Lagoon (14 page)

Obi, his own cousin, looked uncertainly between Agu and the newcomers. Images of all that had happened tried to flood Agu's mind. Being underwater. The questions. Fighting Adaora's crazed husband. And if he ever got his hands on Benson, that would be a dark day indeed. The speedboat and the men torn apart in the water by monsters. The sea cow that had brought him to shore. The dead whale. The riots. His power. He might have
killed
someone back there in the street.

Agu took another deep breath, feeling a bit steadier. He had to get to Ayodele. If he could get her to the president, all this might stop. Might.

“Look,” Agu said, raising his voice. “I
know
what's going on. I am a soldier. You see my clothes?
Ehe.
” He nodded. “I have been to hell and back tonight.” He paused. “I have . . .
seen
them. I
know
them. Please,
abeg
, Obinna, brother, let me just get online for a few minutes, o.”

Vanessa and Toyin stared at him, open-mouthed.

“So you have seen them?” Vanessa finally asked, her voice soft with awe.

“I have.”

“Are they dangerous?”

They could be,
he thought. “No.”

Vanessa shook her head. “I have to disagree, after what that one did to the airwaves and networks.”

“And by the way
you
are looking,” Toyin added.

“
They
didn't do this to me,” he snapped. “Human beings did!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Obi asked him, ducking down to get his laptop and setting it on the counter.

“Chaos,” Agu said, waking the computer and clicking open Obi's Skype application. Thankfully Obi had some credit on it. “And if you let it touch you, you become part of it. Do things you'd never do.” He looked up at his cousin. “Obi, I know you have a mobile phone.” Obi looked away.
Mumu! Idiot!
Agu thought angrily. “Just call my parents,
sha
. Please. Make sure they are all right.” He typed in Anthony's number—he hoped he remembered it correctly—and quickly tapped out a brief message.

Obi nodded, bringing the phone from his pocket and turning away.

After hitting send, Agu leaned back against the counter. He could see that a building across the street was on fire.

“They are okay,” Obi said, turning back and hanging up the phone. “They said there were some men—soldiers—but they stayed inside and they're fine. Who—”

“The story is too long to tell,” Agu said. He felt faint with relief. So it seemed that Benson had made good on his threat against Agu's family. Evil man.

“Do you think this is the end of days?” Obi asked, wide-eyed.

“No.”

CHAPTER 30

CRUSADE

Adaora read the text message from Agu three times: “Stay put. I'm coming. Agu.”

She handed the phone back to Anthony, put her elbows on the table, and let her head fall into her hands. Hassam, the soldier who had tried to administer first aid to Adaora's daughter, had left. He said he was going to try to restore peace to Victoria Island. Adaora was glad he was gone.

The windows were open to let in fresh air—hot, humid air. The house stank of smoke, regardless. She wasn't sure if it was from the fire Chris had put out or the burning house a block away. With her eyes closed, the sounds of windows being smashed, a door being kicked in, screeching tires, and people running and shouting on the roads and lawns was louder.

She peeked through her fingers at the tiny monkey sitting on the kitchen table looking sullen, and her belly cramped from suppressed giggles. The monkey was fuzzy, soft, brown, had a pinched face like a sour elder, and was so small it could comfortably sit in the palm of Adaora's hand. It looked exactly like a smaller version of the stuffed animal Kola grasped in her arms every night.

“Please,” Kola said to it. “Don't be like that. Didn't you say that you came here to talk to us?”

Fred was staring at the monkey, his eyes glassy and his mouth hanging open. He needed a nap. He needed real rest. They all did. The monkey pulled the sides of its mouth down, looking even more
sullen. It crossed its tiny thin arms over its furry body and turned its back to Kola. It was clenching its fists so tightly that Adaora could hear the tiny joints pop. Ayodele had changed herself into this creature an hour ago because she'd decided that she no longer wanted to be a human being.

“I don't think we should stay here long,” Anthony murmured, looking out the front window.

“I know,” Adaora said, joining him.

They watched Father Oke for a moment. He'd approached with about twenty-five others, and now they stood on the lawn in front of the plantain tree. Father Oke marched back and forth, speaking passionately and gesticulating wildly. His flock clapped and waved their hands in the air, rejuvenated by whatever he was stirring them up to do. On the road behind them, a band of young men set upon a parked car, smashing the windows with tire irons and bricks. Some of them laughed and pointed at Father Oke and his people.

