MAGICAL MONDAYS WITH 'KREATE'
CHAPTER VI
Sumbo
***
The
dream again! The first time it happened, I reckoned it was an incident; a
normal dream. The second time it occurred I figured it was a coincidence. But
in the space of one week I have had the same dream four times in a row. There
had to be a pattern. The shocking thing about these episodes was that there
were no subtractions or additions, no editing. There had to be a message behind
it. But what was it? For one I didn’t know the characters in the dream. After a
while of fruitless search for answers, I decided to let the running hamster in
my head rest. Other things needed doing. There was a gift to be purchased and a
day to look forward to. Mrs. Padraig was having a birthday party this
afternoon. The invitation had been delivered by baseball cap Adrien two days
ago. The invitation was a plus-one, and I knew just the person to accompany me.
We
were expected to dress casually for the occasion. Akin had agreed the instant I extended the
invitation. He hadn’t decided on a course of action about his marital situation
yet. He was still heartbroken but his personality was much improved now. Since
that day we spent all nights together, and he would return to his hotel at
about 11pm. Whenever he relapsed into depression, I always managed to bring him
out of it. He had offered to accompany me to the store where I would buy the
gift. I had invited him over for a late breakfast before we head out. I checked
the alarm clock and it read 7:15am so he should be here in another three hours.
It was Saturday hence I had my routine cleaning task to accomplish before he
arrived. It was time to get out of bed.
I
was dusting the sofa, swaying my hips in appreciation to a favorite Nigerian
song playing on my laptop when the doorbell rang. I checked the wall clock. It
was too early to be Akin. I ambled to the translucent glass door, turned the
door knob and pulled it open. It wasn’t Akin, but Temilade, Akin’s wife. How
did she get my address?
We
were about the same height but her hair was low-cropped and her eye balls were
a noticeably bigger. She wore a light brown leather jacket on a dark green
turtle neck and her black pair of jeans matched her black (with a white base)
pair of sneakers. For a separated woman, she did not look distraught. Not by a
little stretch.
‘I’d like to speak to my husband,’ she
demanded without a guise of amiability.
No
hello, no hi, and she was already making demands. I reckoned her concept of
courteous behavior was nonexistent. I wanted to tell her to take a hike or at
least give her a little piece of my mind but I decided she was not worth the
trouble. I wouldn’t let a tramp stamp ruin my day. ‘He is not here,’ I replied in a calm voice.
Suddenly
she raised her voice and began pounding my door, ‘Akin I know you are in that house. Come out here and be a man!’
Her eyes looked slightly maniacal; heaving breasts, right hand on hips while a
foot tapped the floor in consistent rhythm.
I felt the curious eyes of passersby.
I
was taken aback but only for a moment. ‘Hey
lady, I have tolerated enough of this irrational display of yours. It is people
like you that perpetuate stereotypes about Nigerian women. Please leave before
I call the police’. My voice was still surprisingly calm as anger had begun
boiling in me.
‘I know he is in
there!’ she
said, but her legs were retreating down the stairs. ‘Leave my husband alone, husband snatcher!’ She clapped her hands
then left.
Smart
choice, crazy woman, I thought. I smiled, beside myself. It’s been a long time
since I had heard the word husband snatcher and it was in a Nigerian stand-up
comedy I watched on the internet. Poor Akin had had to deal with this fur ball
of irrationality. I shut the door and returned to the kitchen.
In
another two hours, Akin and I emerged from the book store I had just purchased
a gift for Mrs. Padraig. The shopping mall was unusually crowded even for a
Saturday; it had to be because of the in-flock of tourists peculiar to the
season. Troops of teenagers were entering and exiting clothing stores, chatting
animatedly. I found myself wishing for the young and naïve days. Akin’s arm was
around my neck; I turned my head to look at him and I met a happy face. He
grinned at me and dusted something off my forehead with a finger. He could act
like a sweet gentleman if he wanted to. It was a shame I was about to ruin the
moment right about now.
‘So your wife
came by the house this morning,’
I said, as we approached the exit of the mall.
I
expected him to stop in his tracks but he didn’t; his smile left though. ‘Well, that took longer than expected. She
abhors being ignored so frankly I’m surprised she’s been able to last that
long. Well, we are not going to let her put a damper on a day like this, are
we? Let’s go get our taxi.’ His grin was back.
