Anthills of the Savannah - Chinua Achebe [70]
Without realizing it, Beatrice had responded by striking her characteristic pose of detachment—sitting somewhat stiff and erect, her arms folded firmly across her breasts. But instead of staring fixedly away into median space to complete the attitude she made a concession to her indestructible interest by constantly swivelling her glance from one face to the other as the two men carried on their surprising duet. At last her loaded silence struck Chris.
“BB, you are saying nothing.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“BB said all that needed to be said when it might have been useful.”
“But we were too busy with our private diversionary war.”
“Don’t be so hard on us; we were not alone in that. All the wars ever fought in this country were, are, diversionary. So why not the little running battles we staged now and again to keep our sanity. You seem to doubt my claim? All right, you tell me one thing we… this government… any of us did in the last three years… or for that matter in the previous nine years of civilian administration that wasn’t altogether diversionary.”
“Well the diversion has ended,” said Beatrice.
“Has it? I’m not so sure. This letter here and all this new theatre of the absurd that Sam is directing to get rid of me and to intimidate Chris, what’s it in aid of? Diversion, pure and simple. Even the danger I see looming ahead when the play gets out of hand, what has any of this to do with the life and the concerns and the reality of ninety-nine percent of the people of Kangan? Nothing whatsoever.”
“Well, I still think that if you and Chris had listened to me and stopped your running battles as you call them early enough he would not now be trying to disgrace you.”
“Disgrace? I’m surprised at you, BB. I didn’t know you could be so incredibly sanguine. Disgrace? The fellow wants to kill us! He is mad, I tell you. His acting has got into his head, finally:”
“Well, I think BB is closer to the mark. As usual. I agree the fellow is completely deluded and can therefore be very dangerous. But his interest at this point is limited to making us look small, not murder. What he told me on the telephone this morning was very significant I think. He was giving me a chance, he said, to still appear as the Commissioner for Information.”
“Did he say that? And what does that mean?”
“Well, appearing is very important to him. Not appearing is, of course, the worst kind of disgrace. And all this is tied up in his mind with his failed referendum for life president. The pain still rankles. I don’t think I told this to either of you at the time. But after the failure of the referendum he had complained bitterly to Professor Okong that I had not played my part as Commissioner for Information to ensure the success of the exercise and that you had seen fit to abandon your editorial chair at that crucial moment and take your annual leave.”
“Professor Okong told you?”
“Yes, but I then confronted him. At first he pretended to make light of it but I wouldn’t let go. So in the end he revealed his bitterness. He said that he was deeply wounded that we, his oldest friends, found it possible to abandon him and allow him to be disgraced. Those were his very words.”
“Did he really say that?”
“I reminded him that he never really wanted to be Life President. That made him truly, hopping mad. ‘I didn’t,’ he said, ‘and you know I didn’t but the moment it was decided upon you had a clear responsibility, you and Ikem, to see it succeed. You chose not to.’ I never before heard so much bitter emotion in his voice.”
“And you didn’t mention this to Ikem? I don’t ask about myself, who am I? But to Ikem, no? You never cease to surprise me, Chris.