MAGICAL MONDAYS WITH 'KREATE'

CHAPTER XVIII

Sumbo

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There was a smell I couldn’t quite put a finger on as we reached the door of the mini gallery. To my surprise she didn’t stop but proceeded to the next door. It opened into what could be described as a circular study. Inside was a large table located in the middle of the room with two chairs at opposite ends. Around the room were tall, book-ridden, shelves that arched the walls of the room. The only sides of the walls that weren’t covered by the shelves were those occupied by the window and the door. 

The wind blustered against the window as we sat down. ‘You never mentioned Tubosun was the man in your dreams.’ Edna said.

‘That’s because he isn’t.’

‘Hmm,’ she said, gazing into an invisible void. ‘I have come of age, but I have never had a problem with recognition.’  Her attention returned to me. ‘Tubosun is the very same bloke in my flashes. I am positive.’ I wasn’t seeing the significance of this. I wasn’t the one in my dream either and it didn’t seem to matter. And there were more important fishes to fry. ‘Can we talk about my dream?’

For a moment, she drifted into a thoughtful state again, her fingers drumming on the mahogany table. Then she spoke: ‘That is exactly what we are doing, my dear. The dog in your dream -was that Currie?’

I shook my head. ‘No, it wasn’t Currie. A German shepherd -yes. But it certainly wasn’t her.’ 

The look in her eyes confirmed my suspicion that Currie was the dog in her flash episodes. Could this signify hope or just another face for impending gloom, I wondered. ‘Edna, what does this mean?’ I asked again. Edna looked like she was someplace else, the lines of her forehead furrowing in what appeared to be deep thought. ‘Did anyone in these dreams looks familiar or vaguely familiar? 

‘No’. I was getting impatient now. ‘You are being enigmatic, Edna. Is there a relationship here somewhere?’ My voice fell to a tired whisper. ‘Should I be hopeful?’ 

She did not reply. As I studied her face, a picture of a hamster running fervently on her thinking wheel flashed through my mind. I shook my head. This was not the time for comical representation. The issue at hand was dire.  ‘Hmm,’ she said at last, drumming her fingers against the table again. ‘Was there a time you didn’t use to have dreams?’

‘Yes -’

‘When did it start?’

‘When I bought that damn ring. I purchased it from the art slash pawn shop you took me to.’ Now I was flustered. ‘But what has that got to do with the matter on ground?’ Her eyes suddenly seemed like they were on the edge of discovery.

‘Sobyi, I think -’ Edna was saying when a voice suddenly rang out. It jolted me from the ongoing conversation and I tore my gaze from Edna, but I couldn’t make out who was shouting and what he was calling out. 

‘Help!’

It was Adrien’s voice. An ominous, overwhelming feeling of dread engulfed me, transmitting a bolt that penetrated my body. I sprang to my feet, rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and froze at the sight of two figures. ‘Oh God,’ I muttered. Adrien was administering mouth to mouth resuscitation on pale, lifeless Tubosun. Adrien raised a sweat-creased forehead to look at me, controlled apprehension glinting in his eyes. ‘Dial 999,’ he said.  I was transfixed with shock. ‘Please, Tubosun,’ I said, my voice a harsh whisper.  This time Adrien shouted: ‘Dial 999 for God’s sake!’

I frantically rummaged myself for the mobile phone and realized with panic that it wasn’t on me. ‘I have done that,’ said a calm voice that spurred me to turn my head.  It was Edna. She was looking in Adrien and Tubosun’s direction, her face, a merger of dazed and perplexed expressions. ‘Has he got a pulse?’ 

Adrien looked disconcerted. ‘Yes, the last time I checked but now I don’t know.’

Edna moved swiftly and knelt beside Tubosun, placing a finger somewhere below is jaw. ‘There is a pulse, albeit faint.’ 

Tubosun was still unresponsive and Adrien had begun doing chest compressions. Did he even know what he was doing? I wondered with apprehension. But whatever he was doing seemed better than nothing. My eyes drifted back to Tubosun. It was almost possible to see the shadow of death looming over his body. Was he going to die? Fate had given me love and now it seemed it was going to take it back. The room started shifting, the floor felt lopsided, and the strength in my legs deserted me, and I couldn’t bear it anymore.  I fell to my knees, weeping bitterly like a child that couldn’t be consoled. A hand patted my back and said: ‘Don’t lose hope yet, he is still alive. The emergency medical dispatch should be here any moment from now.’ 

‘He can’t die now,’ I sobbed, looking up at a hazy face that was Edna’s. ‘He has been through much –he can’t be rewarded with an untimely death. I have only just met him. We have only just begun a life together.’

At that exact moment the sound of a distant siren played through my ears. The noise grew louder and louder until it was blaring. The sound of invisible dogs barking madly joined in. Then two blue-uniformed paramedics dashed into the room, one carrying a bag of what I hoped contained resuscitation devices. I was right. They both dropped to crouching positions by Tubosun. The paramedic with the bag produced a portable defibrillator and handed it to his colleague who immediately started setting it up by the unconscious body. Swiftly, the bag man brought out a bag-mask valve and immediately started delivering oxygen to Tubosun. ‘How long have you been doing the chest compression?’ he asked Adrien. The tone of his voice and the fact that he did not take over from Adrien suggested that this was not their first encounter. 

‘About five minutes,’ Adrien replied, still executing chest compressions on Tubosun’s lifeless frame. By now his colleague had attached two pads connected by wires to the device onto Tubosun’s chest. He said, in raised clear voice: ‘Clear!’ prompting his colleague and Adrien to suspend their actions before pushing a button on the defibrillator. 

 

Tubosun

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The visions just kept replaying over and over again. I wanted to escape the white room but couldn’t even blink, not to mention instigate my body to move. It was as if the will to do anything but watch had been drained away. A puppet in the hands of a heartless master would be the best way to describe me. There was some whispering babble in the air. The harder I tried to make out a word, the farther the voices went. So I gave up on listening for fear that they would disappear and I would be alone in this bewildering cinema room. It was surreal to be an external spectator viewing the interaction between Adrien and another version of me. I watched in wordless alarm as Adrien cracked a joke that had caused me to guffaw. I was still laughing when, suddenly, my clone’s eyes widened, rubbed his left arm, clutched his chest, and slumped to a still state. 

As what seemed like motion pictures unfolded, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this wasn’t a dream and it had actually happened to me. The quiz I couldn’t figure out was whether I was still alive. My mind relayed panoramic pictures of my family, my career, my existence, and of Sumbo. Had they all come to a shuddering halt, leaving me to journey alone to the great beyond? My relationship with Sumbo was still fresh and blooming. We hadn’t even had our first fight. No! I couldn’t die; there was no vacancy for goodbye.  I didn’t know where the will came from, but it did. So I willed one last time. I blinked. The visions gradually faded into nothing. I could now make out sobbing. It took a moment for the voice to become clear. It belonged to Sumbo. I willed myself even more. And then I could hear two individuals communicating, and a stranger suddenly calling out: ‘Clear!’  Immediately after the voice rang out, electrical jolts shot through every bit of my anatomy. The shock was so strong that I passed out. When I managed to open my eyes, I could see two strangers peering down at me. One was saying: ‘Welcome back, lucky bugger.’ And then Adrien and Edna’s smiley heads appeared. My eyelids were droopy but I struggled to keep them up. There was one more person I had to see. At that moment, a head fell on my chest from nowhere, weeping uncontrollably. The smell of her perfume was unmistakable.

‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ Sumbo commanded, raising her head, and still sobbing, planted a kiss on my lips.  I smiled and fell into a weary slumber.

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.