I SAW THE ENVELOPE FIRST. My name was finely written on the paper. The writer must have taken their time and have a good knowledge of calligraphy, I thought, scared to think of anything else. Seeing my full name sparked something in me. I have not been called by my middle name since my mother passed.
She would say it was the best name in the world. That it was a name that meant so much to her in one of the most depressing times in her life. And she had lots of those.
I loved the name. It made me feel particularly connected to her. I remember watching her face light up as she laid on the hospital bed one evening, her weary eyes making an effort to glow. I took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She sighed with content.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, “I promise.”
All I could do to not cry was nod and squeeze her hand a little harder.
As she slowly closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, I wondered if oblivion was bliss. If it would be a better place for her. As much as she was my sunshine, I wanted peace for her even if that meant darkness in my world.
At her funeral a week after that day, I remember feeling nothing. I remember watching some relatives cry, my friends looking at me with pity, and all I felt was emptiness, a void that nothing could stay in. And it felt perfect. I was comfortable there.
I would spend months and then years after that day cherishing that void, so much that it became the only thing recognisable in my life. And I didn’t care. It was the only thing I could count on because life was ever-changing. It wasn’t difficult shutting everyone out and embracing my memories of mom in the dark corners of my house. And soon, the empty space left behind was the only thing I had left of her. That void, it was really the only thing I wanted left.
I took a sip of my drink and put it down not missing the slight shake in my hand. Picking up the envelope, I muttered “Damn you, Sam,” and wondered if there was any chance something good could come from the letter. It seemed strange now that walking into Sam’s bar that night a year ago could lead me to this place where the darkness was on a whole new level.
I had felt a sudden urge for fresh air that night. I wasn’t drunk but the buzz was there; it had become a part of me. I thought about driving but the thought of hitting some poor kid changed my mind. Sam’s bar was about 15 minutes from my place. Walking there, the fresh air soon calmed my nerves and breathing became a bit easier.
I had found Sam’s bar for the first time the day mom was diagnosed. I needed an escape and it didn’t take long to find it there.
When I walked in that night, the music was way up but the crowd was sparse. Sam was bopping his head to the music while counting an impressive stack of money. He never bothered about being robbed. Maybe it had to do with his stature or the time he had spent on the street but Sam always told me he had paid his dues and everything was fine.
When he noticed me, he grinned from ear to ear. “My man,” he said in his surprisingly soft voice. “It’s been a while.”
I slid into the booth across from him and murmured something. One of the servers brought me a bottle of beer while I watched Sam round up his counting.
“How’s it been out there? Heard it’s been tough for you.”
I shrugged.
“You know, you can always come to me when you need something, I’ll fix you up. I still got connections out there, my friend.” Sam said, his voice barely audible through the din. “In fact,” Sam continued, “I got a friend who needs help with his business.” He looked me over carefully. “Something you can learn in no time.”
I was bored, not looking for a commitment but I said anyway, “What job?”
Sam shrugged, “Just taking care of business, you know. A young man like you, you’ll learn fast. It’ll keep you busy and put money in your pocket.”
“I don’t know…” I said, thinking of a good excuse.
“Common, you have nothing to lose, right?”
Luck had never been on my side all my life, but when I met Sam’s friend and we talked business, I allowed myself to think for a moment that, perhaps this time, things were different. The job was pretty straightforward. Manage a bar similar to Sam’s. The pay was indeed attractive and I didn’t mind having to drive out of town every day.
My new boss was a Yoruba man, quite approachable with friendly air around him. Falaja was his name. We got along well and I soon came to love the job even though it was draining when customers were much. And at Falaja’s bar, the night was always bustling. I wouldn’t get home till around 10 most mornings drained and asleep on my feet. Fully clothed, I would slump into bed and wouldn’t get up till late in the afternoon.
I had cut down on my drinking a whole lot then because of work because I didn’t need it like I used to; I slept through most nights without seeing my mother’s face on that hospital bed. They say we all dream at night, but those days, I woke up with no memory of anything from my sleep. And I was thankful for that even though a part of me knew it wouldn’t last.
I had been working at Falaja’s for almost a year when the envelope arrived. And a lot had changed. I no longer worked as hard as I used to because I now understood the bar and how to properly handle it. Falaja started by giving me more responsibilities. At first, he wanted me to learn how to manage the books and the account but numbers had never interested me and I told him so.
“You’ll learn fast,” he said, “Come, let me show you.”
We walked into his office and sat down. He had an open-door policy just like Sam and there had been no case of burglary or robbery since I started working there. It always amazed me.
