t thinking about her, not even any girl, but sport only. He was the skipper of the volleyball team, playing the striking role.
Ted was not good at all in basketball—a novice in soccer too. He had tried at different sports unsuccessfully until finally discovering his talent. It seemed Ted discovered it too late, because his leg had once been broken in the football game while trying a rough tackle at a veteran master dribbler. His teeth, two incisors, one each from the upper and lower jaw, were broken too while dabbling in the hockey game. The metamorphism in his teeth then had resulted accidentally from a blow of the hooked stick owned by an opponent. However, Ted had had those broken teeth artificially shaped up again.
Henry was good in divers sports, but had never participated in any since entering the university, so no one knew he could do them. He had always been engaging himself in the reading of books, especially storybooks. He had read most of Chase’s novels and had begun to write his own too, about himself and his sister Kate.
In lieu of sporting activities, Henry was academically inclined—always interested in winning competitions; like quizzes, debates, spelling bees—having won all these at one time or the other early in his lifetime.
Kate was the exact opposite of Henry in virtually everything—gender, skills, abilities, attributes—lots more. She had always managed to score C’s in her results, frolicking frantically whenever she had such ‘Ceeish’ results. She was not athletic too—unlike Henry. In the high school, Henry represented his house in the relay race competition. Kate was envious, so she asked if she could do the same. Her housemaster doubted her, but eventually agreed to put her to test. She was to contend with some others in the same house.
Everyone made fun of her, having known that she was a lazy bone when it comes to athletics, but she summoned courage. That fateful day, the gun was fired and everyone ran with full speed. It was a 200m race. Kate was far behind. All of a sudden, she ran so fast—like a cheetah, overtaking everyone in the race. She won eventually, with a wide gap between the runner-up and herself.
It was amazing to everyone watching how she had managed to win the race, but Henry understood everything. Kate had seen a bulldog behind her, which had maneuvered its way unto the track. Since she was allergic to bulldog, she had to run as fast as her legs could afford to avoid it, so she did and won the race.
Henry felt bad about this. He told her housemaster his observation, but the man paid no attention to him, having known Henry as Kate’s antagonist. The man, following the suggestion and resolution of Kate, never let her have any further practice, so that she would not sustain injury before the main competition.
Kate was in the White house, while Henry was in Black. Initially, the two had incidentally been put in the same house (White), but Henry begged for a change of house—hence the Black House.
At the preliminary stage of the competition, Kate contended with many other athletes from different houses. It was a relay race. Having been regarded by all as the best of the racers in her house, she was made the anchor. During the last lap of the race, Kate got the baton a long time before any of her opponents did, but kept a slow pace and was soon overhauled in a short moment by all her contenders. That hectic day, she made a fool of herself before everyone. To make things worst, Kate fell flat on her face to the floor, while already maintaining her last position behind the ‘runner-up’ from the back.
Henry’s house swept the board in that competition, winning most of the gold medals. The Black House, also represented the school in the inter-school competition and won the trophy, with Henry regarded as the most colorful participant, having single-handedly won four gold medals in the various sports he had participated in.
The fact remained that everyone born to the earth had come with a specific skill—talent—pluperfect ones for that matter, because it appeared Kate had got one too—singing. She was naturally bequeathed with a very sweet voice. Although she had discovered it early enough for her to make it a profession, her parents never wanted her to become a musician. They would prefer to see her turn medical doctor, contrary to her craving.

