The Cellar (13 page)

He lay now as he’d lain then, fully clothed and curled in a ball with his eyes shut and his thumb in his mouth. Beside him were the lunch box and the schoolbag. Muna thought she could love him quite easily like this. Yetunde, too, who looked kind and motherly leaning against her suitcase, her right hand reaching out to the son she’d lost.

There was no smell, not even from the urine that had soaked Yetunde’s skirt. Muna wondered if the Devil had built this cool, airless chamber for that purpose – to keep the bodies of her enemies whole and clean for her to enjoy. She shone the torch into Yetunde’s handbag to find the wallet and remove the credit card. Then, as carefully as she’d done each time before, she closed the door and tiptoed backwards, using a soft brush to swirl dust over the footprints that showed she’d walked through a wall.

She squatted in the corner of her room that night, staring at Yetunde’s smartphone and the two small squares of plastic on the carpet in front of her. She had taken the mobile and Ebuka’s credit card after he fell asleep, but she was still undecided whether to use his number or Yetunde’s to buy food. The gulf in her understanding of how such small, lifeless things could speak was huge.

The decision would have been removed from her if Ebuka hadn’t stirred when she returned from Mrs Hughes. He’d opened his eyes as she stood looking down at him, and she’d had to pretend the mobile had slipped from his lap as he dozed. She stooped as if to pick it up and her chance of ordering the food then, using the card he kept in his wallet beside his bed, was lost.

Now she didn’t know which to choose. Ebuka had said he would know Yetunde was alive if she spent money. But was that enough? What else might the card tell Ebuka? She lifted it and held it close to her face, wondering how it could even say it belonged to Yetunde. Where was its voice?

Muna’s lack of expression and long schooling in patience served her well the next day. With no idea when the white van would come, or even if she had succeeded in placing an order, she stretched the food Mrs Hughes had given her and listened calmly to Ebuka’s frustrations.

He felt belittled because the credit-card company had refused to give him the information he wanted. At Yetunde’s insistence, he had made her the primary cardholder so she could deal direct with the company if questions of fraud arose. It had seemed wise at the time. Yetunde knew Ebuka’s shopping habits – he was predictable – and she would recognise a criminal transaction immediately. The same could not be said of him.

Muna was kneading dough for flatbreads from the flour Mrs Hughes had given her. What does all that mean, Master?

Yetunde never gave me the security password. Only she can be told how the card’s being used. I pay the bill but I have no rights.

Does that make you angry, Master?

Ebuka gave a sour smile. It’ll teach me to keep control next time. They told me one thing at least, but only because I said I was worried my wife had had an accident. The last transaction was at two o’clock this morning.

Is that good, Master?

It says she’s hasn’t lost her taste for spending money … though God knows what she was buying in the early hours. She never stays awake beyond ten.

She watches the shopping channels, Master. I’ve seen her buy many things from the television when she’s unhappy.

More likely she’s with her sister, and the pair of them are draining the account. There’s no containing Yetunde when she’s in this sort of mood. She won’t stop until the card reaches its limit … which it will when I refuse to pay it off.

Muna nodded as if she understood. Yes, Master.

Ebuka muttered that all he’d ever been good for was paying bills, and it was time Yetunde learned those days were over. After that he had other things to preoccupy him. The nurse came. She was glad to hear he and his daughter had made an excursion to the High Street but she tut-tutted at the shortage of disposable gloves and swabs. Mr Songoli should have used the opportunity to buy supplies. She gave Muna some replacements but told Ebuka that hygiene and cleanliness were his responsibility. It was no excuse to say his wife was away for a few days. There were plenty of pharmacies close by, and it would be good therapy to go out and make the purchases himself.

Ebuka pretended to agree. Muna would take him later, he said. But the nurse shook her head, telling the girl she must encourage her father to make the trip alone. Coping with disability was as much about building confidence as managing bedsores and catheters. She watched Ebuka demonstrate how easily he could now move from his bed to his chair, and urged him to build on this new independence. He couldn’t rely on his wife and daughter all his life.

