Refuge (30 page)

Strangely, perhaps, it was only after he had acknowledged that he was emotionally captive that Abayomi’s magnificent beauty entered his consciousness. He wondered whether it had been an unrealised factor all along. But certainly it was only once he felt drawn towards her that he focused on her external appearance and marvelled that he had not been swept away by her looks beforehand.

The realisation that he had fallen in love with a woman of such beauty was a source of anxiety in the beginning. He worried that others would judge him on this basis, viewing him as shallow or self-serving. He tried to impress on Abayomi that his attraction had preceded his awareness of her physical splendour, but she had simply laughed and scolded him for trying to hide his lust from her. And his realisation had certainly unleashed a rush of physical yearning the likes of which he had never experienced before. His desire to enter into debate with her transformed into a physical need for her presence; he felt a desperate absence when she was not nearby, a physical longing that debilitated his intellectualism.

He knew, as he sat before her now, that her moorings would come adrift without him beside her, offering his strength and love. The trauma of her past had left her scarred beneath her adventurous exterior, and she needed a safe haven to which she could return. Yet he was powerless to provide refuge.

Instead it was she who reassured him now: ‘You must not worry, Ifasen,’ she said. ‘I have arranged a lawyer, a good lawyer. He will get you out of here.’

Ifasen shuddered at what their lives had become, at the clinging and tenuous hope of her statement. Even as she said it, her voice faltered and lost its resolve. He looked back at her blankly. He did not ask who the man was or how they could afford a lawyer, nor where she had found such a person. There was no reassurance in what she said, no hope now of redemption. There was no one on the other side of the high walls who could help him. He, too, was without refuge and knew nothing of the two worlds that rushed together.

R
ICHARD WAS SIMILARLY
oblivious. His thoughts were, unusually, far from Abayomi. He was sitting, irritated and reactive, in a partners’ meeting, listening to Igshaan report back on the shortlisted group of applicants for the position of senior partner. Quantal Investments and the empowerment profile of the firm loomed large in their debate. Of the five applicants, four had matriculated at private schools and three had received tertiary education at prestigious universities overseas. All came from middle-class backgrounds, spoke English impeccably and expected remuneration packages that exceeded even that of Selwyn Mullins’s. Richard had objected to the criteria applied to obtain the shortlist.

‘This isn’t an upliftment programme, Richard,’ Igshaan responded scathingly.

‘Well, at least not for them,’ Candice Reeves quipped, ‘but perhaps for us.’

‘Exactly,’ Igshaan said, oblivious to the sarcasm in Candice’s voice. ‘This is a BEE deal, pure and simple, because we need the right profile. We aren’t offering bursaries to cow herders in the Transkei, and if that’s what you want to be doing then this is surely not the place for you.’

Richard flushed with anger and moved forward in his seat. The impudence was enraging, but Selwyn held up his hand before he could bite back. ‘Igshaan, I think you need to understand that, for some of us, this firm has been a baby that we have taken from birth to this point of adulthood. What you say is correct, of course, but I think you must also realise that the move is perhaps easier for you. You’ve joined the firm rather more lately. But some of us have been knocking around these passages for years.’

Richard still wanted to hit Igshaan, but the senior partner’s intervention had appeased him enough for him simply to huff and sit back in his chair.

Igshaan shrugged his shoulders, first one then the other, like a bird shuffling its feathers. ‘Perhaps in my eagerness to see this firm do the right thing – the obvious thing – I may disregard some of the sensitivities of those around me.’ Richard felt his ire afresh as Igshaan emphasised the word ‘sensitivities’, placing himself above the pettiness. ‘And for that I am sorry. But we clearly need to move forward and quickly too. Quantal isn’t going to be around for ever.’

Igshaan handed out the packs of documents relating to each applicant. ‘Right, let’s start with the first one, Eunice Bongani Qhele. What I like about him—’

He was interrupted by the door of the conference room opening. Nadine stuck her head around the doorway and raised her eyebrows unsympathetically at Richard.

‘What?’ Richard snapped, more sharply than he intended. Igshaan sighed loudly enough for all in the room to hear.