“Just trying to mimic you Henry—what you said to Cynthia just now,” Ted winked. “What’s her response?”
“She’s going to hook up with Pete tonight—for dinner.”
Ted smiled. “Maybe you’ve got to wait for your turn, man,” he advised.
“It’s not going to come if I just fold my hands and let things go in a normal way without doing anything ’bout it,” said Henry and quickly changed the topic.
“Ted, I can remember—you said you’ve got something for me.”
“When? Can’t remember saying such,” lied Ted.
“Uh,” sounded Henry, shocked. “So quickly forgotten? When trying to catch up with her just now.”
“Oh, nothing!” exclaimed Ted, face beaming with excitement, paving way for Henry to display his lexical skill once more:
“Is nothing the something you’ve got for me?”
“I only said that to kind of prevent you from going to her, so you won’t be embarrassed,” Ted chuckled. “She’s not a genius-freak you know. She prefers sport man.”
“Like you?” Henry said suddenly.
“Ssh! I don’t like her and I’ll want you do same.”
“Impossible!” responded Henry promptly.
The two crossed the highway to get taxis to their respective homes, perhaps to go do the weekend. Ted stayed with his Uncle, who was staying single. Willis Brown, Ted’s uncle, had remained celibate since the death of his wife and only daughter in an auto crash some years back. Willis Brown adopted Ted, who was an orphan, thereafter. The man took care of him in-loco-parentis, sending him to all the schools he had attended all his lives. His uncle’s enormous care for him had made him to develop some sorts of stupendous adorations for him, always willing to be home every weekend to help him do one thing or the other, since they had got no maid to assist in the house chores. Being seldom asked who his mentor was, Ted had always said, “Willis Brown”. He had never left them with the clue that he was only talking about his uncle, since he had never discussed his family background with anyone, except Henry.
Henry’s case was in direct contrast with that of Ted. He had living parents and a little sister, who never had a bit of respect for him. The combination of the two was typical of a ‘storm in a bottle’. Since growing to the age of accountability, the two had never for once had the same view of anything—always opposite.
Her name was Kate. Though talented in fomenting troubles, she had never always gone scot-free, yet she had never given it a thought to try co-operate with her elder brother, who had always been making sure she was punished for every slight offence she had committed. When they were much younger, Mr. and Mrs. White their parents, had never at any time been tempted to take the risk of leaving the children at home to fend for themselves when they were away, not even when they had only gone to work place, to return at noon. Instead, their parents would make sure that they were kept separately under the prying eyes of two different nannies, residing in two different parts of the city. They were always being baby-sat until they got to the age of thirteen and ten respectively, when it was deemed unfit by their parents to continue lavishing their cash unnecessarily on nannies. Those times, their parents would call them together to inculcate in them how good siblings were supposed to conduct themselves.
“You both must promise to co-operate now,” Mr. White would say then. Such speech had always been accompanied with exchange of maligning words from the children—each trying to accuse the other of being the one who had brought about all the rancor that had taken place before then. Then the brawl would begin afresh again, right in front of the helpless man who had raised the issue in the first place.
Kate had smashed bottles on Henry’s head twice as punitive measures for the pain he had inflicted on her then. Henry had bludgeoned her too, oftentimes, with one particular truncheon their father had always kept inside the storehouse. Mr. White had told them long time ago, the mystery behind the aforesaid truncheon. He had said that he seized the heavy stick from a police officer who had harassed them (himself and two others) unjustly many years ago, but his children would not believe such a lose talk, on the ground that their father wouldn’t have had the mind to do that. Mr. White had to jettison the truncheon secretly one day, fearing that his kids were going to kill each other with it someday, as long as it remained in there.
On getting to the University as a freshman, Henry at first had the problem of relating with the opposite sex, probably because of his vendetta for his blood sister who had been with him since childhood, but he never regarded such aberration as a problem at all. He took all females as his sister, thus the hatred for them.
Henry’s orientation experienced a revolutionary trend the first time he did set his eyes on Cynthia, during her first year (Henry was in his second year then). There and then, Henry had felt he was going to choose her in place of a million dollar if there was to be any cause to make a choice between the two. He had valued her invaluable and priceless.

