Say You’re One Of Them (18 page)

“Yes,
monsieur,
” we said.

“We
dey
almost ready for de
voyage,
” he said, “and Fofo done prepare you well well.
Pour example,
I
dey
sweat like hell here, but you done adjust to de heat finish.
Na
only God know why your
yeye
uncle come fear and want abscond.” He brought out a piece of paper from his pocket and studied the content carefully and said, “No
wahala
. . .
repetez après moi
: ‘We were rescued from the water by a caring crew. . . . ’”

“We were rescued from the water by a caring crew,” we said.

” ‘We were more than these, but some are dead.’”

“We were more than these, but some are dead.”

” ‘We were tossed into the sea, and many of us died.’”

“We were tossed into the sea, and many of us died.”

” ‘We had been at sea for three days before the sailors told us we were at risk.’”

“We had been at sea for three days before the sailors told us we were at risk.”

” ‘We were heading for Côte d’Ivoire before the mishap.’”

“We were heading for Côte d’Ivoire before the mishap.”

Satisfied, he asked me to stand up and go get him two cups. I went over to the cutlery basket and pulled two out.

“Make we do someting interesting,” he said. “Dis
na
just some water and salt. Don’t be afraid. Ready?”

“Yes,” we said.

He carefully poured the water from the jug into the cups. He took a sip from each cup and licked his lips with his tongue as if it were a tasty drink. He offered the cups to us and we drank the salty thing.

“At-sea Orientation be de name. . . . Dis in case drinking water come finish for vessel . . . at least you go survive for one day.”

“Yes,
monsieur.
”

“Also in case dem
dey
toss you overboard . . .”

“Overboard?” I said, surprised.

“Just for short time . . . but maybe dem go give you life jacket or big plank which many of you go hold for inside water. We
dey
do dat sometimes if navy—bad-bad government people—come harass us for sea at night, OK? Dem
dey
tie de plank to ship, so no fear. Just to hide you for water while dem
dey
search our ship. You no go sink. . . . We no want risk anyting.”

“It’s good to be prepared,” I said.

“For de few days we get here, you go take de salt water twice a day. I go bring de water wid de
manger et
fresh water, OK?”

“Yes,
monsieur.
”

He started to leave the room but stopped and said, “Ah, one more ting—new plan. In three days, we
dey
bring oder children to live here wid you. We go take everyting out of dis room. We need space. You go show dem how to be good children.”

“Yes,
monsieur.
”

“Any question?
Ou bien, wetin
you need?”

Yewa and I exchanged glances.

“Please, do you know Antoinette and Paul?” I said. “Are they coming to stay with us?”

“Are dese de children Fofo promised Big Guy?” he said excitedly, searching our faces. “Tell me de trud.”

“No,” I said, happy that our uncle changed his mind before he brought my other siblings into this evil plot.

“So who be dese?” he said.

“Big Guy knows them,” Yewa said. “Mama and Papa brought them to our place a long time ago.”

The man sighed, and his body settled into the ease of disappointment. “Well, if Big Guy know dem, trust me, dem done reach Gabon
déjà.
. . . No, you no know dis group
qui arrive ici
. . . but
ils sont des bon
kids . . . eager to travel.”

“So when are we traveling?” I asked.

“Immediately de children arrive. Dis
na
your batch.”

“What about Fofo Kpee?” my sister asked.

“Fofo Kpee?” the man said ruefully, as if he didn’t know whom we were talking about. “What about him?”

“We will see him before we go?” I said.

“Ah, I go tell you about Fofo tomorrow,” he said, and quickly switched off his flashlight before I could see his face. He left the room.

Late into that night, I didn’t sleep. Everything was quiet outside. I kept thinking about what the guard would tell us the following day. I wanted to know how Fofo was doing in the hospital, and, if he was feeling bad about our trip, to tell him it was OK. It was clear to me now that he had sealed the inner room to house children until they could be shipped to Gabon. I remembered how Big Guy looked at our house when they brought the Nanfang and said it was OK for the meantime. Now I understood that Fofo and Big Guy were planning to build some bigger depot with the roofing sheets and cement.

