7 Short Stories 2 - The Butcher, The Surgeon And I (2/2)
”Do you have his number?”
”No.”
”What will you do if they allow you to call him?” ”I will call Dr. Ikedife.”
It was a gamble I needed to take because the soldiers were not relenting and Georgina's skin was beginning to turn red as the sun emerged. We held our breaths as we watched the soldier confer with his superior. Minutes later, he returned.
”Oga, make una dey go,” he said in Pidgin English.
Georgina refused to follow me home ever since. As her faith in Nigeria and anyone's ability to rescue it faded, mine increased. She never returned home with me even after I had built a mansion in the exclusive Government Reserved Area of Enugu. It was an edi ce, a manifestation of wealth that would have made my father yell my grandfather's t.i.tle name, ”Aku rue uno.” Nothing I did could convince Georgina to give Nigeria another try.
”I've turned you into an African extremist,” Georgina said the last time I raised the topic.
”What do you mean by that?” I asked.
”My prayers were answered,” she said, ”but by then I had started a new prayer.”
I had wanted to repeat the cliché about being careful what you prayed for… but I held o because Georgina hated clichés. Her greatest strength was in knocking down truism.
”You bought what I was selling,” she said to herself.
”Georgina, please look at it this way,” I pleaded. ”I still have life in me and can still do some good. But if I stay here,
I'm heading straight for the nursing home.”
”You can still do some good here.”
”But n.o.body really wants me here or even needs me. I'm replaceable. There are thousands of people like me here. But there, my little contributions will have a multiplier e ect.” ”What about your family?” she asked.
”Why will you choose to abandon them? Is it for fear of the nursing home or this unknown need over there?”
By the 90s, our kids had grown up and left home. Brenda is a doctor practicing in Alaska where she lives with her husband, also a doctor. Cal is a pilot with Air France. He is married to a French air hostess and they live at Long Island, New York and also in Paris. Our last child Williams is a struggling actor in Hollywood. They all stopped going to Nigeria with me when their mother stopped. Not even Williams, who lives nearby, showed up at our house in Cerritos during the holidays. They have all moved on with their lives and once or twice a month I get a phone call from Brenda who would often share brief anecdotes of my grandchildren with me. If anybody had been abandoned, it was I. And as my father used to say, he who others have rejected must not reject himself.
In 1999, I began a free medical mission to Nigeria. I got together doctors, nurses and medical supplies and for two weeks we travelled across Eastern Nigeria providing free medical services to the rural folk. During each visit, I look out for what I could possibly do if I returned to Nigeria permanently. I still dream about bringing that enlightenment Georgina used to talk about. It was in that spirit that I gave my support to a contestant for the kings.h.i.+p t.i.tle in my hometown. This was the rst contest since the rule was changed to stop making the succession hereditary; as was set up by the British colonial power. I supported the candidate who promised to eradicate the Osu caste system that tagged some citizens free born and others slaves. The slaves were denied full rights of citizens.h.i.+p. It was a controversial and emotional issue that made the traditionalists angry when my candidate was named the king-elect.
Georgina knows about my medical mission to Nigeria. I thought it would touch the humanitarian spirit in her. But she does not care. Our home in Cerritos is a beautiful one-storey building. We have a visiting housekeeper, a gardener and can a ord any service we need. Our dog, Mannie, is as old as Georgina. The once energetic American pointer hardly barks anymore. It does not even wag its tail when I come home.
Mannie barked three times on Thanksgiving Eve; each time for when the doorbell rang and each of our kids arrived with a bouquet of owers. We saw our grandchildren for the rst time in three years. Brenda had two, Brittney and Stephen, and Cal had one, Cal Jr.
Williams, I suspected was gay. He came with his 'friend.'
Cal's wife had not changed much from the way she looked on her wedding day some eight years ago. She still had her smile and walked with the same elegance. If I had never seen old air hostesses, I would have declared that air hostesses never aged. Maybe they age slower than other people. I get along well with my daughter-in-law. She radiates courtesy and still has her sense of humour.
”Is the air in the rst cla.s.s cabin really di erent from the air in the coach,” I once asked her.
”No, Dr. Okons,” she said. ”The air in all the cabins is the same. The only place where the air is di erent is in the c.o.c.kpit.” ”Why is that?” I asked.
”Because pilots fart,” she said.
”Everyone farts,” I said.
”Sometimes,” she said. ”But pilots fart all the time.” If her pilot husband was not within hearing distance I would have discounted that.
Brenda's husband was a lot like me. As a doctor, he had an un.o.bstructed look at the ins and outs of life. He must have adjusted to accommodate my daughter, who is not di erent from her mother.
He once cornered me at the balcony upstairs and asked. ”Dr. Okons, what is the secret to a long happy married life?” This was before the incident in the kitchen.
”It is simple,” I said. ”Do no harm, keep the pain secret and keep away from every seduction.”
”Is the answer in the oath?”