CHAPTER TWO
Reminiscing

He saw Ted on the court busy with a game. Although Ted was sweating profusely under the hot sun, yet it seemed he was not going to give up on the demanding task he was performing all alone by himself. When Ted lifted his head and saw his friend walking towards him, he smiled as he waited for him.
“Ted, hope you are not going to spend the whole time here playing games.”
“And you… over there—” replied Ted pointing toward the school library where his friend had just exited, “studying.”
Henry would have him corrected, so he said, “No… reading novels.”
“Hmm,” grumbled Ted in disbelief, “I know that’s what you’ll say—always reading novels and scoring millions of A’s, isn’t it?” Henry ignored him, attempting to digress.
“Ted have you seen her—today?”
“Yeah,” he replied, “She just left the basketball court now, I think with Pete,” said Ted in a way that would upset his friend. Ted never wanted Henry to go after that Chinese girl, Cynthia, but Henry was not ready to give up. He had wanted her by all means, but she had never looked to his side once, preferring Pete instead, because he was a sport person, being one of the key players in the school basketball team.
“I’ll go after her,” said Henry as he made to leave Ted on the spot.
“No, don’t go,” responded Ted, trying to debar him from such action, “I believe she did spot you coming here, that was why she took her leave.”
“Oh! Ted you should have obstructed her for me,” Henry blamed Ted in earnest.
“Not me,” said Ted sharply. “You want me get into Pete’s trouble—men!” he said looking critically into his friend’s eyes as if he was scared of Pete, since there had always been something to fear about the said Pete, whose mouth was his weapon. Aside being very good in the basketball game, another thing Pete could do so well was calumniation. “And I didn’t even know on time that you were out of the library already. Let’s go.” Ted jerked Henry’s arm, trying to pull him along, but he forced himself out of his grip.
“Leave me alone,” Henry replied. “I’m getting her at all cost,” he said leaving Ted in a hurry.
“Henry, don’t go nowhere, I’ve got something for you,” shouted Ted.
“Later,” replied Henry without looking back at him. He doubled his paces instead, looking ahead like someone trying to avoid becoming a ‘pillar of salt’.
Henry had never liked any girl all his life except her, but she had never reciprocated his love. Henry was not going to have a girlfriend if not her, but she was not going to reciprocate his affection. She was a first year student of the University—almost like the cynosure of all eyes, nubile and graceful, appearing more beautiful whenever her dimples had had the cause to come out conspicuous—especially when smiling. Her hairs were elongated, trailing down her chins and always resting sequentially on her shoulders, like the manes of a horse. Though not lanky, being a bit below six feet, she had no problem with that, since her shoes did always compensate for her height—high-heeled espadrilles.
Perhaps Henry was lucky to have caught up with her while she was trying to get a cab to board. It was a Friday evening, five o’clock, so she was leaving the campus to her parents’ place that day as she was wont doing—just like many other students on campus whose abodes were stone-throw from the school.
“Hey, Cynthia!” cried Henry. She turned on her heels towards the direction of the voice, not knowing it was Henry. Getting close to her, Henry beckoned on the taxi driver to keep moving. The man was furious.
“Hey, man! Handful of plonkers! Why wave me down at first?” He skidded away extremely annoyed, leaving trails of dust behind.
Seeing it was Henry, she became gutted, though hiding the feeling. She waited for his arrival.
“Cynthia, I’m sorry I—I just felt I should see you,” he said panting.
“So…” said Cynthia, amazed, “that’s just all you want to do, uh?” she added in her usual Chinese accent as she pointed annoyingly at him. “You’ve just cost me getting a taxi to my place—why?” she said in her usual lady-like manner, now exuding anger.
“I’m sorry,” said Henry apologetically, then she responded, “Okay, go on.”
“I just want to ask if you’ll come with me—’’ he said, paused and glared apprehensively at her, having insinuated an unpalatable response, “for dinner.”
“Dinner!” she yelled in a way that was difficult for Henry to guess what she was having in mind towards it. Henry spoke on.
“Yeah—we’re going to make use of a nice place—maybe in the New York City or—wherever you choose for it. I’m—”
“It’s okay,” she said succinctingly in impatience. “Just want to let you know I’m having a date with someone else—Pete. I believe you saw him just now, ’cos he’d hardly entered a taxi when you came around. Henry stood stupefied, words unable to flow.
“Well, see you later Henry; don’t want to get home late,” she said rushing to board a taxicab, which she’d waved down already in the course of the conversation. She waved at Henry when she got into the vehicle.
“Bye!” She said.
“Wait, Cynthia, don’t do this to me,” lamented Henry. He heard a voice behind him too, immediately.
“Wait, Henry don’t do this to me!” It sounded feminine. Henry did not want to turn back, being of the thought that it was one of those ladies who had always been asking him out—though always turning them down—particularly Susie, his departmental mate, who had never at any moment relented in her effort to get him. At this moment, Henry felt that Susie was the owner of the voice, so he did not want to turn to the direction. At last he turned but saw Ted approaching instead.
“Hey Ted, why trying to be sissy? And what have I done to you?” said Henry frustrated.
“Sissy like Susie, Isn’t it?” Ted replied humorously.
“Exactly!” Henry replied, surprised at his friend’s ability to probe into his mind.

