Taduno's Song Page 12

  *

  Later, he went to see Judah at home.

  He found him seated in the midst of his friends in his parents’ compound, regaling them with fantastic stories of his encounter with the President which culminated in the limo ride back home.

  ‘Uncle Taduno!’ Judah cried, jumping to his feet.

  ‘Lion of Judah!’ he hailed.

  ‘That’s me!’ Judah responded happily.

  They embraced.

  The other kids gathered around them, stretching to shake hands with Taduno.

  He had assured Judah during the journey in the limo that he would secure Lela’s release, and Judah had full confidence that he would keep his promise. But the boy did not know that it would be at the cost of betraying everyone who looked up to him and had faith in his music. The boy did not know that his sister had become the most prized asset to both Taduno and the President; the queen in a ruthless game of chess. The boy did not know. But it wouldn’t have mattered even if he did. All he wanted was to have his beloved sister back. He could not care less what happened to the rest of the country.

  ‘How are you?’ Taduno asked, ruffling the boy’s hair.

  ‘I’m fine. And you?’

  ‘I’m fine too.’

  ‘I came to your house a few times, but Uncle Aroli and Vulcaniser told me you were sleeping.’

  ‘Oh yes, I was. I have not slept well in weeks.’

  Judah hesitated. ‘My parents came to see you too, when you were sleeping.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘Yes, they did.’

  ‘Are they home now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s go in. I want to see them.’ To the rest of the kids, he said, ‘Go and play football, Judah will join you soon.’

  The kids screamed with delight and dispersed into the street in search of a football.

  *

  Lela’s parents were too ashamed to look at Taduno when he walked into their living room with Judah. They greeted him in a stiff manner, not because he was not welcome in their home, but because they were embarrassed. Sensing their discomfort, Judah retreated quietly to his room.

  ‘Judah told me you came to my house,’ Taduno spoke cheerfully, when he had taken a seat.

  The man simply nodded. His wife sighed.

  He knew how they felt. He knew exactly how betrayers feel. In fact, he realised, he was worse than them now that he had agreed to betray an entire country.

  ‘Please don’t feel so bad for wanting to report TK’s presence in my house to the authorities. Don’t see it as betrayal, but as a duty imposed on you by law.’ He wanted to purge his conscience.

  Lela’s parents felt a little relieved when he mentioned that very heavy word – betrayal.

  ‘We are so sorry.’ The man found his voice.

  ‘Please forgive us,’ his wife begged, wringing her hands and crying quietly. ‘It was because we forgot everything about you. We did not even remember you as Lela’s boyfriend. We wouldn’t have dreamt of betraying you if we had not forgotten. You have always been so dear to us. Please forgive us.’

  He felt ashamed that they could not see his own guilt. ‘Please forgive me too,’ he said. ‘Forgive me even though you can’t see my guilt.’ He smiled hopefully at them.

  They did not understand what he meant. But they smiled back at him all the same.

  ‘Lela will be released soon,’ he promised them. ‘I have seen her. She’s doing okay.’

  ‘Judah told us,’ the man said, his eyes alight with hope. ‘He told us everything. How they brought him before the President. And how they brought Lela also. He told us you defied the soldiers to console her. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Thank you, Taduno,’ the wife whispered.

  He hugged them when he stood up to go. Judah came out of his room to say goodbye.

  ‘Your friends must be waiting to hear more stories,’ he said to the boy, with a laugh.

  Judah smiled.

  Taduno left with sadness in his heart.

  *

  That afternoon, Baba Ajo led a delegation from his street to visit him. Among them was the pretty orange seller who called him Oga Musisan with a demure smile on her tired face and the bony thug who hailed Oga Musisan with his fists in the air. Taduno received them warmly. He offered them cold drinks and a bowl of fried chicken which he ordered from Mama Iyabo’s restaurant.

