Taduno's Song Page 14

  Taduno frowned. ‘I don’t understand. He is holding my girlfriend hostage. Why would he want to make me rich?’

  ‘You see, Mr President is worried that you might be stubborn enough to let your girlfriend die by going back on the promise you made him. So he has decided to show why he is such an amenable man. He is offering to make you a very rich man if you agree to praise his government with your music. He wants you to name your price, any amount, in addition to having your girlfriend released.’

  ‘But I have already agreed to make music to praise his government,’ Taduno said, a frown still on his face.

  ‘We know that. But what if you are not being sincere? What if you are planning to ambush the government by going contrary to your promise? He is a soldier, see? A soldier does not take his adversary for granted. That is why he wants to make you an offer you cannot refuse.’

  ‘I don’t need a penny from him. Let him release my girlfriend. And Sergeant Bello too. That’s all I need.’

  Professor Black raised a hand sharply. ‘If you say another word about Sergeant Bello this whole deal will be off!’ His voice was dead serious. ‘Regarding Mr President’s offer to make you a rich man, do not make a hurried decision yet. I will leave you for a moment. Mr President’s Mathematician will come to see you and help you understand the infinite riches that could be yours. I will come back when he is done and then we can finish this discussion.’ He rose and left the cell.

  *

  To Taduno’s surprise, the President’s Mathematician was a young man in his early twenties. He wore nerdy glasses that complemented his looks perfectly. He came in with a calculator as big as a laptop, the like of which Taduno had never seen before and would never see again.

  He walked into the cell as if Taduno was not there and took the seat the Negotiator had just vacated. He adjusted his glasses carefully, took his time to turn on the calculator, and then he looked up and acknowledged Taduno’s presence with a faint smile.

  ‘My name is Professor Ajao. I’m a young professor of mathematics.’ He introduced himself with the haughtiness of a man who had made it too early in life. Then he used the same line as Professor Black – ‘I believe you are already aware of my coming’ – an indication that he too must have been working for the President for a while.

  Taduno nodded. ‘Yes, I’m aware of your coming, young professor of mathematics,’ he said morosely.

  ‘Very good!’ Professor Ajao said. ‘I am here to help you understand the multiplying power of the number zero. You see, most people have the erroneous belief that zero is worthless. But I will prove to you just how very wrong they are.’ He paused and laughed. ‘In actual fact, zero is by far more powerful than all other numbers.’

  ‘How?’ Taduno asked, wondering where the conversation was leading.

  ‘Very good question! Without wasting any more of your time, I’m going to ask you to perform a simple task for me, if you don’t mind, please,’ the Mathematician said. Then he punched ‘1’ on the calculator and handed it to Taduno.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

  ‘I have typed one into the calculator. May I ask you to add a zero to the one, please?’

  Taduno shrugged and complied.

  ‘And another zero, please?’

  Again Taduno complied.

  ‘And another . . . and another . . . and another . . . and another . . .’ On and on the Mathematician went until Taduno had typed in so many zeros his head began to spin.

  Finally, the Mathematician sat back with a smile on his face. ‘What is the final figure you have?’ he asked.

  Taduno looked down at the calculator in his hands. He tried to count the zeros, but a mist swarmed him. The more he tried to count the zeros, the longer they became.

  ‘What is the final figure?’ the Mathematician persisted, the smile still on his face.

  ‘The zeros are too many,’ Taduno replied. ‘I cannot pronounce the exact figure.’

  ‘Very good!’ The smile broadened on the face of the Mathematician. ‘That’s how rich Mr President wants to make you. My task is done. Think about it.’ And with that he rose and walked briskly out of the cell.

  He left Taduno gaping at the giant calculator.

  *

  The Negotiator returned immediately. He seemed in a hurry this time, and he did not open his briefcase to bring out the mysterious sheets of paper he had studied earlier. ‘I believe you have been told just how rich Mr President wants to make you?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Taduno replied, looking down at the calculator in his hands, his head still reeling from how many zeros he had added to one.