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“I’m sorry, that’s what I like. You asked me to say whatever I like.”
“I mean sensible thing,” the man spoke promptly in earnest.
“I like goat, that’s why,” he said politely.
“You like goat?” asked the dean greatly puzzled and amused.
“Yes sir,” said Henry, “Why do you ask?” The man kept silent, looking at Henry as if he was a weirdo.
“Then you must be stubborn—” deduced the man and coughed, “like a goat.”
“Maybe—” responded Henry agreeably, “If you say so.” The dean spoke on:
“Let me be tacit, Henry I’ve got a lot of seminars to deliver within two weeks, on Physics, Gynecology, Astronomy—I’ve got to get prepared for them all.” He faced Henry squarely and said, “That G I’m talking about stands for Genius—you know what?”
“No sir,” said Henry, slightly waving his hands to show that he did not know ‘what was what’.
“I’m transferring that G to you right away because you’re genuinely a genius,” spoke the man with utmost seriousness. Henry disbelieved him, taking his words for flattery. He told the man his mind at once, but the man debunked Henry’s feeling.
“Why should I flatter you Henry? Hear me, I can see in you the mark of a genius—as from now your name’s Henry G— accepted?”
“Provided the G you’re talking about represents goat,” replied Henry while the man’s words were still in his mouth. Then it dawned on the dean that he was dealing with a kind of obstinate fellow.
“Don’t make fun of the whole thing,” instructed the man in an exasperated mannerism.
Factually, Henry was not trying to be funny; he had developed predilections for goats since the time he had read the history of Alexander the Great. While reading in those days, he came to know the insignia of Alexander’s power—Goat horn! Thus Henry’s love for goats was developed.
Finally, the professor cleared his phlegmy throat as he was set to say something.
“Henry G—” he called him, “I’ve asked you to come here for a purpose—your result. You’re the best overall in your set, with a single B and the rest A’s so far…You know what?” said the man impatiently, not waiting for a response as he continued, “You’re not alone in this race. You’ve got a rival.” Henry’s countenance changed instantly to a resentful one.
“He’s in the Petroleum Engineering—currently, his CGPA tallies with yours.” Henry was not going to let anyone beat him to it, so he queried gravely, “Professor who’s he? I mean what’s his name?”
“Name?” asked the dean as if traumatized, “Don’t know,” the man lied. “I sent for him just two days ago—told him what I’m about to tell you now.”
‘What’s that?” said Henry showing great concern momentarily.
“Well… It’s nothing,” the dean said and paused, not knowing exactly the best way to present it. “Just this—how will it be if a man like me and you can be so much endowed with knowledge to the extent of knowing what’s going to happen in the future?”
“Future?” said Henry in an impervious approach. “I think that’s no new thing. Doctors can predict the aftermath of some diseases and—” he paused to cough, “periods of childbirth. Meteorologists can tell the weather—psychologists—they read the mind…”
“Hold it!” cried the man uneasily. “Not talking about that here, something else. Henry, I mean the power of the universe, to monitor people and things without the satellite—controlling whosoever’s life you wish; lots more.” It sounded complex to the boy.
“I—I don’t seem to understand!” he exclaimed.
“Okay—take for instance someone’s going to gun you down, but you’ve seen that couple of hours ago, before the act was going to be perpetrated, are you still going to die?” said the dean, stressing his last phrase more than the rest in the complex sentence he had uttered, perhaps to serve as a mean to some ends.
“Not at all sir!” Henry replied at once, “I’ll rather prevent it—if I can.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” the dean deduced, smiling affectionately, “A genius like you with this power I’m telling you about will definitely be invincible in all walks of life.”
Henry yawned—then he spoke:
“Sure?”
“Definitely! That guy isn’t going to be match f’you, because you’ll become an extraordinary genius…after getting the power.”
“Is he a genius too?” asked Henry in a very inquisitive attitude, in a way not usual with him.
“Yeah—,” he replied, then smiled as he added “but not a wise one” shaking his head in a manner that was suggesting that the chap he was talking about was not wise enough for him to have rejected his offer.
“But why?” Henry wanted to know.
“He’s never wanting this power I’ve just told you of. I told him about it, but the fool rebuffed sharply, telling me he wasn’t interested in getting any power.” Henry had deduced something from the man’s assertion just now. If he should reject the offer before him now, he was sure that the dean would talk ill of him to another too. However, Henry never made his fear conspicuous, rather he asked “Why?” and got a reply through the man’s body language—a shrug of the shoulder, meaning that he did not know why the said genius had rejected the offer. Silence followed but the dean turned it around so soon:
“Over to you Henry—” he said and sniffed, “d’you need this power? It’ll help you,” the man enticed, leaving Henry in a state of vacillation.
“Power,” recapitulated Henry in an almost inaudible voice, clicking the table with the longest finger on his right hand.
“Yeah power,” replied the dean, maintaining the tempo, “That guy isn’t going to be match for you.”
A long silence descended into the office as Henry fell into a serious reminiscence…

