Graceland (30 page)
“Why you dey always laugh?” Conrad asked, getting in and slamming the door.
“Easy, Connie, you too vex.”
“Go, go,” Conrad said, slapping the door of the car.
“Okay,” Anthony said, grinding gears and accelerating too fast. The truck skidded in the sand before finding a grip and heading off.
Elvis turned to look at the six passengers. None of them were moving. They wore dazed expressions and seemed unaware of their restraints.
“Who are they?” Elvis asked.
“De people you are here to escort. Anthony is driver and I am relief driver. You are de escorts.”
“Why are they chained?”
“Dey are crazy runaways from Ghana. Their papa is a big man in Rawlings gofment, so we are returning dem to their parents. Simple,” Anthony replied.
Elvis sat back. He didn’t believe a word of it, but he knew better than to ask more questions.
He stared out of the windows at the thick soup of night. It was so dark he could barely make out the shapes of trees and huts lying low like sleeping animals. They stopped at several police checkpoints. Each time, Anthony handed some money and cigarettes to a lead officer.
“Esprit de corps,” he called each time as they drove off.
“Esprit,” the officers always responded.
Elvis looked at Redemption the second time he heard the exchange.
“Army talk,” Redemption said. In minutes, he was asleep. Elvis couldn’t sleep. He was too scared. Everything was wrong, and yet he couldn’t tell exactly what. He didn’t believe they were returning the kids to their parents, but couldn’t think of anything else they might be doing with them. He sighed and looked behind him. In the gloom, he could make out that one of the kids, a young girl, was staring straight at him, eyes awake, afraid. He wanted to say something to reassure her, make her shift her gaze, but he couldn’t think of anything.
“Look, dere is a small town coming ahead. I go stop make we piss and stretch our leg,” Anthony said authoritatively.
Within ten minutes they pulled into the dusty motor park of the town that abutted the market. A crooked sign said: WELCOME TO IBARE—THE STRUNGLE CONTINUES. Elvis could see lights staggering up a hill in the distance and assumed it marked the outskirts of the town. It didn’t look that small.
“Wait here,” Anthony said to Elvis and Redemption. Turning to Conrad, he said: “Go use toilet, den when you come back Redemption dem fit go. Me, I need to call de Colonel.”
“Elvis, you be liability,” Redemption said as soon as they were on their own.
“Leave me,” Elvis said, getting out of the car.
“Where you dey go?” Redemption called after him.
“I want to buy cigarettes.”
“What of de ciga you had before?”
“I want to buy some more. Is it your money?”
“No. Good, buy all de ciga you want. Dat’s more for me.”
Elvis headed off, and Redemption became aware that the young girl in the back was sobbing.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Kemi,” the girl replied.
“Are you hungry?”
She shook her head, but he couldn’t tell if it was from sobbing or in response to his question.
“Look, you better stop crying before dey come back,” he said.
“Please don’t kill me, sir,” she sniffled.
“Who go kill you? Nobody want to kill you.”
“The other man said he is going to kill us,” she said.
“Where you learn to blow grammar like dis?”
“I am in secondary school.”
“So what are you doing with dese people?”
“They kidnapped me, sir.”
Elvis wandered back to the car.
“Sssh!” Redemption said to Kemi.
Elvis unwrapped a packet of cigarettes, lit two and passed one to Redemption.
“Whom were you talking to?”
“Dis girl, Kemi.”
“The one crying?”
Redemption nodded.
“So what is really going on?” Elvis asked.
“With what?”
“With these kids. Why are we transporting them tied up to another country?”
Redemption took a deep breath. “As I know it, de Colonel dey supply dese children to white people who want to adopt dem.”
“And why are they so silent? Are they drugged?”
Silence.
“Redemption?”
“I no go lie. Me too done begin to suspect dat story. But as you know, dey have paid us five thousand naira each.”
“When did they pay us?”
“I have your share. Don’t worry.”
“So what do you think the real deal is with these kids?”
“Well, maybe slavery.”
“Slavery? Who still buy slaves?”
“Plenty people. Dese children can become prostitute in European country or even for Far East.”
