Lagoon (21 page)

CHAPTER 43

YAWA DON GAS

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Adaora pressed her head to the car seat and shut her eyes. For the first time in years, she prayed. She prayed to her father, who'd been crushed to death by a speeding truck on the Lagos–Benin Expressway, she prayed to all those spirits she knew lived deep in the polluted soil of Lagos, she even prayed to the Christian god she didn't believe in and the Muslim god she'd never learned about. Lastly, she prayed she was doing the right thing by getting in the car with Agu, Anthony, the president's wives and the two security guards, and leaving the president of Nigeria out there with Ayodele the alien.

“GAAAAAAAH!” the president continued to scream.

Agu was holding down Zena, and one of the soldiers was holding Hawra.

“LET ME OUT!” Zena screeched, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Ah-ah, what is she doing to him?” one of the soldiers moaned.

The screaming stopped. Adaora listened with all her being, but there was no sound to indicate whether the man had died or run off or fainted or ceased to exist. Moments passed. Adaora opened her eyes to find Anthony staring at her, sweat pouring down his face. The minute Agu let go of Zena, she leaped out of the car.

Adaora went after her. Hawra ran a few steps, her thick legs carrying her as fast as they could, and then slowed down. The president
and Ayodele were seated face to face on the tarmac in front of the plane. Zena had stopped, standing over them.

“My love, are you okay?” Zena asked.

Adaora stepped up behind her, staring at the president. Even in the darkness, she could see that his eyes were clear, no longer rheumy. The lines on his face were still there but his skin had cleared up. He was sitting with his back straight, unbent. He was smiling.

“I'm fine,” he said. Even his voice was louder. Clearer. Stronger. He chuckled, looking up at the sky with a smile on his face. “I'm fine.”

“What did she do to you?” Zena cried. “It sounded like . . .”

“She healed me, Zena.”

“Praise Allah,” Zena whispered, tears running down her cheeks. She bent forward and put her hands on her knees, attempting to catch her breath. Hawra came up behind her, her eyes wide.

Ayodele said nothing. She was looking up at the sky with the president.

The others got out of the car and slowly approached.

“The air is so sweet,” the president said. He inhaled and exhaled. “Allah is great.” Slowly, he stood up.

Zena blinked and then cocked her head, frowning suspiciously now. “Help our husband,” Zena said, pushing Hawra forward. “You are stronger.” Hawra moved toward the president.

“My mind . . . it is clear,” he said, his arm around his second wife. He chuckled again and Adaora looked at Agu, who shrugged.

The president turned to Ayodele, who'd also stood up and was looking at the airplane. “Take me to your leader,” he said.

Ayodele turned around and smiled. “Leaders.”

“Where will I meet them?” he asked.

“In the water.”

Agu moaned.

The president looked at him. “Private Agu, where can we get a boat?”

CHAPTER 44

NARRATOR'S WELCOME

The sea always takes more than it gives.

Right now, as I weave, the sea roils and boils with life.

About a day and a half ago, the oceans were ailing from pollution.

Today, as the sun rises, there may as well be a sign on all Lagos
beaches that reads:

HERE THERE BE MONSTERS
.

This has always been the truth, but today it is truer.

They must understand this. But I hope they do not understand any of it. If they do, then they will not step on to that boat, and the story will not continue. My strong webbing will snap. The story will stop growing and spreading. Let them venture forth. I will throw out a strong thread, maybe three. Then I will anchor it firmly to Lagos. That way, I can continue to narrate this tale while I enjoy it.

I am Udide, the narrator, the story weaver, the Great Spider.

I live in this great cave beneath the city. I have been here for centuries, and I will be here for centuries more. This metropolis is just getting started.
The coming of these new people is indeed a great twist to Lagos's tale.
Who saw it coming? Even I did not.

I roll onto my back and place my hairy feet to the earth above me.
I feel the vibrations of Lagos. This way, I see everything. What a story this has been. The sun will soon come up, and I will watch everyone see what they have done. The chaos will be on display.

The sun rises.

Dawn is here, and the dust settles.

The streets are full of mayhem's terrible fruits.

Burned vehicles. Smoldering buildings. Dead animals.

