Graceland (21 page)

“How did you get that scar?”

The King’s hand shook a little and some tea slopped over the tin mug’s side, landing on the table with a loud smack.

“I told you. Soldiers did it.”

“Because of a play.”

The King did not answer.

“Redemption tells me you had the scar even when he was a child.”

“So?”

Elvis was silent. The King let out his breath in a long, drawn-out sigh. Again he set the mug down, though this time he did not reach for the twig.

“You ask questions like police,” he said.

“I am sorry.”

The King nodded.

“So how did you get the scar, really?” Elvis asked.

“Soldiers.”

“Because of a play?”

“No.”

“So you lied.”

“About de play.”

“And the soldiers?”

“Dey did dis to me. I used to live in de north before de war. You were not even born dat time. I work for de Public Works Department, laborer special class. Den de Hausas begin to kill us like chicken. Plenty, plenty dead body scatter everywhere like abandoned slaughterhouse.”

“My father told me about it.”

“Mhmm.” The King nodded. “I manage escape, heading for south, I hide inside train like dis. Just before de train cross Lokoja to safety, soldiers, Nigerian army soldiers, stop de train. Plenty of us dey hide in de train—men, woman, even childrens.

“Anyway, de soldier commander, small boy like dis, maybe lieutenant, drag us all come down. Den he make us sing de Muslim call for prayer. Dose who cannot sing it, like myself, he call us to one side. Den he release de oders, say make dem climb inside de train and wait. De rest of us, my family included, he give shovel say make we dig trench. As we dig, I see de people on de train watching us with pity. I dig well, as a laborer special class. I begin to supervise, telling dem to dig straight and clean, thinking dis will please de officer and he will release us quick, quick.”

The King paused to drink some tea. He was not looking at Elvis, looking away instead into the darkness of Balogun Market, as though the deserted stalls were thriving with a ghost trade only he could see. Elvis followed the King’s gaze, wondering if this was the market where Comfort had her shop.

“When we dig finish, de young officer make us stand to attention in front of de trench for inspection. So we stand, man, woman and childrens, even my wife and childrens too. De soldiers take aim so dat we must stand and not run. Den de young officer begin walking down de line, shooting everybody one by one for head. I fear, I craze, I vex! I take my shovel and try to hit him. One soldier next to me take his bayonet and cut me like dis. I shout and fall inside de pit. Dey leave me so, to die slowly. When he done shoot everybody, de officer take out camera and begin to snap us photo. Den he send de train off and leave with his men.”

“Oh, God,” Elvis said.

“Yes, it is only God dat save me,” the King said. “When everybody leave, I drag myself fifteen mile to de next small town, where dey take pity on me. When I done well finish, I go join Biafran army. Every day, I try find dat young officer, but God save him.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I hope you are satisfy as you drag up sleeping dogs for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know how to sorry, but not how not to sorry. Tanks for de tea. Greet Redemption for me,” the King said, getting up and walking away into the darkness.

“Auntie,” Elvis said. “Long time no see.”

If that was not quite the welcome she had envisioned after two years of absence, Felicia did not show it.

“Elvis. You’ve grown so much,” she said.

They were standing in front of Madam Caro’s.

“How did you find me here?”

“Comfort said you would be here.”

The way she said “Comfort,” it sounded like a curse instead of his stepmother’s name.

“So where are you staying?” he asked.

“At a friend’s place.”

“Oh. When did you get into town?”

“Last night.”

“I see. Can I buy you a drink?”

She laughed.

“No thank you. I just wanted to see you one more time before I leave for States,” she said.

“That’s right. You leave, when?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Ah. How is everybody back home?”

“They are fine.”

“What of Efua?”

“Nobody is sure. She left home shortly after you moved. No one has seen her since.”

“Why did she leave?”

“She was fighting with her father. You know she has always been strange.”

“Strange?”

“Yes, strange. Don’t act like you never noticed. Anyway, why don’t you come and see me at my friend’s house later tonight? I have to go and see your father now. Then visit some of my husband’s people.”

“How is your husband?”

“You never returned for my wedding.”

“I am sorry.”