  They refused to eat or drink. Their hearts were too heavy for that. They had come to apologise for the rude reception they gave him the last time he visited their street. They had also come to express their shame at the way they treated TK. He could tell from their faces how sorry they were. And he smiled at them saying: ‘We all make mistakes in life. That’s why we are human beings.’

  ‘Our mistakes are too grave for words,’ Baba Ajo spoke slowly. ‘We have come to beg for forgiveness. That’s why I came with this delegation, so that you can hear from their mouths directly. Whatever you hear from them, they speak on behalf of everyone on our street.’ A sigh escaped him.

  ‘Oga Musisan, please forgive us,’ the thug began, raising his fists in the air, before folding his arms across his chest. ‘It was not so much our fault, it was because we forgot you. And how could we have forgotten you like that? Please forgive our madness. Forgive the madness that also made us treat TK so terribly. Ah! A man who did so much more than gofment can ever do for us. Baba Ajo warned us, but we would not listen. Ah! Our sins are too great to be forgiven.’ He shook his head.

  ‘And now we can’t even find TK to beg his forgiveness!’ the orange seller wailed. ‘Will he ever find the heart to forgive us? Will he ever want to live amongst us again? Our lives can never be complete without him. Oga Musisan, we beg you to help us beg TK when you find him.’ The young woman began to cry.

  Everyone that came took turns to speak, to express their deepest regrets. They all spoke very well, with their arms across their chests, unable to understand the madness that drove them to do all that they did, and to forget all that they forgot.

  Baba Ajo gave the closing speech. ‘It is too late to shed tears now. What’s done is done. But our people say to sin is human and to forgive is divine. I will not deliver a long speech. Please accept our pleas and forgive us. When you find TK, please pass our messages to him.’

  All said and done, they settled down to devour the bowl of fried chicken, and they washed it down with cold drinks. They ate with concentration, not sparing the bones. And they felt light and happy as they returned to their street.

  *

  It was close to midnight when Aroli came to knock on his door. He had roamed the city in search of TK for hours. Taduno was taken aback when he saw how beaten Aroli looked.

  ‘Where have you been all day?’ he asked, stepping back to let Aroli in and shutting the door quietly.

  ‘I’ve been all over the city,’ Aroli replied, dropping into a chair.

  Taduno sat opposite him and leaned forward eagerly.

  ‘There’s no trace of TK anywhere,’ Aroli said, staring at the floor. Taduno stared at the floor too.

  TWENTY

  Taduno discovered that the soldiers had been withdrawn from the streets as he travelled round the city the next day.

  In the absence of soldiers, the streets became brighter and people went about their activities with primordial passion. The bus conductors resumed their sing-song and charmed commuters travelled longer distances, exploring parts of the city previously unknown to them.

  Taduno’s re-emergence aroused emotions everywhere he went. People begged to hear his music, and he complied, but only with his guitar. They wondered why he chose to remain silent. He tried to tell them, through his guitar, that he had sold his voice to the devil. He tried to tell them that the next time they heard his voice it would be in praise of the dictator who had oppressed them for so many years. He strummed his confessions, delicately, pitifully. But he did not know whether they understood him. He did not know whether they listened to his confessions
because they were too pained not to or because they were too enthralled with his music to stop listening. His music assumed a soulful new sound, plaintive to hear. Nothing remained of its sublime joy.

  *

  He travelled on long and small buses with the people he would soon betray. He mingled with them at rowdy bus stops, under the burning sun. He gave them stiff smiles, made small talk with them, and forced himself to laugh with them as he searched for TK, the man who must help him to save Lela.

  Aroli begged to go with him, but he refused, not wanting to taint his friend with the impending atrocity.

  ‘You have done enough for me,’ he said to Aroli. ‘I have to do the rest myself. I’m prepared to pay the price for love. You don’t have to pay that price with me.’

  ‘I have learned a thing or two from you,’ Aroli said. ‘Maybe I will learn to love like you one day.’