An
okada
pulled up to the curb outside Adaora's house, and someone climbed down. Adaora squinted, trying to see what was happening. The woman and the driver exchanged words, and then the driver sped off. The woman shouted after him, looked around, and started walking. She was wearing jeans and a red blouse, and she walked with an unafraid, angry gait.

When the woman passed the group of destructive Area Boys, they pointed and laughed. One even smacked her backside. The woman glared at the boy and slapped him in the face. He only laughed as he shoved her along. She cursed at the boys but kept moving. Father Oke and his congregation were too preoccupied to notice the woman and her troubles, let alone offer her any assistance.

Bad, bad, bad,
Adaora thought, shivering.
This is a bad situation about to get worse.
She got to her feet. “I'll be right back.”

*   *   *   *

Adaora closed the door quietly and descended the stairs into her lab. Chris was staring at the remains of her aquarium. She didn't
follow his eyes. She could smell her dead pet sea creatures and that was enough.

“Chris,” she whispered.

He didn't turn around. After eating the bowl of jollof rice Anthony had placed in front of him, Chris had gone on to eat some leftover gari and egusi soup Adaora had made days ago. Then he'd eaten some biscuits, a bag of groundnuts, and three oranges, and washed it all down with a bottle of Guinness from a box the rioters had missed in the cupboard.

“I'll . . . I'll go out and talk to Father Oke,” Chris said.

“No,” Adaora replied. “Are you blind? The man's gone mad.” She took a deep breath and made herself speak before she could lose her nerve. “Take the children to your mother's. They live in that gated community and—”

Chris whirled around, fire in his eyes. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“What? Chris, I'm just—”

“I saw you,” he said.

Adaora frowned, confused.

“Witch, harlot, tramp . . .
whore
!” He whispered his words, but this didn't make them any less painful to him or Adaora. “I
saw
you with him, Adaora.” He sneered. “Wife.”

“You . . . saw? Saw what?”

“‘Saw what?,' she asks.” He stepped up to her. “Saw
you
! You and that soldier in the car, kissing. Out in public, like a common whore.”

Adaora was too shocked to speak.

Chris nodded. “God shows all,” he said. “In Jesus's name.”

“I . . . I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean . . .”

“Don't!
”
He lowered his voice. “Don't give me that rubbish. You did something to me . . . before you left, you did something to me. You probably did it to him, too. If I could beat it out of you, I would. Because I love you, you are my wife. But you're evil. Father Oke
was right about that. You're a marine witch. Tell me you are not a witch, tell me I didn't feel what I felt. Tell me it wasn't you holding me down on the floor when we were fighting.” He paused, and when she didn't say anything, he added, “I don't want you near the children.”

“I don't care
what
you want,” she snapped. “They're
my
children too.
I
gave birth to them, not you!”

His eyes grew wide, and his face went from brown to a deep dark brown red. He clenched his hands into fists. But Adaora wasn't afraid of him. She could feel it inside her. All she had to do was let herself loose and this fight, like the last one, would be over before it began. She stared him down.

“Is everything okay down there?” Anthony called from the top of the stairs.

“Mommy?” Kola called. “Daddy?”

Chris's eyes were twitching, but he was unclenching his fists.

“Yes, we're fine,” Adaora said. She didn't let her eyes leave Chris's. “Just . . . talking. Kola, we'll be up soon.”

“You sure?” Anthony said.

“We're fine.”

“Okay.”

Adaora didn't hear the door shut, and she was glad. She swallowed and repeated the hardest words of her life. “Take them to your mother's. It's safer there.”

“And you'll stay here? To wait for him?”

“To finish this thing with Ayodele,” she said. “We need to get her to the president.”

“Let the soldier do it. That's
his
job, not yours.”

“It needs to be the three of us.”

“Why?”

“It's . . . it's God's will.” Adaora held her breath.

Chris laughed hard, and she was relieved when he stepped away. “You know nothing of God's will.”

Neither do you,
she thought.

“You'll leave your children to go with
him
?” he asked.

“Oh my God,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Didn't you see what Ayodele . . .” She took a deep breath, gathering herself. “Listen to what's going on out there! Did you not hear what she said? This isn't about our relationship, or whether I'm a bad mother!”

“You're leaving me.”

Adaora sighed and looked away. “This is not the time for this conversation, Chris.”

“You decided to allow him to touch you.” His eyes glistened as he traced his fingers over her face. Every part of her wanted to flinch, but she didn't. “God is always in control,” he said. Then he strode past her and up the stairs. Adaora sat down on the bottom step and looked at her feet, smelling the destruction.