Nadine glowered back for a moment. ‘Someone to see you. He says it’s important and can’t wait.’

‘A client?’ Richard knew that his diary was free for the afternoon; he had hoped to keep the partners’ meeting short so that he could leave the office early. But Nadine shook her head.

‘Oh, all right, I’m coming. I’m sure that the meeting can carry on without
my
input.’ His comment was intended to be stinging, but once expressed it sounded churlish. He did not wait for a response and left the conference room. He heard Igshaan start up before he had closed the door.

Irritated, Richard walked into the waiting room but he soon came to a standstill, speechless. Sunday was sitting easily on the leather couch, chatting up the receptionist, Carmen, who was flushed and squeaking with enthusiasm. The man lost none of his charm as he leapt to his feet and switched his attentions from the boisterous receptionist to Richard.

‘
Oyinbo!
Richard, my friend. I look the
parra
, my brother, I know it. But, my friend, the fowl does not forget where it has laid its egg.
Chei!
This will put
mi
for trouble, but what must I do, my friend? You are the one for me now.’ Sunday bounced around the waiting area with energy, his vibey slang incongruous in the austere surroundings. Richard realised that he had to get the man and his explosive mouth out of the way before any of the other partners saw him.

‘Sunday, you can’t just rock up here, man.’

Carmen had returned to filing her nails but was giggling behind the raised edge of the counter.

‘Come with me.’ Richard strode through the plate-glass swing doors, sandblasted with the new crest and name of the firm. He led Sunday into his office, quickly closing the door behind him, but not before he had noticed Nadine’s cold look.

‘O! Is this
feferity
, my friend, or the real ting?
Ajebota
, I would like to see your house because there we can do the living, my brother. And talk jazz
laik dat
to me, like you no know what I’m saying. You know it, my friend. You know it.’ Sunday sank comfortably into a chair, then bounced forward to pour himself some cold water from a crystal decanter.

‘Sunday, you cannot …
cannot
just arrive here and expect me to see you.’ Richard was horrified at the man’s insane intrusion into his professional life.

‘
Chei!
That is not good, my brother. Joke
na
joke, my friend, because I am sitting here in your office and you are talking to me, are you not?
No bi
?’ Sunday sat back and grinned at him warmly.

Richard was silent. The extent to which he had allowed his recently separate lives to overlap, and the danger of contact, reared before him. Previously the possibility of such a blurring of lines had added to the thrill, but now the concrete presence of Sunday in his office horrified him.

‘What do you
want
?’ It was ungracious and cold, but Richard could not bring himself to say anything more.

Sunday leant forward conspiratorially. ‘
Odu
. I am sorry to say, but it is a bad business we have, you and I. It is a problem my friend that we now have. The chicken perspires, but we do not always see the sweat, my—’

‘Please, Sunday,’ Richard interjected, ‘no rhymes, no slang. Just tell me why you are here. What problem do
we
have here?’ Despite Sunday’s jovial mood, Richard was dismayed at the man’s inclusion of him in some joint and unknown problem. His thoughts immediately turned to his partners, to his family, to Amanda. He needed to get this man out of the building as quickly as possible.

As if sensing his unease, Sunday paused, pouring himself more water and inspecting the tumbler as if it were a glass of fine wine. ‘Our problem, my friend, is Abayomi,’ he continued, looking at Richard directly now.

Richard felt the muscles in his arm and across his chest start to tense. There was something insidious below the surface of the buoyant man’s statement. Richard wondered if he was being threatened.

‘You see,’ Sunday continued evenly, ‘our Abayomi is a refugee in this country. She doesn’t have any status here.’ The slang and clever phraseology were gone now. ‘She has to renew her refugee permit every year. And it is time. She has no money to pay for this. And she is too full of the pride to ask.’

Sunday had placed the proposition squarely on the table. He watched Richard, making sure that he understood. Satisfied, he reverted to his verbiage. ‘O! There will be better deys for okra soup, to be sure. You will be eating the Efik and living the good life, true to God.’