I woke up with a start that night to the sound of a bike riding into our compound. Another one rode in and stopped, and there were brisk footsteps that got louder as they came around the house, toward the back. Slowly I stood up and looked into the darkness, then went and put my ear to the window. My breath quickened as I imagined them surrounding the house. I thought they were going to ship us to Gabon that night, and I resigned myself to my fate.

When they went past the window, I stole across the room to the back door. They went to work immediately. I heard thuds hitting the ground; I suspected they were digging. The rhythm was uneven and faster than what one man could have managed alone, so I guessed there were at least two diggers. They worked fast and hard in silence. Their tools sometimes crashed into hard objects. It sounded like they were digging beyond where we normally cooked outside, beside the bathroom. The spray of sand hitting the grass and leaves was unmistakable.

“Deep enough?” someone said after a while.

“Too shallow,” Big Guy said. “Bring your spade; continue.”

I bit my lip when I recognized his voice, knowing we were in for it. I didn’t want to meet him again in this life, but there he was, so close to me. It was as if he were already in the room with me, hiding under the bed or the sheets, waiting for the right time to hurt us. I could only think of the last time Big Guy came into our house, when Fofo told him the Gabon deal was dead.

“
MAIS
,
YOU
NO
WANT
pay us?” said the first speaker, and someone stopped working. I knew because now I heard just one spade hitting the ground and spraying the sand in a neat, measured fall.

“Finish first,” Big Guy said.

“I done tire,” the man whined again.

I pressed my ear harder into the back door until it hurt.

“Tire? You kidding,” Big Guy said.

“I
dey
go
o!
I no want work for you anymore.”

“No, no, here
na
safe place.”

“Dis no be de plan before,” the man bargained with Big Guy. “We gree say we go dig one—not two—remember?”

“We had to abandon de oder place and run. No be
ma faute.
I no know people go surprise us for dat hour on dat road. . . . I go pay well.”

“
Combien?
How much?”

“Hey, no shout,” Big Guy said, laughing. “People
dey
sleep in dis house.”

“Oh yeah?” the other man said, and stopped digging too. “If dem catch us
nko?
You no tell us de risk big like dis
o.
”

“Oh, just children,” Big Guy assured them. “Dem
dey
sleep.”

“I say I no want work again,” said the first.

“We must finish before daybreak. . . .
D’accord,
how much you want?”

He managed another short laugh, that short soothing laugh that told you everything was all right when it wasn’t. I remembered him laughing that way when Fofo introduced him to the party crowd after the Nanfang Thanksgiving. I could imagine his sinister eyes now, cool and quick in the dark, as he tried to renegotiate with these men.

“
Plus argent,
” one of the men said.

“More money?” Big Guy replied. “You go accept a used Nanfang?”

“You want give us a Nanfang?” the man said, his voice rising in excitement.

“Excellent!” the other man said, tapping on the metal of his tool, as if to honor the moment.

“
La
Nanfang,
c’est
very very decent,” Big Guy said softly, as the diggers got back to work, tearing the earth apart with gusto. “But if you tell anyone, I go kill you.”

“We understand,” one digger said. “How deep you want dis?”

“Deep enough to bury Smiley Kpee
complétement,
” Big Guy said.

My heart skipped a beat. I became weak and dropped to my knees. The stuffy air now felt like fumes in my nostrils. I tried to stand up, but my legs wouldn’t support me. I sat down, my back against the door, my knees hoisted up to support my bowed head, my arms wrapped around my shins. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists, and pressed my mouth against my knees to keep from wailing. I stiffened my toes and wanted to be numb. I held my breath until I became dizzy and couldn’t do it anymore.

My mind started racing: did he die in the hospital, or did they kill him? Even if he died in the hospital, I thought, they still killed him, because if they hadn’t beaten him he’d be alive. I felt betrayed now because I had promised them that my sister and I would go to Gabon anyway, to protect Fofo. What would I tell my grandparents back home? What would I say to
fofos
and aunts in Braffe? What would I say to my parents?

