Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe [105]
It was not that Beatrice had spoken no words at all before that day. She said hello and even, on occasion, offered hospitality. Certainly she had resumed work in her office one week after Chris’s burial; and at home she conducted her domestic life in the company of Elewa and Agatha. But in all this she had only used words that did not threaten to invade her thoughts and drag them into the profanity of the open air. She became more accessible only in slow stages, egged on usually by one little crisis or another in her small community.
Abdul had confided to her that he had been assigned (or had assigned himself—it wasn’t too clear which) to watch her and her friends. She had smiled and said, “Good luck!” Weeks later she had decided in fairness to inform Emmanuel. He was outraged.
“The fellow is an agent provocateur. How can we be so naive?”
“We? You are such a gentleman, Emmanuel. The weeks with Chris, cooped up together and conspiring, I see, have left their mark. But, no; I’m not naive. The fellow is quite genuine.”
“How?”
“Woman’s intuition, if you like.”
“Since when?”
“What do you mean since when? Are you asking me since when have I become a woman?… And I have just called you a gentleman.”
For a while after that Emmanuel had shown his resentment by ostentatiously keeping sealed lips whenever Abdul was around. Beatrice watched the two without further intervention. In the end it was curiosity which killed the cat of Emmanuel’s silence. It all happened over the rumour about Colonel Johnson Ossai.
“Is it really true that he is missing?” Emmanuel had asked in spite of himself. Abdul had simply nodded without deigning to open his mouth. He had become aware of Emmanuel’s suspicion and had adopted what Beatrice considered a most sophisticated response—simply ignored it and him.
“But how can a whole boss of State Security just disappear? Like that!”
“I believe you had already left Bassa when the boss of the State itself went missing.” Then he positioned himself as if he was talking to Beatrice and the others. “I can give a few facts that have emerged so far. Colonel Ossai was last seen going in to see the Head of State and has not been sighted ever since. You remember Idi Amin? Well, according to unconfirmed reports he used to strangle and behead his rivals for women and put their head in the fridge as a kind of trophy. So perhaps Colonel Ossai is in the cooler, somewhere.”
“You don’t sound too concerned about your boss,” said Beatrice. “That’s awful, you know.”
“If I told you half of what I know about Ossai you wouldn’t be too concerned either.”
“What a life!” said Emmanuel.
“Anyway, soldiering is not a sentimental profession. The first thing we learn is: Soja come, soja gwo.”
But all that was weeks and months behind them—weeks and months of slow preparation for today’s ritual outing.
When Elewa moved up to Beatrice and whispered into her ear what she had just come to suspect as the probable reason for her mother not being there yet Beatrice decided to perform the naming herself and to do it right away. She called the little assembly to order and proceeded to improvise a ritual.
She picked up the tiny bundle from its cot and, turning to Elewa, said: “Name this child.”
“Na you go name am.”
“OK. You just saved a false step, anyway. Thanks. I will start afresh… There was an Old Testament prophet who named his son The-remnant-shall-return. They must have lived in times like this. We have a different metaphor, though; we have our own version of hope that springs eternal. We shall call this child AMAECHINA: May-the-path-never-close. Ama for short.”
“But that’s a boy’s name.”
“No matter.”
“Girl fit answer am also.”
“It’s a beautiful name. The Path of Ikem.”
“That’s right. May it never close, never overgrow.”
“Das right!”
“May it always shine! The Shining Path of Ikem.”
“Dat na wonderful name.”
“Na fine name so.”
“In our