MAGICAL MONDAYS WITH 'KREATE'
THE MIGRANT
WELCOME TO CHAPTER
SIX
PLEASE FOLLOW THE LINKS TO READ THE PROLOGUE, THE FIRST, SECOND, THIRD, FORTH & FIFTH CHAPTERS.
‘Your story blows, Two pounds. It really does.’ Baron said as we descended a slight slope on Mill road. ‘Let’s put it behind us with some spoons of good cooking, shall we? I smiled. There was something compassionate, without being sappy, about the way he said it. The relaxation in the tone of his voice was contagious. We were facing a translucent glass door with a cheesy sign reading ‘IT’S CHRISTMAS, LOVE IS ALL WE OFFER’ and a footnote saying please no alcohol in the premises attached to it. But for the footnote, it sounded like a marketing slogan a brand would employ during a festive period.
The moment Baron pushed the door open, I was welcomed by the aroma of good cooking and the sight of a long table –buffet style- manned by casually dressed servers. It must have been the hunger as I only just realized that there were five, no six, large round tables with people huddled around them, eating from ceramic plates and drinking hot liquid from mugs, and chatting animatedly to one another. From their scruffy clothing and unkempt looks, it was obvious that we all belonged to the same boat. Was this going to be my new lifestyle?
My face must have a taken on a look of despondence and Baron must have noticed it: ‘There is no purpose to feeling sorry, mate. Let’s go grab some grubs.’
As we walked in the direction of the servers, a good number of guys and ladies shouted greetings at Baron. Evidently, he was well known among the street dwellers of Cambridge. The servers knew him too. As one scooped some egg fried rice into my dish, a large English woman with a thick set of shoulders appeared from a door behind the servers. Her age couldn’t be any lesser than sixty. There was an air of authority with the way she walked. ‘Hey love,’ she said to Baron when she reached us. ‘How are you?’
‘Baron is very well, th-’
‘I’ve told you times without number, young man.’ She chided, half inspecting the stainless steel dishes that contained the food at the same time. ‘None of that third person nonsense when you speak to me. I’ll give you a right telling off if it happens again.’
I was expecting some smart retort from him. He seemed the kind of guy who would have a witty comeback to every statement. I was wrong. ‘Yes, Clarissa,’ he smiled.
‘So who is this handsome young man?’ Clarissa asked. ‘He looks quite uncomfortable with all those bits and bobs.’ She pointed to my luggage.
‘Two-’ Baron cut himself short. ‘Francis.’
‘A pleasure meeting your acquaintance, love.’ Clarissa seemed distracted by the stainless steel dish in front. ‘Grace,’ she said to the lady serving us. ‘We are running out of curry here. Do get some more from the back, please. There’s no queue so Sophie will cover your space. Thanks, love.’ The lady named Grace smiled reluctantly but obeyed. Clarissa’s attention returned to me. ‘Eat to your heart’s content, love. And don’t forget to grab some takeaway when you are ready to leave.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Clarissa.’ I responded.
‘You must be from some part of West Africa.’ She said.
‘Yes,’ I said. There was no need to tell her where exactly.
‘I can tell. I know it’s a sign of respect to use the appropriate title when you speak to elders, but Clarissa would do just fine.’
‘Ok. I’ll remember that. And thanks for the meal. It looks delicious.’
‘It’s a joint effort. It’s our pleasure.’ She turned to Baron who was pointing at a big fat samosa. ‘Biron, I have some things for you. Remind me before you leave.’
‘Sure thing, Clarissa.’ Baron grinned.
‘Take care, Francis. We might not have the chance to chat again today. Stay out of trouble.’ She said it to me but half her attention was on Baron who didn’t notice her or was pretending not to. ‘Ah, yes. Let me have them,’ she snapped her fingers at my luggage. ‘Baron we’ll get them when you intend to leave.’ I handed my things to her and extended another line of gratitude. She frowned. ‘Now, I have to find out what’s keeping that young lady from bringing the curry.’ And with that she strode off to the backroom.
By now we both had our plates full, literally, and I was looking forward to doing justice to the contents of mine. ‘I’ll introduce you to the guys,’ Baron said, pointing to a table at the far right. Hot drink in one hand, food in another, we made our way to the round table. It was occupied by three guys and a lady. I guessed they were all in their early twenties. Thankfully, there were two vacant seats.
‘Hey, league of extraordinary solicitors,’ Baron greeted. I couldn’t withhold a smile at his use of the word solicitor.
‘Baron,’ they replied, one after the other.
After settling our plates and drinks on the table, Baron began introductions. ‘These are the Twin Effect, Clement,’ he pointed to the one with a long beard and an oversized flat cap that reminded me of Oliver Twist, before pointing to his counterpart with long hair and slightly chubby cheeks, ‘and Clever,’ and then he turned to me. ‘Twin Effect this is Two Pounds, Francis.’
‘Hey mate,’ the twins said in unison, with a mock salute. They were evidently identical. Their eyes glinted with mischief.
‘And this is Peter, Fancy Words. Our go-to mate for fancy words.’ He pointed to the only guy left in the group. He looked –well, different: clean-shaven, tidy and a well-groomed hair.
‘Mundivagant,’ Fancy Words said.
I smiled. I was quite good with words. Back in my Nigerian university, our English tutor had formed a habit of announcing a new word in class every day. Thanks to her, this word was not unfamiliar. ‘That roams the world.’