*   *   *   *

Later, upstairs, she found Kola and Fred slipping on their shoes and arguing over who got to tell Grandma everything. Chris was packing biscuits, groundnuts, and bananas into a briefcase. Anthony leaned against the counter, his arms across his chest, silent. Chris glared at Adaora but said nothing. Ayodele, still in her tiny monkey form, sat on the dinner table, her furry back to everyone.

“We called Grandma,” Kola said. “She said if we could get there, we will be safe!”

Adaora nodded. “She's right.”

“Yet you'll stay here where it isn't safe at all,” Chris said.

Silence. Something outside crunched loudly.

“Correct. I'll stay,” she finally said.

“Why?” Fred asked, breathing heavily. His nostrils were flaring. Adaora knew the look; he was trying not to cry. Kola hugged him to her.

“We need to wait for Agu,” Adaora said, trying not to cringe at the anticipation of Chris's reaction.

“Why?” Chris snapped. “Is
he
your husband?”

Anthony chuckled to himself and looked at his feet, muttering, “Nonsense.”

“Kola, Fred, go upstairs and grab some of your school books.”

“Mommy, you should save the world,” Fred said. “If you have a chance to—”

“Shut up and go upstairs,” Chris shouted. “What kind of child enters adult conversation? Abomination!”

Kola and Fred ran upstairs.

“I'm not having this discussion, Chris,” she said when they were gone. Unconsciously her hand went to her cheek. “We've talked enough.”

“I . . . I'm sorry,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I should never have laid a hand on you.”

“I don't care.”

Pause.

“Adaora,” he said. “What . . . I . . . What was it that you did? When . . . when we were fighting?”

She felt her belly flip but said nothing.

He stepped closer and she didn't move away. “Does it have to do with how you were born? You—”

“Chris, didn't you dismiss me as a marine witch or whatever the hell you and those people fear so much?” Her eyes stung but she continued. “Just go with that for now, if that sets your mind at ease. Three things need to happen. One, our children need to be safe. Two, Anthony, Ayodele, and I need to find Agu. You won't understand and I'm not going to explain. Three, we need to get Ayodele to the president. And guess what, Chris, I happen to know where the president is going to be at six a.m. If Agu comes soon, we've got all night to get there. But we have to
get
there. With what's going on outside, that's going to be difficult.”

Pause. “Why the three of you?” Chris asked.

“I don't . . . No, that's not true.” She blinked as it dawned on her. She took his shoulder, gripping it. “Chris?”

“What?” He looked afraid.

Her heart was pounding. Her hands were shaking. She'd never been religious. She'd never believed in the mysterious as her husband did. She was a scientist. Her world was founded upon empiri­cal evidence, on rigorous experimentation, on data. She was the thinker, and he was the one willing to simply have faith. That had been what kept them balanced. Chris was a genius when it came to securing and growing contracts. He had stocks in America and in the UK. He followed hunches when he did business. He consulted dibias, witch doctors, and babawelos when he felt he was at a crossroads. And this had always worked. It had made them rich.

For Adaora, however, logic determined her actions. She went to church because she was expected to go, not because she believed. She studied the ocean and its creatures. She calculated, documented, observed. She wrote articles for academic journals and was respected in her field. She was a well-regarded professor, and, though she made far less than Chris, her income had made them that much richer.

They had known each other all their lives. There was history. And there was mystery in that history that they had silently agreed never to discuss. Neither of them had ever called the other evil or illogical . . . until the last year after Chris had had the scare on the airplane from Lagos to Owerri and became born again. Since then, things had unraveled.

“You're right,” she whispered.

“About what?”

“The world.”

His eyebrows went up. Then he smiled.

“No, no, not all the Christian stuff,” she said. “But the
mystery
.” She paused. “Ayodele spoke of her people being catalysts of change. Wherever they go, they bring change.”

“You are part of the change,” he said.

“Maybe.” She took his hand. “Will you get the children to your mother's place? Please. They are all we have.”

After a long pause, he said, “Yes.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

They both turned to go upstairs. Anthony, who'd been leaning against the door, listening, took a deep gulp from the bottle of water he held. He sighed as he walked back to the living room and said, “Finally, some progress.”

*   *   *   *

Chris took Adaora's Mercedes, leaving her his smaller, faster BMW. Fred and Kola cried and cried. Aside from wanting to stay with Adaora, they didn't want to leave Ayodele, who remained in her monkey form and still refused to speak. As soon as they were gone, Adaora sank into the sofa with the beginnings of a headache that could only come from deep conflict, the internal battle between relief and anxiety. And then a brick smashed through the window followed by a Molotov cocktail, setting the sofa on fire.