Over one of those fiddles, the Prof. had lost his housewife, Lily, and was now left with a mistress called Rose. The event took place two weeks ago.
“A professor of my caliber needn’t worry my head over a lady,” he had once thought, “I’ve got tons of them asking me out.”
The man was only forty-four but he looked much older than his age. When asked why, he had explained that his days on earth had been full of serious studies, which had made him grow older than his age.
“Then you should rather hate yourself,” he concluded, “Now leave!”
Henry lingered, trying to make a protest, but he stuttered.
“I—I’m telling…”
The dean cut him short:
“I’m a Professor of physics; do you know what that means?” he boasted.
“Yes I think I know,” Henry replied, not sure of what the man was going to do with the response he would give.
“What’s it?” the dean asked looking probingly at his student’s eyes. He got the response promptly.
“Your brain’s as developed as that of Albert Einstein.”
“Far more developed,” added the dean, “Einstein lived in the past but I live in the present, when technology is at its peak. I’m far more civilized—got more formulae than he, because millions of theories emerged even after his existence and I’ve got them all in here,” he prided himself on, clicking his skull, unaware of some flashes of light probably having their source from something somewhere outside the office. Henry noticed the flickers but did not afford his brain enough time to guess what they were, though it had registered into his sub-consciousness.
“Young dude, inside here dwell six disciplines, hot and intact,” the dean spoke on, still clicking his skull with his right hand index finger, but in a more intense manner now, “You try discussing gynecology I’m with you, or you want to tell histories, I’ll sure beat you to it. Astronomy, Psychology, all’s intact here Henry,” he bragged incessantly, pacing about in the office. On resuming he said, “D’you know my point? All through these acquisitions I studied very hard, spending time…and time…and time…”
“Time times time, isn’t it?” intruded Henry tersely, trying to hasten him up with the wit he had just employed. The man got the message. Henry had just summarized the dean’s monotonous words mathematically. He was always at his peak performance when it comes to summarizing voluminous passages of books into a very few words—sometimes with the aid of pneumonic.
Henry was staring at the man now, in apprehension, realizing what he had just done. The dean was not vexed at all by Henry’s laconism. He praised him instead:
“Hmm! This boy, you’re good at manipulating words,” said the dean in a manner conspicuously suggesting that had been impressed by Henry’s lexical astuteness. “Just keep it up—uh!”
Seconds after, both remained wordless, gazing coincidentally into one another’s eyes. The man was not shy each time such happened, but Henry was, trying each moment to avoid the eye contacts. When he could not, he lowered his head slightly and stared blankly at the floor, eyes absent-minded, but ears at alert, expecting to hear the man speak again.
“Young chap—” said the man finally, “I’ve got all I’ve got through being hardworking, rigorously hardworking. Are you trying to say that one can achieve success without thorough studies? It’s a blatant lie!”
“Well,” spoke Henry, “It depends on your personal definition of working hard; I define mine as doing what you know best that can give you success,” Henry smiled, feeling that he’d indubitably put forward a lexical theory before the man that he would sure want to adopt, but he was shocked when the professor looked critically at him and guffawed. He said, “Then it means those who cheat in exams are hardworking, Isn’t it?”
“I—I…” Henry stammered, unable to give a claim to back up his argument. He gave up eventually, though the man had not given up his expectation of wanting to hear him concretize his line of reasoning.
“Speak let me hear,” laughed the man quizzically at him.
“I’ve got nothing to say,” he confessed, yet in his mind he had a lot of confusions stumbling over one another. They were the thoughts of anger, wrath, indignations and bitterness.