Akin
had gotten all the information he needed about Mrs. Padraig before we got
there, but they were mostly useless to him; for one, he had no care for
artworks. So, he decided to stick with being himself. I believed his
personality was enough to get him into the good graces of our host. His arm was
locked to mine as we walked up to the black buzzer thing by the iron-wrought
gate of Edna’s property. I didn’t have the combination for access but I figured
there would be a button and a voice receiver. I was right. I pushed the button
and a voice responded in a matter of minutes. It belonged to Adrien. The gate
let us in.
Although
this was my second entry into the estate, I still found myself in awe of
everything, and I could tell from the bemused look on Akin’s face as he scanned
the premises that he was too.
‘Wow! This is
definitely something,’
he said.
‘You need to see
the garden,’ I
said.
As
we approached the edifice, I could hear soft music playing. Adrien came out of the building before we
reached the main door; he was all smiles. Unsurprisingly, a grey face cap
rested on his head, complementing his blue casual long-sleeved shirt and jeans.
‘Welcome, Miss Sumbo,’ he greeted and
stretched out his hand. I took his hand and smiled. ‘Adrien, you can cut out the miss bit.’
‘Sure.’ he replied.
‘This is Akin my
close friend -and plus one tonight,’
I said, gesturing towards Akin by my side.
Akin
was the first to provide his hand. ‘How
do you do Adrien?’
‘Very well, thank
you.’ Adrien,
replied shaking the offered hand. ‘How do
–
Suddenly
something buzzed on the wrist of the outstretched hand. He pulled back the
sleeve of his shirt, revealing a watch-like device strapped to his hairy wrist.
He clicked a button and a voice spoke out to him.
‘Name please,’ he said into the receiver.
The
person at the other end responded.
‘Come in.’
Adrien’s
attention shifted back to Akin, ‘Sorry
about that, I do hope to get to know you better as the party progresses,
provided I have the time of course.’
‘I will look
forward to it,’
Akin smiled.
‘Please do go in.
The sound of the music will point you in the right direction.’
‘See you later
Adrien,’ I
said. Akin and I went through the main door.
The
door opened into a long passage that one wouldn’t have expected from the
exterior of the building. It smelt of real lavender. As we followed the tune of
the inviting melody, I noticed picture frames on both sides of the white walls
separated by irregular distance. The only face I recognized in each of them was
Mrs. Padraig, although the young boy in some of them looked a lot like her.
There was another prominent man that appeared in the photographs. I presumed he
was her husband. As we drew closer to our destination, everybody in the picture
grew older. At some point, the man photograph stopped featuring. I deduced it
must have been the point when he became deceased. The last portrait had only
Mrs. Padraig and a tall handsome young man dressed in a naval uniform. We
reached a blue door with two black handles. The sound of the music was
considerably higher now.
‘Expect a sound blast,’ Akin said, and
pulled the doors.
No
sound blast happened. Of course, the volume was slightly increased but it would
definitely not pass for a sound blast. There were only a dozen or so people
illuminated by bright white light in the large space that met my eyes. I had
expected a lot more in a house party hosted by someone of Mrs. Padraig’s
status. Perhaps we were early and more people were on their way. Or perhaps the
host had few friends. Everyone was casually dressed except for the attendants
in their white shirts and black trousers who carried trays containing filled
glasses of white and red wines. There was a musical band of two females on a
raised platform at the right corner of the building; one was playing the violin
and the other a piano. The guests were in groups of twos and threes.
The
room appeared built to resemble a ball room.
There were two crystal chandeliers on the ceiling, a zigzag staircase on
the left wing leading to a balconied floor with a square design. I observed
there were a few doors on the upper floor, all shut, with no regularity to the
intervals of their locations. And as expected, a few paintings hung on a few
odd corners. My eyes wandered to the floor: the blue and white tiles on the
floor had a square design that made me wonder where it begun and where it
ended.
A
grey uniformed lady with red shoes approached us and asked if we had any gifts
for the celebrant. I handed her the parcel in my hand; she received it with a
professional smile and left.
‘After collecting our gift, the least she
could have done was offer us some drinks,’ Akin said, and hailed a nearby
steward carrying a tray of wine. He chose a glass of white wine but I went for
the red. Just then a familiar voice played to my ears.
‘So how do you
see the place?’
I
spurn around at the voice and discovered it was our host in a casual blue and
white floral gown. I couldn’t help wondering if she had a thing for floral
designed fabrics. The white pearls on her neck sat exquisitely on the dress and
matched the clear confident smile that held her lips.
‘Hello Mrs.
Padraig -’ I
greeted and she raised an eyebrow. ‘Edna.
It is going to take a while of getting used to. Cultural habits die hard.’
‘I know,’ she said before turning her
attention to Akin, extending her hand. ‘And
who is this lovely young man?’
