The Other Side of Truth (18 page)

WHEN AUNT GRACIE CAME
with fresh orange juice, Sade lay silent with her face to the wall. The orange juice was untouched when Aunt Gracie came again with supper. Sade remained turned away from her. Aunt Gracie gave up, taking the plate of chicken and rice back downstairs.

I deserve to be punished, Sade thought. I don’t deserve a friend like Mariam. Or Aunt Gracie and Uncle Roy or Mama Appiah or Iyawo-Jenny or Mr. Nathan or even Miss Harcourt…Everyone who had tried to help, one way or another, had actually been deceived. They thought she was worth helping. Even Papa was deceived.

“Sade! News!”

Sade heard Femi’s shouts. Tunneling further into the bed, she ignored them and the thumping footsteps up the stairs. Her door flung open.

“We’re on TV! With Uncle Dele! I saw the picture—the man said it’s after the break! Come, Sade! Please! It’s now!” Femi’s voice bubbled and pleaded. Even from deep in her burrow, Sade heard a small chink of Femi from the past. The old Femi underneath the skin now fastened as tightly as a
drum. Touch the new Femi and he often boomed at you. But she shouldn’t have shouted at him earlier. He had suddenly looked so fearful, hurt. It was brave of him to come back into her room. His footsteps squeaked on the landing, then thudded down the stairs.

For a few moments Sade huddled in her cocoon. Whatever was happening to her? She had to drag herself out of the bed. She took herself three-quarters of the way down the stairs and sat down. Peeking through the railings she could see Uncle Dele’s head on the television screen at the far end of the sitting room. It was the interview he gave outside the Detention Center.

“My brother is on hunger strike because he is not prepared to be sent away quietly! No one can expect justice in Nigeria as long as the soldiers rule. They hate my brother because he writes the truth! Every week they sent threats. But he refused to give up. Now he has paid a terrible price. His wife has been killed and for weeks his children were lost to him when he sent them to England. The Home Office says it has no record of them—but they are here…”

The camera swung to her and Femi. Femi was frowning while she looked so calm!

“My brother came to Britain seeking help. At school we used to hear a lot about the British sense of justice. But we are desperate for deeds as well as words!”

The camera returned to Mr. Seven O’Clock in the studio and another story. Sade did not wait to hear what Aunt Gracie or Uncle Roy had to say. She crept back to her room and crawled into bed. How on earth had she managed to remain
so calm in front of the cameras yesterday? She couldn’t have done that today. Her feelings frightened her. Like being in one of those little boats she used to watch from Leki Beach. As if far away from land she had been skimming over waves that suddenly turned on her. Whipping and lashing her so wildly that they seized her oars and threatened to sink her.

When the telephone rang, Sade knew it must be Papa. If she pulled her quilt over her head, Aunt Gracie would think she was asleep and leave her alone.

THERE WERE ONLY TWO
more days until the end of term and the doctor had ordered Sade to rest. This time Femi did not argue about staying off school. Sade thought he must be hoping that someone at school had seen him on television. She did not want to think about her school or her class. She did not want to think about anything or anyone.

But when Aunt Gracie came up with juice and a bowl of cornflakes, she brought the news that Mama Appiah was coming to talk to her later in the afternoon.

“Mrs. Appiah says you look so good on television! Like a star! She is sure this will help your daddy.”

Aunt Gracie trying to cheer her up made Sade even more miserable. Mama Appiah would as well. She forced herself to eat a few cornflakes so that Aunt Gracie would feel she had at least tried and would take the bowl away. But she still did not feel at all hungry.

Most of the day, Sade lay in bed listening to music on the little radio that Aunt Gracie had put on her desk. She tried reading a book from the school library, but it took too much energy to keep her eyes on the print, even to hold the book.
At least the music filled her brain. Once, however, after she dozed off, she jerked awake, imagining a line of stick-thin people struggling across miles of sand. The figure in front held up his hands in a way that reminded her of someone. The picture came closer, like a television camera moving in, until she was forced to see that it was Papa. At the head of a line of starved refugees. Papa was still talking with his hands.