“It is okay, I don’t blame you,” she said, making it quite clear from her tone that she did.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re all dressed up. Where are you off to?”

“I’m going to a club.”

“Listen, I will be at my friend’s place later. Here is de address,” Felicia said, handing Elvis a slip of paper.

“Sure, sure,” he said, taking it and slipping it into his back pocket.

“Elvis,” she said, taking hold of his hand.

“Yes?”

“Come later.”

He looked from her hand to her face and nodded.

“Good,” she said, letting go.

“Okay.”

They stood facing each other for a moment; then both leaned in for an awkward hug.

“Okay, see you later,” Felicia said, turning to leave.

Elvis returned to the table out front where he had been drinking with Okon and a few others. He missed Redemption, but he was not going looking for him.

“Ah, Elvis, dat woman fine, well, well,” Okon said as Elvis sat down.

“Shut up!” Elvis said.

“Ah, sorry O, not to me make your life so,” Okon replied sulkily.

Elvis had suddenly lost interest in the conversation and the company. Finishing his beer, he got up.

“Elvis? Where to?” Okon asked.

“To the club.”

“Okay, see you later.” Okon shrugged.

Elvis was pensive as he caught the bus to the club. First there had been the confrontations with Redemption and the King, and now Aunt Felicia had arrived, bringing memories and guilt from his past. This was turning out to be a difficult week.

“Elvis, long time,” the doorman at the club said in greeting.

“Alaye, how now?”

“Fine, ma broder. Just pushing de day, you know?”

Just then a sleek black BMW pulled up and Rohini got out, flanked by Prakash.

“Rohini, hi,” Elvis said.

She looked at him blankly. He was surprised. He knew he had only danced with her the one time, but there had been the walk on the beach, and they had made out.

“Rohini,” he repeated.

Prakash stepped up to him and Elvis stumbled back. Rohini put her hand on Prakash’s arm in restraint.

“What is it?”

“It’s me. Elvis.”

“I know. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I usually keep my club business inside the club,” she said.

“I see,” he said. “But we are right outside.”

“So we should take it inside.”

“Right.”

“So are you coming in or what?” Rohini asked.

“Ah, Elvis, I cannot allow you,” the doorman said, laying his hand gently on Elvis’s chest.

“Alaye? What is this?”

“Sorry, Elvis, but orders is orders. If we allow you in, de Colonel go close dis place.”

“Even if he is with me?” Rohini asked.

“I am sorry, madam, but orders is orders.”

“Is the Colonel in there tonight?”

“Elvis, I no fit let you.”

“Well,” Rohini said with a shrug.

“Can’t you help me?”

Rohini looked at him for a moment; then, as if making her mind up, she said: “Wait here. I’ll see if your friend is inside.”

Elvis nodded.

When Rohini and Prakash had entered, Elvis approached Alaye. “Alaye, you sure you cannot allow me to enter?”

“I done tell you, Elvis. De Colonel give me de order personally,” Alaye replied.

“But how will he know?”

“Ah, Elvis! De Colonel knows everything. Everything.”

“How? Is he God?”

“God? No. Devil? Yes. Ah, Elvis, you are funny. Don’t you see all dose black GMC truck dat just pull up and arrest people?”

“Yes.”

“Dose are de Colonel’s boys. He is chief of security to de head of state. He hears everything, see everything. Haba, let me tell you, he is original gangster.”

“So his boys are everywhere?”

“Yes. As far as I concern, you can be working for him.”

“If I did, why would I want you to disobey him and let me in?”

“To test me. Look, Elvis, I am sorry.”

“He is right, you know,” Redemption said from behind him.

Both Elvis and Alaye jumped.

“Ah, Oga Redemption, you surprise me!” Alaye said.

“Better me dan de Colonel.”

They both laughed heartily at that.

“So you agree with this?” Elvis demanded, rounding on Redemption.

“See you, small club ban and you want to shit yourself. Relax. I don’t agree, but I warn you, you don’t know de Colonel.”

“Then tell me.”

“Come,” Redemption said, walking away from Alaye. “You don’t know who can be working for him.”