“Redemption, I don’t want anything to do with this. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Because you for act like dis. Hold yourself, Elvis. Listen, I dey thirsty. Go see inside dat cooler whether beer dey dere.”
“Man, this is all shit. I don’t want any part of this.”
“Elvis! Hold yourself. It is too late now. If de oders hear you, dey can kill you. Make we just deliver dese children wherever and den wash our hands for de future. Okay?”
“No! How can it be okay?”
“Elvis, listen carefully. We dey deep inside dis shit. De best thing is to keep low until we can leave safely. Okay?”
“Okay,” Elvis grumbled.
“Now, go check dat cooler for beer.”
As Elvis opened the back door, Kemi tried to get up from her seat, but the chains held her fast. The other kids were still stoned, and Elvis wondered why she seemed unaffected by whatever drug had been given to the others.
“Please, sir, help me!” she begged.
“Shut up!” Redemption shouted at her from the far side of the truck, banging on the window. She flinched and watched Elvis with sad eyes. Avoiding her gaze, Elvis looked at the three coolers. Somehow the man who loaded them had gotten them to fit side by side, but Elvis couldn’t tell which one held the food. Even though the food had been loaded last, he had seen the man who put them in rearranging them to fit, so the cooler of food could be any of the three. It didn’t help that they were all the same color.
“Redemption, there are three coolers here. Which one?”
“How I go know? Check all three. Dere must be beer in one of dem,” Redemption replied.
Elvis muttered obscenities under his breath and reached for one of the coolers. He popped the lid, but it was so dark, he could see nothing. The contents gave off a strange rusty smell and he decided against plunging his hands blindly into it.
“You get light?” he shouted at Redemption.
“Light?”
“It is dark back here.”
“Dis is government motor, so flashlight must dey glove box,” Redemption said, opening the passenger door. The overhead light came on as Redemption opened the door, and Elvis staggered back in disgust. He tried to shout, but nothing came. Kemi, however, let out a piercing scream that had Redemption scrambling to the back. He clocked her on the side of the head with the pistol butt and she fell silent.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Elvis pointed to the cooler, face ashen, hand trembling. Redemption looked inside and recoiled. There were six human heads sitting on a pile of ice.
“Shit!” he swore, popping the covers off the other coolers. The second one held what appeared to be several organs, hearts and livers, also packed with ice. The third held bottles of beer and what looked like food. Redemption took a few steps back, noting that a small crowd was beginning to gather, drawn by Kemi’s short but loud scream. He looked for Elvis, who was heaving at the edge of the road, away from the crowd. Moving swiftly, he came up beside him.
“What is going on?” an old man asked.
“I don’t know,” Redemption replied.
“But I saw you in de car,” the old man insisted.
“Elvis, get up,” Redemption said, pulling urgently at Elvis’s arm. Looking around desperately, he saw Anthony and Conrad making their way back to the truck, clearly unaware of the excitement.
“Listen, young man,” the old man continued, tugging at Redemption’s shirt. “We hear scream. What is going on?”
“Ask dose men. It is deir car,” Redemption replied, pointing to the approaching Anthony and Conrad. Returning his attention to Elvis, he forced him upright and shook him roughly.
“Collect yourself,” he hissed. “We get to move quickly.”
“Oh my God!”
Redemption turned to the shout. It came from a young man who had gone to inspect the coolers. In his fright he had knocked one of them over, and the human heads rolled across the ground like errant fruit from a grocery bag.
“Shit!” Redemption said, dragging Elvis across the road and into the darkness of the market. They moved quickly, Redemption trailing Elvis behind him like a leashed dog. They threaded between empty stalls, followed by the angry shouts of the crowd. When he thought they had put a safe distance between them and the crowd, Redemption stopped to catch his breath and determine if they were being followed. They were not. The crowd had probably caught Anthony and Conrad and were more than likely beating them to death. Redemption thought he heard one shot, but couldn’t be sure, and then the sound of the crowd grew louder. They had no doubt killed the two men and were fanning out in search of Elvis and Redemption.
“Move!” Redemption said, pushing Elvis ahead of him.
They broke free of the market and found themselves on a side street. Redemption scanned the road. It was a residential street and everything was quiet. He passed his gun to Elvis.
“If anybody come, shoot, den run.”