When the doorbell rang at about four o’clock, Sade rolled over to face the wall again. Perhaps Mama Appiah would not stay if she thought she was disturbing her. Aunt Gracie’s voice rang like a warning bell on the stairs.

“It’s very good of you to come! Sade will be so pleased to see you! But only for a few minutes. Doctor says she needs plenty of rest. She may even be sleeping now.”

Sade waited to hear Mama Appiah’s rich tones but there was no reply.

“I have a visitor for you, Sade.” Aunt Gracie’s words bounced lightly. “Your friend has come to see you.”

Sade lay still.

“Your schoolfriend.”

Sade lifted herself on to her elbows. Behind Aunt Gracie stood Mariam! She held out a large white envelope.

“We make a card for you. I say I will bring it.”

Sade stared at it but did not reach out.

“How very kind of you,” said Aunt Gracie. “Isn’t that kind of your class, Sade?” Aunt Gracie took the envelope from Mariam and handed it to her. “I shall leave you girls together. But only about ten minutes, mind you!”

Neither girl spoke as Sade slowly lifted the flap and
pulled out a card with a spray of flowers and
GET WELL SOON
! on the front. A folded piece of notepaper slipped out on to the bed. She left it there while she examined the mosaic of names and messages. Underneath
HOPE YOU FEEL BETTER
! printed in the center, someone had written AND THAT YOUR DAD IS FREE SOON. She scanned the Good Lucks, Best Wishes and See You Soons. There were names she knew and others for which she did not even know the faces. Strangers to her. But then, tucked away in the bottom left hand corner, she stumbled on
Love, Marcia
. Immediately underneath was
Donna xxx
. The liars! She could feel Mariam waiting for her to say something. Her mouth felt completely dry. Perhaps some of the others also didn’t mean what they said.

Don’t judge the village by the thief, Sade. If the dog steals, will you punish the goat?

She forced her eyes to circle around the other messages again. Mr. Morris and Miss Harcourt had signed too. Finally her eyes traveled to the message Mariam had been waiting for her to see.

My family wish you get well soon, Mariam
.

“Thank you,” Sade said softly. “I have got something for you too but I have to finish it.” She pulled out the Christmas card and pens from the desk drawer. Mariam sat on the edge of her bed while Sade worked in silence, drawing a row of palm trees in the remaining blank space inside. Swift light-brown strokes made the sand. Underneath, in emerald green, she wrote:

I hope one day you will be able to go home
.

She hesitated, wondering whether to add something about Mariam’s brother. Maybe it was better not to. Remembering him must be painful for them. Yet it was Mariam who had told Sade about him—even about her father dying in prison. It was something she still had to learn. How to talk about Mama.

She handed Mariam the card, making herself explain that the front was a picture of their backyard at home.

“My brother, Femi, used those trees for his goals.”

“My brother, Hassan, also…he is crazy about football…but now”—Mariam’s voice flattened—“now I don’t know anything.”

Aunt Gracie put her head around the door, reminding them of the time.

“Come whenever you like in the holidays, mi dear. You will be welcome!”

Mariam’s grave face opened into a lovely smile. She pointed to the letter on the bed.

“Maybe you like your letter. Morrissy say he is proud someone from his class do what you do.”

Sade picked up the piece of folded paper.

“You read, you see. I go now or my mother worry too much.” Mariam raised her hand to say good-bye but suddenly halted in midair.

“I nearly forget! Marcia and Donna they in trouble! They have to see headmaster and they not come back to class this afternoon. People say someone father—from Year Seven—come to make big complaint!”

Mariam said good-bye and was gone. Sade briefly
remembered her fantasy of having Papa alongside her to tackle Marcia and Donna. It must have taken courage for that Year Seven child to ignore the threats. But she would rather not think of Marcia and Donna at all—certainly not now. She turned up the radio again and unfolded her letter.

Dear Sade,

All of us in 8M want to send you our warmest wishes and we hope you will have a good rest over the Christmas holidays. Some of the class—and myself—saw you on the Seven O’Clock News on Monday. We have all been shocked to realize what you and your family have been going through. I feel somewhat guilty as I fear you may have thought that you were in some kind of trouble on Monday when I called you out to have a word in private. In fact, it was the very opposite.