  For a moment he dwelled on Aroli’s words. And then he asked himself: What is the real meaning of love? When is love a crime? He knew the answer to his second question. Love is a crime when you love one person at the expense of the whole world. Of this crime he had become hopelessly guilty. He wondered if love would exonerate him in the end.

  *

  He attempted to sing with his half-baked voice as he went round the city, but the sound that came out caused his listeners to cringe.

  The Channel 4 newscaster told the country: ‘Something isn’t right about Taduno’s voice. It lacks the passion that used to inspire joy in us. What is happening to him? What is happening to us?’ She left the questions hanging, and then she added: ‘We still love him dearly. We still want his voice to lead us. The whole nation is waiting.’

  In his office the President smiled to himself, pleased with how things were going. A week had passed. Three more to go.

  *

  Every night, when the gentle breeze lifted at TBS, the homeless men gathered to listen to Taduno’s music. Even though they knew something had changed about it, they were still enthralled. They were joyful that they now remembered him, like the rest of the world, and they wondered why they had forgotten him in the first place. The more they wondered, the more confused they became. And so they stopped wondering.

  His music always paid tribute to their woes, and this endeared him to them. Sometimes he slept with them in the square, and his music made the cold nights more tolerable.

  He loved to listen to their snoring in the quiet night. He loved the way they snored without worries. And when they slapped angrily at the mosquitoes, their snoring took a lull before picking up again in second gear.

  *

  The homeless man who gave him information about TK on his first night at the square was named Thaddeus. Before he became homeless, Thaddeus worked as an automobile engineer. He was doing well at his profession. And then he dreamed of building a made-in-Nigeria car, and made the mistake of going to the government with his dream. They were appalled and killed it because they wanted to continue to patronise car makers from Japan, the US, France and Germany. After they returned his dream to him in tatters, he woke up one day and found himself homeless. And so he began to live at the square.

  He told Taduno his story on a quiet starlit night, while the others were snoring. They watched the stars together. Taduno marvelled at how beautiful they were. Thaddeus attempted to count them – in the same hopeful, futile way he had attempted to build a made-in-Nigeria car.

  *

  Thaddeus told him that he had not seen TK in many weeks. ‘But I’m sure he will come back,’ he reassured him.

  ‘I hope he comes back soon,’ said Taduno, sounding desperate.

  ‘Why do you want him back so bad?’

  ‘Because I need him to help me make good music again,’ Taduno replied.

  ‘I see,’ Thaddeus said.

  The square became quiet.

  ‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ Taduno continued. ‘Please tell the others to keep their eyes and ears open. If they see TK or hear anything about him they should let me know immediately.’

  Thaddeus nodded. ‘I will tell them. But if I may ask, why would making good music be a life-and-death thing? I don’t know much about music-making, but I believe it should be a beautiful experience. Please excuse me if I’m wrong.’

  ‘You are absolutely correct. Yes, you are. But making music has become a burden for me. It is not something I can explain.’

  ‘Nothing is too complex to be explained.’

  He digested Thaddeus’ words for a moment, and he failed to understand how such an intelligent man could end up at the square. He wondered if he would end up like Thaddeus one day. The thought sent a chill up his spine.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘nothing is too complex to be explained. Maybe I should say it is not something I want to explain.’

  ‘That sounds better. It is not everything that must be explained,’ Thaddeus said and sighed.

  ‘Did you ever make any attempt to revive your dream?’ he asked, looking away from Thaddeus.

  ‘I tried. It didn’t work.’

  The cold night bonded them. When they became silent, the snores in the square invaded their respective thoughts.

  Taduno wondered at his new friend Thaddeus. And he wondered, especially, at himself. He picked up his guitar, and he strummed a tune that was barely audible in the silent night.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Finding it increasingly difficult to rehearse in his own house now, Taduno began to spend his nights at TBS. He would sit among the homeless men and play his guitar for many hours without singing. As they listened, his music stirred old memories.