The waking giant of the road goes back to sleep, leaving a trail of terror.

The death of the boy on the road has already been seen by over three million people around the world and will be seen by millions more.

There are new people among the old people.

And the digital ether has gone wild.

The great Ijele leads the wildness, and the tricky Legba laughs.

The Bight of Biafra's waters are teeming.

The president is healed.

His eyes are dry and white. His skin is clear and brown.

His mind is strong and free.

I revel in it all.

I am stronger than ever. I approach the end of this leg of the tale.

And here, I greet you.

Welcome, listener, welcome.

I press my sensitive feet to the cave's ceiling.

Na good good story.

I go continue to listen, o. Quietly . . .

CHAPTER 45

ON THE WATER

The president of Nigeria walked along the narrow path outside his mansion, inhaling the scent of lilacs and lilies. The small garden between the mansion and the guesthouse in the back was his sanctuary. Well-paid gardeners tended to these flowers daily, and it was worth the cost. This was where the president usually came in the morning to think. Nevertheless, this particular morning was not the usual morning at all, so he walked swiftly past the flowers toward the guesthouse.

He'd dressed in a white sukodo and buba, his finest attire. Granted, if he fell in the water, he suspected his clothes would make swimming hell. But he didn't plan to fall in the water. He imagined that the aliens would come to his boat on whatever contraption they used as transportation and talks would ensue. Talks of what? He'd cross that bridge when he got to it. The fact was that the woman Ayodele, who was not a woman, had healed him. She was a child of Allah. So everything was good.

“I'm not going,” Zena said, holding her delicate black veil over her face as they stood outside the guesthouse. She'd stayed here since they'd arrived. She didn't want to be in the same house as “that creature in women's clothing.” Nor did she want to be near her husband, who'd surely been infected with whatever the creature was spreading. Though Zena had hated watching her husband deteriorate, there had been comfort to be taken from his illness. It was Allah's will and she'd come to terms with that.

But there had been more to it than she'd admit. When he'd been healthy, he'd married two other wives, and slowly her role in his life had dwindled. With the onset of his illness, Zena had become his support system again; she'd become his mouth, his confidante. His third and youngest wife, Caroline, had even grown jealous and moved to their home in Abuja. Now, with him being healed, all that would change.

“One of us should stay here,” Zena snapped. “Let Hawra go.”
And may she never come back,
she thought. Zena was tired of the overeducated, PhD-wielding, cheeky Hawra.
Let her go and never come back.

Hawra dressed in fitted jeans and a T-shirt, and then donned her veil. All her life she'd dreamed of being a part of something huge. Something that would bring a change to all things as she knew them. She wouldn't miss what was going to happen next for the world.

CHAPTER 46

THE GLASS HOUSE

Father Oke rested his back against the wrought-iron bars of the gate that surrounded the Glass House in downtown Lagos. He had a pounding headache. But at least he was alive. When he'd come back to himself on the lawn of Chris's home, everyone was gone and the house was on fire. They'd left him there. His flock. Maybe they'd even joined the aliens.

He shoved the thoughts away as he looked at the road. It was a bright early morning. Quiet, too. Not only were there no people in the area, the power in the city had been completely knocked out by the last sonic boom. Once in a while a group of young raucous boys or a car would pass, but otherwise the road was empty. Here, Lagos was desolate, except for a smoldering car down the road. Most likely all the worst madness was in Oshodi or near Mile 2.

Along with his head pounding, his face burned from where he'd been slapped. He'd thrown off his filthy white robes long ago. Then, wearing his gray pants, white shirt, and gray tie, he'd walked the streets for a while. He'd seen a woman laughing as a man ravaged her from behind against a stalled vehicle. She'd been screaming and laughing that an alien was probing her. Father Oke had helped a young woman with three young children cross a busy street; they'd all nearly been run over, but he'd gotten them to safety. He'd seen several go-slows so solid that people had abandoned their vehicles. He'd seen Area Boys carrying branches and palm fronds that they used to threaten people, moving in on the
abandoned vehicles like vultures. And worst of all he'd seen many of
them
.