  ‘So, I ask you to mention any figure you can imagine, any figure at all, and Mr President will have it paid into your account within twenty-four hours in exchange for making a hit song to praise his government. In addition, your girlfriend will be released.’

  Taduno took a deep breath. ‘Please pass this message to your client for me. Tell him I don’t want a penny from him. Tell him I have agreed to praise his government with my music. And that’s about it. I don’t want a penny from him, all I want is Lela. And I hope I have made myself very clear.’ He reached over and dumped the calculator with all the weight of its zeros into the lap of the Negotiator.

  The Negotiator shrugged. Looking down at the calculator on his lap, his head spun with the infinite possibilities of wealth represented by the countless zeros that stared back at him. He bit his lip. ‘Have it your way. But I must remind you, the freedom of your girl is in your hands. As for Sergeant Bello, forget him.’ He left the cell with his briefcase and the giant calculator.

  *

  His ego terribly bruised, the Negotiator did what he had never done before – he sought help, and returned about an hour later in the company of the Central Bank Governor, a willowy man in a flowing white gown who smelled of freshly minted money. Taduno was balled up on the floor in a corner of the cell. He had been balled up like that for nearly an hour. He rose gingerly to his feet as the bulb came on and his two visitors walked in.

  ‘I had to come back, seeing we could not reach an agreement earlier,’ the Negotiator said, with a weak smile.

  ‘It is pointless coming back, I do not intend to change my mind,’ Taduno replied bluntly, his eyes fixed on the Governor, wondering why he had come with the Negotiator.

  ‘I believe we can reach an agreement with the right offer,’ the Negotiator replied, trying to sound confident.

  ‘Please do not waste your time, and do not waste my time, I beg of you.’

  The Negotiator ignored his plea. ‘Permit me to introduce you to the Governor.’

  ‘I know who he is,’ Taduno replied without interest. Turning to the Governor, he said, ‘Welcome to my cold cell, Governor, I hope you find it comfortable enough.’

  The willowy man gave him a generous smile. ‘You do not deserve to be in a cold cell, that’s why I’m here. I’m sure we can resolve this whole matter peacefully.’

  ‘I probably deserve to be in a hot cell,’ Taduno said with a sarcastic laugh, ‘a hot mosquito-infested cell. Yes, that’s what I deserve.’

  ‘No, you do not deserve to be in any cell at all,’ the Governor replied patiently, gently. ‘This is a mistake that will soon be resolved, I assure you.’

  Taduno eyed him without a word.

  ‘He came to see you with a message from Mr President,’ the Negotiator put in smoothly.

  ‘And what’s the message?’

  ‘We will get to that, but first let us make ourselves comfortable.’ The Negotiator had turned on his charms.

  Three plastic chairs were brought into the cell, at the request of the Negotiator. The chairs were arranged in the middle of the cell, under the bulb. They made themselves comfortable, and the Governor got straight to business.

  ‘Mr President is offering you the opportunity to own your own money,’ the man said with a broad smile.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Taduno said.

  ‘In
exchange for supporting his government with your music, he is offering you this note,’ the Governor said, bringing a crisp 500-naira note out of his garment and holding it up for Taduno to see.

  Taduno laughed. ‘He is offering me five hundred naira to sell my soul?’ he asked incredulously. ‘Five hundred naira to sell the people of my country?’

  ‘Oh no, not so!’ The Governor smiled. ‘He is offering you the opportunity to have your face on a new five hundred-naira bill – the opportunity to own your own money! If you agree to the deal, you can order any amount of this note to be printed and delivered to you as frequently as you like. Any amount at all!’

  ‘You will never have to worry for money again as long as you live,’ the Negotiator added eagerly.

  ‘And I may only live for one day after agreeing to the deal,’ Taduno said, with a bitter laugh.

  ‘The Almighty gives and takes life as He pleases,’ the Governor said meekly. ‘If you live for only one day after agreeing to the deal, to God be the glory. And if you live a hundred years, to God Almighty be the glory. I’ll give you my personal advice – take the deal with both hands.’