“It means your definition is wrong, Henry. You can leave now.” The dean gnawed his fingernails. He was waiting patiently for Henry’s departure but it never went that way. The man spoke once more, this time extremely annoyed, “I said leave, since you insist on lying and I loathe liars.”
“So do I,” said Henry with no trace of humor in his tone, “Sir why not put me to test and see what I’m talking ’bout?” The man expressed elation over his statement. He felt that he should give it a trial immediately.
“Uh—test you isn’t it? Oops! That sounds sensible to me!” he exclaimed, directing his swivel chair swiftly toward the shelf. He rose up immediately from it, scrambling his hands through the top of the shelf in search of something. In a short moment, he had got a handful of books.
“Henry, I’m going to test you as you’ve said. Here are books, different in sizes, shapes and contents—styles—of different disciplines and publishers; Gynecology, Mathematics, Psychology—” Henry interrupted, “library of literatures.”
“You are at it again Henry, trying to summarize it up, huh,” said the dean as he kept on with the selections. “Yes I found it!” he howled almost immediately. Presenting a book to the boy, he said, “Have it.” He made a loud sigh when Henry received it.
“It took me six good days to master what’s in it,” confessed the dean in a genuine manner. “So—you want to prove to me that you can study it once and master all that’s in it, innit?” asked the man once more, to be sure of what he thought he had earlier heard from the boy.
“Yeah,” replied Henry, already perusing the front page.
“Just read only the first chapter—” instructed the dean, “for time factor,” he added. Henry read silently to his own hearing alone. In five minutes he was through with the wordy chapter, and he raised his head to indicate that he was done with it.
“So quick!” the man yelled, “Close it.” Henry obeyed, handing it over to him after he had closed it.
“It’s going to be great shock for me—” he drew in breath, “if you’re able to answer these questions I’m ’bout asking you from it correctly.” He began to ask him various questions, which Henry was warding off in a succinct manner. Being enormously startled by Henry’s level of adroitness, the man screamed:
“How come? I’m quite sure you’ve never in your life studied gynecology—how come you could supply the answers as precise as they are in the book?”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” whispered Henry in a shy manner, apprehensively waiting to hear him speak. The man lowered his gaze again to fix it at the book, then he persisted in asking the questions until he was satisfied (when Henry got one of them wrong) that he had achieved his aims.
“Henry d’you know what?”
“What?” he asked, slightly nervous.
“You’re a genius!” commented the man, looking rapturously at him—amazed and horrified. Henry said, “Genius? Even after getting a question wrong?”
“Hey, don’t be fooled young man. The one you missed was not related to gynecology at all—not in the book, let alone the chapter you’ve just read,” divulged the man, chuckling silently. Henry smiled and said “No wonder!” in his mind.
The dean had asked Henry the question he got wrong so as to prevent him from getting all. It was his usual practice to do such a thing whenever he was to put questions forward. No one had ever scored a hundred percent in his courses, because of the ‘out-of-syllabus’ questions he was wont to including in them.
“You belong to the genus of geniuses!” the dean exclaimed.
Henry replied, “Sir, you don’t mean it!”
“I’m serious!” the man responded quickly, digressing, “I was called Wilson G for a specific reason—can you guess what that G signifies?”
“Don’t know,” Henry replied, attempting to avoid being roped into a fresh discussion with him again. He was yearning to get out of his office, at least to feel the natural ambience outside there once again. The man beleaguered Henry to say something but the boy made it clear that he was not good at guessing.
“C’mon—” pestered the professor, “try a guess.”
Henry nodded in disapproval.
“Okay, just say whatever you like.”
“Goat—it stands for goat,” said Henry unscrupulously, having not thought of the gravity of the probable consequence of the statement he had just made.
“Keep shut!” retorted the dean, “What d’you take me for? I ain’t Goat!”