‘Oh!’ The twins bellowed, excitedly.
‘Mea culpa,’ Fancy Words said.
‘A formal acknowledgement of one’s fault,’ I replied.
‘Oh!’ The twins bellowed again. ‘This guy is class,’ Baron said, giving me a tap on the back. The only lady said nothing. She didn’t even grace me with a look.
There was a trace of disgruntlement on Fancy Words’ face. ‘Acephalous,’ he all but hissed.
I knew the meaning too. But it dawned that I was about to make an enemy out of someone I barely knew. I feigned ignorance. ‘You got me. I have no idea what that means.’
He lightened up immediately. ‘It means lacking a governing head or chief.’ He extended a hand. ‘A pleasure meeting your acquaintance.’
I shook it warmly. ‘Me too.’
‘Right, moving on,’ Baron said. ‘This is Sarah, One Tune.’ He pointed at the girl in worn out knitwear and denim. ‘She plays the same tune every day. Beautiful, I tell you. None of that disjointed crap Susie plays.’ Her blond hair swished and I got a good glimpse of her face. She had that freckled pretty look an adorable school girl. There vestigial signs that revealed that she could be beautiful if she wanted to. The curious blue eyes, the cheek bones, the full lips. She didn’t smile, only inclined her head once as a gesture of acknowledgement.
A look passed the faces of the other guys at the table. Although, they uttered nothing, I knew something was up. I would ask Baron, later ‘Nice meeting you too,’ I said.
‘Baron says it’s time to eat before our food gets cold. Warm food is a luxury.’
And with that, we fell upon our foods. The first spoon that touched my tongue triggered a divine sensation. It was as ecstatic as it was surreal. It seemed ages ago since I had a proper meal. The twins began a story of how they warmed their way into the heart of an old lady who loved identical twins. She had bought them hotdogs and given them five pound notes each. One tune said nothing, Fancy words had an adjective to quality most sentences made by the twins. And Baron nodded intermittently between mouthfuls.
In another two hours, Baron and I were outside the door of the soup kitchen. The wind roared and a gust of its presence hit me in the face. The other guys had left the premises before we did. Baron was certain that we would be running into them in the nearest future. I had retrieved my stuff from Clarissa. Baron held two plastic bags. One contained takeout for later in the day, and the other comprised of cleaning products and moisturizing body creams. Apparently, Clarissa had a motherly soft spot for Baron. There was a story to their relationship, I was sure. But for some reason I thought it best to hold back any digging. At least, for the time being. Also, her largesse had extended to me as I had one or two items in there too.
‘Blast,’ Baron rubbed his armpit with the back of his palm. ‘Baron hasn’t had a proper bath in weeks. He bets he smells like a used wipe.’
I grinned as we started walking in the direction of the city center, but uttered nothing. The truth be told; he didn’t smell too good. But I was almost certain that I didn’t smell any better. So who was I to judge?
‘Fancy a nice warm bath later on tonight, mate?’
The idea was unquestionably enticing but its possibility seemed impossible. ‘I’d love one,’ I coughed, ‘but how are we supposed to pull that off, exactly?’
‘Faith …And Baron has a contact,’ he grinned. ‘Troy is his name. He works at that Gym opposite Parker’s piece. He’ll sort us out. Stand-up guy, that fella.’
‘In that case, we are on.’ I said.
‘So tell Baron, why did you decide to play dumb?’ He asked.
‘Uh?’ I didn’t quite understand his question.
‘You knew the meaning of Acephalous and yet you chose to play the ignorance card.’
I was impressed by his attention to details. ‘There was no point making an enemy out of someone I was only just getting to know. It was obvious that he was beginning to take offense.’
Baron nudged my shoulder with his. ‘You are a wise man, Two pounds. An uncommon attribute, these days. You’ll do alright -and with Baron’s help, of course.’
There was something reassuring about the way he said the last statement. I felt I could depend on him. I smiled at this trail of thought. In a not too distant past, if someone had ever told me that I’d be relying on the words of a beggar, I’d have told him to go to the River Nile and wash that notion off his head. Suddenly, my mood dropped. It became so evident how low I had sun-
‘A penny for your thought.’ Baron’s voice cut through my thought process.
‘Um -It’s nothing.’ I lied. I quickly searched for something to avoid broaching that sour topic. The vibe of feeling sorry for myself wasn’t one I wanted to portray. I remembered Sarah. ‘What’s the deal with Sarah, er-’ I wracked my brain for her alias, ‘One tune? She didn’t seem too pleased to see me. Does she have a thing against-’
‘Color?’ Baron laughed. ‘Don’t be absurd. Some folks around here are still set in the old ways but not One Tune. Definitely, not her. In fact, She’s has ever only been attracted to black Africans. She wants to bone you.’ He looked at me and guffawed at my incredulous expression. ‘Yes, Two Pounds. She wants to –what’s the crude way of putting this- shag your brains out.’
It had to be a joke. ‘Now you’re the one being absurd.’
‘Right,’ he nodded but the twinkle in his eyes told me I’d find out soon enough. ‘Let’s pick up the pace. We don’t want Susie’s meal to get too cold. She’d be scowling and mumbling some inaudible random crap.’
‘She is indeed a peculiar character.’
‘Mhm,’ Baron muttered. ‘And once the delivery is done, I’ll tell you all I know about the art of begging in the streets of Cambridge.’
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