“Where are you going?” Elvis asked. His wits were returning, fueled by terror.
“To find motor to steal. Wait here.”
Elvis nodded and shrank into the safety of a mango tree’s shadows. He held the gun gingerly, afraid it would go off and kill him. Shortly, he heard the sound of a car pulling up; but unsure of who was driving it, he stayed hidden.
“Elvis!”
He got up and looked. Redemption grinned at him from an old Mercedes-Benz. Elvis ran to the car and jumped in through the window, not bothering to open the door. As Redemption roared off, a barking dog chased after them.
FISH PEPPER SOUP
INGREDIENTS
Fresh fish
Fresh bonnet peppers
One fresh plum tomato
Palm oil
Uhiokiriho
Utazi
Onions
Maggi cubes
Salt
Crayfish
Akanwu
PREPARATION
You can use any kind of fish for this dish. Just make sure your fish is fresh. The best test for freshness is to put the fish in a bowl of water and watch to see if it moves. It should at the very least twitch, otherwise it is a little too old. Clean and gut the fish; this might include descaling if it is a scaly fish like tilapia.
Put the fish in a pot with a little water and put on to boil. Add all the other ingredients and leave to simmer for about twenty-five minutes. Serve in bowls with fresh basil.
This spicy dish is great for women who have just undergone labor. The heat of it, mixed with the herbs, releases healing enzymes and can even cause stubborn afterbirths to fall out. In some older members of the clan, there is still the belief that fish pepper soup, cooked with the right herbs, can endow the consumer with a fish’s abilities in water.
And so the kola makes its journey round the room and is seen by the eldest of all the clans.
Every time the ritual takes place, the history of all the clans present, and their connections, is enacted. This helps remembering.
Elvis sighed, unwrapped a Bazooka, and read the fortune on the insert, desperately seeking words of wisdom.
“Bazooka Joe says: ‘A friend in need is always a pain.’”
That wasn’t much help, so he unwrapped another.
“Bazooka Joe says: ‘A bird in hand is worth two in the bush.’” Still not much help.
“Bazooka Joe says: ‘It is never right to do wrong.’”
Another:
“Bazooka Joe says: ‘A stitch in time saves nine.’”
Bazooka Joes were pretty big chunks of gum, and by now he could hardly move his jaw. Still, he unwrapped another.
“Bazooka Joe says: ‘Time waits for no man.’”
“Elvis, easy, you go get lockjaw,” Redemption cautioned.
Elvis laughed and went back to looking out of the window. They had been driving since late the night before. Beyond the window, cornfields rustled in the breeze. He remembered the corn his mother grew in a small area of her garden and how their blond stalks, pregnant with seeds, brushed him teasingly as he played near them, their pollen on his arms, itching when it mixed with sweat, his shoes covered in a layer of golden dust, like sun-yellowed snow. In the distance, leafless, dried, skeletal trees held up the horizon with bleached silvery arms. Shading his eyes against the sun, Elvis looked ahead, through the windshield, absently wondering how Redemption could see to drive.
Finally running out of Bazooka Joes, and not being able to hide from it any longer, Elvis asked the question.
“What exactly happened back there?”
“I no sure, but I think dat we were trading in spare parts.”
“Spare parts? What are you talking about?”
“Spare human parts. For organ transplant.”
“What?”
“Light me one ciga and I go tell you,” Redemption said.
Elvis lit two cigarettes, passing one on. Outside, the landscape had changed to a haze of greenery. They had left the savannah and the cornfields behind and were now surrounded on either side by a dense forest. Tall palm trees and thick foliage lined the road. Elvis never ceased to be amazed by the way things changed here. Nothing happened in subtle degrees—not the weather, not the movement of time, and certainly not nature. It was impossible to see more than a couple of feet into the forest on either side, and Elvis wondered if it would be like the twilight of the forests back in Afikpo, near their house, where he went to escape his father’s anger. Once inside, it was easy to lose a bigger pursuer in the tangle of liana, ferns and other underbrush, and the darkness: not as dense as night, but a gloom far moodier, far scarier, penetrated only by the call of invisible animals and birds. Its safety was tenuous, as though it held a threat worse than a beating from his father.