After lessons on Friday, I received a telephone call from a producer of the school’s program
Making News
. She told me how you and your brother had very bravely come to tell your father’s story to the chief presenter of their channel’s news. Apparently he was so impressed by you that he has suggested the topic of refugees for a future
Making News
. They would like you (and your brother if he would like that) to take part. Class 8M has also been invited to present an investigation for the same program.

Don’t worry about deciding now. 8M does not know about the invitation and you should not feel under any pressure. All I have told the class is that you were
responsible for getting your father’s story reported. He must be very proud of you. We all are and can understand how worried you must still be about him.

I should say that the idea to send you “Get Well” wishes came from members of the class themselves. But they also asked me especially to write that they feel very sad and troubled to hear about your mother’s death. We all send much sympathy to you and your brother.

Yours sincerely,

Duncan Morris

CHRISTMAS DREW CLOSER
. Mariam’s visit and Mr. Morris’s letter lifted Sade’s spirit a little and she began to spend time downstairs. Christmas cards straddled the mantelpiece and shelves of the bookcase in the sitting room. Tiny painted wooden birds and animals hung between the needles of a small pretend pine tree perched above the television. Aunt Gracie said that the handmade stars and angels sprinkled with glitter had all been made long ago by her children. She was busy with pies, puddings and cakes and invited Sade to help. The grown-up King children were returning late Christmas Eve and there were conversations with friends and neighbors about sofa beds, camp beds and mattresses. But Sade only half listened while she kneaded the cream-colored dough and cut out pastry shapes. This was nothing like any Christmas she knew.

Papa always said they were like homing pigeons. From north, south, east and west, every Solaja and Adewale family made the cross-country journey at Christmas. A map would have shown a magnificent giant spider’s web, with dozens of
strands drawing in toward Family House. Woven throughout their home village were the houses and compounds of elders like Grandma, Baba Akin, Baba Kayode…Christmas meant Grandma, Mama and Papa, uncles and aunts great and small, and endless cousins with their cousins. Christmas meant chasing chickens and goats or climbing “Baba Baobab” (the oldest tree in the world, Femi claimed). Christmas meant listening to Baba Akin’s stories (like how he was chased in the forest by iwin when he was a little boy!). First they would watch Baba search the rafters for tobacco leaves, then crush them in his leathery hand and press them neatly with his little finger into his long pipe. Waiting for his pipe to light up was all part of waiting for the story. Christmas also meant cocks crowing in the morning. Waking up ears. Come alive! Come alive! Listen to the sounds of the day! From talking drums in the market to Mama’s favorite Christmas carol service on Papa’s “This is the BBC World Service broadcasting from London.” The little radio always traveled with them
.

Christmas Day itself meant the dawn journey to Ibadan. Even Papa came with them to church on this day, making Mama smile with quiet pleasure. Their car hurtled over bumps and potholes in the stony dry track until they reached the main road. Past the hill that Mama climbed every day during the Christmas she had been pregnant with Sade. Mama even called it Sade’s Hill
.

“I was in training! For a first-class baby!”

They would drive past the palms that fanned out above the bush like gigantic radar wheels in the sky. Past thick tangles of cassava fields. Past the empty grass-roofed roadside stalls.
And finally through the people-filled streets of Ibadan. Up above the thousands upon thousands of rust-red roofs, up to Grandma’s church on top of its hill
.

Aunt Gracie had mentioned the children’s service at her church several times but had not pressed when neither Sade or Femi responded. After the bubble of excitement over Uncle Dele and the TV interview, Femi was once again silent and moody. When Papa rang to speak to them each evening, Femi only mumbled a few words.

Sade could hear their father’s voice sounding lighter, weaker. Already over ten days without food! But still he insisted that they should not worry. Letters of support were arriving every day, some with copies of protest letters sent to the Home Office. A university in America even wanted Papa to come and lecture there.