It wasn't something most people around him noticed. Every­one was too busy doing whatever they were doing. But Father Oke wasn't going anywhere.
He
was not lost. For the first time in his life, his eyes were open. So
he
noticed those people who seemed a little off. Their faces didn't carry as much emotion as other people's. Or they seemed too calm. Too comfortable. Too adapted to the situation. They walked with too much grace. And they were everywhere.

He saw them helping people escape Area Boys. He saw two putting out the flames in a burning truck. He saw one helping a little girl find her father. He saw them watching as so many people of Lagos made fools of themselves.

“Oh Lord,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Oh my Lord, save us, o.”

“Excuse me, sir. Did you say something?”

He looked up. The woman was standing in the parking lot, looking at the building. She was curvy, wearing tight blue jeans and a white short-sleeve blouse that barely contained her large breasts. On each of her wrists she wore a shiny silver watch. Their faces sparkled in the moonlight. Only watches encrusted with diamonds did that. Father Oke remembered admiring the watch of a rapper once while he was in the United States at a fund-raiser. Yes, those were very large breasts and very large diamonds.

“Uh, no, no, I didn't say anything,” he said, his eyes taking all of her in. He regularly bedded his house girls and paid them to keep quiet about it. They were sexy, docile, pliable, and certainly sweet. But this woman was something else. This woman was mysterious. And she reminded him of a woman he'd loved years ago.

She sashayed over to him. She wore those high-platformed heels he saw all the Nigerian actresses wearing in their films. Shoes that lifted them up but could never make them truly tall. He loved to watch them walk in those heels.

“Oh, I thought you did,” she said. She spoke like she was from the Niger Delta region. She was still looking at the building with a grand smile on her face.

He smiled too. “Are you looking for someone in there?”

“No, no, I just love this building,” she said.

“Well, this is not the best time to come out and see it.”

“It's crazy, yeah?” she said. She looked up at the bank. Father Oke frowned at the beautiful woman's strangeness. She chuckled and looked at Father Oke. “The city is breaking itself,” she said. “But not one single pane of this building is broken.”

Father Oke looked at the Fin Bank and winced. The Fin Bank was one of Lagos's most artistic structures, a gigantic trapezoid with arched wings made entirely out of square panes of glass. A few were red, but the majority of them were an ocean blue. It had gone by many names over the years, but Lagosians had always called it the Glass House. He hated this building. He was sure that it was evil. Not surprising, with all the evil that was flooding the city tonight, that the Glass House should be spared.

“Do you want to come with me?”

He smirked. “Come with you where?”

“Answer my question first.”

Father Oke looked from her to the building and then to the sky. He could hear someone shout nearby and the sound of tires screeching. The worst night of his life had melted into the worst day. The night and day that everything fell apart. He turned to her. “Fuck it,” he said. “Yeah, I'll go with you.” He laughed, imagining her heaving breasts bouncing above him as he took her right there on the deserted beach. He was already soiled, why not soil himself more? Might as well get some pleasure from the night.

“You know the mythology behind this place,
sha
?”

“Yes, yes,” he quickly said. He didn't want to think about it “Let's go.”

“They say that because this building is so shiny and the color of
the water, it creates an aura that attracts the sea. You see, the Atlantic always overflows at Bar Beach and that's close to this building. So this place is always flooding.”

“Okay, o,” he said, wanting to get moving before she said more. He took her arm and pulled. But she wouldn't move. He frowned. She was like a heavy stone. He shoved her hard and still she didn't budge.

She chuckled. “You know what they also say? That it's not the
ocean
that is attracted to this place. That it is Mami Wata who loves this building. Do you know Mami Wata?”

“Yes,” he said. Mami Wata was the goddess of all marine witches.

She looked squarely at him. “This is my favorite building, o.”

Many things happened to Father Oke at once. He felt his heart break. Why had he slapped that woman so hard yesterday morning? Why had he slapped her at all? Twice in one night he had conversed with a woman who was not really a woman. The first had been from outer space. This second was from the earth's water. For the first time in his life, Father Oke truly realized that he lived in a glass palace, while others around him lived in a ghetto.

He gave up.

Father Oke gave in.

What a relief.

They left the Glass House, crossing the empty street. They were heading toward the beach.

No one ever saw Father Oke again.