”Well, it is like the oath,” I said.
”The Hippocratic oath?” he asked.
”No. The other one.”
”Which one?”
”The one they call a vow,” I said. ”You know the di erence between an oath and a vow?” ”No,” Brenda's husband replied.
”If you violate an oath, you lose your license.” ”Aha.”
”But if you violate a vow, you lose half your estate.”
It was our rst heart-warming get-together in years. Our home was lively. Kids were running around, making noise and breaking things. Dinner was served just after the rst football game ended and the second was about to start. The Cowboys and the Seahawks again divided the family. Everyone, but Brittney and I were on the side of the Cowboys.
a.s.sorted dishes covered our formal dinning table. Occupying the center was the turkey. It stood out like a fountain surrounded by owers. There was stu ng, glazed ham, mashed potatoes, peas, carrots and green beans. There was also cranberry compote, gravy, rolls, creamed corn, sausages, strawberry tru e and chocolate cake. Even though every inch of s.p.a.ce on the table was taken up, I missed my plantain and sauce.
”This family has come a long way,” I prayed. ”With tentacles all over the world, may we give back some of the great things in life that we have received through our Lord Jesus.”
The Amens I heard were very few. There was de nitely nothing heard from the spot where Williams and his friends were sitting.
”Why can't we do this once a year?” I asked, afterwards.
”We cannot y down here every year,” Cal said.
”Why?” I asked. ”Have they stopped paying pilots well?”
”It's not about money,” Cal said.
”So what is it about? Fear of ying?” I asked.
Brittney smiled.
”Forget it,” said Cal.
”We can rotate it,” I said. ”We can visit any of you in turns.” I looked at my wife and saw her roll her eyes.
”Where will that leave your endless trips to Africa in pursuit of who-knows-what?” she asked, the sarcasm evident in her voice.
”I want to go to Africa too,” Brittney said. ”I want to visit Madagascar and the Lion King countries.”
Sitting all around the dining table in our formal wear with chandeliers lit up above, ours was a picturesque family. Looking back to where I came from, I could see I had indeed come a long way. But looking forward to where my family was headed, I feared it wasn't my destination. Maybe it was the way it should be. But nothing had prepared me for this; getting where I had always wanted to be only to yearn for where I started.
”I will host the next get together,” Cal said. ”We can meet anytime in our house in Long Island.” ”Why not Paris?” Brenda asked.
”If you all are up to that, so am I, hey” Cal said.
”My pa.s.sport has expired,” Williams chipped in.
”Then renew it,” Brenda riposted.
”We will work out the details after dinner,” I said.
As prearranged, my children's spouses and their kids went out to see a movie after dinner. I had wanted to be with wife and children alone as we discussed my future plans. I was seriously considering spending more time in Nigeria in pursuit of my philanthropic goals. There was also talk about getting a political appointment in the health ministry.
”In the course of human events, there comes a time when a man must answer to his father's name,” I began as soon as the front door closed.
”This is going to be interesting,” said my wife. ”It has transformed from there comes a time when a man must use his tongue to count his teeth to there comes a time when...”
”As opposed to using his teeth to count his tongue?” Brenda interjected.
Carl and Williams all laughed.
The eyes of my children looked like those of kids waiting to hear their father's will. I ignored the snide remarks because all I had said was that I was at a juncture in life when I needed to take stock of my life. I continued.
”You have all grown to be secure and responsible adults,” I said, scanning their faces. I made sure my eyes focus more on Cal and Brenda.
”No proverbs, please,” my wife said.
”But Mummy, you used to love them when we were small,” Brenda said.
”Used to…” Georgina pointed out.
”I will be going to Nigeria on Sunday. I'm exploring career opportunities over there” I continued.
”Why?” Cal asked.
”He is afraid of staying here and ending up in a nursing home,” my wife said, her disdain once again seeping through. ”Where do old people end up over there in Nigeria?” Williams asked. He was looking at his mother for an answer.
”I don't know,” my wife said.
”Like I was saying, I think I have something left in me to give and I think giving to those who have little to nothing is the best gift there is,” I said.
”While you're at it, tell the kids about your name change,” my wife said.
”Dad, you changed your name?” Cal asked.
”Yes,” I said.
”To what?” Williams asked.
”To Okonkwo,” I said.
”Oko what?” Williams quizzed.
”What's wrong with Okons?” Brenda asked.
”I don't know what it means,” I said.
”Wait a minute,” Cal said. ”But that is your name and our name.”
”Yes,” I said. ”It was a mockery of my real name.” ”Which is what?” Williams asked.
”Okonkwo,” I said.
”Does that mean I have to change my name?” Williams asked.
”You don't have to unless you want to” I a.s.sured them.
A long silence descended on the meeting. It was the type of silence that seemed to say this was a much more serious issue than we had thought.
In the middle of the preface to my talk I got a call. It was from my nephew in Nigeria.