Later, Muna took Ebuka’s jacket and gloves to the sitting room and urged him to do as the nurse had suggested. She couched her request in the terms the woman had used – the Master would build his confidence by going out alone – but her motives were selfish. Ebuka’s absence from the house would spare her having to invent explanations when the white van came. If necessary, she would find more reasons to send him out tomorrow.

Ebuka took food for granted – it was always there – but he would be curious if a man arrived with plastic bags. Who had told him to come, he would ask, and Muna feared the man would answer that the order came from Yetunde’s phone and was paid for by her card. For every problem she solved, another arose.

She was too persistent in her attempts to persuade Ebuka from the house. He accused her of nagging and said he would make the decision in his own good time. With a small shrug, she left the room, closing the door behind her, but her heart hardened against him. She had done everything she could to spare Ebuka harm, and the fault would be his if the Devil punished him for making little Muna’s troubles more onerous.

Fifteen

Olubayo came home from school and leered at her from the kitchen doorway as she pulled the last of the flesh from the chicken carcase to make soup. He rubbed his groin against the doorjamb, and Muna bared her teeth at him, hissing loudly. He took no notice. She’d lost her power to scare him since his father had started listening to what he had to say. If he’d ever believed that Ebuka had killed Abiola, or that demons lived in the walls of the cellar, he didn’t any more.

Where’s Dada? he demanded.

Muna watched him out of the corner of her eye. The Master went to the shops as the nurse instructed him to do, she said.

When’s he coming back?

When he has what he needs.

Olubayo’s eyes filled with lust. It was the first time he and Muna had been alone in the house since Abiola went missing. He moved into the room, unzipping his fly. I know you want me. Ask what I can give you. Tell me you’re a slut and a whore.

Muna had heard such phrases coming out of his computer. They made no sense to her. She picked up the heavy saucepan and cradled it against her chest. I have no use for you at all. I’d like it better if you weren’t here.

He pulled out his penis. You’ll wish you hadn’t said that when I make you swallow this.

Muna looked at the engorged and filthy thing with its glistening head. Was this what Ebuka had put in her mouth? Bile rose in her throat as she lowered the saucepan to her side to swing it. She was too slow. Olubayo was upon her, knocking the weapon from her grasp and slamming the weight of his other fist against the side of her head.

Muna slumped to the ground, curling herself into a tight ball. He tugged at her clothes, her arms, her hair in an attempt to turn her into one of the amenable rag dolls he saw on his computer screen, but Muna knew from Yetunde’s attacks that the damage would be less if she kept herself small. He growled as he kicked her, voicing his frustration in animal-like grunts, calling her a fucking bitch and a cock-teaser.

It seemed an age before Ebuka rescued her. He swung the rod against his son’s back and then drove it into Olubayo’s midriff as the boy turned with a howl of shock. But Ebuka was mistaken if he thought his son would recognise his authority. Hot with rage, Olubayo grasped the rod and threatened to pull his father from his chair if he didn’t let go.

I’m no different from you, he snarled. Do you think me and Abiola didn’t know she sucked you off whenever you felt like it? Do you think Mamma didn’t know? She thought it was funny. She slept better after she gave you the piccaninny to fuck.

He knew a brief triumph as his father shrank away from him but his gloating expression turned to pained surprise as something sharp was thrust into the muscle of his right arm. He stared at his father in confusion, unsure what was happening, then let go of the rod as the blade was wrenched free. He pulled away, gasps of shock issuing from his mouth, and Muna’s second strike glanced off his ribs instead of plunging into his side.

She dropped the small Japanese paring knife into the sink and pulled a larger one from the wooden block on the worktop. She inspected it for a moment, as if wondering why she was holding it; then, without warning, she dropped into a cat-like crouch and jumped at Olubayo, her lips drawn back in a snarl.

With a shout of alarm Ebuka pushed his son aside and raised the rod. Enough! he cried. Don’t make me hit you, Muna! Olubayo is sorry for hurting you.

Muna straightened. From the bowels of the earth she heard the faint echo of the Devil’s laugh. Olubayo is never sorry for what he does, Master. I ache all over from where he kicked me. Only you have ever said you were wrong to treat little Muna with cruelty.

Ebuka glanced at the boy. Apologise, he ordered. You behaved badly.

