Butterfly Fish (21 page)

Throw For Loop

Filo was gradually turning to stone before the dismissive eyes of the palace, after their words that had been knives to her skin, driving her to check her body for cuts, had finished their assault. Her skin began to thicken into impenetrable layers of shame and loss. Now the laughter behind her back bounced off and the pitiful glances slipped through her fingers like tiny grains of sand. She still mourned the loss of her children, child after child and suffered all the heartbreak that came with it. She resented the role she occupied in the palace of the damaged, troubled wife. Even the Oba had completely lost interest. Then Omotole had become pregnant, and she could not find it within herself to pretend to be happy. Her blood ran cold in the punishing heat for no reason, and the other wives looked at her as if questioning why she could not pull happiness from inside herself and dangle it before them. It was selfish of her not to share in their joy. But when she thought of this all she saw was her gunk-filled hand, drenched in slime clutching the remains of her battered womb. So her heart had hardened, lodged within her chest, a fortress trapped within a fortress.

Meanwhile Oba Odion refused to step in. He did nothing to help his forgotten wife. He caught distorted, miniature reflections of himself in her black pupils and believed it to be an attempt to suck him in. So he would skulk away, his face in a scowl, mouth
disapprovingly grim. Filo's anger grew. It was then that Filo realised waiting for one person to breathe life into you with guilt-soaked breath could break you, just a little, each day.

So when the brass head called her, she was unable to resist its slow, rolling whisper. Soft yet insistent, it had fondled her lobes before slipping inside her eardrums, saying her name softly, repeatedly. She carried it as though it had always belonged to her. The weight of it had rested comfortably between her thin arms, and she had hopped daintily to her quarters, ignoring the sandstorm brewing between her toes.

Inside the disarray of her chamber, the heat emanating from the brass head singed her rough fingers. She accidentally dropped it on her foot. That act jarred her into thinking;
now I am even stealing
. It was only when Adesua came to see her that the humming inside stopped. She thought she would resent Adesua for coming to take back what belonged to her but she didn't. She could not have imagined she would welcome the company of another wife, but Adesua's presence had calmed her. Somehow, silently a common ground was discovered. Yet behind her raised knees, something inside her locked. The birds could have told her when it had happened because they were waiting, hoping their soft-feathered breasts would muffle the sound when it surely came. When it did, the birds had flown away, and Filo decided to stop crumbling beneath her desperation.

Nestled within a room in the shoulder of the palace, Sully stood behind Oba Odion who was slumped in his chair. You could almost taste the Oba's sweat in the room and the terracotta walls, punished long enough, could have been shrinking within themselves. Since the Oba had appointed Sully as his personal guard a funny, unexpected thing happened. Oba Odion began to confide in him, his tongue loosened by a well of stories and incidents. Sully was an attentive listener, and he
ahhed
and
tutted
when required to do so.
If his face began to crumple, he would stop himself and smooth his expression down.

When the Oba started talking of his wives, he found himself genuinely riveted by the Oba's tales and how different each wife sounded. And eventually, when the Oba mentioned Adesua's name, Sully felt his face flush, his pulse dance against his temple. He lifted the Oba gingerly and rested his back against the seat properly. The Oba let slip that he did not trust his council, and that they in return simply tolerated him. Sully glanced through the window; the afternoon light was now dimming slowly, changing into the more seductive, burnished glow of evening. He could hear the chatter of hens and imagined them pecking at each other, charging around in delicious freedom sniffing each other's backsides. There was an orangey tint to the sky. Oba Odion's mumbling in his stupor drew Sully's gaze back. There was a crack in the ground in the back corner of the room, and he wondered what secrets of the palace had slid inside it. Voices travelled through the apartment blocks and the surrounding area, Oba Odion spluttered, the coughing racked his body. Sully patted the Oba's back and offered him his hand; Oba Odion stuck his hand out limply in response. The Oba's hand turned into a piece of thread, and all Sully had to do was hold on to the tip while it continued to unravel.

Soon after that, while attempting to deposit the Oba in his quarters as discreetly as possible, he saw Adesua. Ironically Sully was steadily carrying the Oba, an arm thrown behind his neck and across his shoulder, when he caught the flash of a green, patterned cloth. She was standing beside the tall, sturdy worn pillar watching her husband as though he was a stranger. And she did not rush forward to flounder after him. She rubbed her neck, sighing and throwing an irritated look, as if she wanted them to disappear from view. A little servant girl approached Adesua and genuflected. The girl smiled as Adesua picked her up. Keen to get the Oba to his quarters, Sully continued to lead him gingerly through small clusters of people who wore embarrassed expressions and chuckled under their breaths.

Sully dumped the Oba unceremoniously in his chamber, barely flinching as he hit his mat with a thud. The Oba giggled and pointed, “I like you, good man,” before slouching back onto the floor. Sully fumed, the Oba's indignity taunted him. Is this what you came here for? It said. He could only crouch down and watch, in response, patience simmering under his skin. He contemplated throwing water over him but this was the king, an Oba who was trying to dilute the fervour of something nipping away at him. He could feel dust and grainy bits between his toes. There were grainy bits inside him; they needed to be smoothed away. Deep down he knew only one thing could do it. His face twisted at himself and his surroundings. A guava sat on the mantle beside him, plump and beckoning. He reached for it, took a chunk out, but he couldn't taste it.