”Excuse me,” I said to my family. ”This is from Nigeria.” They shrugged.
”Uncle,” my nephew said. ”There is trouble.” ”What happened?” I asked.
”The abominable,” he said.
”What is it?”
”Ezeagu is dead.”
”What?”
”He was murdered.”
”By who?”
”By the opponents of the king-elect. They said they were getting back at you for funding his election.”
”When did that happen?”
”Yesterday.”
”Where?”
”He was tapping a palm tree for wine when they came for him,” my nephew said in-between sobs. ”They surrounded the palm tree and waited for him to climb down. He tapped his palm wine and descended from the tree carrying in his hands a gourd of fresh palm wine and his climbing rope. He shared his wine with the men who had gathered around him, each drinking from the gourd itself. Then they seized him. Their leader brought out the knife tied to his waist and cut o his head. They laid out banana leaves under the same palm tree cut up his body into small pieces as if they were cutting up the esh of a goat.”
I dropped the phone and told my family that my brother had been murdered by those determined to stop me from ever going home.
”Which brother?” they asked.
I had only one brother.
As I went upstairs, my mind was ooded by images of blood, body parts, babies, screams, and bones. n.o.body followed me as I climbed the stairs. I laid down on my bed and cried for hours.
When I nally got up the next day, I walked out of my house without saying a word to my family. Brittney caught up with me at the door and wanted to follow me out.
”Come back here,” Brenda yelled at her.
”I am going to Madagascar with grandpa,” Brittney said.
”Get your behind here, right now!” Brenda yelled.
The family watched me climb down the stairs with a traveling bag in tow. None of them tried to stop me. I got into my car and drove o . I drove eighteen miles to the Los Angeles Airport clutching my KLM ticket to Lagos before it occurred to me that I was two days ahead of my scheduled travel date.
As I made my way back to the parking lot, I saw Dr.
Ikedife loading his luggage into his wife's car.
”Coming back from home?” I asked.
”Yes,” he answered. ”Like I told you, it was a quick visit. I said goodbye to my old man who is dying of prostate cancer.”
”Sorry to hear that,” I said.
”Oh, he is old now,” Dr. Ikedife said. ”And something will always bring it to an end. If it is not cancer it will be something else.”
For a moment, I missed my father. Maybe if he had lived longer, my life would have been di erent. Maybe I would have had more reason to get involved with activities at home earlier than now. Maybe Georgina would have persevered and given Nigeria another chance. Maybe my children would have had a reason to care about where I came from. I stopped myself from thinking how he would have viewed my present relations.h.i.+p with my family. In his world, a man was not supposed to be seen in the kitchen let alone be caught cooking. It would have been considered an abomination. In his world, a woman who refused to cook what a man wanted would dare not throw away a man's cooking. It would have been called a double abomination. My father would have considered my situation one in which dying would have been a better option.
”I can see you have your traveling bag, where to?” Dr. Ikedife asked me.
”I was scheduled to travel home in two days' time but I came to the airport today.”
”Everything alright?” Dr. Ikedife asked.
”My brother was hacked to death yesterday,” I said.
”Oh my G.o.d!” he exclaimed.
”Don't say that!” Ikedife's wife said.
”Yes. Some political thugs murdered him,” I said.
”Is it safe for you to go home then?” Dr. Ikedife asked. ”I don't know,” I replied.
”You have to think about your safety before you rush home,” he advised.
”The possibility of dying does not stop people from going to war,” I quipped.
”But good warriors choose their battles carefully,” Dr.
Ikedife said.
”If I don't go now, I may never go home again,” I said.
”You should go home and bury your brother.”
”Yes, I will.”
”But it needs to be planned.”
”Yes.”
”Did your wife know what happened?” Dr. Ikedife asked.
”I told her.”
”And she allowed you to head home?”
”She does not care.”
”I'm sorry to hear this.”
”Such is life.”
”I think you should come with us,” Dr. Ikedife said. ”Let us go to my house for a while.”
”Ok,” I accepted almost without thinking.
”When we get home, I will call my brother. I will ask him to provide you with military escort from the airport to anywhere you go in Nigeria,” Dr. Ikedife said.
”Until when?” I asked.
”Until you enter the plane for your journey back to the United States,” he a.s.sured.
I had wanted to tell him that I had planned on going for good, but I held myself in check. If he would not move back home with his brother in the military, he would consider me crazy for thinking that, I guessed. I felt crazy just thinking about it. How could I live with those savages? What kind of security guarantee would make me do it?
Dr Ikedife climbed into his wife's car. I opened the back door, tossed my bag on the seat and climbed in too, as airport security sta waved the car on.
”Something smells like ogiri in this car,” I said.
”I brought the original ogiriokpi,” Dr. Ikedife said. ”Good,” I said.
I closed my eyes and took in the aroma. My wandering brain stopped as soon as I made the concession. Home is not where you get back to. Home is where you are stuck.
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