But Olubayo refused. Why do you take her side? he demanded angrily. She’s made me bleed. He took his hand from where it was clutching the wound on his arm and showed the blood on his palm. If you cared about me, you’d order her to the cellar and call the police.

Ebuka’s tone was scornful. Has epilepsy turned you into an imbecile? How will you explain why she attacked you? Look at yourself. You’re undone and there’s semen on your trousers. Do you want it known that you tried to rape your sister?

A dark flush burned the boy’s cheeks as he pulled up his zip. She’s not my sister. She’s
no one
… just a fucking
slave
.

Then call the police yourself. She’ll receive more kindness from them than you or I will. We’ll go to prison while she goes to a welcoming home. Are you too stupid to understand that?

Olubayo stamped his foot. It wasn’t me who stole her. I
hate
her. I’ve always hated her.
Abiola
hated her. You give her more love than you ever gave us.

With a sigh of despair, Ebuka lowered the rod. You have your mother’s jealousy. She destroyed us all by what she did. I should have sent Muna back to the orphanage when Yetunde first brought her home – it’s what I wanted to do – but I allowed myself to be persuaded it was a good thing to offer shelter to an abandoned child.

You kept her because you liked fucking her, the boy cried, clutching his arm again. She liked it too or she’d have told the police on you.

Ebuka shook his head, remembering Muna’s pitiless face when he begged for her help in the cellar. Be grateful she didn’t, he snapped. Your parents would have been lost to you if she’d told the truth. Is that your wish? To become as unloved and unwanted as she was? You’ll achieve it easily enough by whining that a slave hurt you when you tried to rape her.

Olubayo’s face contorted with conflicting emotions. He wanted Muna punished but he didn’t want to be punished himself, and Muna saw in his eyes that he would never forget the pain she’d caused him. She saw too that he hadn’t understood his father’s words as well as she had. She addressed Ebuka.

This silly boy frightens me, Master. He’s not clever and he still believes his size and strength make him more powerful than me. Yet I have only to tell the witchy-white that Princess made me her prisoner and every Songoli will be condemned.

Did you understand that when the police first came to the house?

No, Master. I was afraid they meant me harm. Princess taught me to fear strangers, particularly whites.

Would you have told them the truth if you hadn’t feared them?

I don’t believe so, Master. My life has been better since you claimed me as your daughter.

I’m glad, Muna. If I can make amends for the harm my family has done you, I will.

She fixed him with her solemn gaze. I don’t want Olubayo for a brother, Master. It would make me happier if he wasn’t here.

Olubayo moved forward, clenching his fists in fury, but Ebuka raised the rod to hold him back. She says nothing you haven’t said, he growled. Do you imagine her hatred for you is any less than yours for her … and with more reason? You behaved like an animal.

Olubayo wasn’t so dull-witted he couldn’t recognise hypocrisy when he heard it. His eyes filled with angry tears. I did only what you’ve done a thousand times, he cried. Can’t you see she wants rid of me so that she can have you for herself? You’re the only one she likes.

A small gleam of pleasure entered Ebuka’s eyes as he looked towards Muna, and, with a howl of pain, Olubayo fled from the room.

Muna turned back to the chicken carcase. You should go after him and clean his wound, Master. He will call an ambulance and cause trouble for you otherwise. I shall pray for his temper and unhappiness to bring on a seizure so that he forgets what happened here. There’ll be no need to call a doctor. I know what to do because Princess showed me.

The Devil’s laughter made the floorboards shake beneath Muna’s bed that night. She thrilled as the deep bass rumble travelled through the house and into her mattress. Everything she’d hoped for had come to pass. Olubayo had tried to use the phone, and Ebuka had struck him on the side of his head before he could use it. The boy had fallen to the ground, twitching and frothing, and Muna had knelt beside him, loosening his clothes and turning him on to his side when the seizure calmed.

She spoke kindly to him as she eased his arm from his school uniform to clean and bandage his wound, and when his wits returned she told him he had hurt himself as he fell. Of course he believed her. He had no memory of anything else. At Muna’s urging, Ebuka expressed concern for his son, and Olubayo, dazed and disorientated, said he was sorry for being a nuisance and wept with gratitude for their sympathy and understanding.