  He played patiently; they listened attentively. When he stopped, the snoring began. He would then retire to the far end of the square, away from everyone, and play his guitar with a softness that teased the night breeze. And he would sing quietly along.

  Sometimes Thaddeus came to listen to him while the others slept.

  ‘Your voice used to be much better than it is now,’ Thaddeus commented on one occasion, during an interlude. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I had an accident and lost my voice,’ he replied. ‘I’m trying to discover it.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ Thaddeus said.

  ‘Thank you.’ He hesitated. ‘Any word about TK?’

  ‘Not yet. But I’m sure he will turn up eventually.’

  ‘I hope so. I’m running out of time.’

  ‘What’s the hurry? Do you have a deadline to meet?’

  Taduno hesitated. ‘No, I haven’t any deadline. It’s just that I’m eager to make music again,’ he replied and cringed at the half-truth of his words.

  ‘Take it easy,’ Thaddeus advised patiently. ‘Nothing done in a hurry is ever done well. Take it easy.’

  Taduno nodded. ‘I agree with you, and I wish I could take your advice. Unfortunately, I cannot.’

  Thaddeus rose to leave. ‘Time to go to bed,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Have a good rehearsal.’

  ‘Thanks and good night.’

  ‘Goodnight, my friend.’

  Thaddeus raised his collar against the cold and left Taduno to join the competing snorers at the other end of the square.

  *

  While he played among the homeless men the following night, a string broke on his guitar for the first time in his career, forcing his music to end. For a few moments, a nervous silence descended upon the square. And then someone cleared his throat noisily, causing everyone to throw fearful looks around. The noisy throat clearer repeated his act a second time, a warning that he wanted to speak now that the sound of music was dead. Everyone waited for what he had to say. When he spoke, his words were simple and clear. ‘When music is silent you hear the laughter of the tyrant,’ he said.

  Taduno digested the words slowly. He replayed the voice in his mind. Then, realising that it was the voice of Aroli, he shook his head in amazement.

  ‘Aroli?’ he called out.

  ‘Yes, Taduno,’ Aroli replied, standing up in the midst
of the ragged men and making his way through them.

  ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘To see what progress you are making.’

  Taduno managed a painful laugh. ‘A string is broken on my guitar,’ he said.

  ‘So sorry about that,’ Aroli said as he stopped before Taduno on the bench where he was seated.

  ‘It is the first time.’ He laughed uncertainly.

  ‘There’s always a first time.’

  The other men remained silent. They had nothing to say. So they simply listened to the conversation between Taduno and Aroli.

  ‘Welcome to the square,’ Taduno said.

  ‘It is beautiful out here.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Taduno said, rising to his feet.

  ‘I just had to come. I wanted to see how you are getting on.’

  ‘It’s nice of you to come. Meet my new neighbours,’ Taduno said with a laugh. Raising his voice, he said: ‘Everyone, meet my dear friend, Aroli.’

  ‘Hi!’ the men said in unison.

  ‘Hi!’ Aroli said, raising his hand in greeting.

  Taduno felt warmth he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He introduced Aroli to Thaddeus and the three of them chatted while the others retired to their various sleeping positions.

  ‘Since my guitar is broken and I cannot rehearse tonight, I guess I’ll have to go home,’ Taduno said.

  A chill descended on the square when he and Aroli left to catch the last bus home.

  He spent all night mending the broken string of his guitar.

  *

  Vulcaniser paid him a visit in the morning wearing a very worried look.

  ‘We’ve searched the city and there’s no sign of TK,’ he said. ‘I believe he must have left the city.’

  ‘He couldn’t have left the city,’ Taduno shook his head. ‘He has nowhere else to go. His life is here. He must be somewhere out there. Look, I appreciate your effort. Leave it to me, I’ll find him somehow.’

  ‘I hope we have not disappointed you?’ Vulcaniser said, lowering his head.