  ‘You will never get a better offer!’ The Negotiator’s voice was anxious.

  ‘I’m not interested,’ Taduno said curtly. ‘I will make the music, I promise, but not for money. Now please leave my cell!’ His tone of voice left no room for negotiation.

  The two men exchanged baffled looks and rose as one to their feet. Too stunned to say another word, they left the cell in defeat. The Negotiator had never failed an assignment so miserably before.

  *

  They released him and his guitar at 7 p.m., after eleven hours of incarceration. But they did not take him home in the limo. Instead, they dumped him opposite army headquarters with enough money to catch a taxi home.

  ‘You know what you must do now,’ a soldier said to him in a cold voice. ‘Time is no longer on your side.’

  Yes, he knew what he must do now. But he had to make sure Judah was okay first. He caught a taxi straight to the boy’s house.

  To his relief, he found Judah in his parents’ compound, surrounded by several of his friends. He was recounting his latest experience to them in an even more excited voice than he had the last time. He broke off his story and jumped to his feet to greet Taduno.

  ‘Are you okay, Judah?’ he asked, studying the boy’s face.

  ‘Yes, I’m okay, Uncle Taduno.’

  ‘What did they do to you?’

  ‘They took me to the President. He was very nice to me. He gave me ice cream and popcorn and we watched Tom and Jerry together on the biggest TV I have ever seen! And then they brought me home in the long car!’

  ‘I’m glad you are okay,’ Taduno mumbled.

  ‘The President was so nice to me,’ the boy continued. ‘He kept smiling and telling me that all will be okay. He told me Anti Lela will be home soon!’

  ‘Yes, your sister will be home soon.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘Now I must leave you to continue with your story. I have to attend to an urgent matter.’ A deep sigh escaped him.

  He could not blame the boy. He was still too young to understand. All that mattered was his sister’s release. Nothing else mattered. Why should anything else matter?

  What remained of Taduno’s conscience died that day, and he sensed that only with the death of his conscience would he be able to sing beautifully once again.

  *

  It was already night. He saw no reason to go home. Instead, he took a bus directly to TBS where he found the homeless men already gathered, anxiously waiting for him. They cheered his arrival loudly.

  ‘Thank God you came!’ Thaddeus said happily.

  ‘I had to come,’ he replied.

  He had no time to waste. As the soldier had reminded him, time was no longer on his side. He settled down in the midst of the homeless men and began to play his guitar.

  On this night, unlike other nights, he sang slowly along to the tune of his guitar. He sang with simplicity, with a passion too colourful for words. And to his surprise and that of his listeners, his voice hit the beautiful note that once made him the greatest musician of his time.

  The homeless men were delirious with joy. A thunderous applause resounded in the square when he finished singing. He rose up to milk the applause. It did not matter that he was now ready to betray an entire nation. What mattered was that he would be saving the woman he loved from a ruthless dictator. ‘Why should anything else matter?’ This was now his watchword.

  Not until the applause had died down did he realise that Aroli was in the midst of the homeless men. The two of them embraced amidst the excited chatter that now gripped the square.

  ‘You have discovered your voice at last!’ Aroli exclaimed with delight.

  He smiled. ‘It’s about time!’

  ‘I’m glad I came tonight to witness this.’

  Thaddeus slapped him on the back. ‘Boy, you did that in style! That was pure magic!’

  ‘All of you provided me with the inspiration. I thank you all.’ He sounded like he meant the words, but deep down in his heart, he knew he had got the ultimate inspiration from the anguish he saw on Lela’s face earlier that day, and the pathetic fate of Sergeant Bello.

  ‘Now what?’ Thaddeus asked.

  ‘Now I’m ready to make music again.’

  It no longer disturbed his conscience that he would be making music to praise a tyrant. As far as he was concerned, music is music. Why should anything else matter?

  He did not need to rehearse at the far end of the square any more. He returned home with Aroli that night.

  *

  ‘It is good to be back home,’ he said, when they got to his house, way past midnight.