“Listen to this, Sade.” Paper rustled at the other end of the line. “‘Our students need to hear you. We need more people like you who are prepared to tell those hidden stories. We might not have assassination squads here but there are many other ways of making a journalist keep quiet.’”

Papa was waiting for her to say something. What could she say?
She
needed him. She and Femi needed him. But all these other people said they needed him too. Across another ocean.

“Sade? Are you there?”

“I’m here.” Her thoughts darted wildly like the bees smoked out of their hive at the back of Family House.

“Papa, what would Mama think?”

Sade swallowed in awe at her own question. The words had just trickled out of her mouth, thin and clear. She held her breath.

“Probably…no…” Papa corrected himself softly. “I think she would want me to remember Sade’s Hill!”

On the day before Christmas Eve, when the afternoon light was beginning to fade, there were unexpected visitors. Even from the sitting room Sade recognized the voice at the door.

“Shh!” She signaled to Femi to stop jiggling the letters in the Scrabble bag.

“I hope you don’t mind us calling round like this! We just wanted to drop off these presents for Sade and Femi. Such poor things! We saw them on telly, didn’t we, Kevin? I knew they must’ve been through something, but I had no idea just how bad! You just don’t think, do you?”

They could hear Aunt Gracie’s invitation to come inside. There was no way of avoiding the visitors. When Sade and Femi peeped into the hallway, the pushchair with the sleeping twins had already been levered into the hallway.

Mrs. Graham flurried toward them. Caught like a nut in a cracker, Femi stiffened in her hug. But the moment he was released, he escaped upstairs. Kevin stood behind his mother looking awkward. Sade wondered how she could escape too. She knew Mrs. Graham meant well, but her stomach twinged at the thought of answering questions. Aunt Gracie saved her as soon as Mrs. Graham’s arms freed her.

“Perhaps you should also go for a rest, Sade.”

“Aaah! All this palaver! They’re only kids! It’s too much
strain for them! You know what I mean?” Mrs. Graham tutted sympathetically to Aunt Gracie. She turned to Sade.

“Before you go, lovie, Kevin has a message for Femi. Right, Kevin?”

Kevin shuffled.

“Tell your brother”—he stumbled, then raised his eyes—“if he wants to play football on Saturdays, he can come with me if he likes. To my club, I mean.”

If Kevin had not looked directly at her, Sade would have thought this was his mother’s idea. The flicker of nervousness across his face, however, suggested the offer was genuine.

“I’ll tell him,” said Sade. “But you should ask him yourself.”

“Yeah. Another time. I’ll call, right?” He bit on his thumb. Just like she did when she was unsure of herself.

“Any friend of Sade or Femi is always welcome,” Aunt Gracie offered. The lilt in her voice drew out the word “friend.”

When Papa did not call at his usual ten to eight, Sade began to inspect the hallway clock every few minutes. At half-past eight, Uncle Roy rang the prison. Something was wrong.

“Where is he?…Why not?…I see.” Uncle Roy’s voice sank. He replaced the receiver slowly.

“Your daddy has been transferred. The man wouldn’t say where. We have to ring in the morning to talk to the senior officer.”

Uncle Roy and Aunt Gracie exchanged one of those silent eye messages. Just what Mama and Papa used to do when
they were worried. The worst thought sneaked into Sade’s mind. Before it had time to bury itself secretly, she blurted it out.

“They’ve taken him to the airport!”

“Hold on, hold on!” Uncle Roy’s hands waved as if calming a choir. “Your daddy is probably in hospital,” he said slowly. “The man said the doctor has ordered tests.”

“Tests?! What kind of tests?”

“I am sure he will be all right.” Aunt Gracie’s arm slipped around Sade’s waist. “Let’s talk about it over a cup of tea.” Femi moved out of Aunt Gracie’s reach but followed them into the kitchen, his eyes sunk deep within his small warrior’s mask.

Together they turned over the possibilities. Mr. Nathan’s answering machine offered no number for emergencies and the office was closed until after Christmas. Uncle Dele’s line was still cut off and Mama Appiah’s telephone rang endlessly. There was nothing they could do except wait until the morning.