CHAPTER ONE
Trouble Begins

“I sent for you,” Professor Wilson said.
“Yes sir,” replied Henry, who had conjectured the reason the man had sent for him.
“You’ve got an idea why I sent for you?”
“No inkling,” he replied. He did not want to declare his guess for the fear that it could be wrong.
“Hmm! You’ve checked it, isn’t it?”
“Yes of course.”
“Tell me something ’bout it.”
“Well I’ll say it’s fine, all A’s,” replied Henry but with a puckered brow. Seemed he never fancied the scene. The man was not looking at his face, thus not suspecting anything.
“Boy, you’ve got to work tirelessly now to maintain such a great result. You’ve got three semesters to keep your head on the dean’s list—or what d’you think?”
“I’m alright,” replied the boy.
“I mean how’re you going to ensure the maintenance of your performance?”
Henry lingered in his sudden muteness. He wasn’t ready to say something.
“Speak to me dudes!” cried the irked man. Henry was not able to keep mute any longer, so he spoke:
“Well…I’ll just keep doing it exactly as I’ve been doin’ it— that’s all.” The boy displayed a very high level of terseness while conversing with the man. However, it appeared like he had possessed such nature of taciturnity before that moment, meaning that he never meant to be rude to him in the presentation of his speeches, but the man thought otherwise.
“How?” he asked. “Can you let me know how you’ve been doing it?”
“Studying of course!” he spoke abruptly. “Just like anyone else.”
“How?”
Henry said, “How what?” and the man replied, “How many times before the exams do you study a particular subject?” Henry became cold when he heard the question. He’d never enjoyed revealing the secret, because the aftermath of such revelation in the past had always been unfavorable to him. No one had ever believed it. He kept mute.
“Talk to me,” the man persuaded in a calm voice, but Henry lingered in his muteness, bowing his head and staring vacantly at the floor as if expecting the response to germinate from it.
“I’m a busy man—got no time to waste boy!” cried the gutted man at him, having lost patience. The boy knew he had to talk now, to avoid incurring his wrath. He did that diplomatically, releasing a simulated cough simultaneously with his response. As expected, the sound of the cough drowned out the response Henry gave, making the Professor unable to decipher Henry’s response, so the man demanded a repetition:
“Can’t hear you. You’ve got to repeat.”
“Just once and I don’t repeat,” Henry replied with utmost seriousness. The man, who was already infuriated, misconstrued his speech.
“Hey, you said such to me, your dean? Telling me you can’t repeat yourself?” vociferated the man—the dean of the faculty of science in the university. Henry sensed trouble, so he made his statement clearer.
“You’ve misconstrued me sir. I’ve only said I studied each course once and never have to go back to them again for revision or whatever,” he explained. The dean burst into a loud laughter; Henry’s reply had sounded incredible to him. He spoke amidst the laughter, “What do you take me for—a fool?” he paused and resumed later, “Alright, and how many days do you spend on a subject— to cover it up?”
“Days? I don’t spend days—only some few minutes and that’s all with such course for the semester,” he replied, looking embarrassingly at his dean, insinuating the repercussion of his incredible but factual statement. The man’s mouth was wide agape. He soon found his voice.
“So… what you’re trying to say is that you study each subject once, within an hour, and the whole thing gets stuck to your brain just like that, even till the examination days?” Henry nodded in affirmation and the dean continued, “Got a magnet in there?” The dean pointed to Henry’s forehead in a highly puzzled manner. Silence followed! The boy, not at ease and willing to hasten up the conversation, broke the silence:
“You won’t believe it, just as no one had. Sir, can I go now?” he asked as he rose up.
“You ain’t walking outta here except you tell me the truth, so please have your seat,” the man said ushering Henry back to the rocking chair he was once sitting on. The boy sank into it again.
“Now listen young man, you needn’t tell lies to someone like me—” he paused abruptly to swallow his spittle. “Long years’ experiences can tell if you’ve lied or not. I’ve been to many universities around the globe, both as student and as lecturer. I studied gynecology in Germany, Mathematics in Mauritius, History in India—even here in the US, California precisely, I studied Physics.” He sighed and resumed few seconds later.
“I read six courses all through it, came out with distinctions in all, but yet not seen anyone with a magnetic brain. Now stop the joke and tell me something factual for God’s sake,” he shouted and banged the table concurrently in annoyance. Henry was gripped with nervousness. He kept mute in apprehension. “What am I going to say?” he thought.
“Ain’t you going to say something?”
“I’ve said it already sir.”
“Stop kidding dude, you’re lying to me?”
“It’s the truth sir.”
“You lie,” whispered the man in a voice almost out of earshot.
“It’s the truth sir.”
“I said you lie,” the man bawled.
“I’m not sir. I—” he was interrupted by the man’s speech in a low tone. “Then I lie.”
“You don’t,” said Henry almost immediately.
“Then I’m right I said you lie,” shouted the dean.
“No sir,” he maintained.
“If I’m not lying and you’re not lying too, then who is?” Henry knew what the man was trying to drive at. He felt that silence was the best thing at that moment, so he sat speechless.
“Gerrout now dude! Can’t bear liars—I hate them.”
“So do I,” Henry professed apprehensively.
“You do?” asked the man in an intrigued manner, though already knowing what to do with the response he was envisaging. Henry replied quickly, “Yes I do.”
“You mean you do!” pestered the professor and he responded, “Of course yes!”
“Then you should hate yourself—you can leave now,” he said with fury, eyes red in anger, just like those of a sot who had not recovered yet from inebriation. It was a usual thing for the man to lose his temper. Even over trivial issues, he would go about shouting very loud. But the dean was not the kind of person one would think he was, in term of his oft melancholic display. He was a cool-headed fellow, though sometimes his temper, if tampered with, could go out of hand.