  He inhaled deeply. And then he placed his guitar in a corner.

  ‘I’m glad they didn’t keep you for so long this time,’ Aroli said. ‘I saw them take you away. What happened? Where did they take you?’

  ‘To the cell under the underground cell,’ he replied. ‘The same place they took me last time.’ He went on to tell Aroli about his latest encounter with Lela and the tragic fate of Sergeant Bello.

  Aroli raised his hand to his mouth. ‘Oh my God!’ he whispered to himself. ‘Is there anything that can be done to save him?’

  ‘I tried, but it was useless.’

  ‘What is the next step?’

  ‘I am ready to praise the regime with my music. I cannot allow Lela to continue to suffer in their hands. I feel very certain now that they will not hesitate to kill her.’

  ‘I agree. But how are you going to go about producing the music without TK?’

  ‘Fortunately, I have to do it without TK. It is too dirty a job for TK. I know the right man for the job.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Player.’

  Aroli nodded. ‘He will be very delighted to sign you. When do we go to see him?’

  ‘You mean when do I go to see him?’

  Aroli sighed. ‘I don’t think this is something you should do on your own.’

  ‘It is something I must do on my own. I don’t want to drag you into my dirty business.’

  Again Aroli sighed. ‘When are you going to see him?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Let me know how things develop.’

  ‘I will.’

  They stayed in silence.

  ‘I’m on the verge of sealing a big property deal,’ Aroli announced, after a while. ‘It is the deal of my life, enough to help me retire and become a full-time poet.’

  ‘I’m happy for you!’ Taduno could not contain his excitement. ‘At long last!’

  ‘Yes, at long last. I‘ll seal the deal in a few days.’

  ‘This deserves a toast surely!’

  They had a few bottles of beer in the kitchen while Aroli told him all about the mega-deal that had fallen into his lap so miraculously.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Taduno arrived at the Studio of Stars at about ten, and he rec
eived a rousing welcome. Many of the people he knew no longer worked there; but everyone knew him. The female secretary, who happened to be a new staff member, ushered him into Mr Player’s office with pride, her pretty face flushed.

  Mr Player was overjoyed to see him. He rose from his desk to welcome him with open arms, apologising profusely about the last time.

  ‘Sorry, I did not remember you the last time you were here. It still does not make sense to me. I cannot explain what happened!’ Mr Player sounded genuinely baffled.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Taduno said. ‘Everyone forgot me. I guess it is just one of those things that cannot be explained.’

  Mr Player’s face deepened into a frown, still trying to understand. And then he shook his head helplessly. ‘What brings you here?’

  Taduno saw no point beating about the bush. ‘I want to sign for your label,’ he said solemnly.

  Silence fell, and for several moments Mr Player simply stared at him. Thinking he did not hear him correctly, he asked, ‘What did you say?’

  Taduno repeated himself.

  Mr Player let out a howl of joy. He jumped to his feet and went round his desk to hug Taduno, almost pushing him down to the floor in the process.

  ‘Of course I would be delighted to sign you!’ Mr Player said, after managing to rein in his emotion.

  Taduno continued with his very direct approach. ‘I want to produce a hit song within the next week to praise the President and his government,’ he explained.

  Mr Player was stunned. Not that the idea troubled him; in fact, he saw it as the perfect opportunity to make the kind of money any producer can only dream of. He beamed. ‘I’m in favour of praising government with music!’ he said.

  ‘We must get it on the airwaves and into every record shop in ten days.’ Taduno hesitated and added, with a hint of desperation, ‘It is urgent. There is no time to waste.’

  And then Mr Player smelled a rat. ‘What can be so urgent about producing music to praise the President?’ he asked.

  ‘Because it is very urgent,’ Taduno replied lamely, not wanting to explain his precarious position. ‘Rest assured it will be worth your while.’

  Mr Player’s business mind took over. It occurred to him that Taduno must be getting something for praising the President and that something must be an unimaginable amount of money. His mind began to race with excitement. It was an opportunity too good to miss.