‘How much?’ Richard almost spat the words out, like broken teeth into a bowl. His mind whirled with the unspoken threat posed by the man’s presence in his office, of Abayomi’s deportation back to Nigeria, of money paid and never recovered. But, ultimately, his mind settled on the warming thought of her appreciation. Perhaps she would learn of his generosity and repay him with affection. The idea of her indebtedness to him was calming. It suggested a transfer of control into his hands. Perhaps this was the price he would have to pay. Perhaps this was the price of having everything you wanted.

‘How much?’ he said again, more urgently.

‘Hey, you are not the
slacki
, brother. The owl is
de
wisest of the birds, because the more it sees, the less it talks,
no bi
?’ Sunday sighed dramatically. ‘In naira it would be too much to count. But in rand, fifteen thousand. I would give it myself if I had it, but I do not. She had some but it is taken.
Natin spoil
.’

‘Fifteen thousand rand!’ Richard spluttered. The figure was far larger than he had anticipated.

‘O! They have a long throat, my friend, but I do not decide. That is the dollar. It is
tapping
, my friend, to be sure. But that is the sacrifice.’ Sunday raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. ‘I am no
jiga
, my brother. But otherwise they will come in a few days and they will take her to the camp and then she will be gone for ever. I will lose my friend; you will lose your
babi
.’ The description of Abayomi jolted Richard and he felt a rush of blood to his face. Sunday continued without commenting: ‘The
egunje
, my friend, is not big. Find me something. The gods hear only one wish at a time, no more.’

It had occurred to Richard that he might part from Abayomi of his own accord, in time, but he could not imagine it now. Losing her so suddenly seemed inconceivable – to have her taken by others without forewarning. It surprised him, the extent to which the prospect seemed traumatic, a wrenching of someone he loved. His distress at the thought was unexpectedly acute. He took the decision in a rush of emotion, motivated both by a fear of losing her and a desire to get rid of Sunday. He reached into his open drawer and pulled out his chequebook. Sunday did not react, sipping his water thoughtfully. It was as if the result of his visit had been decided the moment he had entered the building. Richard was simply acting out his part in the drama.

‘Don’t be naming her, Richard. Don’t be naming her on your paper
dere
.’

Richard nodded impatiently. He signed off his name with a flourish and snapped the cheque from its book, and held it out to Sunday. ‘Abayomi does not ever need to know,’ he said. ‘Please do whatever is necessary. The cheque is made out to cash. Thank you for coming. You must please leave now.’

‘I am
outta
here, my brother.’ Sunday launched out of the chair and neatly plucked the outstretched cheque from Richard’s hand. Richard caught the clean citrus smell of expensive aftershave as the man drew away from him. ‘I have to speak to the people, my brother. Arrange this paper and pay
de
man.’

Sunday folded the cheque and slipped it into the top pocket of his cheesecloth shirt. Richard stood at his doorway and watched him walk, spring-stepped, down the passageway, pushing through the glass doors. He paused at the front desk, leaning out of Richard’s sight to say something to Carmen over the top of the reception counter. After a while his torso reappeared and he gave a childish salute to her, jabbering something inane before turning on his heel.

Richard felt a sense of foreboding as he watched the man enter the lift lobby. Amanda controlled their finances and was sure to query the large withdrawal. He would need to think of an explanation. Rubbing the side of his head, he decided not to return to the partners’ meeting but retreated into his office, locking the door behind him.

A
BAYOMI IS MY
wife. We have a small boy. His name is Khalifah.’

The echo of the man’s voice in the consultation room made the simple statement sound muffled. The words seemed to drift up to Richard from some great depth, like bubbles from an aqualung, the diver hiding far down in the murk. Ifasen sat rubbing his hands together slowly, oblivious of the developing impact of his words. A scratched table separated him from Richard, and they each sat on metal chairs with torn spongy seats, the green vinyl split open in long wounds. On the other side of the door, they could hear the sound of prisoners passing, shouting to one another, ragging the wardens, swearing and laughing. The noise and smell of prison were pervasive. The stink of captured humanity.