Braid in The Hat

It happened accidentally. Not that you could follow somebody by accident but Sully had not planned it. He had been scouting for trails out of the kingdom; one because he enjoyed it and two, it was always better to be prepared. He was mentally mapping his latest route which began from the back of the soldiers' quarters, then wound behind the long, dusty new road which had delivered him to the palace gates that fateful day. He was chewing kola nuts, savouring their slightly bitter taste when he spotted a familiar looking, slender young woman darting past, wrapper hiked up and what looked like a broken wooden spear in her hand.

Quick on her feet, she turned occasionally to look around. He paused behind an Iroko tree, recognising the king's youngest wife.
Good grief
, he thought.
What on earth is that creature up to? How had she managed to slip out of the palace unnoticed and more importantly, how did she do so with that spear in her possession?
He chuckled at the thought, waiting for some distance between them before emerging to pursue her discreetly. She headed in the direction of the river, humming to herself, elated at the feeling of freedom. Dust tongues of quiet Gods stilled. Footsteps of hidden creatures with stones in their mouths rustled crinkled leaves. The heat was punishing. Sully's skin had browned somewhat since arriving in Benin but it still burned now and again.

As he watched Adesua weaving between trees, he spotted the tell tale signs on his chest, a patch that looked like a small red sky crawling up his skin.
Damned heat
, he murmured. Thank goodness he had worn his large brimmed brown hat. The mosquitoes liked to feed on him too but he had managed to resolve that problem somewhat in his living quarters, having put up grey netting all around to keep the little buggers out. He had adapted to his surroundings. The way he always did. He could never really blend in but he had picked up some of the customs and habits of the kingdom that endeared him a little to some people.

In the mornings, he walked around with a chewing stick dangling from the corner of his mouth, he had fashioned a piece of orange traditional cloth the king's tailor had given him into a handkerchief which he tucked into his shirt pocket. He ate their delicious food with gusto and quietly observed the kingdom with a keen eye as people continued to gossip about the white man who had charmed his way into the palace. He had found himself coming to this particular river several times because it was out of the way. Hidden behind a wall of forest, an untrained eye could easily pass it without realising what was there.
So she liked it there too
, he thought, warmed by the idea.

At the river, he loitered behind a stack of rocks. She was knee deep in the water, spear in hand, head bent in concentration before lunging at movements below the surface. He watched a few more of her spirited, unsuccessful attempts. Charmed, he uncurled his lean body. Slowly approaching, he whistled. “Why that's the best fishing technique I've seen in Africa.”

Adesua dropped the spear. She had been concentrating so deeply, she barely heard him coming. Either that or he was good at catching people off guard.

“Oh. It is you. Should you not be following my husband around?” she spat.

“Shouldn't you?” he asked, giving her an amused look. “You must be the least enamoured bride I have come across.”

To her horror, he took off his boots and began to roll his trousers up, exposing tanned well-defined bow legs lightly covered with fine brown hairs.

“No, what are you doing?” She held the spear up, aiming it at his moving chest.

“Easy,” he chuckled, barely breaking stride. “You're not going to use that thing on me are you?” The water felt cool on his limbs. If she had not been there, he would have stripped and taken a dip naked. The devilish part of him almost suggested it. Barely a hair's breadth away, he wrapped his hand around hers, gently prying the spear out of it. “I'm your husband's guest. Do you not think you could bring yourself to be more hospitable than aiming a weapon at me?”

He thought he saw a flicker of shame in her expression but it vanished quickly. The water rippled, mouths of fish glimmered seductively below and the afternoon light threatened to bend things to its will. The air between them crackled. He could almost hear the flutter in her long, elegant neck. He knew that flutter could catch things; a bright neon fish scale, the frayed thread on the inside of his trousers, the cut on his jaw he had given himself shaving with his pocket knife three days earlier. He knew if he ran his finger over that flutter the skin would be soft, the shape unpredictable, that he would remember the contours days later.

The catapult in his left pocket was firing a series of jagged objects at an entrance Adesua did not know she had.

“Why do you wear that annoying hat?” She asked suddenly, breaking the tension.

“Oh, this offensive thing?” He answered, giving a half smile and pointing at it. “To protect me from the kingdom's curses.”

“You are mocking me!” she exclaimed, wiping a trickle of water from her forehead.

“Come here.” He instructed. “I want to show you something.” He grabbed hold of her hand. She jerked it back, a scowl on her face. “How dare you? I am one of the Oba's brides. You show no respect.
I could report you to the Oba for that, have you flogged, made an example of.”

A tight expression appeared on his face, as if he was considering throttling her. He laughed instead, taking her hand again. “Come and I'll help you catch a fish,” he said softly.

He led her to the bank where the water gently lapped at scattered stones. They sat down. He took the hat off, turning it in his hands. “You see this hat? I negotiated with a Chinaman on a ship for it, gave him my pipe in return. Was compelled to at the time, couldn't understand why.”

He placed the hat on her head, tugging it down firmly. “There. You look like a modern young woman. What a picture.”