Content
CHAPTER ONE
TROUBLE BEGINS

CHAPTER TWO
REMINISCING

CHAPTER THREE
INITIATED

CHAPTER FOUR
THE SEVENTH QUESTION

CHAPTER FIVE
THE PROFESSOR’S RETRIBUTION

CHAPTER SIX
RECEPTION BY DECEPTION

CHAPTER SEVEN
THE PROFESSOR’S AWARD

CHAPTER EIGHT
WINKIE

CHAPTER NINE
JEFF VERSUS CHEUNG

CHAPTER TEN
HARRISON BURTON

CHAPTER ELEVEN
HENRY MET GRANDWALA

CHAPTER TWELVE
STARVING IN GYRUS

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HARRISON VERSUS KIM

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HALLOWEEN GHOST

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JOURNEY TO SELEMIS

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JOURNEY TO NILE RIVER

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DOUBLE FOOLS

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WHERE IS KENT ROBINS?

CHAPTER NINETEEN
CRAZY TRICK

CHAPTER TWENTY
THE YOUNGER TED

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HE WHO SLAPS LAST

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EVANGELIST ROBINSON

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TRICKING THE TRICKSTERS

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TIME TO SETTLE THE SCORE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NEW TED VERSUS OLD RAUL

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HENRY AND LADY HEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HARRIED HARRISON

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CATCH 22

CHAPTER SEVEN

My class teacher rushes in. It is 9am already. She was very shocked when she saw Bode lying on the floor.

"What happened, Rose?" she asks me.

"I--I have k--killed him," I tell her.

"How? What did you do to him?"

"I held his neck tight," I say.

I explain the whole thing to my teacher. She carried him to the hospital immediately. I followed her there, shaking like a leaf.

This Bode must be an 'ogbanje', I think. How can he die because of that little squeezing of his neck? Have I not done something similar to Bose a female counterpart for that matter and she didn't die?

I sit at the waiting room expecting to hear the doctor's verdict. If Bode is dead, then I'd rather die too, else my daddy will kill me by himself. I have seen it in films how people kill themselves. They call it suicide. Maybe that is what I will also do, I ponder. God will understand.

My teacher tells me that Bode has regained consciousness. He has been diagnosed for asthma.

"Asthma?" I say. I become scared. "Did I cause it?"

"No you didn't Rose," she says. "You only triggered it when you choked him; it is good this happened, else the boy would keep living with it without knowing."

I look at my teacher's face on and on. How did she know that something was happening in my home for her to have rushed down there at the nick of time? Maybe it's because I didn't ring the bell in school when I should. I ask her, "Ma, why did you rush down to my home like that?"

She smile and says, "God told me to do so. Actually, I couldn't rest in my spirit when I didn't see you in school on time, so I decided to check on you."

"I thought as much," I reply.

Daddy comes around after work. My teacher must have explained what happened to him. The look on his face is as if he should tear me apart for almost killing his son. I fear what Toyosi will do if she learns about it.

My mother also calls at the hospital. This time, she speaks harshly to me.

"Rose, do you want to kill somebody?"

"I am sorry mother," I plead.

"Shut up!" she signalled harshly to me. I weep. This time around she didn't console me and I understand why; I am a threat to her matrimonial home, I think.

When mummy and I returned home after Bode was discharged, we met our loads outside the house. Daddy is kicking us out again. 

We have to put up in my aunty's place for weeks. Toyosi even came to the place to insult us. She hit my mother on the face with the pointed part of her stiletto.

"You want to kill my child for me? I swear, what I will do for you, you shall both regret it. I will blow whistle with your nostrils, you wicked nuisance. Ah! In my life shall I live to enjoy the fruit of my womb but I swear that deaf mute idol you are calling your daughter will die soon, as glory be to God! Call me bastard if it doesn't happen!"

My aunty was angry. She rushes to confront her, but my weeping mother didn't allow her do that. The sight is unbearable to me. I run down the staircase and roll over accidentally.

The woman stands over me and claps her hands over my head:

"Good! This is just the beginning for you. Call me bastard if I, Toyosi the daughter of Balogun, don't ruin your family!"

I didn't have much injury when I fell. I get up and my aunt comes around me to pick me up. She so much loves me such that she has mastered the sign language too. She is even the one who tells me everything Bode's mother was yelling about.

"Rose, just be who you are. Don't fear, she can't do anything to hurt you," my aunty assures me afterwards.

Mummy says it is time to divorce my daddy as I have advised her earlier. It seems okay by me, at least it will help me to steer clear of trouble every now and then.

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