‘Akin Badejo,’ Akin took the hand with a hearty
grin, ‘Her close friend and colleague’.
‘A pleasure
meeting you,’
Miss Padraig said. She turned to her left and called out: ‘Beatrice.’
A
brunette that appeared in her twenties excused herself from an aged couple and
reached us in a few graceful strides. She wore a pink tee shirt, a pair of blue
three-quarter denim shorts and a pair of black sandals. Her skin was tanned
like she had just been on some vacation to a hot island. She was beautiful too.
‘Yes Aunt,’ Beatrice greeted the host and
then turned to Akin and I, flaunting a perfect set of white teeth, unusual for
the many English ladies I had met. She seemed to be sizing Akin up appreciatively.
Edna
did the introductions, and handshakes followed suit; Akin’s own lasting a
little bit longer. I didn’t know who held on but the person seemed to ignore
the golden ring lodged comfortably on his marital finger.
Edna’s
eyes were on me ‘Beatrice dear, keep
Akin’s company while I steal Sumbo away for some minutes, will you?’ She
turned to Akin with a smile. ‘You don’t
mind do you?’
Akin’s
grin was disarming. ‘Not at all. Beatrice
looks quite harmless.’ He gave Beatrice a quizzical look. ‘You won’t hurt me now, would you?’
We
all laughed.
Edna
led the way up the staircase. She turned the knob of the first door we
approached. It opened to a large room that was something of a little art
gallery. A considerable amount of artworks – paintings and sculptures – lay in
locations, in a style that resembled a wide semi-circle. Some of the polished
wooden sculptures gleamed from the sunlight that penetrated through two large
windows. In the middle of the arc of art, lay a rectangular grey sofa and a
round brown table in front of it. On the table was a large sky blue book that
looked like an album. She ushered me towards the sofa.
‘Have a seat.’ Edna said, as she sank into a
side of the sofa. ‘That’s my family’s
album. Do take a look at it, if you would.’
With
a smile, I picked up the book. It was quite heavy. I ran my fingers through the
spiral patterns edged on the front cover before opening it. The photo on the
first page was a smaller version of one of the pictures that lined the corridor
to the ballroom.
‘That’s
Clive my late husband and our only son Gerald.’
‘He is in the
military, your son.’
‘Yeah, he is doing peace-keeping job of some
description at some place where there is a lot of sand and blood. Always been
patriotic, that Gerald. Nothing like his father who shied away from anything
that had a trace of -’
I
looked up from the picture to Edna who now had an all too familiar entranced
look. The garden incident was repeating itself. Although unnerved by this scary
creepiness, something strong at a corner of my mind told me she was alright and
that whatever this was, it would pass.
In
a matter of seconds, it did. Edna smiled, took a soft deep breath, and relaxed
into the sofa. ‘I had hoped that that
wouldn’t happen. It is out of my control, you see. I hope I didn’t scare you?’
I
lied. ‘More like startled. I should have
called for help but I had this strong feeling that you were in a trance.’
‘You did the
right thing my lovely. I actually brought you here to offer some explanation about
the first episode in the garden,’
she said.
Curiosity
wanted some explanation alright, but courtesy made me say: ‘You don’t have to.’
Her
smile remained constant all through like a Barbie doll, only hers’ had life in
it. ‘I want to my dear. Besides, you are
in the centre of it all.’
Now
this was absurd, I thought. I looked into Edna’s eye to catch any glimpse of
humour. There was none. She was as serious as can be.
Besides,
she didn’t strike me as the sort of lady who played pranks on people. I began
to feel a bit disconcerted but I held my calm.
I
didn’t utter a word. What do you say in response to that?
‘I must sound
like a complete nutter, I know, but it will all make sense by the time I’m
done.’ She
placed a hand on my shoulder then continued: ‘You are not the first. I have these specific flashes or flash episodes
about people -about their future.’ She hesitated.
The
thought of my granny warning my mum not to take a certain flight suddenly
crossed my mind. Perhaps Edna wasn’t loosing it after all.
I
listened intently to her.
‘Have you been
having any vivid recurring dreams, lately?’ She asked.
Amazement
coursed through my veins like a race car. How in God’s name did she know about
my dreams? I stared at her but didn’t reply.
Her
smile and eyes took on the form of one a mother would give a child who was just
about to discover the wisdom of her mother’s years. Then she continued: ‘There were an ice cream truck, a dog, a
kid, a lady, and a man who played lawn tennis?’ she asked.
Now
she had me under her spell. My mouth dropped slightly open while my eyes held
hers. I was now certain that this was no joke.
