Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe [109]
“I have never entered a house like this before. May this not be my last time.”
“Isé!”
“You are welcome any time,” added Beatrice following Abdul’s breaking of ritual bounds.
“If something pursues us we shall escape but if we pursue something we shall catch it.”
“Isé!”
“As long as what we pursue does not belong to somebody else.”
“Isé!”
“Everybody’s life!”
“Isé!”
“The life of Bassa!”
“Isé!”
“The life of Kangan.”
“Isé!”
AFTER ELEWA’S MOTHER AND UNCLE had left with Aina and Braimoh in the old taxi, the party continued in the quiet and relaxed afterglow of the day’s ritual intensity. But it proved a day extraordinary in stamina and before long a new surge of passion was building up secretly below its placid expansiveness.
It began in ripples of simple reminiscence. Emmanuel, it was plain to see, was rather pleased with himself and so chose to congratulate someone else, Beatrice, on the evolution, as he called it, of the two-headed toast to people and ideas. She, on her part, was a captain whose leadership was sharpened more and more by sensitivity to the peculiar needs of her company.
“I must say I liked your spirited stand for ideas.”
“Mutual Admiration Club forming up again,” sang Abdul.
“And jealousy will get us nowhere,” sang Beatrice.
“But looking back on it,” continued Emmanuel passing up the bait of banter, “I think you taught me something very important by holding out for people. Do you remember the day you told me that Chris had taught me to be a gentleman?”
“It was only a joke.”
“Jokes are serious,” said Abdul impishly.
“Yes they are… That day and again today you were making me aware of my debt to Chris. I don’t know why I never thought of it before but the greatest thing he taught me was seeing the way he died.”
The jesting mood died instantly in the air, folded its wings and fell like a stone; the tributary conversations dried up.
“I was kneeling on the road at his side weeping uselessly. She,” he nodded his head in Adamma’s direction, “was trying to do something. Then I said something idiotic like Don’t go, don’t leave us please. And, I can’t describe it, that effort—you could touch it almost—to dismiss pain from his face and summon a smile and then crack a joke. He called it The Last Grin.”
Beatrice started in her seat.
“Yes I remember,” said silent Adamma. “The last green. But he did not finish it.”
Beatrice rushed away into her bedroom. Elewa followed after her. While they were away nothing more was said. After a few minutes Elewa came back.
“Is she all right?” asked Abdul a little ahead of other inquirers.
“No trouble. To cry small no be bad thing. BB no be like me wey de cry every day like baby wey him mother die.”
“Madam too strong,” said Agatha. “To strong too much no de good for woman.”
“E no good for anybody whether na man-o or na woman-o, na the same thing,” said Elewa. “E good make person cry small… I been try to stop am, I try sotay then I come say no, make you lef am.”
“WHY ARE YOU all sitting in darkness?” she said turning the lights on as she walked back into the room almost half an hour after she had left it. She spoke with great calmness in her voice. She had made up her face, and even tried on a smile as she resumed her seat. Then she said:
“I am very sorry.”
“Well, I am sorry to have raised that matter today. I didn’t…”
“No no no, Emmanuel. I am happy you raised it. In fact you can’t know how grateful I feel. I can tell you I am happier now, much happier than I have been since that day.” She said no more.
Perhaps in spite of this composure she could not continue.
To fill the aching void, or perhaps he was already powerless in the grip of a gathering underflow, Emmanuel began again:
“You see I have been present only at two deaths…”
“Make you put that your useless story for inside your pocket,” ordered Elewa. “Why you de look for trouble so? Abi the one you done cause no belleful you?”
“Leave the young man alone. Emmanuel, please continue.”
“The first death I witnessed was my father and then Chris. Without Chris I could