Guilt filled my heart. I held myself responsible for his death, although I didn’t know what I could have done to stop it. Maybe I should have been the one who was beaten, instead of Fofo. I hated myself and began to consider myself as bad as Big Guy and our godparents and our games master. I felt I had learned evil from them. I had learned to smile and be angry at the same time. My little pretenses before the guard worried me, and I felt my uncle would still be alive if I hadn’t encouraged him to flee that night.

Tears rolled down my face, hot and fast. I heaved my weight off the door, because I was trembling and was afraid the vibration might draw attention. My heartbeat seemed louder than the thuds of the shovels outside, and after a while I couldn’t even hear the digging.

My anger grew until I felt choked. I reached out and grabbed the wickers of the cutlery basket so hard that one of them snapped, and Yewa turned in her sleep. I wanted to break Big Guy’s neck like that wicker for trying to bury Fofo somewhere on the road.

I took a knife from the basket and kept it by my side in case I needed to defend myself. As bad as the digging was, I wished it could have lasted forever, to delay Fofo’s interment. Each time the diggers paused to catch their breath, a wave of panic crashed over me and I balled my fists.

“Ç A
SUFFIT
,”
BIG
GUY
said. “Dat’s enough for dat cheat!”

Something in his voice, the callousness, I think, emboldened me, and I felt I needed to confront Big Guy. I quickly wiped my tears and willed that he would not make me cry anymore. I tried to stand up but was still too weak, so I knelt and again put my ear to the door.

“Stop,” Big Guy said. “Come out! I done promise you de Nanfang.
Wetin
you want again, huh? A new Nanfang?”

“Thank you, sir,” they said, scrambling out of the grave. I heard brisk footsteps going toward the front of the house. When they returned, they were slower and shuffling, I think because of Fofo’s weight. I tried to figure out how they were carrying him but couldn’t. When they dropped him into the grave with a thud, I pressed against the door—and decided then that I would rather die than go to Gabon. I thought it would be better to be killed by Big Guy than to be sold over Fofo’s dead body. I would drown before they hauled me onto that ship.

As they filled the grave, I heard my sister get up. I rushed over to her and covered her mouth with my hand. I whispered that we needed to lie down again, that day hadn’t yet broken, and went with her back to bed. I put the knife under the mattress, right under the pillow. I lay there and thought about how best to flee from Big Guy and his people, until the guard came in the morning.

After the guard had cleared the toilet pail, he set down his big flashlight and gave us some food and a jug of salt water. My sister ate heartily.

“So how you
dey, mes enfants?
” he said, full of false pity, inspecting our faces. “
Bien dormi?
”

“Yes, we slept well,” Yewa said, her mouth stuffed with yam and beans.

“You dream?”

“No dream,” she said.

“You
dey
too quiet, Pascal. . . . Your eyes
dey
red, your face
dey
swollen. You no sleep?”

“I did,” I said quietly.

“And you no want
chop?
” He came to the bed, lifted the pillow, and sat down beside me. He sat close to the knife. “Eat someting,
abeg,
boy,
chop o
.”

I managed a smile and poured a bit of the salt water from the jug and sipped. “I’ve no appetite now. I’ll eat later.”

“
A ma sé nude din we˙ ya
?” the guard said suddenly.

Yewa shrugged. “No, I didn’t hear anything last night.”

“And you, big boy? No look so sad,
abeg.
”

The word
big
cut into my disguise, and the picture of Big Guy loomed in my mind. I wanted to tell the guard that, yes, I knew they had killed Fofo Kpee and buried him behind the house last night. I wanted to tell him to go to hell. I thought about pulling out the knife and stabbing him. But I wasn’t sure I could kill him instantly. And if I didn’t kill him with the first blow, he would overpower me.

I decided to abandon the knife option and exploit his sympathy. Maybe if I begged him he would let us go into the parlor. And if we got there, I might be able to get the keys from the pocket of Fofo’s olive-green corduroy coat.

“You no hear anyting?” he asked again, seeing, I guessed, my hesitation.

“No, nothing,” I denied. “Did something happen,
monsieur?
”

“Oh, no, no, notting. Just Big Guy messing around for night.”