He brought out a ledger and I right away felt my chest tighten as he opened the book. The numbers, the damn numbers screamed at me. I looked away but Falaja didn’t notice. He started talking, explaining, but all I could hear was blood pumping so hard it was almost deafening. When he looked up and saw that I wasn’t looking, he let out a quick sigh of exasperation.
“You have to understand this thing. You have to!” He said. The urgency in his voice drew my attention back to the ledger. He started explaining again.
I said, “I’m sorry, I’m lost. What is this for? This too? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Falaja sighed again. “Don’t worry,” he said, closing the book, “you’ll watch me from now on as I do it and it’ll start making sense.”
I thought he would change his mind, but after close of work every morning, we would sit in his small office and work at it. I kept trying to see through the numbers but made no real progress.
As I sat there one morning, tired to my bones, Linda crossed my mind and I heard her say, “You try too hard. Maybe if you didn’t try so hard, it would be easier.” She had been talking about us.
I had met her at an outing those days before mom got sick and I had been smitten. Lucky for me, she liked me for no reason I could point to.
Linda was gorgeous, she was the kind of lady you fantasize about meeting and spending the rest of your life with (if you fantasized about things like that). She had a way of making every little thing special and worth admiring. I always wanted to impress her, because maybe then she wouldn’t wake up from whatever spell she was under one day, and decide I wasn’t good enough. The irony of it was that; because I tried too much, I always messed up our time together.
“Get out of your head,” she’d said one day, holding my face between her soft palms. “You try too hard…”
Thinking about her now makes me miss her, but that’s a story for another day. As I sat watching Falaja with Linda’s voice in my head, I decided to stop trying so hard and just watch him work.
Like magic, it started making sense and after a few more sessions, I found myself saying stuff like, “We got 150 crates of Heineken last Thursday. When I checked now, we have about 15 crates left.” Falaja was nodding. “Here,” I continued, “we only accounted for 120. See the sum? Are we short?”
Falaja smiled, pleased that I was finally paying attention. “Ten per cent sometimes go to our sponsor during the week.” He explained.
“Sponsor? What sponsor?”
His smile widened and he sat back in his chair. “I figured Sam had to be right about you,” He said. I said nothing and waited for him to continue.
Even though everywhere was quiet and no one was in sight, Falaja got up and for the first time closed his office door. He sat down and looked at me closely them smiled a different smile – sad or relieved, hard to say – then he shrugged slightly to himself.
“I’m about to tell you something that’ll change your life.” I still remained quiet, too tired to figure out where he was going.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” I thought about Linda again and shook my head. “No serious relationship at all? Close relative?” I said my mom was my only close relative, and now there was no one, no serious relationship either. He nodded absently.
“I’m married and have two children myself,” he said more to himself than to me. “My wife. A treasure she is. Love her more than life itself and trust her too.” He looked me in the eyes then and added, “But even she doesn’t know this part of the business.”
“I thought she’s your business partner.”
“She is,” he answered quickly, “We started the business together all those years back. But, you see, I had to do things I didn’t tell her about. Because I had to protect her.”
Falaja then told me about how he had gotten a loan at some point when the business was making no progress. They needed a new location and money to stock up and advertise. “No one wanted to give a loan that much when we had no real substance to our names.”
But a man had come to him one day and offered double the amount they needed. He, in fact, had a perfect location for the business. He would give them sufficient time to pay back at a reasonable interest rate. All he asked in return was that he and his partners retain a section of the building Falaja was going to lease. They had a business they didn’t want to be bothered about, he had said.
“So they needed you as a front?” I said, suddenly wide awake. Falaja nodded.
“For what?” I prompted when he remained quiet.
He brought out an envelope from his buba pocket. I watched him unfold it slowly while I felt his eyes on me. His hands were slender and long just as he was himself. His name was finely written on the envelope.
“After the payment was made to my account and business was starting to look up. I got in one afternoon and found this on my desk.” He brought out a letter and handed it to me.
Hungrily, I opened and started to read.
When I was done, my mouth hung open. I looked from Falaja to the letter. I Scanned through it again, not believing what I had read. Falaja got up and went to a safe I had never noticed before. He unlocked it but his frame blocked me from seeing the content.
When he turned around, he was holding a gun. It was not bulky and shiny like you would expect. No, it could easily fit into your palm. Falaja handled it like it was a grenade ready to go off. Gingerly he placed it on the table and dropped a bunch of keys beside it.
He pointed to the gun, “This was on the envelope,” he said quietly. “This is the key to the other section and everything within it.”
Before I could ask why he was telling me, Falaja looked down and added, “I have forwarded your name and details to them as my successor.”
———————-
I put the letter down now without opening it and finger the gun in my pocket. I think I’ll call Linda. She deserves an explanation. Or maybe a real goodbye.