I believed in the mysterious and the supernatural, but having access to
the VIP seat of one that involved yours truly was a bit too surreal. I shifted
uncomfortably on the sofa. It was hard to be calm, but I really didn’t care
about appearances now, even with the luxurious Edna Padraig sitting in front of
me. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.
‘When did this
prophesy start?’
I finally managed to ask.
The
word Prophesy must have amused her as she chuckled. The effect it had on her
wasn’t mutual. ‘It started some weeks
before I met you. I had no idea where to find you but I knew we would meet
somehow. It has always been like that.’
‘Always?’ I said.
Her
hand smoothened her dress but her eyes never left mine. ‘Nine
people so far.’
‘With these
people, what have these flashes been about?’
‘Love, Fame,
Career,’ she
paused then let out a quiet sigh, ‘and
death’.
The
question popped into my mind and proceeded from my mouth before I could give it
any consideration. ‘And what is mine
about?’
The
way she retained my gaze was impressive. ‘To
be honest, I can’t say for sure. Yours is a bit peculiar in that it leaves a fair
amount of suspense. You see, with the other clients, what happens in the flash
is clear - like a marriage proposal, for instance. Or being laid into a
coffin. The best I can assume, in your
case, is that love might be on your tarot cards, metaphorically speaking. You
were definitely attracted to the bloke.’
Me? I didn’t understand. The lady
in my dream definitely wasn’t me; perhaps the only resemblance were the eyes
and nose. ‘The lady in that dream wasn’t
me.’
‘Hmm.’ Edna’s brows furrowed in thought. ‘That’s not unusual. Dreams are symbolic
sometimes. They are dreams, after all.’
The
possibility that true love would come knocking at my door felt thrilling.
Somehow, the thought of how those helpless clients with morbid futures felt,
perched on my mind. ‘So those with death
in their dreams - can their destiny be altered?’ I asked.
‘No. I’m afraid not.’ She replied.
‘So what is the
point then?’ I
asked, dismayed. ‘Knowing you or a loved
one is going to die and not being able to do anything about it.’
‘These dreams
happen for two reasons that I know of. One is to motivate the subject not to
give up hope. This usually happens to people who have tried and searched
numerous times for things that kept eluding them. Love and fame are good
examples. The dreams assure them that those goals would be attained. The second
reason is that the dreams happen to prepare the person in question for a bad
event: the loss of someone close or one’s own life. It gives them the
opportunity to make amends. The two cases I have had in the past happened to
individuals that had dysfunctional relationships with family or friends.’
‘But why these
people? What makes them so special? What makes me better than anyone else?’
‘I don’t know.
Finding the answer to that question is like trying to fathom why some people
die while others get to live or why unwise people rule and intelligent others
serve. Who understands the rationale behind Fate’s decisions?’
The
answer to her rhetorical question was obvious. My head was hurting now but I
wanted to know something else. ‘How did
you find me?’ I asked in strained tone.
‘I didn’t find
you, my dear,’
she said, her trademark smile unwavering, ‘That
would have been impossible since I had no name, no location, only a picture.
Fate has always had a way of bringing subjects to me; your case wasn’t any
different.’
The
use of the term subject felt inappropriate. It sounded like we were lab rats in
some scientist’s experiment. But then, were we not? The thought of the antique
store guy glancing at me came to mind. ‘Was
that why Michael kept giving me those random funny looks while we were in his
gallery?’ I inquired.
Edna
shook her head steadily. ‘No. He knows
nothing about my gift. He thought you had an uncanny resemblance to someone he
had seen somewhere, but he couldn’t remember. That was why he kept casting glances
at you hoping it would jog back the memory. It didn’t though.’
I
nodded and as if by cue, someone rapped on the door. Edna’s attention turned to
where the sound emanated from, and said: ‘You
may come in.’
It
was Beatrice, the brunette that we left with Akin. She did not enter but
remained on the threshold. ‘The Bigelows
would like to see you before taking their leave’
‘Oh dear, we must
have spent quite a while up here.’
Edna said. She turned to look at me. ‘Sumbo,
shall we continue this chat later?’ Her voice sounded casual as if the last
hour had been dedicated to idle gossip.
‘By all means,’ I replied. I was glad the conversation had ended for the
day. My head was reeling from processing all the information.
Kreate
is a budding Nigerian writer with a flair for fiction. Writing for him
began sometime in secondary school where he dabbled in poetry and plays.
He has authored two self-published short novels.
He is a banker and lives in Surulere.
He is a banker and lives in Surulere.
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