Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe [62]
“My people, that is all we are doing now. Struggling. Perhaps to no purpose except that those who come after us will be able to say: True, our fathers were defeated but they tried.”
WHEN IKEM GOT to his parked car outside the big iron archway on which HARMONEY HOTEL shone in fluorescent letters he found a huge police motor cycle parked in such a way behind it as, quite clearly, to prevent its moving out. As he looked around in surprise a police constable stepped out of the shadows and asked:
“Na you get this car?”
“Yes, anything the matter?”
“Why you no put parking light?”
Parking light. That was a new one. He had never been asked about parking light in Bassa before. But never mind.
“Well, I didn’t see any need. With all this light around.”
He waved his hand at the many fluorescent tubes shining from Harmoney Hotel’s perimeter walls.
“So when you see electric for somebody’s wall it follow say you no go put your parking light? What section of Traffic Law be that one?”
“It’s a matter of common sense, I should say.”
“Common sense! So me self I no get common sense; na so you talk. OK, Mr. Commonsense, make I see your particulars.”
A number of people had come out of the hotel premises to watch the palaver and were joined by a few passers-by on the road. Very soon every Abazon man still around had joined the scene and the Master of Ceremonies stepped forward and asked the policeman if he did not know the Editor of the National Gazette.
“I no know am! Na sake of editor he come abuse me when I de do my work. He can be editor for his office not for road.”
“He no abuse you. I de here all the time,” said one bystander.
“Make you shut your smelling mouth there, Mr. Lawyer. Abi you want come with me for Charge Office to explain? You no hear when he say I no get common sense. That no be abuse for your country? Oga, I want see your particulars. Na you people de make the law na you dey break am.”
Without uttering another word Ikem produced his papers and handed over to the policeman.
“Wey your insurance?”
“That’s what you are looking at.”
He opened a notebook, placed it on the bonnet of the car and began to write, now and again referring to Ikem’s documents. The growing crowd of spectators stood in silence in a circle around the car and the chief actors, the policeman playing his role of writing down somebody’s fate with the self-important and painful slowness of half-literacy… At long last he tore out a sheet of his note-paper and handed it like a death warrant to Ikem.
“Come for Traffic Office for Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp. If you no come or you come late you de go answer for court. Kabisa.”
“Can I have my papers back?”
The policeman laughed indulgently at this clever-stupid man.
“That paper wey I give you just now na your cover till Monday. If any police ask you for particular show am that paper. And when you come for Monday make you bring am.”
He folded Ikem’s documents and put them with his notebook into his breast pocket and buttoned down the flap with the flourish of a judge’s gavel.
The Master of Ceremonies was boiling into another protest but Ikem made the sign of silence to him—a straight finger across sealed lips, and then swung the same finger around to hint at the law officer’s holster.
“Don’t provoke a man doing his duty. The police have something they call accidental discharge.