As they walked, Redemption explained to Elvis that the Colonel ran the state security forces and that all other security agencies were under him, including the police. He was behind the disappearances of famous dissident writers, journalists, lawyers, musicians, teachers and thousands of nameless, faceless Nigerians.

“Dey rumor dat he personally supervises de tortures, taking pictures throughout,” Redemption said.

“Who are they?”

“Dey have no name. You are like dose white people in ghost film. Instead of running, you are asking questions. De man is bad, dat’s all.”

“You seem to know him quite well.”

“Yes, I do. But don’t worry, not many people know about de Colonel, and even though dey don’t know, dey should thank God every night dat dey don’t.”

“Why take pictures?”

“Dey say it is because he is an artist, looking to find de beauty of death.”

“The beauty of death?”

“Yes. Like de spirit, you know. He takes de picture just as de person die too, maybe he want to get de ghost on film,” Redemption said, laughing uncomfortably. “But he is never satisfy, so he arrange de dead body many ways, sometime he cuts de leg or head off.”

“That is sick.”

“It is just now you know?”

“So has he ever found it?”

“Found what?”

“The spirit—or is it the beauty of death?”

“How can he, when he don’t know what to look for?” Redemption said, stopping. They had arrived at the bus stop. “Go home, Elvis. Go and see your auntie. I hear she come to see you today,” he said as a bus pulled up.

“How did you find out?”

“Maybe de Colonel told me,” Redemption said, walking back to the club, his mocking laugh following Elvis onto the bus.

Elvis stood on the balcony looking out over the dark water of the sound. Behind him, to his left, Felicia sat at a round metal table.

“Is that Maroko?” he asked, pointing out across the sound.

“I’m not sure. I only arrived in Lagos last night.”

“It is nice, the way the rich live,” he said, turning back to her, indicating the entire condo with a sweeping gesture. On the way there he had been stunned by the smooth tarred roads, well-laid-out grounds, huge villas and mansions in white, high metal fences patrolled on the inside by stone-faced guards armed with automatic rifles.

“Come and sit down,” she said. “Are you full or should I fetch you more food?”

He sat down opposite her and pushed away the still-half-full plate.

“No thanks. I haven’t eaten so much in so long.”

“Does she starve you?”

Elvis looked away.

“She does, dat bitch!”

“Let’s talk of other things,” he said.

“Fine. Your father says you dropped out of school.”

“Can we drop that subject?”

“De way you dropped out of school? I don’t think so.”

“I wasn’t learning anything useful there.”

“You know, education is de only chance here. If I dropped out I wouldn’t have studied nursing in de university and I would not be going to a good job in America.”

“You are going to a husband in America.”

“And a good job—don’t sass me, boy, before I …”

“Before you do what? Can’t you see I am all grown now?”

“Elvis, still so stubborn, still so proud,” she said, shaking her head.

“So what is his name?”

“My intended?”

“He is your husband now.”

“You’re right,” she giggled. “I still haven’t gotten used to it.”

“These things take time. Are you looking forward to going?”

“Not really. I am afraid. America is so violent and I won’t have my family.”

He snorted. “Well you better make
him
your family. This one fell apart a long time ago. As for the violence, you will be fine as long as you don’t sleep with some white woman’s husband. That’s why people get shot there.”

“Dere is no danger of dat,” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, Patrick, my husband, is a doctor in a hospital in Las Vegas.”

“How did you meet?”

“He wrote from America saying he wanted a wife from home, and mutual friends hooked us up and we began writing to each other. Den he came over for six months and we had a good time. When he went back, I was sure he would forget me, but he didn’t. He wrote regularly and came back within six months to marry me.”

“Then he left again?”

“Yes.”

“So how much time have you spent with him, in total?”

“A few months.”

“And how much time have you been apart?”

“Longer than we have been together.”

“So why did you not just follow him back?”

“Their immigration people make it really hard, Elvis. Dey are not convinced dat we are married. Dey even said dey wanted us to have a child first to prove it.”

“They are mad,” Elvis said, getting up and walking over to lean on the metal rail. He shook out a cigarette and lit it.